Final Coup by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2011-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

Charlie Mott and Leon Winters, the blacksuit pilot, walked into the terminal shoulder to shoulder. “Looks like Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band around here,” Mott said with his tongue firmly in his cheek as he looked around at the odd mixture of fancy dress uniforms filling the building. “Somebody having a parade?”

Bolan shook hands with both men as he took in the scene himself. It did, indeed, seem as if everyone in the Cameroonian military who had not been officially called to duty to protect the airport had donned their formal attire—complete with ribbons and medals—and shown up anyway.

“I think they just want to make sure that what happened to our airplane doesn’t happen to these two,” Lareby said. He offered his hand to both men, and Bolan made quick introductions.

Moving to a corner near the glass wall that faced the runways, they joined Grimaldi. “Thanks for the new ride,” the ace pilot told Mott. “Leon, good to see you again.”

Winters nodded and smiled.

“Let’s get out there, get changed and restock,” Bolan said. “We’ve been operating with second-rate, scavenged equipment and wearing rags long enough.” As he led the way to the door, he caught a glimpse of Antangana on the other side of the crowded terminal room. The man looked exhausted, as if he might fall to the floor at any moment. The big American had instructed the prime minister to steer clear of them while they were at the airport. Although his face was not as recognizable as that of the former president, or several other high-ranking leaders of this nation in chaos, Bolan didn’t want him being seen with them.

Who knew how many of the men wearing Cameroonian battle or formal dress were actually still loyal to Menye? Or how many were secretly aligned with the KDNP or CPU? Bolan wasn’t interested in being seen with his primary informant, guide and interpreter unless it became absolutely necessary.

The Americans shook hands once more before Mott and Winters broke off and headed toward the plane that would pick up Phoenix Force—one of the counterterrorist teams that worked out of Stony Man Farm—and then return to the U.S. Bolan let Grimaldi lead the way up the steps and into the new jet that they’d be working from going forward.

As Grimaldi dropped behind the controls, Bolan ducked under the door to the cabin and strode purposefully toward the rear of the plane. Like the jet that had brought the team to Cameroon in the first place, the passenger area had been completely redesigned. Where the seats had once been, reclining chairs now sat in a circle around the room. Bolted securely to the floor and even supplied with seat belts, they had been installed in order to allow Bolan or whoever was using the revamped aircraft to catch up on sleep whenever they were in the air.

But circling the chairs on the outside were several rows of lockers that were stocked with clothing and every sort of weapon and other piece of battle equipment imaginable.

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