Run to Ground

Survival hinged on Santa Rosa, and he could not escape that elementary fact, no matter how he tried. If anyone from Santa Rosa lived, he might be doomed. If two or three of them survived, he was as good as dead. There would not be a second chance, no way to make it up, repair the damage from afar. His life, his empire, everything depended on what happened in the next few hours, on the main street of a town too small to be charted on many road maps. If Rivera lost it here, he lost it all, and there would be no point in going home.

The dealer made up his mind swiftly. If he dared not lose, he would not lose. He would destroy his enemies, and let their dying stand as an example to the world.

He would prevail.

Joh

They would be Rivera's men, detailed to seal off the town from the north, allowing no one in or out until the dealer's business had been settled, finally, with all concerned. The younger Bolan knew what that might mean, and he could not afford to let the barricade delay him any more than absolutely necessary.

Reaching underneath the driver's seat, he freed the Heckler & Koch VP-70 from its hidden rigging, easing off the safety as he placed it in his lap. The pistol's magazine held eighteen parabellum rounds, with number nineteen in the chamber; it was double-action all the way, and Mack had modified it personally to reduce the normally resistant trigger-pull. At any decent pistol range, it was a killer, and the extra loads would keep him firing when most adversaries had been forced to scramble for a backup magazine. With any luck at all, the piece would be enough. And if his luck ran out...

He pushed the train of thought away. Three men and two machines were standing in the way of a reunion with his brother, and he made his mind up that it would not be enough. With cool deliberation, Joh

The gu

He rolled the window down and waited for the leader to approach him, frowning with a simulated curiosity, the VP-70 in hand, poised below the windowsill and out of sight. The spokesman's companions were behind him, taking up positions for triangulated fire if they should be compelled to flash the hardware.

"What's the problem?" Joh

"We have been forced to quarantine the town, senor." The gu

"No shit?" He gawked in what he hoped was a convincing imitation of concern. "My brother lives there."

"I understand, senor, but no one is allowed to pass."

"Well, rules are rules, I guess."

He raised the VP-70 and shot the gu

John shot the nearer gu

In one respect the roadblock was a hopeful sign. If they were finished with his brother, done with Santa Rosa, they would not have posted guards to close the highway. Something must be happening, if nothing more than a mop-up, and he still had time to join the party. There was still a chance for him to bag Rivera before the man could retreat to Mexico. And there was still a chance that he might find his brother. A slender chance that he might find Mack alive.

He would have to be prepared for whatever waited for him in the streets of Santa Rosa. A hundred yards beyond the roadblock, still before he had a glimpse of town, he pulled the Jimmy over once again and walked around the back to choose his weapons. He lifted out the KG-99 and extra magazines, then hesitated, finally choosing the SPAS as well. Between the two, he had power and speed, a lethal combination any way you sliced it. There was still a chance it wouldn't be enough, but he was not intimidated by the odds.

His brother had not come this far by playing safe, and Joh

He knew enough, from following his brother's war, that there would be — could be — no final victory against the ca

Rivera had arrived expecting to a

"I didn't mean to shave it quite that close," Grant Vickers said.

Mack Bolan held the lawman's eyes. "I'm not complaining."

"Reckon you're the fella that Rivera's all revved up about."

"You know his name?" the lady asked.

The constable seemed to pale beneath his desert tan. "We've met," he answered curtly, and he could not seem to meet the woman's gaze.

"But how..."

"We haven't got much time," the soldier interrupted, and he thought the officer looked grateful as he raised his eyes. "Rivera may not notice, but his people on the street will know they didn't fire that shotgun blast."

"I thought of that." The constable was looking Bolan over, closely. "As I recollect, he said that you were wounded. Are you fit to travel?"

"I'll survive. I couldn't say about the girl."

They turned to Dr. Kent, who shrugged dejectedly, still studying the lawman's face. "I've given her a sedative. We'd have to carry her."

"Too risky," Bolan told her. "I'd suggest a suck."

"I beg your pardon?"

"A diversion. Something that will draw the enemy away and keep them busy elsewhere. If we play our cards right, we could lay an ambush, turn it to our own advantage."