The incoming helicopter roared overhead. Its running lights were incredibly bright against the dark sky. Bolan recognized the profile immediately.
It was a Cobra gunship. Bolan had seen more than enough of the deadly choppers in Vietnam. The night was split apart by the roar of the 1,100-horsepower engine.
Behind him, the plant loomed ominously. It was wounded and, like a wild animal, it was more dangerous that way. Glinkov had to be nearby. Bolan had seen him slip into a vertical shaft and head out of the tunnels. With the flood raging in behind, there had been no time to follow the Russian. But he must be on the surface by now.
The chopper hovered just over a stand of trees, then drifted slowly left toward a clearing in the woods. Glinkov had been the consummate professional up to this point. That meant there was a prearranged LZ for the chopper. The Russian wouldn't have left his most crucial rendezvous to chance.
Rather than waste time trying to find the KGB man in the darkness, Bolan headed toward the LZ. The chopper touched down, but was still visible behind a thin stand of evergreens. The engine chugged away, whirling the forty-four-foot rotor. Cobras could carry an array of armament, Bolan knew. Anything from machine guns to pods of 2.75-inch missiles.
And there was no way this one was unarmed.
The pilot had to be Peter Achison. Rachel had said he was coming to meet Glinkov in a chopper.
That meant he would have a shot at the man who had killed Robert Hanley. Bolan had been trying to piece things together since he'd first seen Achison at the Parsons place. There had been something familiar about the tall, balding man. Now he knew why. Achison was the same man he'd seen through the window at Hanley's farm — the guy who had slipped out at the last minute, after shooting the defenseless engineer in the head.
It was all coming together now. All the scores Mack Bolan had to settle, all the debts he had to pay. Everything could be taken care of right here. The slate could be wiped clean.
No, not could be.
Would be.
In the distance, Bolan heard the wail of approaching sirens. Somewhere out in the darkness, police cars were rushing to the plant. Matt Stevens's man must have gotten through. But there was no time to wait for the cops. If Glinkov made it to the chopper, he'd be gone. If he got out of Thunder Mountain, there'd be no way to catch him.
Crunching across the frozen snow, Bolan knew he was only going to get one shot at the Russian.
And if he didn't nail him, the Cobra was capable of finishing what the Russian had started. In its crippled condition, the reactor was a time bomb, just waiting to go off. Rockets from the Cobra could destroy the containment tower. If it blew, the whole complex could blow. And if that happened, the lower third of the Hudson Valley was going to be a dead zone for decades.
As he neared the trees, Bolan saw a shadowy figure a hundred yards ahead of him. The guy was running straight for the chopper. It could only be Glinkov. Bolan fired a burst from his Kalashnikov. He sprayed deadly 7.62 caliber fire in a narrow arc. The man was well within the AK-47's effective range, but he was dodging among scattered shrubs.
The figure disappeared, and Bolan thought for a moment that he had nailed the Russian. Return fire told him he hadn't. Glinkov had cut loose with his own weapon. The slugs tore up the snow just ahead, and Bolan hit the deck.
He had to nail the bastard before he got to the chopper. If Glinkov got airborne, Bolan would be a sitting duck. As it was, the chopper wasn't a threat. The trees were too thick for it to fire on him. Bolan waited until the shadow resumed its flight. When Glinkov made his move, Bolan was right with him. In better shape than the Russian, he was closing the gap, but there wasn't enough time. Glinkov was too close to his goal.
Behind him, Bolan heard a shout. He turned to see Eli and Rachel racing toward him. Eli knelt to fire toward the tree line. If they could rotate their fire and keep Glinkov pinned down, Bolan could catch the Russian.
Eli emptied his magazine, and then Rachel began firing. Bolan waved and resumed the chase.
Angling to one side to keep out of the line of fire, Bolan didn't bother about his own weapon. When he reached the undergrowth, he had closed the gap to fifty yards. Glinkov had seen him but held his fire.
As the undergrowth thickened, the big guy's progress was hampered. And he lost sight of the Russian. The firing continued from behind him, so Glinkov was still visible to Cohen and Rachel. Working his way through the bushes, he could hear the chopper off to his right. He stopped to peer through the trees. The chopper was outlined against the snow. Only one man was visible in the cockpit.
Another ten yards, and Bolan would be between the chopper and the fleeing Russian agent. The odds were getting better. And time was getting shorter. The sirens were drawing closer as the police raced toward the main gate to Thunder Mountain.
There was a deep rumble, and the ground shook for an instant. The sound died away slowly as the lights on the plant winked once, went out altogether for a moment and then came back on.
Glinkov was still pinned down among the trees, but he'd have to make his move without much delay. Bolan pushed on. He could just make out the clump of trees in which Glinkov had taken cover.
There was another rumble, this one deeper, and sounding as if it were close by. Then a geyser of steam and hot water shot up among the trees.
There was an earsplitting hiss, and the water continued to spew into the air, drenching the tops of the taller trees. The snow on their branches melted, and a large circle of earth appeared as the snow melted around the mouth of a tunnel access grating.
Another hiss and another geyser. Then a third.
All through the trees, the coolant was gushing into the air. With the Hudson drainage valves close, and water from the river pumping through the containment building and into the tunnels, the pressure buildup was forcing the water to the surface. Then Glinkov bolted.
Heading straight into the open, he dodged through the few small bushes that rimmed the clearing. The chopper sat in the center of the clearing like an insect. Its rotor whumped away in the darkness. The air was full of mist, wind-borne from the fountains spraying the forest on all sides.
In the clearing, the running man was an easier target than he had been earlier. Bolan fired a short burst, then the Kalashnikov was empty. He had no more magazines for it. Hurling the weapon aside, Bolan hauled Big Thunder from its sling and charged after the Russian. Eli and Rachel had reached the far side of the woods and were plunging into the trees. Bolan aimed carefully and squeezed. Just as the AutoMag barked, Glinkov tripped and fell headlong. The skull-busting .44 caliber slug sailed harmlessly over his head.
The Russian was up in an instant.
Bolan heard the rumble before he noticed the hole opening in the earth in front of him. He dived to one side just as a deep chasm opened in the snow. The rushing torrent underground had been too much for the tunnel walls. Weakened by the huge volume of superheated steam and water, they had given way under the intense pressure. Gnawing its way to the surface, the water had begun to spread out under the whole area, drenching the earth with its poisons.
While Bolan watched helplessly, Glinkov climbed into the chopper. The Executioner cursed. The man was getting away. He fired twice. The first slug bounced harmlessly off the chopper's fuselage, the second flattened against the bulletproof glass of the cockpit.
Eli and Rachel had caught up to him. Eli hit the ground, hauling Rachel down with him. The chopper's engine roared as its gun pods rotated, seeking them out. There was a burst of fire, and the earth exploded around the three warriors.
"Holy shit," Eli whispered when the firing stopped. "What the hell is that?"
"That's a 30 mm cannon," Bolan informed him. "Three barrels and remote controlled."
"Damn. We're in for it now."
"We can't let him get away," Rachel cried. "Anybody got an idea?"
Another surge of cannon fire tore into the earth. The three fighters hugged the ground, trying to burrow into the snow. Just to their left, the sound of the rushing flood grew louder. The hole was beginning to widen. "We can't stay here," Bolan shouted above the roaring water.
"Why the hell isn't he taking off?" Eli asked.
The shadows in the cockpit were stationary for a moment, then changed places. The chopper lifted off sluggishly. Glinkov was inexperienced, at least with the Cobra. At a height of fifty feet, the chopper spun on its axis. Bolan stood helplessly. But the helicopter wasn't going anywhere. With a roar, it loosened a salvo of rockets. The three warriors on the ground watched as the missiles crashed into the containment building near its curved peak. The roar was deafening.
The top of the building disappeared in a shower of flame and smoke. The ground trembled. But the concrete held. Four feet thick and reinforced with steel, it was built to withstand incredible stress. The machine wobbled under Glinkov's uncertain hand. Again the chopper belched fire, and a second cluster of rockets flew toward the building. But this time the pilot's shaky control was costly. The cluster of rockets sailed past the containment building. They vanished into the trees and exploded harmlessly against the mountainside.
The Cobra descended abruptly. As it touched down, the cockpit door slid open. There was the distant sound of an argument, barely audible over the roar of the chopper's engine. A second later, there was a muffled gunshot, and Peter Achison tumbled out into the snow.
The chopper's engine surged again, the rotor spinning faster and faster. The machine wobbled slightly, lifted off and bounced down hard. In an instant, Eli was on his feet. He tossed a pair of grenades to Bolan. "I'm going to draw his fire. How's your arm, Mack?"
"Eli, don't be an idiot," Rachel said. She jumped to her feet and grabbed Cohen by the arm.
He shook her off and ran toward the chopper. At first Glinkov didn't see him. Eli was counting on the Russian having his hands full controlling the chopper's flight. He dodged back and forth like a halfback in broken field.
Charging straight ahead, Eli tried to draw attention to himself. Bolan saw the cannon turret swivel and leaped to his feet. Behind him, Rachel was screaming over the roar of the rushing water. The turret swiveled again, drawing a bead on the running man. Bolan plunged on behind him. For a moment the chopper wavered, then lifted off the ground.
It hovered in the air, wobbling like a dead puppet on its last string. The turret swiveled again, this time seeking Bolan. Glinkov seemed uncertain of himself. Cohen was closer, but he knew Bolan was the bigger threat. The first burst of cannon fire passed harmlessly over Eli's head. It plowed the earth between the two running men. Cohen rushed on. His Ingram was spitting at the chopper, but the slugs bounced off harmlessly. The air was full of the chopper's roar.
Then, getting control of the machine, Glinkov rose higher. Fifteen feet in the air now, and rising. Eli ran right under it, and out of range of the deadly cannons. Glinkov would have to move to find him again. The chopper slipped sideways, and Eli was back in the open. He stood motionless, fighting to get another clip in his Ingram. When the gun was reloaded, he backed away, trying to get an angle of fire that would let him chew at the chopper engine's air intakes. The cannon turret swiveled again, and Eli began to fire. The cannon barked, and hellfire rained all around Cohen's figure. This time Glinkov didn't miss. For a second everything stopped. Then Bolan heard Rachel's scream over the noise of the engine.
Pulling the pin on his first grenade, Bolan chucked the M-56 in an arc. It bounced off the fuselage just in front of the air intake and fell into the snow.
Bolan hit the deck as the grenade went off, sending razor-sharp steel fragments whizzing overhead. Glinkov banked the chopper slightly to the left, and Bolan was on his feet. The turret swiveled as the Russian tried to draw a bead on the man below. Bolan pulled the second pin and sprinted straight at the chopper.
The angle was too tight for effective control of the cannon turret, and Glinkov tried to raise the chopper. Bolan let go of the second M-56 as the helicopter pitched forward and roared over him. The grenade sailed just over the lip of the intake, and the Cobra surged ahead. Bolan dropped down and dug into the snowy crust. The grenade went off, and the chopper pitched wildly to one side. The fuselage burst into flame. The Cobra yawed and staggered. The entire area was bathed in light from the burning fuel.
Its engine mangled, the rotor shaft seized and one blade snapped off. The chopper fell like a stone.
Its fuel tank exploded as its nose tipped forward. The ruined machine was consumed in flame for an instant and then fell into the churning maelstrom of radioactive waste. The hiss of the extinguished flame was applause to Bolan's ear. Bolan sprinted to Achison and rolled him over. There was a jagged exit hole where his forehead had been.
Splinters of bone stuck out at odd angles. The gore oozing from the ruined skull had already stained the snow in a small circle around the dead man. Robert Hanley would never know it, but his account had just been closed. Turning back toward the plant, Bolan stood motionless for a long moment.
He didn't want to face Rachel. Eli was dead, he knew. There was no way in hell he could have survived the burst of cannon fire that took him down. Rachel was bent over her brother's body.
His head was cradled in her arms, and she was rocking back and forth. She crooned softly, as if to a child.
Bolan knelt beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She turned her face toward him for a moment but said nothing. Her face was streaked with blood and tears. Her lips moved spasmodically for an instant, as if she wanted to speak. But when the words didn't come, she turned back to her brother, bending low over the motionless body, and kissed him softly on the forehead.
"Please, go away," she whispered.
Bolan knew he had no choice.