sir.”
“Do I need to say more?”
“No, sir.”
“And one more thing, Vitaly. I do not hold any doubts that the Americans may be behind this, or possibly the Chinese. I should not have to tell you how delicate this is for our country. We cannot afford to lose our bargaining position now. Make certain that anyone who knows about the weapon or the facility is removed from the equation.”
Vitaly smiled. It was the kind of fieldwork he enjoyed most, and it was much better than skulking around Yangon. What was most important was controlling the information Moscow received. After all, the black market paid far better than the government, though he enjoyed the power and income from both sources. “It will be as you command. No witness will be left alive.”
* * *
ONCE HE ARRIVED at Andrews Field, Bolan changed into tactical clothing, then headed to the hangar where he found Nischal already waiting for him.
She, too, had switched clothing, and he noticed that she’d chosen appropriately for the mission and the terrain. She nodded as he approached. “Good to see you made it on time, Colonel.”
Bolan nodded a curt greeting.
“Look, let’s clear something up,” Nischal said. “The truth is that I don’t usually work with anyone else, either, so I’m probably just as prickly about it as you are. If you think you can’t handle it, I’m happy to take the mission on myself.”
Bolan allowed himself a smile and a chuckle. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. We may not like working with others, but when the President gives an order, we follow it. On that much, we can agree. Let’s get this show on the road. Wherever that nuclear missile is, it won’t find itself.”
They carried their gear aboard the Spirit of Kitty Hawk. The pilot and mission commander were already in the cockpit. The intercom system pinged on. “Good evening, Colonel Stone, Ms. Nischal. I’m Major Gage, and your pilot is Lt. Colonel Elliot.”
“Gentleman, thanks for the lift. We’re ready to go whenever you are. Do you have a specific drop zone in mind at this point?”
“No, sir,” the major replied. “All I’ve got is Tibet. I was told that Ms. Nischal would be providing the drop information en route.”
Bolan looked a question at her. “I’ve got the map data uploaded to my smartphone,” she said. “I’ll shoot it to them once we’re in the air.”
“Fine,” he said. “Major, we’re all set. Let’s hit it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The intercom system pinged off and Bolan turned back to Nischal. “It’s your map and region, so let’s hear what you’ve got in mind.”
She took out her phone and tapped the keys, bringing up a map of Tibet, then zooming in. “Take a look at this,” she said. “This is the village of Nyalam—sort of a crossroads village about twenty miles north of the border with Nepal and about sixty miles west of Mount Everest as the crow flies.”
“Okay,” he said. “Why there?”
“Well, we know the nuke was headed north, and there aren’t very many roads. Most are little more than goat paths or dirt tracks that lead to monasteries. There’s only one major highway, and anyone who wants to get anywhere has to use it. This isn’t exactly the easiest terrain in the world. If you know the area it’s easy to disappear, but a truck that size has to go somewhere. And wherever it goes, someone will see it.”
“So, you’re thinking whoever took the weapon had to pass through Nyalam. In other words, we have a place to start looking.”
“Exactly,” she said. “And if makes you feel better, Nyalam used to be called the Gate of Hell because the old trail was so treacherous. No one is moving fast through there, even on the Friendship Highway.”
Bolan studied the map a minute more, then nodded, impressed. “That all sounds fine to me. You obviously know the area.”
“Like the back of my hand,” she said.
“Here’s what I want to know,” Bolan said. “Tibet is a whole lot of empty. Even the capital has less than a million people in it, and most of them are too focused on tourists, religion or dealing with China to be worried about stealing a nuke. Where would someone be taking a weapon like that, given how much they would stick out?”
She shook her head. “On that score, I don’t know. If they wanted to disappear, they’d get off the highway and use the mountains as cover. There are hundreds of places to hole up—if you can get to them. There’s the plateau region, but it’s wide-open. Our eyes in the sky would pick them up before we landed. So, that leaves the road or the mountains. As far as who would take it...that’s really the bigger question. This isn’t a region that’s known for trading in weapons, but I suppose that there’s a first time for everything.”
The jet began to taxi out of the hangar and the major suggested that they get buckled in, which they did. The seats, such as they were, promised a long, uncomfortable flight. Nischal leaned back and shut her eyes. “Let’s just hope someone spotted them before they disappeared, or that they’re stuck on the highway in some bad weather traffic jam.”
“Somehow, I have my doubts,” Bolan said, stretching his legs out.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because that would mean we’d been incredibly lucky. My missions don’t tend to run along those lines. Usually, it’s just the opposite.”
“Same with mine,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t know anyone whose missions run perfectly smoothly. They don’t usually call people like you and me when things can be handled with a simple stop.”
Bolan knew the long flight would only be made longer by worry. Still, he couldn’t help but think that anyone willing to steal a nuclear warhead and head into Tibet was either crazy or really smart—and knew exactly what they were doing. That was a serious cause for concern.
The flight was scheduled to take about thirteen hours, including the midair refueling. Bolan and Nischal passed the time by double-checking their gear, the map and the very brief intelligence file and, finally, in desperation, by playing mercenary poker. The boredom was palpable enough that when the jet hit a severe pocket of turbulence and the intercom system pinged with a quick warning to strap themselves in, both of them were stunned for a moment before they leaped to their feet and got back into their safety harnesses.
“What’s the situation, Major Gage?” Bolan asked.
“We’re about an hour away from your drop zone, sir,” he said. “But a major storm is brewing over the Himalayan range. We’re going to try and climb out of the worst of it.”
“All right,” Bolan replied. “Keep us informed.”
They could feel the jet rocking in the storm as it climbed, closing in on forty-five thousand feet. Still, the winds lashed at them, and the pilot was slaloming from one pocket of turbulence to the next. After a few minutes, the plane leveled out, but the situation didn’t noticeably improve.
“Colonel Stone, radar shows this storm blowing up right in our flight path and your drop zone,” Major Gage said. “I’m going to recommend you consider aborting the drop.”
“I appreciate that, Major, but we don’t have a choice,” Bolan said. “We’re on a clock and can’t afford to lose the time.” The plane bounced jarringly as he spoke.
“I understand, sir,” he said. “We’ll do our best. I recommend you go ahead and suit up and move to the cargo bay.”
Bolan looked at Nischal. “Have