Renegade Agent by Don Pendleton Page B

engineered the intersection of his path with that of Toby Ranger more than once. He had fought at the woman's side. He had saved her life.
    And she had saved his.
    So maybe "know" wasn't quite the right word. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that the lives of Mack Bolan and Toby Ranger were bonded, in a way few men and women could ever hope to know.
    "Striker, listen..." Hal began.
    "You said Toby made two contacts," Bolan broke in, his voice betraying no emotion. "Brief me on the second."
    "It's fresh, Striker — came in while you were airborne en route to Heathrow. Last week, Edwards held some kind of big meet at a chalet he owns in the Swiss Alps, in the canton of Valais. Nominally, Edwards now holds Swiss citizenship. Anyway, this chalet is apparently one of his permanent bases. He maintains a full-time security force there, multinational, recruited from the terrorists he serves as opposed to his handpicked inner-circle force that Toby became a part of. The chalet also has a communications facility. Probably Edwards has other bases like it, but he's never domiciled in one place for long.
    As near as Toby could make out, something damned big was being hatched at this meet. Those people weren't terrorists, at least not what we usually think of as terrorists. Toby was pretty sure they were intelligence agents, representing nearly every freeworld nation. Some of them were "retired" like Edwards, but some of them were still active, we think.
    Besides the agents, there were a few others offering "specialized services." One of them was Frederick Charon." Brognola's voice had gone harsh with tension and suppressed rage. "Do you have any guesses as to what this could mean, Striker?"
    "An international underground intelligence network," Bolan said evenly. "A "black" CIA, run by men trained by the top legit agencies in the world, serving the needs of the terrorist network. With state-of-the-art technology provided by traitors like Charon."
    "That's the way it shapes up," Brognola agreed. "And it has to be stopped."
    So the mission wasn't over after all; in fact, it had hardly begun. The Charon penetration, the cutting of the Charon-Drummond-KGB chain, was only a foot in the door of a major infrastructure of deceit, treason, and terror. Somewhere in the bowels of that infrastructure sat Frank Edwards, renegade agent, death merchant.
    And it was up to Mack Bolan to bring that temple of terror crashing down on him, burying him forever.
    "Where is Edwards, Hal?"
    "Striker, you're in no shape to take him on, not now. That bullet wound..."
    "Where is he?"
    Brognola's sigh cut through the static. "We don't know." Bolan waited. The idea in his mind was getting uglier. "Toby was only able to pass what I've told you. She was leaving the Valais chalet, but she wasn't sure for where." Another pause. "I'll level, Striker. She suspects her cover might be blown." The ugly idea was clear as a photograph now.
    Frank Edwards operated in a grim dark world, and the realities of that world were overwhelmingly lethal.
    Toby Ranger would remain among the living only until she had revealed everything she knew to Frank Edwards. And Edwards and his men would know every vicious method for encouraging her to talk.
    The odds that Toby was alive were short. The odds that she was entire were almost nil.
    "We're not even sure where the Valais chalet is located, Striker," Brognola said bleakly.
    The phone handset cradled against his shoulder, Bolan was using his right hand to undo the sling. The pain was down to a dull ache, and the arm itself would serve if he could control it.
    "I know how to find out," Bolan said grimly.
    "Striker?
    "What?"
    Brognola started to say something, seemed to change his mind.
    "Live large," he murmured, and Bolan heard the connection break.
    The sound of the chair legs on the floor seemed unnaturally loud in the bare room, and the door creaked when Bolan went out.
    It was time for one last conversation with Frederick