Serpent's Lair. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ strikes kicked up leaves at his heels and the Executioner grimaced at the thought of having to run from a fight. He grabbed a tree trunk and swung himself around, cutting away at a hard right angle, leaping over a log and finding himself in a clot of bushes.

      He could see the men in the woods following his trail. They hadn’t counted on him breaking the course so quickly. Still, each was watching the other, eyes sweeping the backs of their partners as they advanced. It was a slow leapfrog. They weren’t keeping to the same pace as their prey.

      Professional soldiers, to a man, and the Executioner was unarmed except for his wits, a folding knife in his pocket and the steel slide of his Glock. Wrapping his fingers around the barrel, his thumb through the trigger guard, he had a good hunk of square, exposed steel with which to smash the heavy dome of a skull, provided he had enough stealth to sneak up on these men, and had enough strength and speed to take out one man while his partner was preoccupied with advancing. The folding Applegate-Fairbairn combat knife would be his backup, four inches of deadly double-bladed steel that might be able to punch through the heavy Kevlar vests the mercs wore.

      Rising silently, the Executioner advanced through the woods, circling back. He closed in on the last man in line.

      Bolan sidestepped, knowing that if he missed, he was going to raise a racket. The folding dagger opened soundlessly, but locked securely. Steel in each hand, he was going to make his move, and his legs coiled up tight.

      It was only four long strides, two and a leap if he timed it right, to take down the tail gunner. He took a deep, slow, silent breath, let out half and then lunged.

      Gun metal struck bone head-on with a crunch, and the enemy mercenary was stunned by the unexpected impact.

      Bolan dropped the knife and held on to the man, keeping him from tumbling to the ground. He was hoping the others hadn’t noticed the commotion when he felt the first impacts of the 9 mm rounds strike the man that Bolan suddenly used as shield.

      “He’s got Tom!” came the cry, followed by a second burst.

      Bolan held the back of Tom’s armor. The fingers on his right hand ached from holding both the Glock and the collar of the protective vest, but his grip on the man’s belt was much firmer.

      A third burst hit Tom, and the multiple shocks shook the body so much that the weakened and sliced web belt came apart. The mercenary fell dead from Bolan’s hands, but the Executioner still had his hands on whatever gear the gunman had on his belt.

      Bullets tore through the air, and Bolan was in retreat again. He had a handgun and spare clips on the belt in his fist, and at least a mile to cross overland.

      Sticking around to take out the three fully armed mercenaries would swallow too much time, allowing Hogan and the Yakuza to meet unmolested.

      He couldn’t let the girl exchange hands.

      Bolan didn’t know what would happen next, but he intended to get there before anything happened to the innocent life he was suddenly responsible for protecting.

      There were no acceptable losses to the Executioner. He had only a few minutes to reach Rebecca Anthony and secure her freedom.

      Bounding through the trees, the Executioner raced as fast as he could. He slowed enough to glance down at the gun he had in the holster.

      He was carrying an old Walther P-38 K in his holster. With the five-inch barrel trimmed to three inches, yet still holding nine shots ready to fire with a pull of the trigger, it was an attractive weapon. Not as attractive as having fourteen rounds of bigger, fatter .40-caliber slugs, Bolan thought, but it wasn’t massive missiles and having dozens of rounds of firepower that made a gun worthwhile.

      It was the ability of the gunmen to hit a target.

      The Executioner had that ability. And with a couple spare magazines, he figured he might actually stand a chance. It was a small chance, made even smaller as gunfire chased him through the foliage as he crossed the hillside road, but Bolan wasn’t dead yet.

      The Executioner charged on.

      HOGAN HEARD THE CLICK of the radio and tilted it toward his mouth, his earpiece feeding him the frantic words.

      “The target is climbing the hill as we speak. He’s cutting across country,” Frye stated on the other end.

      “Damn,” Hogan murmured. “He’s got a useless Glock—”

      “No. He got Tom.”

      “Christ, he’s got an HK?” Hogan asked.

      “No. We drove him off with automatic weapons fire, but he did manage to cut off Tom’s web belt. He got that creaky old little Walther Tom loved so much,” Frye explained.

      Hogan took a deep breath, rolled his eyes and spoke into the radio. “Continue after Cooper. Don’t let him get away. I don’t need him popping up on my six when we burn the Yakuza and get the girl.”

      “We’re in hot pursuit, sir. Unless this guy is Tarzan, there’s no way he can outrace us,” Frye replied.

      “So why is he still alive and heading back this way when you were between him and the road?”

      There was silence on the other end.

      “Just as I thought,” Hogan said. “I’ll make sure our people are ready for him to come over the mountaintop. If you do catch him, consider your cut raised.”

      “Thank you, sir,” Frye said.

      Hogan let the radio mouthpiece rest back on his shoulder. He knew that there were more advanced designs, but the old radio was a thing of comfort, firm, solid and dependable. Just like the HK MP-5 and the Colt he had with him. Strong steel gave him a good feeling.

      “Anything on their radio chatter?” Hogan asked his com man, Nickles.

      “I’ve got nothing. There was a brief cell-phone call, but they cut it off. They’re tight on their discipline,” Nickles answered.

      “Unless they don’t have anyone to call as backup,” Hogan said.

      Nickles smirked. “That’s thinking too positively.”

      “But it is an option,” Hogan said. “Either way, keep watching. If they’re not making calls out, then they probably have something arranged as backup.”

      “I’m worried about this Cooper guy,” Nickles stated. “I was trying to keep track of his calls, but they were too encrypted. I couldn’t get a handle on who or where he was calling.”

      “He’s not going to be a factor. Nobody has been following us,” Hogan explained. “Just keep your ears open for the Yakuza radio traffic.”

      “You don’t think it’s going to be that much of a cakewalk, do you?” Nickles asked.

      “I’m carrying a shitload of firepower. Everyone on this team is. The Yakuza do not fuck around when it comes to business, and the men we’re going against, they might not be military, but they are smart, tough and capable,” Hogan replied. “When we make our move to get the girl, it has to be hard and it has to be fast.”

      Nickles СКАЧАТЬ