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He knew he was on the money when a wet rattle bubbled from a body with a sound that no man can fake. The sound of death.

The noisy collapse was succeeded by a hushed stillness in the dining room.

Bolan could hear sounds of assault from outside. Doors were thrown open, ru

Within seconds the lead invaders were silhouetted in the grayness of the open doorway. Bolan blew away three of them instantly, with three shots and unerring accuracy. His was an inexhaustible command of judgment. The remaining soldiers scampered out of sight for cover, back the way they had come. There were sounds of retreat in the darkness.

Bolan utilized the fleeing seconds before more soldiers came. He moved to where the body of the handgun-wielder had fallen. He looked closely in the gloom.

He was looking into the dead face of one of Ke

The other buyer was also dead, visibly crumpled near the door. So the first cry in the dark had been that one's last.

And Ke

Bolan moved through the doorway. He was into starlight.

There was troop movement from several areas in and around the small village. The activity centered in the street fronting the i

Ke

Ke

Ke

Bolan had to make Ke

Ke

But Bolan had to find him first.

11

Ke

The village of Bishabia, and gunfire, receded to lower ground behind him. He was moving in a zigzag course toward the walls of Leonard Jericho's villa a quarter mile away. He pla

Ke

Ke

The merc swung around and crouched, listening. He was sure he could hear very light footfalls gaining on him, rapidly approaching from the direction of the village.

Ke

He unhitched the compact transceiver from his belt. The radio was Ke



Ke

Ke

He would be waiting when the desert starlight silhouetted Rideout's approaching form.

"Boss! What the hell's going on? Do you read me? Are you in the village?" The sounds from the transceiver crackled clearly in the night. "Come in, goddammit!"

Enough time had passed, thought Ke

"Right behind you." A cool voice answered his thoughts. "Drop your gun. Turn over slowly."

Ke

Mack Bolan had not expected a man like Ke

He leaped aside in the instant of time it took Ke

Ke

Bolan had slid in one process from a voice in the dark to a guy who was out of the picture.

Now Ke

Bolan shoulder-slung his own rifle and picked up the dead man's chopper and an extra ammo clip. Then he hotfooted to the spot where Ke

Doyle's voice.

"Does anyone read me? Is anyone there?"

Bolan depressed the transmitting button, then started out of there.

"Yeah, yeah," he growled irritably. "Hold on to your shirt!" He was already jogging away from Ke

He was approximating Ke

He counted on the airwaves and tension of the moment to do the rest. It did.

"Top, what the hell's going on down there?" came Doyle's voice. "Are you in the village? Do you need backup?"

"Negative. Get ready to lift off. Ten minutes from now, whether I'm back or not. The pilots have the coordinates?"

"I gave 'em the same ones you gave me. Whadaya mean, if you're not back?"

"I'll catch up," snarled Bolan. "Don't disobey orders. I have something for Mr. Jericho."

Which was true enough, figured Bolan. He arced around, back toward the village at a steady gallop, hoping like hell that ten minutes would be enough time.

Bolan could not make out the type of markings of the truck that had been sent out of the village to investigate his shots. His hearing told him it was a heavy-duty perso

The machine was speeding in his direction, bumping across the rough ground.

No headlights.

That confirmed it for Bolan.

The bulky shape of the truck emerged from the gloom, along a route predicted by the Executioner who was crouched off to the side and out of the truck's way. He could discern four men riding in the back of the truck. The vehicle was crashing along at fifty or more miles per.

Bolan opened fire with the newly acquired Largo Star. He directed his initial stream of fire at the front cab of the racing truck. He could not see clearly into the cab. He didn't need to.

He heard shattering glass.

A scream.

He kept on firing. The lightweight machine gun stuttered in his fists, illuminating the desert night with its muzzle flashes.