Deep Recon. Don Pendleton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ car in south Florida.

      Bolan risked throwing a shot, which would require him to steady his stance. Being light on your feet was not a blessing when you fired a .357 Magnum. He felt the tremendous recoil from the Desert Eagle vibrate through his entire body as the bullet sliced through the air, but he held his ground, his feet planted firmly in what martial artists called a three-point stance: one foot slightly in front of the other, toes inverted toward each other, knees bent, center of gravity dropped. It was one of the most stable stances possible, and people who mastered it couldn’t be easily knocked down. Bolan had long ago achieved such mastery.

      The round pulverized the back window of the Aveo, which shattered in an ear-splitting explosion of glass. The Executioner also saw shreds of leather and padding, indicating that the round had gone through one of the seats as well.

      Bolan had obviously missed the assassin, as he then started the car and drove off. Even a glancing shot from a .357 round would leave someone unable to operate a motor vehicle.

      As he ran as fast as he could down the street to where he’d parked Maxwell’s Mustang, Bolan took some solace in the fact that he’d blown out the rear window of the Aveo, which would make it easier to pick up on the road.

      Keeping his eye on the vehicle for as long as he could, Bolan saw it turn left at the end of the road, which meant the assassin was heading for the Overseas Highway—U.S. Route 1, the only road that traversed all the Keys. That was a mixed blessing. It meant that the assassin hadn’t stashed a boat here on Sugarloaf Key, which meant Bolan could keep tailing him. But it also meant that the Executioner had to catch up to him before he reached Route 1, otherwise he wouldn’t know whether he went south toward Key West or north toward mainland Florida.

      As he approached the Mustang, Bolan leaped into the driver’s seat, grateful that he’d left the top down. Sliding the key into the ignition, the Executioner knew he was about to find out how well Maxwell maintained her vintage vehicle.

      Apparently, she did so very well. The ’65 Mustang accelerated smoothly and quickly, and Bolan soon found himself behind a white Chevrolet Aveo with no back window that was turning left onto Crane Boulevard toward Route 1.

      The Aveo was a solid, reliable car, often used by rental car companies, but never by car enthusiasts who preferred speed over function. So all things being equal, Bolan would have no trouble keeping up with the assassin with Maxwell’s Mustang.

      But all things were somewhat unequal, as there were other cars on the road, and for all that it had the designation of “boulevard,” Crane was just a two-lane road.

      Heedless of driving regulations, and common sense, the assassin weaved his Aveo in and out of his side and the oncoming-traffic side, almost getting clipped by vehicles any number of times.

      When they reached Route 1, the Aveo swerved more than turned left through a red light. Bolan did likewise. The Executioner had been hoping that the Aveo would have gone right, and south toward Key West. There was a U.S. Navy station on Boca Chica Key, and the Executioner knew that facility well. He also could possibly have called upon some backup from the sailors on the ground there.

      But instead, the assassin went north.

      The Overseas Highway was also two lanes, which meant that traffic moved only as fast as the slowest person on the road. Paying no heed to other cars, the Aveo zipped in and out of lanes, clipping some vehicles. Bolan wasn’t sure if he did so to increase his speed, or in the hopes that one of the cars he hit would interfere with Bolan’s own ability to keep up, but if it was the latter, it didn’t work. The Mustang turned on the proverbial dime, and Bolan was easily able to avoid the other cars on the road.

      They continued over Summerland Key and into Big Pine Key, his quarry continuing to treat the Overseas Highway as his own personal slalom course.

      When they reached the Seven Mile Bridge, a stretch that traversed the Gulf of Mexico over the eponymous distance between Little Duck Key and Key Vaca, the traffic lessened—only the Mustang and the Aveo were on this stretch. Bolan wasn’t sure how long this would last, but he would take advantage of the lack of innocent bystanders and the distraction they posed.

      About a mile onto the bridge, the assassin stuck an arm out the driver’s window and pointed the muzzle of his S&W in Bolan’s direction and squeezed off three shots.

      None of them connected, as the assassin swerved and rubbed up against the concrete railing that kept drivers from going over the edge into the Gulf of Mexico. Sparks flew as the passenger side ground against the guardrail. The assassin righted the car soon enough, but the slowdown from the friction and the swerving allowed the Executioner to close the distance between them.

      He didn’t rear-end the Aveo—that was a zero-sum strategy. With two cars of roughly equal size, the rear-ender always got it worse than the rear-endee. In this case, the impact would severely damage the Mustang’s grille and have almost no effect on the Aveo’s bumper.

      Instead, Bolan took advantage of the presently nonexistent traffic to get into the northbound lane and pull up alongside the Aveo.

      The assassin tried to fire his .38 again. But before he could get a shot off, Bolan swerved right, counting on the more solidly built 1965 car to be able to withstand the impact better than the much lighter and flimsier modern vehicle.

      Again the Aveo ground against the concrete railing. Bolan saw the other man struggle to keep the steering wheel under control—and fail miserably. The Aveo was being crushed between the irresistible force of the barricade and the solidly built Mustang.

      Headlights then shone in Bolan’s face as a truck came into view going southbound on Route 1. The Mustang was still halfway into the southbound lane, and the only way to avoid a collision was to stop smashing the Aveo against the guardrail.

      Swerving left long enough to disentangle the two vehicles from each other—which happened with another screech of metal against plastic—Bolan then put his right foot on the brake, causing the Mustang to decelerate sharply.

      The Aveo continued to scrape against the guardrail for several seconds before the assassin also swerved left.

      But unlike the Executioner’s maneuver, the assassin went too far. The Aveo spun counterclockwise. Tires squealed against pavement as the car went into an uncontrolled spin.

      The truck didn’t slow.

      Bolan slammed his foot on the brake, bringing the Mustang to a screeching halt.

      The truck did likewise, but had considerably more momentum on its side, and so did not stop immediately.

      Bolan watched as the truck smashed into the Aveo.

      2

      Lola Maxwell fumed.

      It wasn’t bad enough that Johnny McAvoy was dead, but they had to send him to avenge his death?

      No—that was the problem. The man they’d sent had no interest in avenging McAvoy’s death. He was just there to finish the job McAvoy had started.

      In truth, that was the difference between them. Maxwell honestly couldn’t give a damn about bringing Kevin Lee to justice. If it wasn’t him selling illegal foreign firearms to the soldiers in the drug trade that ran rampant in south Florida, it would be someone else.

      But Lee was the reason her СКАЧАТЬ