Executioner - Tiger Stalk Part 13

He stepped close to the chained man. "Open your eyes, traitorous sc.u.m," he snarled, and rammed the charged rods against his eyeb.a.l.l.s. The chained man screamed.

"My eyes! My eyes! I'm blind!" Vamil walked to him. "Do you remember someone coming to you and telling you your brother could get better treatment if you provided them with information about the Tigers?" The man whimpered in reply. "Somebody contacted me from the police. But I wouldn't tell them anything." The uniformed man leaned close to his face.

"Your brother lives apart from the other prisoners in the Boosa camp. He receives better food and better treatment. Why?" "I don't know," the banker wept.

"Next we'll do your ears. Talk!" The threat spurred the prisoner's voice to become audible. "I told the man who contacted me that I knew nothing about the Tigers that was useful." "Then what happened?" "He gave me a telephone number in Colombo and told me to call it whenever I heard anything about the guerrillas, no matter how insignificant." "Did you?" "Only once," the tortured man pleaded.

"What did you tell him?" "Something I heard from a customer in the bank. It wasn't important.

About an American who was coming to talk to the Tigers about a truce." He broke down and started to cry. "But I told the man that it was only a rumor." "Did you tell your wife about the rumor? Or your young son?" "No!" The man started to weep again. "They know nothing." Vamil's tone was suddenly gentle. "Not even a casual mention?" "No. Nothing. I swear it!" The area commander was satisfied. He turned to the interrogator.

"I'm finished with him." He strode from the room into the dark, wet corridor. The tall, thin man followed him out.

Thamby talked as if he were thinking out loud.

"Even among the Tigers there are those who would betray us." He pointed to the door of the interrogation room.

"Like the banker in there." "But even if this American negotiator exists, no one knows where he is," Vamil said.

"I do. He is in my camp, just west of the city." For the Tiger chieftain, the nightmare had started after his men had taken the American prisoner. STF agents offered a variety of incentives, ranging from money to freeing relatives in their slave camps, for information on where the Tigers had taken the man.

Thamby knew that what worried the Sinhalese government in Colombo was that the Tigers might be talking about a real truce.

A truce could cost the minister of internal security an important portion of his income. The money the fat official received from contraband smugglers for closing his eyes to their efforts was deposited in a bank account outside of the country, from what the Tiger leader's spies had reported.

Allan Bandaran had spies, as well, men he paid to pa.s.s on vital information about the plans and movements of the rebel armies, information that had cost the lives of many loyal soldiers.

Not that the Tigers were ready for peace. They had fought the Sinhalese too long to just stop. More blood had to be shed to atone for the sins the Buddhists had committed on the Tamils before he would agree to that.

From inside, Thamby could hear the screams of the chained man, drowning out the exploding sparks of electricity. After a few minutes there was only silence.

The interrogator came out of the room, pulling on a thick work s.h.i.+rt as he walked to the two waiting men.

"Done." He looked at the Jaffna commander for further orders. "Anything else you want, sir?" Thamby knew the ident.i.ties of most of those who had sold out the cause to the government.

Vamil smiled at the Tiger chieftain.

"Anything else you need from my man or me?" He waited for an answer, but Thamby said nothing.

The aide turned to walk away. He had a call to make. His mother would continue to receive preferred treatment at the Boosa Camp when he notified the STF that Thamby had the missing diplomat in his Jaffna camp. "Just one more thing," the Tiger chief said quietly. Vamil turned back. "Yes?" "I want the truth," Thamby said quietly.

The aide looked puzzled.

"About what?" "Why you agreed to work for Bandaran's killers.

A look of shock covered the local Tiger boss's face. He began to deny the accusation, then looked down at Thamby's right hand, which held a 9 mm SIG-SAUER pistol.

Thamby slowly squeezed the trigger twice while Vamil tried to protest his innocence.

"It isn't true-was Two soft-nosed slugs chewed a path into the STF'S informant. Without finis.h.i.+ng the sentence, he slid to the floor. Only his eyes showed his confusion.

"Traitors have to die," Thamby explained calmly. "When they find your body, your death will be blamed on the special task force, which makes sense because your men have killed so many of them." The Tiger chief kneeled and pushed the pistol into the fallen man's ear, then squeezed the trigger and jumped back as gray-white brain pulp spurted from the jagged opening.

Slipping his automatic back into his pocket, Thamby stood and turned to the interrogator. There was a stunned expression on the man's face, which vanished when he realized his commander was staring at him.

"Call somebody to get rid of the bodies." Thamby started to leave, then stopped and added another demand.

"Have some men sent to bring in the wife and child for questioning.

And see if the prisoner told them anything." He looked at his watch. It was time to call the two men who shared the command of the rebel movement about the dead traitor.

The two men, Neelan and Konamalai, had antiquated ideas about running a rebellion. They still believed that the soldiers should be treated with love and respect. But Thamby knew that the only thing that the Tamil Tigers would respect was the torture they would be subjected to if they didn't obey commands. Thamby knew that some day the three of them would have to resolve their differences. Even if It meant his having to kill the other two.

To tell them the truth about Vamil would require too long an explanation.

He had a simpler story planned. STF forces had invaded Jaffna, found Commander Vamil and tried to torture him for information. But the commander, always faithful to the Tiger cause, refused to tell them anything. So the STF mercenaries killed him.

Thamby would promise the others that he would pursue the a.s.sa.s.sins until they were caught and killed.

Even at the risk of his own safety.

The fis.h.i.+ng-boat captain sat in the saloon on the Madras waterfront, sipping a lager beer and feeling sorry for himself. He had information worth thousands of rupees, and no one to whom to sell it.

Chen was dead. So was At.w.a.ter.

All he was going to get was the money the Americans were paying him to pick up the large foreigner on Whelped Beach the following night.

There had to be somebody who wanted to know about the rendezvous.

Perhaps those Sinhalese maniacs who worked for the special task force. Or perhaps the Tamils.

Maybe both of them would like to know, for a price.

Suddenly he started feeling better.

He had contacts in both groups. Of course, he would insist on payment up front. There was no sense in trusting people with something as fragile as information.

He dug some bills from his pocket and went to the bar to get change for the telephone.

Chandra Sirindikha pulled her small car to a stop at the gateway of the large house. An STF officer approached her and looked inside.

"Invitation, please," he said, holding out his hand.

She handed over the engraved card Bolan had found in Madi Kirbal's apartment.

"Your name?" "Chandra Sirindikha, of the United States Emba.s.sy." The STF hardman looked past her at the man in the pa.s.senger seat. "And you are?" "This is Mr. Daniel Boone," she replied, smiling.

The uniformed guard studied the large man sitting next to the young woman. Satisfied, he pointed to a roped-off area.

"Park there," he ordered.

As they got out of the car, Bolan looked at her.

"Daniel Boone?" "I had to think of a name fast," she said. "And don't complain. We're in." "You still haven't explained where you learned to shoot like that," Bolan commented.

"I don't suppose you'd believe Fresno Community College," she said, trying to soften the tension between them.

"Not this time." "This isn't the right moment to discuss it," she replied. "For now let's concentrate on why we're here.

A range of possibilities that started with the CIA and traversed the intelligence services of foreign countries popped into Bolan's mind.

Remembering Kirbal, Bolan reminded himself that she could be working for more than one side. But the young woman was right. This wasn't the time or place to think about it.

The Executioner forced himself to focus on the reasons they were here.

"I don't suppose any of the Tamil big shots are going to be here?" he said.

"I wouldn't think so," she replied, looking at the armed STF troops around the huge living room.

"But you never know." Allan Bandaran was furious. If the president hadn't decided to show up at the last minute, his birthday party would have been a smas.h.i.+ng success.

Especially if his guest showed up, as promised.

However, he couldn't tell the head of the government to go home.

Simon Alphamundai was a weak-spined coward.

Bandaran had tried to get him to declare war on the Tamils, but the old man refused to do so. He kept confusing achieving peace with selling out his own people.

Bandaran knew that real peace could only be achieved when the Tamils were all dead or driven from Sri Lanka.

He was building support among the politicians in office for that inevitable day.

Alphamundai wouldn't live forever, and there was no one more qualified than the minister of internal security to step up to the presidency.

All it would take were a few more raids by the Tamils on Sinhalese civilians, and the outcry for Alphamundai to step down would echo through the country.

Bandaran knew he was close to having enough backing to a.s.sume the post.

He greeted the president and had one of the STF officers lead him to the refreshment table. In such a large group he supposed he could ignore Alphamundai's presence.

Across the room a pet.i.te, attractive woman was talking to a tall, ragged-looking European or American.

The man looked familiar. Bandaran knew he had seen him before, but couldn't remember where.

A large group of men and women walked into the foyer. The minister promptly forgot about the man and painted a smile on his face, preparing to greet his guests.

Sirindikha's eyes followed the minister as he walked toward the front door.

"There he goes, Sri Lanka's walking bank account. Nothing illegal happens in this country if he doesn't get a percentage." "Like the Mafia." "Just like them. Only he's all the Mafia gangs rolled into one." Bolan looked at the short, slim man with whom Bandaran had been talking.

"One of the minister's cronies?" "Hardly. Simon Alphamundai is the country's president and supposed to be a decent guy for a politician. I think Bandaran was forced on him by his political party." "At least it seems they agree on eliminating the Tamils," the soldier commented.

"They don't agree on anything. Not even that.

The president has publicly said that he thinks the Tamils should have a part of the country they can control.

His only condition is that it be an integral part of Sri Lanka." Bolan's attention was drawn by Bandaran's movements.

The minister walked over to one of the STF officers, whispered something in the uniformed man's ear, then walked into a private room.

Bolan wondered why the security minister had left the party.

"Something going on in there?" "It wouldn't surprise me. Almost everyone in the government takes payoffs," she whispered, "especially Allan Bandaran and his STF cronies." It had been a very profitable year, Bandaran reflected as he waited for his visitor to slip into the room. The ground-floor window had been left open for easy access, and the STF guards had been ordered to stay away from the area around it.

Even with the intrusion by the Americans trying to force peace on the country, his numbered account in Zurich continued to grow.

Yes, a very successful year. And soon to be even more successful, he reminded himself as he watched the tall, dark-skinned man climb through the window.

Rajiv Thamby was one of the reasons he had decided to throw himself a birthday party. Through intermediaries, the Tamil rebel leader had contacted him about buying guns and ammunition.

For Bandaran, getting the arms to sell to the Tiger leader was simple.

The government warehouses had more than enough supplies, and he controlled the warehouses.

The Tamil leader smiled. He wanted to kill the little fat man facing him, for the sake of his sister.

But the cause came first, even before revenge for her. There would be time to make the filthy animal pay for his crimes.

But for now the Tigers needed replenishments of weapons and ammunition.

Thamby had dealt with men like Bandaran. The Chinese colonel had wanted a.s.surances that the Liberation Tigers supported his country's Communist philosophy. In exchange for supplies, the Indians had demanded he promise loyalty to their government. The only good thing he'd gotten from New Delhi was Madi Kirbal and her willingness to serve the cause.

The Tamil leader was willing to promise anything to get the desperately needed arms.

"You'll have the supplies as soon as we receive the money," the stout man promised. Then he added, "But we won't deliver them. We'll leave them for your men to pick up at some remote location." "How much do you want for the supplies?" Bandaran quoted a price and saw the stunned expression on the Tamil's face.

"That is ten times what they are worth," Thamby snarled.

"Where else can you get arms and ammunition this fast?" Thamby knew the Sinhalese minister was right.

There were only a handful of arms dealers willing to do business with the Tamil terrorist army. And the most important one, Henry Chen, was dead. So was Clay At.w.a.ter, who'd been reliable, if greedy.

But there was something about the man before him that filled Thamby with anger. It wasn't just the exorbitant amount he was demanding, nor the slaughter of a young, innocent woman or Madi Kirbal. There was something unclean about him, as if he were covered with the sores of a leper.

"No," the Tamil leader decided. "If you decide to ask a more reasonable price, I will come back." The minister smiled. "And if you change your mind, have someone contact me," he replied.

But Bandaran knew the Tiger chief would never be able to do that.