Desert Fallout. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ as if she could fight, but Bolan had given her a handgun in a belt holster that had been cinched around her hips.

      Bolan nodded as he saw Kamau and turned to Metit. “They’re on their way back here. They’ll notice that you’re gone, so we need to move.”

      Metit’s eyes at least looked as if they could focus. She rested her shaky hand on the grip of her pistol. “We’re going to let them get away with this?”

      “No,” Bolan answered. “Kamau?”

      “I saw four, but four people couldn’t take down this camp that fast. There’s at least another squad of four,” he answered.

      Bolan turned to Metit. “Go with him, Rashida. I’ll make certain they don’t follow us.”

      “Alone?” Metit and Kamau asked in unison.

      “I’m used to long odds, and I won’t take any action until I’m certain they’re moving on us, and you haven’t gotten to a safe distance,” Bolan replied. “Inside those parameters, I won’t even have to take any action if you get moving quickly.”

      “You heard the man,” Kamau said, gently taking Metit by the arm. “I’m just going to help you along.”

      Metit nodded. “I know.”

      Kamau shot a look to Bolan.

      “She’ll be fine. Move it,” he ordered.

      Kamau gave the American a small salute and led Metit toward a gully off to the side of the camp.

      MACK BOLAN WAS no stranger to this situation, alone in the desert, unarmed and outnumbered, providing a firebreak in defense of allies. Luckily, the enemy hadn’t become aware of their presence yet, but once they returned to the camp, and if they happened into the tent where Metit had lain, they’d discover that the woman they thought was dead was very much alive.

      The team had been sent to ruthlessly eliminate anyone involved in the archaeological dig and who knew about the discovery that was made. Mubarak had gotten away by a couple of days, so the arrival of the enemy in Egypt meant that this may have been the same group that had struck in Kismayo, and had a better means of transportation available to them than Bolan and Kamau.

      Judging by the state of the corpses strewed about the camp, Bolan calculated that the students and their kidnappers had been dead for only a couple of hours. The Executioner bit off his anger and the accompanying recriminations that had delayed his arrival. Even if he had gotten here in time, there was no indication that he and Kamau could have taken down the murderers before innocents were harmed, especially if they’d stumbled onto the situation with Mubarak’s allies still holding unarmed, frightened people hostage. Two men rescuing dozens of frightened people from itchy, panicky terrorists would have been a prescription for mayhem, especially since the pair hadn’t thought to bring along secure communications. It had been a risk that they had taken, the illicit arms dealer only having weapons, ammunition and desert-survival gear.

      Bolan remained hidden, crouched as he watched the mystery men as they brought out five containers from the cavern that concealed Set Akhon’s tomb. Thirteen men were in this group, and they were outfitted with all manner of equipment. Safety goggles and head wraps made determining their nationality difficult, and the way they handled their weapons indicated that they were well-trained professionals. With their index fingers straight and off the trigger, muzzles pointed to the ground, never sweeping their allies, they betrayed themselves as skilled warriors.

      One of the group brought a hand unit with an antenna to his mouth. It was somewhat bulky, so that meant the man was in contact with someone far away. Cellular phones could be made tiny due to the fact that they were in contact with local broadcast networks. The bulk of the commando’s comm unit indicated that it was high-powered, able to transmit to satellites and communicate with people as far as the other side of the planet. His use of the satellite phone also indicated that he was in a position of leadership among the fighters at the tomb’s entrance. Commanders were the ones who tended to report back to whoever had financed and assigned the death squad.

      Bolan knew that if he could get his hands on the mercenary’s sat phone, it was likely he’d have a handle on who was running this operation. Outnumbered, however, Bolan wasn’t certain that he could take the enemy by force. It would have to be by stealth. Luckily, the Executioner’s combat PDA had a series of universal connectors, and generally sat phones had their own ports for communication with computers, allowing the download of encryption and important information to secure transmissions. The software and hardwire links built into the Personal Data Assistant built for Bolan by Hermann Schwarz might be able to give him an edge in finding out who the enemy was.

      Bolan reined in his speculative plans on intercepting the enemy’s communications. There was too much at risk with one hostage still alive, but in no condition to survive an intense fight. While the mission was important, the life of a noncombatant was too precious to endanger. There would be ways to pursue the opposition without getting hold of that sat phone. They’d be less efficient, increasing the risk that the deadly poison could be utilized before he caught up with it again, but Bolan knew that if the enemy was willing to backtrack and kill anyone aware of the ricin, they had to have had a plan that was running on its own timetable.

      It was a gamble, and Bolan didn’t like it, but he decided to bide his time.

      To avoid combat unless absolutely necessary was the strategy he’d plotted for now.

      A conspiracy whose perpetrators were paranoid enough to pounce on Mubarak as he bartered the biological toxin in Somalia might have enough contingencies to frustrate the Executioner and his cybernetic allies back at Stony Man Farm. Protective software, dense encryption and even a simple self-destruct mechanism in the sat phone could be in place to cover the plotters.

      He swept the approaching commandos with his binoculars. He’d shaded the lenses with a collar of PVC pipe duct-taped in place, preventing the glasses from creating a glare of reflected sunlight. As an experienced former Army sniper-scout, it was second nature for the Executioner to disappear, even in plain sight. Stealth was more than merely camouflage, though the soldier had unfurled a desert-pattern lightweight blanket and had fashioned it into a cloak that not only blended him in with the terrain at the edge of the archaeological camp, but also shielded him from the sun’s burning rays. His head scarf was in place to keep his head from getting too hot, absorbing any sweat he did give off, and to keep his jet-black hair from providing stark contrast, which would have betrayed his position.

      As a sniper, Bolan had learned about human perception and how to avoid being noticed in the field. He could observe the commando team with relative impunity. Still, the big American knew that he could find himself in trouble if his own observational skills had failed him.

      The leader of the group spoke to his men in Arabic, directing them to store the containers out of sight. Bolan didn’t speak much of the language, and he wasn’t capable of determining the dialect that they spoke, pinning down their nation of origin, but he could make out what was happening with the assistance of the commander’s hand movements and phrases he did recognize. He also heard the word helicopter and knew that there wasn’t going to be much time to spy upon this group. Depending on the tent where the commandos stored their ancient prize, it was also possible that they would discover Metit’s disappearance.

      Just to be certain, Bolan readied his Egyptian Beretta to buy a few more moments of time. He screwed a sound suppressor onto the pistol’s threaded barrel. He would rob the hardball ammunition of some of its velocity as the silencer baffles would trap propelling gases as well as their resistance against the СКАЧАТЬ