Bolan had been halfway to the radio room when the enemy had begun firing from behind the crates. He turned in time to see Scanlon go down and was about to backtrack to his aid when Bahn waved him off. She was only a few yards from the downed FBI agent, using the Hummer for cover as she fired back at the riflemen in the rear of the hangar.
“I got him!” she called. “Go ahead!”
Bolan hesitated long enough to take aim and drop one of the men near the crates, then dodged return fire and shifted back to his original course.
Another armed guard had appeared in front of the doorway to the radio room, but he took a split second too long sizing up the situation. Bolan was able to take him out the same way he had the man who was lying dead at the guard’s feet.
Six Rangers from the convoy truck had apparently split off from those storming the control tower and fought their way into the hangar. Four of them quickly fanned out and took up positions that allowed them to hold at bay the enemy gunmen still lurking behind the crates. Another raced to help Bahn drag Scanlon to safety behind the Hummer, while the sixth caught up with Bolan as he stormed the doorway leading to the FETC comm room.
Only two men remained inside the large cubicle, and at the sight of Bolan and the Army Ranger, they both quickly threw up their arms in surrender. Bolan rushed toward the man sitting at the radio controls and put his gun to the dispatcher’s head. “There’s an incoming flight due here from Phoenix within the hour!” he said. “When’s the last time you spoke with them?”
The dispatcher trembled as he stared at Bolan.
“No English!” he pleaded. “No speak English!”
“Don’t give me that!” Bolan fumed.
The Ranger moved in and quickly spoke to the dispatcher in Korean. One he got a response, he told Bolan, “He says their last communication was three minutes ago.”
The Ranger’s voice trailed off as a dispatch came through over the radio’s small speakers. Whoever was calling in was speaking in Korean.
“It’s them,” the Ranger told Bolan. “They say they’re running ahead of schedule and want clearance to land early.”
“We’re going to need more time. Stall them!”
The Ranger nodded, then yanked the dispatcher out of the chair and quickly took his place. “My Korean’s not going to win any awards, but I can tell them we’re backed up and try to put them in a holding pattern.”
“Do it,” Bolan said.
Once another Ranger entered the room, Bolan turned the prisoners over to him and rushed back out into the hangar. The riflemen firing from behind the crates had just been taken out and the large enclosure had fallen silent save for the clomp of Rangers searching the confines to make sure that the threat had been neutralized.
As Bolan made his way toward the Hummer, he saw Bahn crouched over Scanlon, who was lying on the concrete, blood pooling around him. She caught his gaze and shook her head grimly.
Bolan joined them. Scanlon was conscious, but he was fighting for each breath and spitting up blood when he tried to talk.
“Looks…like…” Scanlon gasped, struggling for the words.
Bolan put a finger to his lips and cautioned Scanlon, “Look, just lie still and be—”
“P-payback,” the agent stammered. “For that guy…the one I killed in Vegas…”
Scanlon sucked in a raspy breath, but before he could continue, the life went out of him. He died with his eyes open and his mouth askew. Bahn watched on as Bolan reached out and gently lowered the dead man’s eyelids, then eased his mouth shut. Sighing, she slowly rose to her feet and said, “Shit happens is right.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
“They’ve secured the airfield,” Carmen Delahunt told Hal Brognola as he stopped by her workstation. “From the sounds of it, though, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Casualties?”
Delahunt nodded. “Mostly on their end, but we lost a couple Rangers along with the point man for that FBI team Mack was working with.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Brognola said.
“We’ve got people monitoring the control tower along with their radio facilities,” Delahunt reported. “They’ve been in touch with the cargo plane and put them in a holding pattern while they clean things up.”
Brognola rolled an unlit cigar between his thumb and index fingers as he sized up the situation. “Looks like wait and see, then.”
“At least for now,” the redhead said. “I’ll keep you posted if there are any changes.”
“Do that.”
Brognola was heading across the room when Kissinger called out to him from Tokaido’s workstation.