DISCLAIMER: Mack Bolan The Executioner is not mine. He was created by Don
Pendleton and not by me. I have no rights to profit off of Mack Bolan and
with this I am not. I wrote this sort of spin-off alternative universe Mack
Bolan story for others to enjoy free of charge.
TWO GENERATIONS OF EXECUTIONERS
BY: BULLFROG
CHAPTER ONE: FAMILY BUSINESS
It is a nice, peaceful Sunday afternoon. There is a mild breeze blowing in a south-eastwardly direction and a temperature of 75 degrees. The couple enjoying their weekly picnic couldn't imagine a day more suited to express the love they still feel for each other after all of these years.
The husband, a man who goes by the name of James Smith, is 48 years of age. Age has done little to disguise his rugged good looks. He is 6 feet tall; 200 pounds even and well muscled. The only real marks of age the show are the steaks of gray that streak his one pitch-black hair and a few lines under his eyes and around his mouth.
His wife, a woman who goes by the name of Barbara Smith, is 44 years of age. While her once gorgeous appearance is still evident, age has been slightly harsher with her then her husband. A life easier now then the one that she lived before has put about 40 pounds on her; and she has gained more then her fair share of developing wrinkles.
If you were to pass by these two, you'd never guess that the two of them had ever been anything but the lower middle class family that you see. You would never imagine that they both once lived with a sudden and violent death lurking around each corner. You would never imagine that James Smith himself once not so half-heartedly considered himself the angel of death in a human body. You would never have guessed that if they both had not led such dangerous lives, and if their lives had not taken the exact same turns as they did, the loving couple that you see before you would have never met and therefore wouldn't exist today. Regardless of what they may have been and done in the past, today these two had no desire ask for anything more then they have.
Just as James took another bite of his turkey sandwich and Barbara took a bite of her potato salad, four quad runners broke out of the tree line and made a mad dash towards the Smiths. At first, neither of them noticed the blatant violation of the rules of the park they were in, and by the time they did, all four vehicles were too close for them to do anything but stare.
The quad-runners came to a complete stop and without a word all 4 drivers pulled fully automatic machine guns out of the satchels that had been attached to the back of their vehicles. Mr. And Mrs. Smith knew that their past and caught up with them, and without a word exchanged they kissed each other good bye just as the four gunmen open fired on them. That fast, within a few seconds not even a blink of the eye, the years of danger the lived separately and the years of love and peace they lived together were over. Mr. And Mrs. James Smith was gone forever.
*****
Shortly after Mr. And Mrs. James Smith go to their eternal destiny some heated action is occurring at an undisclosed location that is used for training by the U.S. Navy SEALs. Indeed, with the sky high temperatures, rampant humidity, and the festering with insect life which seems to have nothing better to do then make a human's life miserable with it's bites and stings, no one in their right mind would want anything to do with this God forsaken place. That is, no one except the U.S. Navy SEALs.
The guerrilla troops manning the compound of 6 poorly constructed shacks have no idea of what creeps out in the wilds that surround their base. Mostly the bug life that makes them wonder why they ever took up "the cause" in the first place. Often they find themselves wondering, "Is killing Americans really worth this? Especially since we have yet to do anything but make idle threats against the American businessmen and tourist who visit our country." Little do they realize that in very short order, they won't have to worry about this or anything else ever again.
The sniper blends in so well with the jungle that he isn't even sure that he can see himself takes aim with is silenced sniper rife. He has 4 sentries patrolling the wood line that he can see, who have to be taken out before the next stage of operations can begin. He calms his nerves, steadies his breath and without hurry draws a bead on the first sentry. The man will be an easy kill, leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette exposing his head and torso entirely to the sniper. One pull of the trigger and the sentry falls backwards, snuffing out his last cigarette with the weight of his corpse. Sentry two is daydreaming of some far off place. Perhaps he is visualizing being with his wife and children, his girlfriend, or some fantasy woman that is way out of his league. The sniper cares less for what is in his target's mind, just pleased that with a pull of the trigger his little messenger of death by route of the right eye replaced those thoughts as the last thing into his mind. The third sentry proved a little harder target. He was standing on the opposite side of a tree from the sniper. The only view the sniper has is of his target as he dance weaves side to side while relieving himself is short views of the head as it quickly pops from one side of the tree to the other. This is an impossible shot so the sniper places a shot about 15 feet to the right of his target but far enough in the woods to draw the sentry's attention. The sentry picks up his AK-47 and begins to examine his surroundings to discover what the sound he just heard was. He slinked out from behind the tree and landed on his face as the sniper's bullet found its mark right in the sentry's ear. Sentry four seems to be the only one taking his job seriously. He patrols his assigned section of wood line in an impressively proper military manner. Burying the glimmer of respect for this man, the sniper also puts a round into his head. After a few seconds of examining the four sentries through is scope, the sniper was satisfied that they wouldn't be presenting themselves and unexpected obstacles to the rest of the mission. He keyed the mic to his radio and stated, " Father bird to nest. Droppings are on windshield. Hatchlings are a go to proceed."
Upon hearing this, the other five members of the SEAL team take one last stock of their current surroundings. Once certain that no obvious danger is present, three proceed to their assignment of gathering intelligence on this band of anti-American thugs. The remaining two cover their three comrades from one angle while the sniper and sixth member of the team covers them from another.
The team of 3 crawl through waist high weeds. When they come to the clearing they stop and once again survey their surroundings. Once certain that there are not hostiles, they slowly crawl forward to the first shack.
Inside the first shack they find a sleeping terrorist. A knife to the throat eliminates the possibility of him becoming a threat later on. The SEALs spread out and search the building. After finding nothing of value they regroup at the door and prepare to move on to the next shack.
Just as they exit the building they hear an approaching helicopter. Quickly they all retreat back into the building while they assess this unexpected turn of events. From the helicopter they hear, "Out of role. Repeat, this is out of role. Petty Officer First Class Marcus Smith you are needed back at base camp. Crank out a pop up to show us your location." Upon hearing this, PO1C Smith steps out of the building and lets a pop up flair fly high. After seeing that the helicopter crew instructed. "Report to the clearing to the east of your current location. Bring only the gear that you have with you." Marcus with all due haste made his way to the field and entered the helicopter. As it was lifting off, he waved bye to his team member and all of the "corpses" that his team had left behind that were now on their feet wondering what this interruption to the training exercise was about.
Upon the helicopter's landing, Petty Officer First Class Marcus Smith was rushed into the field headquarters located in the center of the base camp that had been constructed for this 2 month long training exercise.
The first thing PO1C Smith noticed upon entering field HQ was the somber face of Captain Tomeru who was sitting behind his desk. This was extremely uncommon, for Captain Tomeru who joined the Navy SEALs right out of college, and had seen more special ops action than any other currently active SEAL was always joking and always had some sarcastic comment for the SEALs under his command whom he seemed to have a honest deep affection for. The look on Captain Tomeru's face was enough to give this normally fearless SEAL a sinking feeling in his heart and a dread to hear what the older man had to say.
" Petty Officer have a seat please." The Captain stated.
Marcus Smith did as instructed because it was well known, no matter how politely Captain Tomeru phrased something it was never anything less then an order.
" Well, lets start with the easy part shall we? I've approved you for a minimum of one-month leave. You are to return home and take care of matters there. If, as one month draws to a close you feel you need longer all you have to do is contact me and you'll have as long as you feel you need."
The way his captain worded the statement worried PO1C Smith all the more, for he hadn't requested any leave time and to his knowledge there was nothing at home that he needed to take care of.
"Begging the Captain's pardon sir, but do you mind if I ask what this is about? I'm about as confused as I can be right now. We were ordered to this combined training with the Marine's Force Recon, the Army's Delta Force and Green Berets in preparation for some large sale joint operation that's up and coming. Now, I'm being told to take a month away from everything to take care of something I didn't know that I need to take care of." PO1C Smith replied.
"This is the hard part. It's the first time I've ever had to deliver news like this and Lord willing it will be the last." Captain Tomeru sighed heavily and finished, " Marcus, I'm sorry to inform you that your parents were killed yesterday afternoon."
The look of pale shock on Smith's face gave Captain Tomeru, a man who has experienced more death then most people will in a lifetime during his time with the SEALs, a beginning case of depression.
"From what little information the Red Cross has passed along they both died quickly and painlessly, but I feel you should also hear it from me that they were murdered."
Military formality partially forgotten in his grieving shock, PO1C Smith stood and asked, "Sir. May I be excused?"
" Of course son. The helo that brought you here has been briefed on the situation and has orders to return you to San Diego. There you can grab what you need and go home. Your leave is effective immediately." Tomeru replied in soft, gentle, understanding tones.
Without another word and still in complete and utter confusion, PO1C Smith stood, left the field HQ, and walked zombie like to the helicopter that brought him in from the field no more then 5 minutes ago.
*****
A few days later, Marcus Smith stood at the graveside funeral service that was being held for his parents. His train of thought was miles away from the minister's words. His thoughts were on things of the past. Of the vacations shared with his parents. Of them being at all of his football games, wresting matches and amateur boxing matches from about the time he was able to walk, they never missed a single one. Of his stepfather who was really the only father he had ever known since his biological father had died before he was born. The life lessons, which both parents had taught him, including the one that he credited most with getting him into the Navy SEALs, giving up is never acceptable. As he stood there, looking like someone off of a recruiting poster for the U.S. Navy in his sparkling dress white uniform, in his misty eye confusion he struggled to comprehend why someone would murder in cold blood two of the kindest gentlest people he had ever known. These were people who were loved by everyone, just look at the turn out on this beautiful June day. Quick rearrangements had to be made when it became apparent that the moderate size church building his parents had worshiped in wasn't going to be sufficient to hold the pure volume of people, quickly everyone was moved from the church building to the grave site where the bodies his parents would forever sleep.
*****
Long into the wee hours of the morning, Marcus Smith paced his parent's house in a kind of dazed zombie like trance. Being an only child, he has a lot to accomplish and no idea of where to start.
Most of his time after the mourners had left the house had been spent looking at the family photo albums, looking at the various knickknacks that his parents collected over the years, that kind of thing.
He made his way into attic where everything, including his confusion of why someone would kill decent people such as his parents in cold blood, began to change and take on a new awareness.
He found an unlocked fireproof safe. He opened it and found all sorts of strange items. A few journals, several military marksmen medals, two handguns that had fallen out of service do to a lack of up keep and so on the list went.
Opening the first journal, a sudden since of shock overwhelmed him when he saw whose it was. This was Mack Bolan's war journal. Right here on page one he is talking about beginning his war on the mafia because of the murder of his parents and teenage sister at their hands. As he read on he learned about Mack Bolan deserting the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War for his own personal war. It seemed that he had read the entire journal in no time flat.
Marcus couldn't contain himself; right here in his hands written in Mack Bolan's own handwriting were the personal war journals of one of the greatest arch villains since Billy the Kid. Much myth had grown up around this man, books, movies, and comic books and though he remains America's most wanted man, no one has ever been able to explain the sudden end to his war. "How did my parents end up with this stuff?" Is the question he was asking himself over and over.
The answer became apparent about half way through his second journal when he read these words, "My war has once again brought me into contact with Toby Ranger[1]. Only her name isn't Toby Ranger any longer. Apparently her career as an undercover agent has put her just under me on the cannibals'[2] hit list. That forced her retirement and going into hiding under an assumed identity provided to her by the Justice Dept. She is now Barbara Newbouie." At this, Marcus had to lay the journal down. Barbara Newbouie was his mother's maiden name. His mother was never an undercover federal agent. She couldn't have been. Could she?
He read on, "This meeting was by pure chance. I stopped off in a city called Portage on my way to Detroit again because the cannibals there didn't learn their lesson the last time I was there. In Portage I stopped to eat at a mom and pop type food joint and there she was waiting tables. She came over and said 'Act like you don't know me, I'll explain everything after I get off work.' And explain she did. In addition to catching me up on her life, she explained to me that during our time together I became a father. I have a son." Marcus laid the journal down. This was getting to be a little much. Not only was his mother an undercover law enforcement officer that worked against the mob, but also she knew Mack Bolan personally. Not only did she know him personally but also she became pregnant by him during a fight with the mob in Detroit. "I have a half brother out there somewhere whose father is Mack Bolan." Marcus said to himself in utter amazement.
He read on, "She named my son Marcus." At reading this Marcus Smith passed out.
After recovering he put the journal aside and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. "No wonder I never knew my dad. He was Mack Bolan. He must have continued his war and been killed by the mob. The mafia has always been good at making sure no one finds the body." He said to himself.
When he felt that he had enough of his emotional balance back he returned to the attic to read more of the journal. Mack Bolan, or dad Marcus guesses he should consider him had stayed in Portage for several weeks instead of moving on to Detroit as planned. The next interesting journal passage he found stated, "I spoke with Hal[3] today. He was the one who placed Toby aka Barbara in her current position of safety. In good conscious, knowing that I know have parental responsibilities I cannot abandon Toby and Marcus to continue my war. I have avenged the death of my family and the deaths of many others hundreds of times over. I have missed the first 5 years of my son's life. I won't miss anymore. Hal has told me that he can make me disappear and that he would be in touch."
"Parental responsibilities?" Marcus thought, "I was not raised by Mack Bolan. I was raised by my step father James Smith because Mack Bolan did abandon us."
In a later entry Marcus read, "Well. Mack Bolan is no more. As of today I am James Smith. The social security card, the driver's license and everything I need to prove it arrived in the mail from Hal today along with James Smith's personal history, which I have to memorize every last detail of. Toby, I mean Barbara, it is going to be very hard for me to get use to calling her that, has agreed to marry me. Since Marcus's father is officially dead, I am going to adopt him and raise him in the belief that am no more then his stepfather. This isn't going to be easy for me, I want him to know that I'm his father and that I gave up everything I am to be his daddy. But, the way the cards have fallen, that simply is unable to happen."
On several occasions Mack Bolan had noted his strong desire that Marcus not follow in his footsteps, but also his fears that the events of life would lead him into war with the mafia just as it had him. On Marcus's enlistment in the U.S. Navy Mack had written, "Marcus left for basic training today. I can't begin to say how pleased I am that he chose the Navy over the Marine Corps or the Army. He is going to be an electrician in the Navy, he will not learn the skills needed in order to follow in my footsteps." Then after Marcus had graduated his SEAL training Mack had recorded, "It turns out the security I felt in Marcus joining the Navy was unfounded. It's not his safety I fear for; I served in Vietnam and would be proud if my son fought for his country. What I fear is that the Cannibals will one day find Toby and I, and that Marcus will be filled with the same rage I was when they killed my parents and kid sister[4]. I fear that he will use the skills he has learned in the Navy SEALs to become the angel of death that I once was. I hope for any life other then that for him."
*****
Marcus spent the better part of the next several weeks glued to the Internet attempting to locate the people his parents had known before they became James and Barbara Smith. He had read and reread the War Journals several times and wrote down every friendly name to Mack Bolan that he could find.
Finally, he located Hal Brognola. Mr. Brognola was now a presidential appointee the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. It took him another couple of weeks, but Marcus was able to arrange a meeting with Director Brognola in Washington D.C., although no details to the purpose of this meeting had been discussed.
*****
Marcus Smith entered CIA Headquarters wearing a simple non-descript black suit, white shirt, and light blue tie. He stopped at the main desk, informed the security officer sitting there of his identity and that he had an appointment with Director Brognola. The security officer picked up the phone and made a call.
Within minutes a sharp looking Hispanic male walked up to Marcus, stuck his hand out and said, "Mr. Smith, its nice to meet you. I'm Phil Lopez, assistant director of the CIA. Feel free to call me Phil. Director Brognola asked me to bring you to his office, so if you'll follow me." Upon saying this Phil Lopez turned around and started walking away.
When they entered the office Marcus noticed an extremely withered old man sitting at the desk. The old man stood up and with the assistance of his cane hobbled over to Phil and Marcus. Marcus thought, "This is the Hal Brognola that was once upon a time in charge of the federal forces meant to bring down the notorious Mack Bolan?"
The old man walked over and shook hands with Marcus saying, "Mr. Smith it is my pleasure to meet you. Phil, you may leave now, thank you for bringing Mr. Smith to me."
Without another word, Phil Lopez took his leave.
"Please Mr. Smith, don't think of me as rude. I've had some unexpected business come up at the last second and cannot keep our meeting right now. Besides, I doubt you will want to speak with me right here anyway. For being the headquarters for our nation's intelligence, these walls have a surprisingly high amount of ears. I shouldn't be long, so let's say the Capital Building visitor's cafeteria in an hour."
Marcus agreed to this and took his leave.
*****
An hour later, Marcus Smith was seated at a table in the visitor's cafeteria in the very building where most of the major decisions effecting this nation's domestic and foreign policy are created. Hal Brognola hobbled in and sat down across the table from him.
"Before you say anything Mr. Smith, I know who you are and why your hear." Brognola opened discussion.
Taken a little aback Marcus said, "You, you do? How? I never once told anyone why I wanted an audience with you."
Hal chuckled and stated, "Do you really think I would have been appointed director of the CIA if I wasn't able to find out exactly what I wanted to know about anyone in this entire country and most of the world?"
Marcus smiled at this and said, "Well, I guess not."
"Your father and I had very much a love hate relationship. I was in charge of the taskforce that was designed to bring him down. Aside from the one time I actually gave bring Mack down my all; I have always had a deep respect and a brotherly love for your old man. When I learned of his death, even a man such as my self couldn't help but shed a few tears. I assume your hear because you want to follow in your father's footsteps and take your fight to the mob, and you would like my assistance."
"Yes sir, I do." was the reply.
"What about the SEALs? You still owe the Navy 3 years."
"Sir, with all due respect, the SEALs are able to go on without me. This is the death of my family we are talking about. You know as well as I do that the government will never bring the people who did it to justice. Someone has to, and who better to slip in on them undetected then a former SEAL?"
"Former SEAL?" Hal asked with some shock.
"Yes sir. My dad deserted the Army and now I have deserted the Navy to avenge him, with or without your help."
"You know what this means if your caught don't you?"
"Sir, yes I do. If I am caught I'll do my time in Leavenworth with my head held high because what I'm doing is right."
" Like I told you, I loved your old man, and I shared his wish that you wouldn't ever find yourself in this course of action but I will help you. Exactly how much help I can be I don't know for sure. First of all, I'm an old man. I plan on either retiring or dying soon and I will not risk my pension being caught helping you. You will be what is considered a wet boy. That means you have no official license from my office or this agency. If you are caught, you are on your own, I will deny ever knowing a Marcus, Barbara or James Smith. Am I understood?"
Marcus nodded his head informing Director Brognola that he was.
" I will provide you with as much Intel as I can, I will provide you with weapons, gear, outfitting and financing to begin your operations. After this you will be expected to do as your old man did. Take your money from the mafia's ill-gotten gains. Likewise you are to take as much equipment and intelligence as you can."
Hal paused to let this sink in, and Smith nodded his head asking him to continue. Hal passed a folded paper across the table.
"You will only speak to me. I will be the only person that knows of your operation's ties to my office. You will call this number when you need to. Never use your real name. You are Junior. I am Firecracker. Those are the only names to be used."
Marcus nodded his head in agreement.
"Ok, I want you to go back to Portage and do nothing but wait. I will be in touch with you shortly. Everything you will need will arrive to you there. I shouldn't expect that we would ever meet again."
With this the 2 men stood up and shook hands.
"Mr. Brognola, it was an honor to meet you. From his journal's I can tell that my father held you in the highest regard."
"To you Marcus, I'm Hal. No need to be formal between us. We are after all practically family. Your dad was like a brother to me, and I wanted to meet you so bad ever since the day Mack told me about you. I knew I couldn't without compromising his safety and yours. I'm so very glad we were able to meet finally." The old man said with a smile on his face.
The two men shook hands again and parted ways.
*****
A few days later, Marcus Smith stood staring at himself in the full body length hallway mirror. His gifts from Hal had arrived. He was dressed in a black, skintight suit of body armor. The pockets, which were numerous, were filled to capacity with various tools of his new trade. An all purpose knife adorned each of his arms and legs, he had a bandolier of hand grenades around his chest, in his left arm was an M-16 and in his right was a sawed off shotgun. These were just the tip of the iceberg of Christmas gifts provided to him by the CIA.
To himself, Marcus thought, " Like my father before me, I am the angel of death. Death and revenge are now a family business. Like my father, the mob will live in fear of me, knowing that I could at anytime sneak in like a thief in the night and steal their lives. Which is what I fully intend to do. Mack Bolan gave them nightmares, Mack Bolan Jr. will make their nightmares reality." ----------------------- [1] Toby Ranger was an undercover operative in the Mack Bolan books. I've read her exploits with Mack Bolan in # 19 Detroit Deathwatch and # 22 Hawaiian Hellground. From things I picked up reading these books she appears for the first time in #9 Vegas Vendetta. [2] This is Mack Bolan's term for criminals in general, but he applies it to the mafia most often. [3] Hal Brognola was the head of the federal anti-Bolan taskforce and charged by the President of the United States with bringing in Mack Bolan dead or alive. In secret Brognola was an ally of Bolan's in his war on the mob. [4] Book One, War Against the Mafia
Bolan story for others to enjoy free of charge.
TWO GENERATIONS OF EXECUTIONERS
BY: BULLFROG
CHAPTER ONE: FAMILY BUSINESS
It is a nice, peaceful Sunday afternoon. There is a mild breeze blowing in a south-eastwardly direction and a temperature of 75 degrees. The couple enjoying their weekly picnic couldn't imagine a day more suited to express the love they still feel for each other after all of these years.
The husband, a man who goes by the name of James Smith, is 48 years of age. Age has done little to disguise his rugged good looks. He is 6 feet tall; 200 pounds even and well muscled. The only real marks of age the show are the steaks of gray that streak his one pitch-black hair and a few lines under his eyes and around his mouth.
His wife, a woman who goes by the name of Barbara Smith, is 44 years of age. While her once gorgeous appearance is still evident, age has been slightly harsher with her then her husband. A life easier now then the one that she lived before has put about 40 pounds on her; and she has gained more then her fair share of developing wrinkles.
If you were to pass by these two, you'd never guess that the two of them had ever been anything but the lower middle class family that you see. You would never imagine that they both once lived with a sudden and violent death lurking around each corner. You would never imagine that James Smith himself once not so half-heartedly considered himself the angel of death in a human body. You would never have guessed that if they both had not led such dangerous lives, and if their lives had not taken the exact same turns as they did, the loving couple that you see before you would have never met and therefore wouldn't exist today. Regardless of what they may have been and done in the past, today these two had no desire ask for anything more then they have.
Just as James took another bite of his turkey sandwich and Barbara took a bite of her potato salad, four quad runners broke out of the tree line and made a mad dash towards the Smiths. At first, neither of them noticed the blatant violation of the rules of the park they were in, and by the time they did, all four vehicles were too close for them to do anything but stare.
The quad-runners came to a complete stop and without a word all 4 drivers pulled fully automatic machine guns out of the satchels that had been attached to the back of their vehicles. Mr. And Mrs. Smith knew that their past and caught up with them, and without a word exchanged they kissed each other good bye just as the four gunmen open fired on them. That fast, within a few seconds not even a blink of the eye, the years of danger the lived separately and the years of love and peace they lived together were over. Mr. And Mrs. James Smith was gone forever.
*****
Shortly after Mr. And Mrs. James Smith go to their eternal destiny some heated action is occurring at an undisclosed location that is used for training by the U.S. Navy SEALs. Indeed, with the sky high temperatures, rampant humidity, and the festering with insect life which seems to have nothing better to do then make a human's life miserable with it's bites and stings, no one in their right mind would want anything to do with this God forsaken place. That is, no one except the U.S. Navy SEALs.
The guerrilla troops manning the compound of 6 poorly constructed shacks have no idea of what creeps out in the wilds that surround their base. Mostly the bug life that makes them wonder why they ever took up "the cause" in the first place. Often they find themselves wondering, "Is killing Americans really worth this? Especially since we have yet to do anything but make idle threats against the American businessmen and tourist who visit our country." Little do they realize that in very short order, they won't have to worry about this or anything else ever again.
The sniper blends in so well with the jungle that he isn't even sure that he can see himself takes aim with is silenced sniper rife. He has 4 sentries patrolling the wood line that he can see, who have to be taken out before the next stage of operations can begin. He calms his nerves, steadies his breath and without hurry draws a bead on the first sentry. The man will be an easy kill, leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette exposing his head and torso entirely to the sniper. One pull of the trigger and the sentry falls backwards, snuffing out his last cigarette with the weight of his corpse. Sentry two is daydreaming of some far off place. Perhaps he is visualizing being with his wife and children, his girlfriend, or some fantasy woman that is way out of his league. The sniper cares less for what is in his target's mind, just pleased that with a pull of the trigger his little messenger of death by route of the right eye replaced those thoughts as the last thing into his mind. The third sentry proved a little harder target. He was standing on the opposite side of a tree from the sniper. The only view the sniper has is of his target as he dance weaves side to side while relieving himself is short views of the head as it quickly pops from one side of the tree to the other. This is an impossible shot so the sniper places a shot about 15 feet to the right of his target but far enough in the woods to draw the sentry's attention. The sentry picks up his AK-47 and begins to examine his surroundings to discover what the sound he just heard was. He slinked out from behind the tree and landed on his face as the sniper's bullet found its mark right in the sentry's ear. Sentry four seems to be the only one taking his job seriously. He patrols his assigned section of wood line in an impressively proper military manner. Burying the glimmer of respect for this man, the sniper also puts a round into his head. After a few seconds of examining the four sentries through is scope, the sniper was satisfied that they wouldn't be presenting themselves and unexpected obstacles to the rest of the mission. He keyed the mic to his radio and stated, " Father bird to nest. Droppings are on windshield. Hatchlings are a go to proceed."
Upon hearing this, the other five members of the SEAL team take one last stock of their current surroundings. Once certain that no obvious danger is present, three proceed to their assignment of gathering intelligence on this band of anti-American thugs. The remaining two cover their three comrades from one angle while the sniper and sixth member of the team covers them from another.
The team of 3 crawl through waist high weeds. When they come to the clearing they stop and once again survey their surroundings. Once certain that there are not hostiles, they slowly crawl forward to the first shack.
Inside the first shack they find a sleeping terrorist. A knife to the throat eliminates the possibility of him becoming a threat later on. The SEALs spread out and search the building. After finding nothing of value they regroup at the door and prepare to move on to the next shack.
Just as they exit the building they hear an approaching helicopter. Quickly they all retreat back into the building while they assess this unexpected turn of events. From the helicopter they hear, "Out of role. Repeat, this is out of role. Petty Officer First Class Marcus Smith you are needed back at base camp. Crank out a pop up to show us your location." Upon hearing this, PO1C Smith steps out of the building and lets a pop up flair fly high. After seeing that the helicopter crew instructed. "Report to the clearing to the east of your current location. Bring only the gear that you have with you." Marcus with all due haste made his way to the field and entered the helicopter. As it was lifting off, he waved bye to his team member and all of the "corpses" that his team had left behind that were now on their feet wondering what this interruption to the training exercise was about.
Upon the helicopter's landing, Petty Officer First Class Marcus Smith was rushed into the field headquarters located in the center of the base camp that had been constructed for this 2 month long training exercise.
The first thing PO1C Smith noticed upon entering field HQ was the somber face of Captain Tomeru who was sitting behind his desk. This was extremely uncommon, for Captain Tomeru who joined the Navy SEALs right out of college, and had seen more special ops action than any other currently active SEAL was always joking and always had some sarcastic comment for the SEALs under his command whom he seemed to have a honest deep affection for. The look on Captain Tomeru's face was enough to give this normally fearless SEAL a sinking feeling in his heart and a dread to hear what the older man had to say.
" Petty Officer have a seat please." The Captain stated.
Marcus Smith did as instructed because it was well known, no matter how politely Captain Tomeru phrased something it was never anything less then an order.
" Well, lets start with the easy part shall we? I've approved you for a minimum of one-month leave. You are to return home and take care of matters there. If, as one month draws to a close you feel you need longer all you have to do is contact me and you'll have as long as you feel you need."
The way his captain worded the statement worried PO1C Smith all the more, for he hadn't requested any leave time and to his knowledge there was nothing at home that he needed to take care of.
"Begging the Captain's pardon sir, but do you mind if I ask what this is about? I'm about as confused as I can be right now. We were ordered to this combined training with the Marine's Force Recon, the Army's Delta Force and Green Berets in preparation for some large sale joint operation that's up and coming. Now, I'm being told to take a month away from everything to take care of something I didn't know that I need to take care of." PO1C Smith replied.
"This is the hard part. It's the first time I've ever had to deliver news like this and Lord willing it will be the last." Captain Tomeru sighed heavily and finished, " Marcus, I'm sorry to inform you that your parents were killed yesterday afternoon."
The look of pale shock on Smith's face gave Captain Tomeru, a man who has experienced more death then most people will in a lifetime during his time with the SEALs, a beginning case of depression.
"From what little information the Red Cross has passed along they both died quickly and painlessly, but I feel you should also hear it from me that they were murdered."
Military formality partially forgotten in his grieving shock, PO1C Smith stood and asked, "Sir. May I be excused?"
" Of course son. The helo that brought you here has been briefed on the situation and has orders to return you to San Diego. There you can grab what you need and go home. Your leave is effective immediately." Tomeru replied in soft, gentle, understanding tones.
Without another word and still in complete and utter confusion, PO1C Smith stood, left the field HQ, and walked zombie like to the helicopter that brought him in from the field no more then 5 minutes ago.
*****
A few days later, Marcus Smith stood at the graveside funeral service that was being held for his parents. His train of thought was miles away from the minister's words. His thoughts were on things of the past. Of the vacations shared with his parents. Of them being at all of his football games, wresting matches and amateur boxing matches from about the time he was able to walk, they never missed a single one. Of his stepfather who was really the only father he had ever known since his biological father had died before he was born. The life lessons, which both parents had taught him, including the one that he credited most with getting him into the Navy SEALs, giving up is never acceptable. As he stood there, looking like someone off of a recruiting poster for the U.S. Navy in his sparkling dress white uniform, in his misty eye confusion he struggled to comprehend why someone would murder in cold blood two of the kindest gentlest people he had ever known. These were people who were loved by everyone, just look at the turn out on this beautiful June day. Quick rearrangements had to be made when it became apparent that the moderate size church building his parents had worshiped in wasn't going to be sufficient to hold the pure volume of people, quickly everyone was moved from the church building to the grave site where the bodies his parents would forever sleep.
*****
Long into the wee hours of the morning, Marcus Smith paced his parent's house in a kind of dazed zombie like trance. Being an only child, he has a lot to accomplish and no idea of where to start.
Most of his time after the mourners had left the house had been spent looking at the family photo albums, looking at the various knickknacks that his parents collected over the years, that kind of thing.
He made his way into attic where everything, including his confusion of why someone would kill decent people such as his parents in cold blood, began to change and take on a new awareness.
He found an unlocked fireproof safe. He opened it and found all sorts of strange items. A few journals, several military marksmen medals, two handguns that had fallen out of service do to a lack of up keep and so on the list went.
Opening the first journal, a sudden since of shock overwhelmed him when he saw whose it was. This was Mack Bolan's war journal. Right here on page one he is talking about beginning his war on the mafia because of the murder of his parents and teenage sister at their hands. As he read on he learned about Mack Bolan deserting the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War for his own personal war. It seemed that he had read the entire journal in no time flat.
Marcus couldn't contain himself; right here in his hands written in Mack Bolan's own handwriting were the personal war journals of one of the greatest arch villains since Billy the Kid. Much myth had grown up around this man, books, movies, and comic books and though he remains America's most wanted man, no one has ever been able to explain the sudden end to his war. "How did my parents end up with this stuff?" Is the question he was asking himself over and over.
The answer became apparent about half way through his second journal when he read these words, "My war has once again brought me into contact with Toby Ranger[1]. Only her name isn't Toby Ranger any longer. Apparently her career as an undercover agent has put her just under me on the cannibals'[2] hit list. That forced her retirement and going into hiding under an assumed identity provided to her by the Justice Dept. She is now Barbara Newbouie." At this, Marcus had to lay the journal down. Barbara Newbouie was his mother's maiden name. His mother was never an undercover federal agent. She couldn't have been. Could she?
He read on, "This meeting was by pure chance. I stopped off in a city called Portage on my way to Detroit again because the cannibals there didn't learn their lesson the last time I was there. In Portage I stopped to eat at a mom and pop type food joint and there she was waiting tables. She came over and said 'Act like you don't know me, I'll explain everything after I get off work.' And explain she did. In addition to catching me up on her life, she explained to me that during our time together I became a father. I have a son." Marcus laid the journal down. This was getting to be a little much. Not only was his mother an undercover law enforcement officer that worked against the mob, but also she knew Mack Bolan personally. Not only did she know him personally but also she became pregnant by him during a fight with the mob in Detroit. "I have a half brother out there somewhere whose father is Mack Bolan." Marcus said to himself in utter amazement.
He read on, "She named my son Marcus." At reading this Marcus Smith passed out.
After recovering he put the journal aside and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. "No wonder I never knew my dad. He was Mack Bolan. He must have continued his war and been killed by the mob. The mafia has always been good at making sure no one finds the body." He said to himself.
When he felt that he had enough of his emotional balance back he returned to the attic to read more of the journal. Mack Bolan, or dad Marcus guesses he should consider him had stayed in Portage for several weeks instead of moving on to Detroit as planned. The next interesting journal passage he found stated, "I spoke with Hal[3] today. He was the one who placed Toby aka Barbara in her current position of safety. In good conscious, knowing that I know have parental responsibilities I cannot abandon Toby and Marcus to continue my war. I have avenged the death of my family and the deaths of many others hundreds of times over. I have missed the first 5 years of my son's life. I won't miss anymore. Hal has told me that he can make me disappear and that he would be in touch."
"Parental responsibilities?" Marcus thought, "I was not raised by Mack Bolan. I was raised by my step father James Smith because Mack Bolan did abandon us."
In a later entry Marcus read, "Well. Mack Bolan is no more. As of today I am James Smith. The social security card, the driver's license and everything I need to prove it arrived in the mail from Hal today along with James Smith's personal history, which I have to memorize every last detail of. Toby, I mean Barbara, it is going to be very hard for me to get use to calling her that, has agreed to marry me. Since Marcus's father is officially dead, I am going to adopt him and raise him in the belief that am no more then his stepfather. This isn't going to be easy for me, I want him to know that I'm his father and that I gave up everything I am to be his daddy. But, the way the cards have fallen, that simply is unable to happen."
On several occasions Mack Bolan had noted his strong desire that Marcus not follow in his footsteps, but also his fears that the events of life would lead him into war with the mafia just as it had him. On Marcus's enlistment in the U.S. Navy Mack had written, "Marcus left for basic training today. I can't begin to say how pleased I am that he chose the Navy over the Marine Corps or the Army. He is going to be an electrician in the Navy, he will not learn the skills needed in order to follow in my footsteps." Then after Marcus had graduated his SEAL training Mack had recorded, "It turns out the security I felt in Marcus joining the Navy was unfounded. It's not his safety I fear for; I served in Vietnam and would be proud if my son fought for his country. What I fear is that the Cannibals will one day find Toby and I, and that Marcus will be filled with the same rage I was when they killed my parents and kid sister[4]. I fear that he will use the skills he has learned in the Navy SEALs to become the angel of death that I once was. I hope for any life other then that for him."
*****
Marcus spent the better part of the next several weeks glued to the Internet attempting to locate the people his parents had known before they became James and Barbara Smith. He had read and reread the War Journals several times and wrote down every friendly name to Mack Bolan that he could find.
Finally, he located Hal Brognola. Mr. Brognola was now a presidential appointee the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. It took him another couple of weeks, but Marcus was able to arrange a meeting with Director Brognola in Washington D.C., although no details to the purpose of this meeting had been discussed.
*****
Marcus Smith entered CIA Headquarters wearing a simple non-descript black suit, white shirt, and light blue tie. He stopped at the main desk, informed the security officer sitting there of his identity and that he had an appointment with Director Brognola. The security officer picked up the phone and made a call.
Within minutes a sharp looking Hispanic male walked up to Marcus, stuck his hand out and said, "Mr. Smith, its nice to meet you. I'm Phil Lopez, assistant director of the CIA. Feel free to call me Phil. Director Brognola asked me to bring you to his office, so if you'll follow me." Upon saying this Phil Lopez turned around and started walking away.
When they entered the office Marcus noticed an extremely withered old man sitting at the desk. The old man stood up and with the assistance of his cane hobbled over to Phil and Marcus. Marcus thought, "This is the Hal Brognola that was once upon a time in charge of the federal forces meant to bring down the notorious Mack Bolan?"
The old man walked over and shook hands with Marcus saying, "Mr. Smith it is my pleasure to meet you. Phil, you may leave now, thank you for bringing Mr. Smith to me."
Without another word, Phil Lopez took his leave.
"Please Mr. Smith, don't think of me as rude. I've had some unexpected business come up at the last second and cannot keep our meeting right now. Besides, I doubt you will want to speak with me right here anyway. For being the headquarters for our nation's intelligence, these walls have a surprisingly high amount of ears. I shouldn't be long, so let's say the Capital Building visitor's cafeteria in an hour."
Marcus agreed to this and took his leave.
*****
An hour later, Marcus Smith was seated at a table in the visitor's cafeteria in the very building where most of the major decisions effecting this nation's domestic and foreign policy are created. Hal Brognola hobbled in and sat down across the table from him.
"Before you say anything Mr. Smith, I know who you are and why your hear." Brognola opened discussion.
Taken a little aback Marcus said, "You, you do? How? I never once told anyone why I wanted an audience with you."
Hal chuckled and stated, "Do you really think I would have been appointed director of the CIA if I wasn't able to find out exactly what I wanted to know about anyone in this entire country and most of the world?"
Marcus smiled at this and said, "Well, I guess not."
"Your father and I had very much a love hate relationship. I was in charge of the taskforce that was designed to bring him down. Aside from the one time I actually gave bring Mack down my all; I have always had a deep respect and a brotherly love for your old man. When I learned of his death, even a man such as my self couldn't help but shed a few tears. I assume your hear because you want to follow in your father's footsteps and take your fight to the mob, and you would like my assistance."
"Yes sir, I do." was the reply.
"What about the SEALs? You still owe the Navy 3 years."
"Sir, with all due respect, the SEALs are able to go on without me. This is the death of my family we are talking about. You know as well as I do that the government will never bring the people who did it to justice. Someone has to, and who better to slip in on them undetected then a former SEAL?"
"Former SEAL?" Hal asked with some shock.
"Yes sir. My dad deserted the Army and now I have deserted the Navy to avenge him, with or without your help."
"You know what this means if your caught don't you?"
"Sir, yes I do. If I am caught I'll do my time in Leavenworth with my head held high because what I'm doing is right."
" Like I told you, I loved your old man, and I shared his wish that you wouldn't ever find yourself in this course of action but I will help you. Exactly how much help I can be I don't know for sure. First of all, I'm an old man. I plan on either retiring or dying soon and I will not risk my pension being caught helping you. You will be what is considered a wet boy. That means you have no official license from my office or this agency. If you are caught, you are on your own, I will deny ever knowing a Marcus, Barbara or James Smith. Am I understood?"
Marcus nodded his head informing Director Brognola that he was.
" I will provide you with as much Intel as I can, I will provide you with weapons, gear, outfitting and financing to begin your operations. After this you will be expected to do as your old man did. Take your money from the mafia's ill-gotten gains. Likewise you are to take as much equipment and intelligence as you can."
Hal paused to let this sink in, and Smith nodded his head asking him to continue. Hal passed a folded paper across the table.
"You will only speak to me. I will be the only person that knows of your operation's ties to my office. You will call this number when you need to. Never use your real name. You are Junior. I am Firecracker. Those are the only names to be used."
Marcus nodded his head in agreement.
"Ok, I want you to go back to Portage and do nothing but wait. I will be in touch with you shortly. Everything you will need will arrive to you there. I shouldn't expect that we would ever meet again."
With this the 2 men stood up and shook hands.
"Mr. Brognola, it was an honor to meet you. From his journal's I can tell that my father held you in the highest regard."
"To you Marcus, I'm Hal. No need to be formal between us. We are after all practically family. Your dad was like a brother to me, and I wanted to meet you so bad ever since the day Mack told me about you. I knew I couldn't without compromising his safety and yours. I'm so very glad we were able to meet finally." The old man said with a smile on his face.
The two men shook hands again and parted ways.
*****
A few days later, Marcus Smith stood staring at himself in the full body length hallway mirror. His gifts from Hal had arrived. He was dressed in a black, skintight suit of body armor. The pockets, which were numerous, were filled to capacity with various tools of his new trade. An all purpose knife adorned each of his arms and legs, he had a bandolier of hand grenades around his chest, in his left arm was an M-16 and in his right was a sawed off shotgun. These were just the tip of the iceberg of Christmas gifts provided to him by the CIA.
To himself, Marcus thought, " Like my father before me, I am the angel of death. Death and revenge are now a family business. Like my father, the mob will live in fear of me, knowing that I could at anytime sneak in like a thief in the night and steal their lives. Which is what I fully intend to do. Mack Bolan gave them nightmares, Mack Bolan Jr. will make their nightmares reality." ----------------------- [1] Toby Ranger was an undercover operative in the Mack Bolan books. I've read her exploits with Mack Bolan in # 19 Detroit Deathwatch and # 22 Hawaiian Hellground. From things I picked up reading these books she appears for the first time in #9 Vegas Vendetta. [2] This is Mack Bolan's term for criminals in general, but he applies it to the mafia most often. [3] Hal Brognola was the head of the federal anti-Bolan taskforce and charged by the President of the United States with bringing in Mack Bolan dead or alive. In secret Brognola was an ally of Bolan's in his war on the mob. [4] Book One, War Against the Mafia