Don Pendleton - Day Of The Vulture

PROLOGUE

Upper Chaco, Paraguay November 23, 1982 The was no-man's-land, a hell-on-earth of thorns and dust that turned to deadly mud in the rason. They called this section of Paraguay the drized zone, making it a free-trade area for convand sale of illegal goods. Run by the Par-aguamy, the authorities demanded a percentage off tof any business, legal or otherwise, that t tilde in the Chaco. It was the only thing that held untry together fiscally. The operative say  "Contraband is the price of peace." And the move ent of contraband tended to involve mercenaries, a hole shifting, changing, motley crew of men whose main loyalty was to themselves. As general rule, Mack Bolan didn't trust merce-naries. Loyalty, once for sale, was always for sale. But this it wasn't the worst part. Mercs were mostly overgr wn kids playing army, all customized uni- forms and beer-drinking contests. Some were hard, trained fighters, the best in the world. But those kind were few and costly. The rest were legends only in their own minds-untrained, without seasoning, with-out the killer instinct. They were soldiers of fortune to whom only the fortune part applied. They could get you killed in a second by improper backup, lack of stealth or jungle technique or simple cowardice when the going got rough. And somehow the going always got rough. But Bolan sat anyway, sweating, nursing a Peru-vian beer at an outdoor cantina and making small talk with the young blond soldier of fortune called Mulroy sitting across from him.

"This your first time in the Chaco?" the kid asked.

Bolan shook his head, watching the steady stream of camouflaged men across the street as they went in and out of the large shack made of scrap lumber and corrugated tin. "How about you, Willy? You get to the demilitarized zone a lot?" "Just once before," he said, looking hot in his long-sleeved fatigues and jungle boots.

Airborne patches had been ripped from the sleeves and breast pocket, leaving stitched outlines behind. "I hired on as part of a security team for an arms shipment from El Salvador to here. We were off the jab once the sale was made." "Who were you working for?" Bolan asked.

Muy shrugged.

"Don't know who we sold to, either. t was just a job." Bol pointed to the patchless pocket. "You served your tour?" The man frowned and gulped down the rest of his beer. e was big, well disover six feet, but his face was still a 'd's.

"Got bounced early on," he said, holding up his empty beer bottle to indicate he wanted an-other. "I was too mean for them." "A hame," Bolan said. "You missed out on some good aining. Marine training is the best in the world." was 1 with it," Mulroy said, and burped loudly, grabbi g the next beer while the suds from the last one w re sti11 wet on his chin. Bo "s attention was taken by a long line of Bo livian ants carrying huge gunnysacks full of coca leaves They were standing aside so several carriers full o Brazilian automobiles could pass by. Every- thing value moved through the Chaco, occasionally makin the region's small towns places of great im-po for several hours before plunging them back into verty and despair. "I tear this operation is big," Mulroy said, "an army, real army." "This 's what I heard, too," Bolan replied, his eyes briefly flashing to the man across the table. Mulroy had pi ked him out to talk to when he'd seen him in the c 'na. Since then, Bolan had been using the kid for cover. "If the amount of mercs on the streets is any indication, it's a huge operation." "As long as the money is huge, too." Bolan had drifted into the hamlet of Piedro Blanco the night before. Hundreds of drunk mercs cruised the streets, looking for fights, shooting up the place-like a college fraternity party with guns. According to lo-cals, it had been like this for weeks, always with new groups of guns for hire. That wasn't a good sign.

He'd come down from the Stony Man Ops Center in Virginia at Hat Brognola's suggestion to hire on after an American agent disappeared here three weeks previously. Before he'd vanished, the man had sent back tantalizing reports about the Medellin drug cartel recruiting a professional mercenary army in order to conquer the surrounding area and create a safe zone in which to conduct its ruthless business. Medellin wanted to secede from Colombia and form its own independent nation run by gangsters. An empire of death.

Bolan's plan was to see if he could conduct his own little search- and-destroy mission from the inside.

Un-fortunately the Executioner wasn't the lowest-visibility human on the planet. He'd recognized some of the mercs he'd seen and hoped they didn't recog-nize him.

A dust-covered Cadillac pulled up in front of the shack as tinny salsa music drifted from someone's radio several doors down the street. A chauffeur in full In ry climbed out of the driver's door and opened the k, and two men quickly got out and hurried into e shack.

was 's them," Mulroy said, "the dudes that are doing hiring." He stood "Now's the time if we're gonn do it." Bo was up, too, and they drifted across the street toge stepping over the sunbathing black snakes that i ested the entire region.

Other mercs on the street topped and watched them-new meat.

A an in a panama hat and wearing a gaudy flow printed shirt stepped out of the shack as a small p gathered around was just lookin" for people we ain't seen before," he " in heavily accented English. "If we already give were 3u a job, just wait, you'll get instructions later today. If we already turn you down on a job, get the hell o t of here." Ev body laughed except the men who'd been turn down. They walked off slowly, probably broke probably stuck in Piedro Blanco indefinitely or until next chump came along.

"Who ain't been here before?" the man at the shack door called Boand Mulroy bullied their way to the front of the p, and the man in the loud shirt gave them the ver. "You big boys, huh?" he said. "You both ricans?" "y ," Mulroy said "You know anybody else here?" the man asked.

"I don't know," Bolan replied. "Who else is here?" "Funny guy. You two, up here. Are you armed?

We don't allow no guns inside." Both men shook their heads, but the doorman frisked them anyway.

Bolan palmed the three-inch spring-loaded knife as he was patted down, then deftly slipped it back in his jeans pocket.

The man stepped back and pushed the door open for them, Mulroy running in ahead of Bolan. The door swung closed behind them.

The room was hot and dark. With no electricity, the only light filtered through the cracks between the wallboards and one glassless window that looked out on Piedro Blanco's main and only thoroughfare. Thick dust danced in the slices of daylight cutting through the room.

A desk was set up toward the back. A dark, curly-haired man with deep acne scars pitting his face sat facing Bolan, and another man, tall and thin, leaned against the desk with his back to the room.

Flies and mosquitoes swarmed loudly in the still, hot air. Everyone sweated profusely, and Bolan's T-shirt was already drenched. Three guards casually holding assault rifles stood by the walls.

"My name is Pablo Fuentes," the curly-haired man said, "and this is our last stinking day in this stinking town." "hear," said the tall man, his accent strangely Euro. Bolan couldn't quite place it.

"B t we still need a few men to join us," Fuentes said Bo recognized Fuentes as the Medellfn cartel's fixer, it number- five man on the cartel organiza-tional hart.

"Tme, what are your names? Where did you hear t our little... project?" Fuentes demanded.

M y stepped forward. "In the hotel bar in La Po in Salvador," he said "Jerry Sparkman told me. name's Willy Mulroy. Lots of mercs hang out "I ow the place well," the tall man said, not movi from his spot.

was e Belasko," Bolan said. "I was fighting with Liby regulars in Chad. Marcel Bouton told me about 's." This tail man turned around. He had a long, aris-tocrat face and aquiline nose. His eyes shone pale blue " the semidarkness. His face seemed lacquered in lty. "I spoke with Marcel just last week," he said "R ugh proposition," Bolan replied "He's been dead r a month." Bolan should know. He'd killed the d my good friend, Mr Kbaddafi, how is he?

Does ever speak of his friend-the Vulture?" "I wouldn't know," Bolan replied. "He's too busy changing palaces and hiding out to talk to his troops." "Mr.

Garcia," the tall man said to the man in the loud shirt, "would you go down the street to the flea-breeding farm they call a hotel and ask Mr. Sandoval to join us?" He looked then at Bolan. "You'll get to have a reunion with your old comrade from Chad, eh?" That was it, the bad break Bolan had been hoping wouldn't happen.

He'd be dead thirty seconds after Sandoval came into the room and exposed Bolan as an impostor. He locked eyes with the man who'd called himself the Vulture and saw animal cunning staring back at him. A beast who loved the jungle.

"That's a legendary name you threw at me," Bolan said casually as his mind sketched the outlines of his backup plan-kill Fuentes, then escape. The operation was a wash. Garcia had gone to fetch his death sen-tence. "Are you the same Vulture who's linked to the train-station massacre in Rome?" "My fame precedes me," the tall man said, bowing slightly.

"The mysterious Vulture," Fuentes said. "The elu-sive Vulture.

Never seen. Never photographed." "Never arrested," the tall man said.

"Are you in charge of the Medellfn operation, sir?" Mulroy asked.

The man smiled. "We are going to remake the maps of the world." Of three guards, only one of them had his Uzi at the ready, and it hadn't been primed. That would give lan a couple of seconds with him and an extra seco or two with the other guards, maybe three, depen " g on their reaction times. Fuentes was a dandy Even here in this dusty hellhole, he wore a tailo shirt, pressed and starched.

He wouldn't be carryi. iron. The tall man, on the other hand, would be let with both hands. He had to be taken out first. ulroy didn't count. It would be over before the kid w what was happening.

Tlx tall man, the Vulture, walked out from behind the k, making a mistake by trusting his underling to ha conducted a thorough body search. As soon as he of within reach, Bolan would move, making sure he went to wax Fuentes and take the education out o the organization.

Bo still casual, rocked back on his heels, hook ing i hands into his jeans pockets. He flicked the spring on the knife, his right fingers now lying atop the r-sharp blade.

're truly a soldier, I can tell that," the Vulture said, " but there's something wrong about you. Do you ever ve feelings about things, Mr....Belasko?" "F lungs?" Bolan replied, stalling.

was lings about things, how they're going to turn out. don't feel right to me, Belasko. Mercs tend to haa certain... dissipation around the eyes that I don't see in yours. I tend to act on my feelings. It's a jungle- survival skill, don't you think?" "We're in the desert," Bolan replied.

The man narrowed his gaze and moved several steps forward, his eyes riveted to Bolan's as if he could see right into his brain. Bolan had gone up against every kind of man there was, but the Vulture's singular intelligence and street sense marked him as dangerous.

Bolan had to make his move-and quickly.

There was a noise at the door, and as the tall man's gaze flicked away for just a second, Bolan jumped. The knife was in his hand, already inscribing a wide arc aimed at the throat.

But the man moved like lightning, his hand up to block the thrust.

Bolan's hand was deflected but didn't stop moving, and the blade jammed into the tall man's right eye, cutting through, gashing all the way to his ear.

The Vulture screamed as he fell back.

Bolan dropped the knife and reached to the man's right hip to jerk out his weapon, a nickel- plated Uzi pistol, even as the Vulture spun away toward the floor, his hands covering his face.

The Executioner hit his targets in the order he had planned, first taking out the man with the rifle at the ready with a high- percentage chest shot. Three sec-onds had passed since he'd pulled the knife, and Fu-entes had come to his feet.

Bolan turned the Uzi and snap- 'med, then pulled the trigger, splattering the man" educated brains all over the shack.

H heard two automatics prime, then swung around to loose a triburst at the two men drawing down on him. e third shot toppled one of the guards into the men who came charging through the door.

Less than ten nds had passed, and Bolan turned toward the winw just in time to see Mulroy charging him.

B Ian swung the Uzi around, slamming it hard into the id's temple.

Then he vaulted over the collapsed body as men poured through the front door, and dived out glassless window and into a barrel roll that brou t him back to his feet.

nd focused solely on movement, he charged arou d the shack, where the limo driver was stepping out f the Caddy. The Executioner fired head high, taki him down immediately, ripping the.357 Mag-num off his belt as he fell.

H jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the door. The streets were filling with running mercs who wou discover any second now that their gravy train had still been derailed.

Bolan goosed the ignition and drop the car into gear, his foot already to the floor.

T1 e Cadillac squealed loudly as Bolan took it gh a one-eighty turn, spraying dust everywhere. The gunfire was constant now, bullets punching throt gh the limo's tinted windows as the tires caught hold and the car lurched forward.

n were all around him. He raced ahead, running over anybody in his path, watching as other vehicles joined the chase.

He'd planned on pursuit, though. Releasing the wheel with his right hand, he went for the watch on his left wrist, pressing the wind button until it clicked The explosives he'd planted the night before went off in sequence.

Shades and contraband storage ga-rages exploded loudly all along the street, followed by a rain of wood and tin.

He checked the rearview to see nothing but smoke and fire, no vehicles emerging from the conflagration that enveloped Piedro Blanco.

Foot still heavy on the gas pedal, he sped into the desolate expanse of thorn forest surrounding the city, suspecting that he hadn't killed the Vulture, only made him mad. He'd discovered a long time ago that an enemy not killed is an enemy you'd meet again. When next they met, one of them would die.

New ork City July 17, 1996 The s eltering summer heat was pervasive, inescap-able. e sun fired up the concrete until it radiated, the 1 buildings blocking off any chance of relief from wind. It was the kind of weather that made youn people riot and old people die.

k Bolan sat in the back seat of the rented van. Six b rly United States marshals filled up the rest of it. E ybody was hot despite the air conditioner blasti g away as they cruised the streets of Brooklyn on a "ssion that, for once in Bolan's life, he was looki g forward to.

Vulture had been caught- 64 y, look at those kids," said Gene Tripp, the bee marshal beside him.

Bo an stared out the window to see a fire hydrant spe g a jet of water fifteen feet into the air to the delight of the dozen kids splashing, running and screaming below it.

"They've got the right idea." Tripp turned to Bo-lan. "You got any kids, Belasko?" Bolan shook his head. "Never found a woman who'd put up with me long enough. You?" "Damned right. Hell, I've got grandkids, two of them." "You must have started young, then." "This is my last run," Tripp said, his face nearly as red as his hair. "I'm retiring the minute we get rid of the meat we're picking up. I pulled all the strings I could to get this assignment. Wanted to go out on a high note, and the Vulture's somebody I can talk to those grandbabies about. You're not Marshal service, are you?" "No," Bolan said in a way that any cop would know to leave alone.

"I'm just along to identify the guy.gg*thorn] "You know him?" Everybody had turned around to look. "Our paths crossed fifteen years ago for all of five minutes," Bo-lan said.

"What happened, for cryin" out loud?" the driver called back to him.

"I cut his eye out," Bolan said, and turned to look out the window again.

"They say the guy wears a patch," Tripp returned enthastically. "We gotta be on the beam with this one.

Tlx details of the Vulture's capture were sketchy, but Brognola had told Bolan that a- deep-cover NSC ent working out of Switzerland had acciden-tally tumbled on the Vulture.

NSC then contacted U.s.

ustoms, telling them the terrorist would be trav- eling m Zurich to Kennedy International under a pass rt issued in the name of Charles Dom. By the time Vulture was arrested without incident as he depl at Kennedy, the FBI, the State Department, the and the Treasury Department all wanted a piece of the action. While the bureaucrats fought it out, Vulture was dumped into a holding tank at a local inct.

Aft r three days of infighting, a compromise was reach , allowing the federal marshals to transport the terror still to a federal institution in Quantico, Virginia, whe everybody could get a crack at him at the same time.

Ev rybody wanted the big fish.

As one of the most feared and successful terrorists in nt memory, the Vulture had been connected with me of the most visible acts of brutality against inn nts of the latter twentieth century. Train bombs in I y, kidnapping in South America, airline hijack ing ldwide-ail had his name attached. He was a crimi al mastermind with a private army who'd do any ng for moray. And Mack Bolan had let him get away, albeit with only one eye. The Executioner was there to make sure it didn't happen again.

They were moving west on Linden, into the maze of medical-center buildings and museums just east of Prospect Park. The homes off Linden were narrow two-story brownstones in block-long rows.

"We'll be there in a minute," said one of the men in front of Bolan. DiGuisti had been a New York cop before becoming a U.s.

marshal.

"Haw long you got to retirement, Belasko?" Tripp asked.

"The day I retire is the day I can walk out on those streets without a gun to protect myself," Bolan re-sponded. "Can you make it on your pension?" "Hell, no," the man returned. "What do you think they invented the Witness Protection Program for? It's so retired marshals can make extra money arranging payouts to gangster snitches and ferrying around peo-ple to debriefings who don't know nothing to begin with." Everybody in the van laughed. "Save us a place!" the driver called.

"Pull it up," DiGuisti said. "We're there." They hugged the curb on a busy section of street with a jumble of row houses, department stores, and restaurants.

The towers of the hospital complexes dominated everything else around. Just ahead of the van, the precinct house sat at the top of a long flight of sto stairs. The streets were full of people coming and g ing.

Bolan didn't like it.

was "s get this over with," he said, sliding open the side and climbing out into overpowering heat, a blast. The weather was fitting. Just like Par-aguay in "82. Mack Bolan, the Executioner; was one eye a ay from finishing a job.

"R$7, we're on expense account," somebody call "Let's get a bite to eat first." "what you want," Bolan said "I'm going to pick a prisoner and take him to Quantico." Ev body groaned. "One in every crowd," Di Gui said, and Tripp chuckled as he climbed out into the beside Bolan.

A lack-and-white squealed loudly in front of the van, ing over at an angle into the yellow no-parki g zone.

Four uniformed cops got out and move toward the steps. Bolan kqx looking at them, his Lion drawn by the way they took in the sur-round ngs, reconnoitering. As if they were in enemy terri. Then he saw their weapons.

was Guisti," he said "What's regulation-issue iron with D these days?" "gers, 9 mm, semiautos. Why?" he replied "less-than e've got two cops with Glocks, one with an Uzi pi and one with a small machine gun strapped to his , that's why." J"...way," DiGuisti said, turning and looking at the cops walking slowly up the stairs. He jerked when he saw the guns. "This doesn't make... Hey, fellas!" Before Bolan could stop him, the man had jogged off in the direction of the cops.

It all happened in slow motion then. An old step van rumbled in from the west just as the "cops" turned and reacted to DiGuisti.

Their hands went for their guns as the van screeched to a dead stop right in front of the station.

"Get cover!" Bolan barked even as the men on the stairs saw the step van and rushed into the police station.

DiGuisti, looking confused, turned to watch the van's driver jump out of the truck and charge down the street.

"Get down!" Bolan shouted at him, the last word swallowed by the thump of an incredible explosion as the step van went up in a conhuge fireball, two thou-sand pounds' worth of ammonium nitrate seeking re-lease. The wrath was mighty. The marshals' van, the black-and- white, everything was up in the air as glass shards and shrapnel rained down from above and the fronts of buildings sheared off completely and crum-bled to the streets with a volcanic roar.

The force of the blast slammed Bolan into a line of garbage cans.

Tumbling, he came up on his knees, shaking his head, trying to clear it. He couadn't hear much, though the deadly silence gradually; faded as his hearing returned, and with it, the sounds of chaos and destruction.

e streets were completely changed, reduced to rub every. A smoking crater twenty feet wide had eaten the vement where the step van had been. The mar shal " van was upside down, the driver pinned be-neat dead, with another marshal, his legs gone, lying atop the van. The black-and-white had fallen on its de on the stairs up to the station. DiGuisti was sim ly gone.

Vaporized.

B 'es were strewed all over the street, the survi-vors staggering and screaming-Tripp was on his feet besi him, disoriented, moving aimlessly, bleeding fro dozens of cuts, his sports jacket ripped to shreds. d then things got nasty.

F ve dark vans screeched around the comers and jerk to a stop at the edge of the small mountain of deb is that had been the front of the precinct house. Their squealing tires were muted to Bolan's fogged ng, like tiny fingernails scratching on a child board turned, jerking his Beretta 43-R from its combat Ih s beneath his windbreaker, and reached out to grat Gene Tripp as the vans disgorged masked fig-their hands bristling with machine guns.

to was he screamed[*thorn] dragging the man down be-hi the hulk of the upended van. "Get it together!" marshal blinked, trying to focus as the machine gun opened up with chain-saw rattle, spraying the s and the remnants of the precinct. Bolan shook his wad again, his hearing now almost normal.

"What...?" Tripp said from beside him. "What's... happening?" Bolan primed the Beretta as bullets chewed side-walk all around them and dozens of thudding impacts shook the van.

"Remember the Vulture?" he called to Tripp, and the man's eyes cleared immediately.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, going for his gun as two surviving marshals, bleeding, their clothes shred-ded, crawled up beside them through deep rubble.

"This is a military action!" Bolan yelled above the gunfire.

"They're trying to break out the Vulture! Gene and I are going in.

There's only four of them inside. Cover us!" He turned to Tripp, who was checking the load on his own Ruger.

"You ready?" Tripp looked him in the eye. "Your deal, gambler." As Bolan grabbed the man's sleeve, he noticed blood dripping down his own arm. "Just one thing," he said. "You see the man with the patch, you kill him." "No sweat." "Try for the black-and-white first," Bolan said Also-though the demolished car was only fifteen feet away, it may as well have been a mile. "Go!" They jumped up and were in motion as the other agents stood and fired over the mutilated body on the exposed undercarriage.

With no time to pick targets, Bolan and T tilde ipp just fired driving down their assailants. They had surprise and 1 ck with them on the first run, tumbling to safety behi d the crushed black-and-white on the steps as the lice within the precinct began returning fire at the ked men hunkered behind the vans.

lan and Thpp were several steps up with coma long run the station doom There was no way they could make it up those stairs without a distraction.

B lan scanned the battle zone: and the five vans that shie their assailants. "You!" he called to one of the arshals returning fire from their van. "Aim for their gas tanks!.

was you're going to have to rush the place," Bolan told pp. "This area's going to get real popular real quic was Even as he spoke, they could hear sirens mix-+ ith the screams on the streets.

was is put 'em back," Tripp said, jamming another clip into his Ruger. "You want the left?" B lan nodded. "Go!" B this men stood to fire over the side of the black-and white. Bolan lined up half a dozen easy targets, out n the open and advancing.

Unable to tell if the gun rs were bulletproofed, he went for head shots, lean g his shooting arm on the car's side.

e masked gunmen were advancing through snm e, firing from the hip as people up and down the s screamed and bolted for safety.

Ian's first shot picked a large man off his feet and threw him back into his van. He swung to the second, firing, sending him spinning into his com-rades who were now looking for cover as Tripp knocked one down, too.

Bolan could hear the slugs thudding into the van closest to the gunners as the marshals below them concentrated their fire. It was only a matter of time, Bolan knew, before they found their targets.

"When that van blows, we're going to take the steps," Bolan said to Tripp. "Ready?" The marshal jammed another clip home and nod-ded a moment before their partners hit the jackpot. The van exploded with a whump.

Several of the masked figures rolled on the sidewalk, trying to ex- tinguish their flaming clothing, while the other hard-men were forced to seek cover.

Bolan and Tripp bounded up the stairs two at a time, throwing themselves into the rubble of the sta-tion as the firing intensified from without.

The inside of the precinct house looked like the end of the world.

The ceiling had caved in, and those who weren't pinned by the wreckage had been carved to pieces from the flying glass of the doors. Several hurt and bleeding cops fired riot guns from behind piles of debris, the entire front of their building gone.

"Holding cells!" Bolan called to one of them.

The man ignored him, and the Executioner grabbed his shoulder. "Holding cells!" The cop's eyes weren't focusing. He was in deep shock, functioning on autopilot, still firing but on the edge like a boxer ready to go down. "1111ird floor," he fi ally mumbled, and Bolan gabbed Tripp's sleeve and auled him farther back into the devastation.

TI r, elevator was gone, but the back stairs still re-main intact.

Bolan and Tripp slammed through the s " ell door, weapons out and at the ready.

There was o one there.

lan led the way up the stairwell, moving quietly, eau i usly, as the gunfight out front was muffled whet the door swung closed behind them.

TI e stairwell turned at every landing, so the two men covered each other at the turn. As he reached the Atom of the stairs that led to the third-floor land ing, lan could see the door hanging open, seem-ingl unguarded. He didn't believe it.

ping close to the inner railing, they crept up the last light of stairs, one slow step at a time. Bolan coul hear firing from the third floor.

en they reached the landing, he stayed glued to the " rail, his body crouched low. A wall defined the " er stairs, so Bolan couldn't see around to the fou comfloor stairs. He took a deep breath and lauu bed himself across the landing.

e "cop" with the machine gun was on the stairs, gu 'ng the door below. As Bolan slid across the land g, he could see surprise in the man's eyes and knehe had him. Beretta on target, he took him out with a shot to the neck. The nmn grabbed for his as he pitched headfirst onto the landing right beside the Executioner, blood pumping in gushes from his fatal neck wound.

Bolan motioned for Tripp to close up to him, and they walked cautiously into a third-floor hallway, stepping over the body of a cop whose hands had been filled with two cups of coffee, the brown liquid mingled now with his blood on the linoleum floor.

The hallway dead-ended in one direction and formed a tee with another hall at the other end. Hug-ging opposite walls, they moved forward, Bolan hol-stering the Beretta and taking out the Desert Eagle.44 for the close-in work. If he was going to put holes in people at this point, he wanted them to be big holes.

They made it to the tee and cautiously examined the hallway that ran at right angles. More dead cops-three of them in this hallway alone. Bolan motioned Tripp back into the stairwell hall, the only exit.

The booking station seemed to be off to the right, down a long hallway. Bolan decided to investigate to the left first, a quick run-through to let him know the killing ground was safe.

He'd moved fifteen feet when the man with the Uzi pistol walked out of a room directly before him just as Bolan heard men running from the other direction.

He prioritized instantly, swinging the.44 Magnum to the assailant in front and pulling the trigger from three feet away, slamming the body hard against the wall before it hit the floor.

He swung back quickly toward the approaching foots ps to fire from a crouch. From a distance of twen feet, he found himself face-to- face with the Vultu , the man's good eye opening in shocked sure his Bolan could feel it.

He had a half second's advantage on the Vulture and planned to knock the terrorist into his two accom-plices with a well-aimed shot, thus creating enough confusion to quickly take all three out.

But Tripp, thinking he was protecting Bolan, jumped into his line of fire, and the Executioner's finger froze on the trigger.

The terrorist with the patch had no such restraint.

He blasted the marshal three times at point-blank range, his burst pushing Tripp backward to stumble toward Bolan.

Still cursing Bolan, the Vulture was dragged down the stairwell hallway by his men as the Executioner grabbed the still-stumbling Tripp, going to the ground with him.

Tripp had taken three slugs in the chest, and blood pumped out of him furiously, covering Bolan.

"B-Belas...ko," he whispered as the Executioner res him gently on the cold floor. "M-my jacket p- et... hurry." B an reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing a ed letter-sized envelope. Tripp was fading quic y, the light dimming in his green eyes as his lifeb pooled beneath him. "What do you want me to his "Read..." the man rasped, trying to raise himself on elbows. "Give...give...Annie." fell back, his head moving to the side as blood bub ed between his lips. He was still trying to talk, and olan bent to his lips.

voice was barely a whisper now. "Get-that.

s-so dis.of...a-was was gone, and Bolan closed the man's eyes.

TI on he was up and running, jamming the envelope into 's back pocket. He hit the stairwell on a dead run, took the stairs in long strides, banging the door open to reenter the carnage of the precinct's lobb.

ked men in black were falling back, withdraw-+ the street. Bolan got one in the back of the head as he raced out.

HA i Plowed through the debris, looking at his watch. Five minutes had passed since they'd first pulled up to station, so the place would be crawling with fire n and cops within a minute or two.

front of the building was now filled with noth-+ t dead cops.

Bolan ran into the sunshine just in time to see the Vulture diving into an open side door of one of the vans, then it lurched away behind two of the other vans already under way.

He charged halfway down the stairs and shot one of the retreating attackers as the man ran across the rubbled sidewalk, going down as his van started up. His comrades fired from inside the van, killing him rather than letting him be taken.

Bolan kept running as the vans sped off, vaulting over the just- killed terrorist, charging after the van containing the Vulture as it sideswiped a Toyota just on the perimeter of the debris and careered down the street.

A woman jumped, screaming in fright, out of the Toyota. Bolan charged past, then backtracked when he heard the engine still running. He jumped into the driver's seat.

"I'm the law," he said, and hit reverse and floored the pedal. The car screeched backward, smoke curling from the tires.

The vans had scattered in all directions, but Bolan still had the Vulture's in sight as it squealed a hard right onto Flatbush Avenue.

Bolan approached the turn just as the street was rocked by another huge explosion. This time he had to look up. The top two floors in the main i tower of the King's County Hospital Center were blasted to pieces. Gray smoke billowed above white, glowing flames. These weren't homemade bombs. The hospi- tal h been taken out with a military incendiary, a big o every. Another explosion went up and the botanic g s erupted in volcanic fury before him.

'That version," he said bitterly. "These people are mani so." Cwere stopped all over the street, and Bolan drop the Toyota in gear and bounced up on the side , honking at a growing crowd of bystanders. H bounced onto the street again a block later and spied the Vulture's van parked in the middle of Flat-bush here it cut through the guts of.prospect Park, blocking traffic.

He sped to the van, stopping ten feet from it and fallin out of, the car door to roll into firing position behi the front fender.

Also (M he eased over the hood, looking at the van idling in the middle of the street, its side door half-open.

He stood, moving cautiously toward it, the.44 ready He moved around the front end first, looking down into the seats and peering through to the back.

No i go.

He hurried around to the side and stuck his head inside without opening the door. Empty, except for a small satchel sitting near the rear. It was rigged with fishi line to the side and back doors.

Booby trap. "F ze!"-came a voice from behind. "Police!" Bo turned, his hands in the air. Two cops, their black and-white sitting next to the Toyota, were stand g behind their open doors, guns drawn. "This van is rigged to explode," he said. "Keep people away from it." "Right," a tall blond cop with a gray mustache said. "Just put the weapon on the ground and kick it over here." Bolan did as he was told. "My prisoner is escap-+," he said.

"Would you kindly let me go?" "Hands on your head," the other cop ordered, both men moving toward him, their guns still trained on Bolan.

The cop with the mustache shoved him from be-hind, toward the police cruiser. "I'll check the van," the other one said.

"Don't open the doors!" Bolan called over his shoulder. "It'll blow!" "Shut up!" the cop with die mustache said, shov-+ him against the side of the cruiser. Bolan turned his head to see the other cop's hand on the sliding door as he leaned around it.

Bolan tensed, then dived over the open cruiser door just as the van blew, tearing both cops and bystanders to ribbons.

The satchel bomb had been packed full of nails. The cruiser and the Toyota were bristling with them. As for the Vulture, he was gone.

He'd changed cars, as all of his people probably had, and escaped on Flatbush, which turned into the Manhattan Bridge and gave him access to the rest of the country.

Bo an climbed back into the Toyota, which was ba , with all its glass broken out.

H was summing up the implications of what had just one down. There were many ways to break a man ut of jail. Not all of them involved so many peop , so much destruction. The Vulture had chosen this ethod to signal that his army was here and he was oing to conduct business as usual.

W it possible to stop him, to bottle him up in ttan? It seemed unlikely. No one knew whom to l for-a man with a patch, certainly, but what then. People with guns? It wasn't likely they would ope advertise their presence.

turned the car around and-headed back toward the inct, negotiating through police and fire resc teams crawling all over the area. The hospital was till blazing like a torch, with God only knew how any people trapped inside.

Th., woman was waiting for her Toyota, her eyes wide she saw the nails and broken glass.

B an stopped beside her and climbed out of the car.

'Ma'am," he said, nodding and walking away. H pulled his headset out of his harness and put it on, j icing the battery pack as he walked to a body cov in concrete and plaster dust. He punched up Hal rognola's number at the justice Department, al-thou the man spent much of his time at the Stony Man Farm in Virginia. As head of the Operations Grou , Brogola was responsible for resolving Amer- ica's defense problems with the help of Able Team, Phoenix Force, a full support staff, and of course, Bolan.

As he waited, he started pulling debris off the man who'd been the driver of the van carrying the ammonium nitrate-fuel-oil cocktail.

"Brognola," came Hat's voice.

From his tone it was clear that he already knew about the Vulture's jailbreak.

"It's me," Bolan said, starting to go through the dead driver's pockets.

"What the hell happened?" Brognola asked.

"He's gone, Hal. Gone." Bolan glanced over at the area on the other side of the debris where they'd pulled up. As he feared, there was no one alive over there. "All the guys you sent up here to get him are gone. Except for me." "Was it a car bomb?" "Yeah. Blew up right in front of us. What's being done?" He found something in one of the pockets and pulled it out. It was a matchbook with Bob's Texaco, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, printed on the flap. He stuck it in his pocket.

"I just found out thirty seconds ago," Brognola said. "It takes a minute to get things moving. Striker, get back here so we can debrief you." "Hey!" a cop called, running up to him.

"What are you doing there?" "Just a minute, Hal." Bolan stood and reached into his ket. He pulled out the Vulture's photo, taken when he was booked. "Officer. Here's a picture of the man ho did this. We have no idea what name he's trave g under now.

There are twenty-five to thirty pest with him. We have no information on them ex that many of them will be Europeans. There are me dead United States marshals. I'll identify them in a minute. Oh, and this man here was the drive of the van with the bomb." cop moved off, looking at the photo. Bolan didn" need it. The Vulture was imprinted on his mind. was at were you saying, Hal?" "I id we need to debrief you." was can do, pal. I'm seeing this one through all the y to the end." "S i er, listen to me. You know we can't engage offici ly at this end with this business, but every law-enf went agency in America is going to be looking for guys, if they're not out of the country 4y." ""y Ire not out of the country. They're here for a not. It's business, Hal." was y idea where they're headed?" the big Fed ask was pe. But I'll start by putting myself in the Vul-ture's place and doing what I would do in his situa tion. 's good, Hal. He's really good.

"F t off I need you to clear Stony Man for com-puter Occess to police records and intelligence nation- wide. Second, I want you to find out about the Swiss connection. If an NSC man knew the Vulture would be traveling under an assumed name on a forged pass-port, then he might know the guy's real name and where he lives. It gives us something to work with on that end." "NSC'S not easy to crack," Brognola said.

"They like to think of themselves as autonomous. But give me some time and I'll get the goods. Call the Bear at Stony Man and let him know what you've got so far." Bolan heard voices behind him but ignored them.

"I'm bringing this man down, Hal, at any cost. We're wasting time." "Good luck, buddy." "Yeah," Bolan said, tapping off.

He managed to flag down a yellow cab driven by an Iranian and climbed into the back. "Kennedy Air-port," he directed.

He tapped up Aaron "the Bear" Kurtzman's num-ber at Stony Man Farm.

The Farm's top man in the business of intelligence gathering and analysis came on almost immediately. "I hope you're ready to get to work." "Bolan!" Kurtzman returned loudly.

"You're alive!" "Last time I looked," Bolan said, watching Brook-lyn slide by as cars jammed the streets, the ghoulish or just plain curious running in the direction he'd just come from.

was at have you got?" "Ac s the data base of the world's law-enfo ent agencies, and look for anything on the Vultu. He's traveling with a small army. They split up, I" bet, but will all be converging somewhere. I want know where." "The needle in the electronic haystack." "I d n't think so," Bolan said. "They'll give them-selves way somehow-there are quite a lot of them, and y foreigners.

The government's going to be meth "tally tracking down every potential lead. I want go with thee flow, let the instincts move me around Start tracking down their: transport. Where'd they g the vans?

Rented? If so, where?" "H about you?" "I" on my way to Kennedy. Get me a chopper and a ilot, stat." "To o re where?" 64ver the Vulture got his ordnance. If my guess right, his whole bunch probably left New York can as a whistle to get through roadblocks. Where er they got the bang they used here, they're going want some more of it. Who's close? They blew a hospital with an incendiary, looked like phosp rous. Who's got that deep an arsenal in the area?" "Gi e me a minute," the Bear said, and the rapid clicking of his keyboard was audible over the phone lines.

"An while you're at it find out who, besides gov- ernment people, visited the Vulture in that holding cell." Bolan sat back, assessing his own battle damage, wondering where the man with the patch was right now. An underground army on the move. It was a frightening concept. He took the matchbook he'd stripped from the driver out of his pocket, studying it.

"Striker," came Kurtzman's voice, "I might have a hit for you on that arms dealer. There's a guy in Bainbridge, Pennsylvania, who is under scrutiny right now by the FBI, CIA and ATF. His name's Yosiah Masterson, but everybody calls him Sarge.

He's been taped doing business with foreign nationals. He likes bombs. Missiles. He's especially fond of...incendi-aries, it says on my screen." Bolan looked at the matchbook again. "Is Bain-bridge anywhere near Harrisburg?" "Right down the street," Kurtzman replied.

"Get me that chopper," Bolan said.

"Already working on it," the man returned. "Oh, I got something else, too. Your target was allowed a visit in his cell by a lawyer, an ambulance chaser, no big deal. They met once for thirty minutes, then the guy left and never came bask." "A name?" "Doesn't matter. They found him dead just a little while ago. He was shot at close range over five times." Front Foyal, Virginia Depu Sheriff Julie Powell sat behind the wheel of the p I car as it idled in the convenience-store park-+ to and wondered how she could help her son, Jerry, ring up his English grades when school started in the all. He'd flunked this year, mostly because his comm ications skills were lacking. He wasn't dumb, just I y and TV addicted. It was part of the parents' curse, he decided, that your children would do hor-ribly i school in the subjects you'd done well in. Her usband, Ted, Front Royal's sheriff, was inside the venience store, checking on a rash of shop-lifting ncidents and calling home to tell her sister and full-ti baby-sitter, Ruth, they were on their way.

It a general rule in law enforcement that cops should "t marry other cops because somebody needed to stay alive to raise the children, but that was in other places bigger places.

Front Royal was a tiny vacation town, base camp mostly for people camping and hiking on the Blue Ridge Mountains, which towered all around them.

The city's main drag was Highway 11, where Julie was parked now.

It was a good, quiet, close-knit town in which to raise kids, even if they did all up and leave once they grew up. There was very little opportunity for young people in Front Royal. This was a place that existed on pensions and feeding the tourist trade. The average age of its citizens was sixty-two.

Ted, all six foot five of him, came out of the store, smiling the country-boy smile she'd fallen in love with ten years before when they'd met as Navy SP'S. He carved a cup of coffee in each hand.

He leaned in his open window and handed her a cup before climbing in.

"Let's make the rounds one more time and call it a day," he said, taking a sip. "My foot's killing me." She raised an eyebrow. "The one you dropped the bowling ball on?" He smiled sheepishly at her. "Yeah. I want to soak it." She downed half her coffee in one long pull, then dumped the rest out the window. The streets were emptying as the people staying in the motels settled in for the night, leaving only cruising teenagers. "Anything from Ruthy?" "Sarah lost that loose tooth today and she's been showing it off all over the neighborhood." "She's just looking for a lot of tooth fairies.

She-was This r radar gun was beeping loudly. Just as they turn a car raced past them down Highway 11, and the dout registered triple digits.

"H ly hell," Julie said, dropping the cruiser into gear d jamming the pedal to the floor. As she skid ded to the highway, she hit the display lights and siren, d all other traffic froze as they screeched after the al y vanished car.

He eyes became her brain as she swung her gaze from ide to side, never actually watching the road itself, but rather all the things on the periphery.

T was on the horn. "Virginia Highway Pa-trol... 's is Mobile A-1 in Front Royal. We are in purl i of a vehicle which we clocked at.

109 miles per h r in a thirty-five zone." "R ger, A-1. Description?" "A white Ford Mustang, late-model, G'I; heading south on 11 where it intersects the Blue Ridge Park you." was are deploying backup, Mobile A-1.

Keep us pos [*thorn] was t," Ted said, breaking contact.

"Ifey're heading into the mountains," Julie said, "theyhave to slow down." The road was already curvi , weaving, gradually rising.

"S ge though," she said.

was at?" he replied, removing his.38 pistol and chec g the load.

"com"n body would go through Front Royal at 110 and into the mountains if they knew the area. You have to drive slowly and have no turnoffs. Anybody who knows the East Coast knows what the Blue Ridge Parkway is. But these guys are being stupid." "What's your point?" "Remember that bulletin we got-there! We've got them!" The grade was just getting steep through the foot-hills, with many homes perched right on the sides of the mountains throughout the area. The Mustang was caught behind two semitrailers gearing down to make the long climb. Meanwhile, the last of the evening vacationers were just coming out of the mountains, making it impossible for the Mustang to pass the trucks, though he kept trying to edge to the right, to the gravel shoulder.

Julie closed the gap quickly; siren screaming.

She saw four heads turn to look at them through the back window as Ted motioned for them to pull over. After half a mile they complied.

"I'll take this one," Ted said. He pulled his hat on, hooking the strap under his chin.

Julie had the handset already and was calling in the New Jersey plate on the vehicle. "Why don't you wait until we hear back on this one, hon," she said. "It just doesn't feel right to me." "Just speeders," Ted said, winking. He popped open the door and put on his official face. "Let's stop on the way home and get some ice cream for dessert." "y keep building that gut," Julie said, "and you won't et reelected." He sucked it in and struck a pose. "Bronzed Adom ," he said, and climbed oubbofthe cruiser. He used 's slow walk, his John Wayne stroll, around to the er's side of the stopped car.

"Confirmation on that license," the radio said.

"Re " tered Joe Civit, Jersey City. Brown '93 Buick Skyl four door." was ng car," Julie said, her insides tensing as Ted reach the Mustang and leaned down into the win-dow s ace.

"I'm looking at a white Mustang." [*thorn]" A t6 there any identifying markings on the vehi-cle?" e voice asked tightly.

was at's wrong?" was are there any identifying markings on the vehicl ?" "No, not really," she answered, watching Ted strai n up and scrunch up his face as he looked at a driv is license. "Mud flaps... with Bugs Bunny on them." "H ld please-was was ty Powell," an authoritative male voice broken. "You may have part of the contingent that expl the bomb in New York City today.

These people are extremely dangerous. How many do you "H ld on," she said, opening her door and leaning out. was heriff Powell... we have another call. Stat." He turned to her, an odd look on his face.

Then she saw the shotgun, and life moved eerily dreamlike. The shotgun kicked fire.

Ted took the full burst in the chest and staggered back in surprise, right into the path of a semi barreling down the incline the other way.

The impact of the truck threw him straight up.

Ju-lie's eyes locked on him, unable to look away. He went high in the air even as the trucker lost control and skidded off the roadway to fall fifty feet into the Shenandoah Valley below.

Ted fell with a boom atop the hood of the cruiser, flopped like a dead fish, his body bent at impossible angles, his broken, forlorn face staring lifelessly through the windshield at her.

People in the houses built into the mountainside were rushing out onto their porches to see what was happening. Somewhere in the distance a roar went up as the truck hit bottom, and a fireball shot up over the roadway to set the dry trees afire.

She fought shock only for her children's sake, drag-ging her gaze from Ted's broken face and concen-trating on the vehicle before her.

She reached for the riot gun.

The Mustang roared to life, the driver putting it in reverse and skidding back as Julie pumped the Rem-ington 12-gauge and fell back across the seat to aim down her body.

Wham!

vehicle slammed into her, open door, ripping it off hinges, exposing her.

"obile A-l," came a tiny, forgotten voice from the rather. "Mobile A-1. Can you read?" hing to a halt ten feet behind the cruiser, the Mus g's driver jammed it into gear and pulled alon side. A pale blond man with a MAC-10 gave her parody of a smile through, his window space. S fired, the report loud, the recoil hurting her s rather. She heard screams and return fire, and the insi of the car ripping to shreds.

S felt a dull thud in her side, then searing pain as smoke cleared and she saw the mangled face of man she'd just shot. The driver grabbed his SM and aimed, while Julie tried to pump the shot-gun gain.

she heard other gunfire, from the mountains and way.

Bullets thudded into the Mustang as the driv screeched away.

Sraised herself painfully to see twenty senior citi , armed with everything from pellet guns to ass t rifles, converging on her position. The citizens of nt Royal had just driven off the killers.

was T's BAINBRID-AEvery," the pilot said, nodding to-ward a small town on the eastern bank of the lazy Susq henna River in southern Pennsylvania.

was at I heard is that the farm is ten miles south of B 'nbridge, "You say you're speculating real estate?" the pilot asked, a local Bolan had hired in Reading when he'd had to refuel.

"Sure," Bolan said. It sounded fine. The chopper had been a good idea gone bad. His notion was to beat the Vulture here by traveling as the crow flies, but he'd been forced down with technical problems. Valuable time had been wasted waiting for another chopper.now it was a race to see who'd get there first, if indeed this was where the Vulture was headed.

"There it is," the pilot said, and Bolan squinted into the rapidly fading light to see a farmhouse with a pickup truck in the chicken yard. A hundred yards from the house sat a hangar-sized Quonset but of a barn.

"Set me down by the river," Bolan directed. He was wearing a black Nike warm-up outfit he'd pur-chased in a shop at Kennedy, the only appropriate clothes he could find there. Its chief advantage was that the loose-fitting jacket easily covered the combat harness.

"I could get you up close to the house," the pilot said, "easy." "I want to... walk the property." The pilot nodded. "You're the boss." Bolan watched the grounds disappear behind a rise as the chopper set down gently on the riverbank a half mile from the house.

He started out the door, then turned back. "If there shoalbe any kind of trouble, I want you to crank this 'ng up and get the hell out of here." was at kind of trouble?" the man asked.

was all know trouble when we bump into it." This pilot smiled. "I've never lost a passenger yet," he s. "I sure as hell don't intend to start now." Executioner climbed out of the chopper.

"Just do w at I say." He closed the door and jogged in the direc on of the farmhouse, taking to the tall, dry John ngrass when the house came: into view. He put the b between himself and the farmhouse to keep from ing seen.

He didn't get within ten feet of the barn. If it housed the arsenal he thought it did, there'd be safe-gu atop safeguards protecting the contents. He knew men like Masterson. Their talent for mayhem ten to be quite extreme.

This Beretta came out of the harness. Bolan braced hi and charged the house from a hundred feet away, the closest he'd get to surprise in the open barn do.

house was white frame with a large front port He jumped the steps up to the porch, ran past a 1 dining-room window to dive and roll should he fire.

n 'ng.

He crept to the front door, tried the handle.

It was open. He shoved it to bounce against the wall, then mov quietly inside, weapon at the ready.

The house was a pit, empty beer bottles and food wrappers everywhere. A lot of people had been here. Pillows and blankets were stacked against the walls, and a television set was still tilde on, running the weather channel.

He moved swiftly and silently through the two-story dwelling, checking the upstairs first. Beds had been slept in and more bedding rolled out on the floor, and European cigarettes were stubbed out in a bedside ashtray. This had been their base of operations and staging area. Hundreds of empty boxes of ammo were scattered around.

The search was thorough upstairs, uncovering noth-+ except the former presence of the Vulture's army. Bolan made his way back downstairs and found the owner of the house hog-tied on the kitchen floor.

The man appeared to be about fifty years old, his hair greasy, gray and stringy. He saw the Executioner and began trying to talk through the gag in his mouth as he bounced on the floor, arms and legs secured behind his back.

Bolan moved to him, squatted and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

"You must be Sarge," he said. "Get these damned ropes off me," the man spat, his voice rough gravel. "If you're with them other guys, they already, took off." "Where to?" Bolan asked.

"How the hell should I know?" he screeched.

"Now get these goddamned ropes off me." Bo an slid over a kitchen chair and sat, staring down as the man squinted angrily up at him. "You answer my questions quickly and honestly. Then may I'll cut you loose." This man sneered at him. "Well you can just-was Bo an's foot slashed out, the right toe of the athletic s he'd bought with the warm-up outfit catching the a an on the left temple.

Blood welled up to run do his face.

He groaned. "You're just as bad as them guys," he said "It's the nature of the business we're in." Bolan let man stare at the business end of- the Beretta. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you." was me on, mister," Sarge said. "It's a bad enough day ready. They took my goods, didn't pay me, then ran o with my wife." Bo an smiled. "They'll be back," he said, confi-dent now. "Who are they? How did you know them"" "Wait a minute," the man said "Are you some kind f cop or with the government or something? If you , I ain't saying nothin" about nothin' until I've seen y lawyer." was re's the problem," Bolan said, scooting his chair closer and leaning way down, "I don't have time play with you." He inched the Bereft closer to re its barrel against the man's forehead "Those men you did business with killed over a hundred peo-ple in New York City today." "W-what?" "As far as you're concerned, I am the government.

You are an accessory to murder-one, deserving the death penalty. Are you going to talk?" Fearfully Sarge nodded, swallowing convulsively. "I got together with them through mutual contacts in the business," Sarge said.

"They said they were mercs and had a job to do here and needed to lay low for a few days, too. I gave them a price for the weap-ons plus the board. They never argued with nothin', guess because they were never gonna pay anyhow." "They never talked about the job?" "Never. Not in front of me. Seemed real well-trained, like commandos. When they left this mornin', they tied me up and took Lureen with "em, that's my wife. Said they'd kill her if I said anything about them. You said they were corning back?" Bolan nodded. "They're going to want more of the same from you.

Nobody packs two jobs at the same time." "Well, I'll be ready for 'em this time.

Imagine cheatin" me like that." "They ever talk about where they were heading, what they were going to do?" "A couple of them talked about headin' west," he replied. "But they shut up when they saw me. Always did.rother, I'd like to tell you a lot more, but they just dn't leave me with nothing." was est," Bolan said. "Everything's west of here." man frowned.

"Why'd they have to take was make sure you didn't call anybody. They want to do business again. It's the only reason you or Lu-reen are alive." was ell... untie me, will you? I ain't no threat to you." was hat's the first lie you've told me today. But I'm goin to untie you anyway because I want you to show me your stock." an used a Buck knife to get the man's hands free, hen Sarge flopped onto his hack and worked at untyi g his legs.

He was up in a minute, walking, ing, rubbing circulation back into his arms.

was me on," Bolan said. "Let's go look in the barn." pulled the small man along by the arm.

They move into the yard, scattering chickens, and out to the uonset hut, fifty feet tall.

"You sell them any ince 'arias?" Bolan asked.

was Id them a couple of AR57-DS," the man said. was things go for twenty-five grand apiece." was sphorous?" This man moved to the door's intricate locking sys-tem,. g his back on Bolan to work at it. "Yeah, and lignite, and a few other nasty things. Used 'em at night in Desert Storm to blow fifty foot up. Light up the area, plus melt the guys underneath. A bargain." "One blew up two floors of a hospital, the, other Prospect Park." "Really?" Sarge said, as a bell went Wand the latch on the door sprang. "'Rough. I just sell the stuff." He slid open the door and turned on overhead lights, and Bolan walked into an emporium of death.

It was set up like a warehouse, with a straight, wide main aisle intersected by smaller branching aisles. The merchandise was piled on stacked pallets that reached all the way to the top of the huge room. A forklift was parked to the side.

There were thousands of cases of rifles and hand-guns, entire areas devoted just to ammunition. A whole section featured Stinger missiles and launchers. There was C-4 and timing mechanisms, grenades, an-tipersonnel mines. Bolan grabbed a long, zippered duffel from a stack of them on the floor. In a world of ordnance, Sarge had it all. There was even a tank with reflective armor parked in the back. Everything had price tags listing both individual and bulk prices.

Bolan went shopping, grabbing handguns and clips of ammo, a laser- sighted M-60, grenades, a bazooka with a dozen rockets to go with it. He filled his duffel until he could barely carry it, then quit.

If he were going to war, he wanted to be as prepared as possible.

As prepared as the Vulture would be.

was ain't gonna pay me, either, are you?". Sarge ask as they walked out the sliding door and into the y an hoisted the heavy duffel onto his shoulder.

"No, I'm not. Where the hell did you get all this stuff, it This -, man smiled wide to show several missing bot-tom this. "Got me a buddy in Saudi who orders this crap m the U.s. government for the locals. When arms shipments show up, he always scrapes a per-cen e off the top and ships it back to me. We split the fits. That's free enterprise, brother." "From where I stand, it looks like illegal arms trade and stealing." was hat's what I said--free enterprise." B men jerked at the sound of a suck.

State Road 441, one-laner, ran north of Masterson's property abou a half mile and was connected to the farm by a Ion dirt driveway. They both watched the step van, lost shadows as the day disappeared, slow down unce 'nly, then turn into the dirt road leading right up the barnyard.

his 10 in the house," Bolan said. "I'll handle this." was at about Lureen?" was at makes you think they'd bring Lureen here".

" Bolan asked. "So you could make a deal? So eve body could go on their merry way?

Lureen's dead r soon will be-Go into the house." This tilde man walked backward, staring for a minute, then turned and hauled ass into the farmhouse. There Bolan stood, an ordnance bag slung heavily over his shoulder, the door open to a substantial personal ar-senal just behind him.

He smiled as the van pulled up, slipping one of the grenades from the zipper case to his jacket pocket. It was a diaper-service van.

Six people climbed out of the van, four men and two women. The age range appeared to be from the midtwenties to early thirties. They looked lean and hard in their casual clothes.

"And who are you?" a man with smoldering eyes and dark skin asked in a heavy Slavic accent as the others fanned out, turning circles.

"My name's Virgil," Bolan said, "Serge's cousin." "And where's Serge?" "Serge doesn't want to do business with you," Bo-lan said, "after the way you treated him and all. He wants Lureen back, too." The man smiled demonically. "Uri," he said, "go give Mulroy a ring and tell him we've arrived. Ask him for an updated list." "Mulroy," Bolan said. "I knew a man... a long time ago, with that name. It wouldn't be Willy Mul-roy, now would it?" The man looked surptised, then nodded, and Bolan could see the wheels turning in his head as he waited for the moment to make his move.

"We need to pick up some more materials," the man 'd, motioning toward the open doorway of the barn.

Bo smiled and stepped aside to let the five peo ple e as the sun's last cherry. rays glowed on the hori not.

"I" 1 handle the forklift," Bolan said.

"Will you be payin in cash?" "Not)," the man said. "We're charging it." Bowalked farther into the building with them, as grabbed bags and carts and scattered to the mere dice. He hated to see women among the ter-rorist. Women would make it easier to travel; they'd be h r to catch, more normal looking.

This dark man kept looking at him, and finally Bo-Ian ed, "What about Iddureen?" This man leaned toward Bolan and spoke low.

"Lu-reen sn't want to come back. She begged us to take n She's having the time of her life... you know what mean?" was pe," Bolan said, cocking his head. "Can't say that I do." Ma,-hive-gun fire roared from the yard, where Sarg was trying to cradle a.50-caliber machine gun wi t a tripod, firing from the hip with a huge belt of arc mo dragging on the ground behind himea.e burst ly knocking him on his behind. "Bastards!" he sci earned.

"I'll show you all! I'll slow you!" Bo turned and ran from the wave of.50-caliber bullslamming into the ordnance-filled barn. From behind him came a drawn-out howl as the dark man was scythed nearly in half.

He hustled down a side aisle, the bag full of equip-ment dragging him down. He stood, hoisting the bag up again.

The way things were moving, he feared that if he set it down it would be gone.

There were screams from the other terrorists as Sarge made the doorway, firing indiscriminately into his own livelihood, the terrorists returning fire now.

Bolan reached the side wall as something went up, a huge explosion that set off subsidiary explosions and rocked the room, filling it with smoke. The place was on fire.

It would all go.

Bolan was blind in the smoke, feeling his way quickly along the wall until lie reached the rear. The firing was centered more to the middle of the build-+, away from his position.

The rear of the building was reinforced with iron bars welded together in narrow, strong slats. There was no getting out there or on the sides. There was only one door.

The tank. He felt his way along the back wall until he ran into the tank, an Abrams battle wagon, then climbed up and in, closing the hatch behind him. He coughed out the smoke and hit the controls.

He'd done this a time or three. It was always a new ex-perience, but one he always figured out.

He got it cranked up, then pulled the periscope down eye level, watching smoke. He flipped on the radar immediate area and watched an outline of the buildi g and its contents come up on the screen, his tank presented by a blinking cursor. He'd do it on nts.

He rolled forward, clanking on the concrete floor, watch ng the dot move along the back wall on the scree. When it hit the main aisle, he turned left, strai tened and looked into hell.

This smoke was being driven away by huge blasts, filling tire disentire place with raging fire. Everything s explosion after explosion rocking the tank as chunks of building and shrapnel slammed the ma- chine He ranked full out and sped through a landscape of fi that blew out all his armor and heated the in side the turret to an ovenlike temperature. Air was hard come by as spots swam before his eyes. He staggered back, the world coming apart.

An explosion ripped the tank, tipping it and throw-+ Man against the side as the turret blew off to crash loudly in the fire. The tank fell back on both throwing him the other way, and he was still some w moving.

tank broke from the inferno of the barn, the build' g throbbing and wheezing like a beating heart. The hole thing was going to go.

He looked up. The chopper he'd rented was hov-ering n the barnyard just ahead. Bolan stood, reach- ing, as the tank rolled beneath the chopper, then snatched a skid, the duffel still straining on his shoulder.

"Go!" he screamed at the pilot. "Go!" The chopper rose, and in a few seconds the barn exploded. Large chunks of it were flung higher than them, and Bolan felt the heat of the leaping fire. The concussion caught them, knocking the chopper nearly sideways at a hundred feet.

Bolan barely hung on as the machine was buffetted wildly by the updraft.

The explosion was righteous in its power, rising many hundreds of feet into the air, turning the night skies to daylight for twenty miles in all directions.

If Bolan looked to the east, he could see nothing but fire.

The winds rolled in, air hurrying to resupply what the mighty fire had eaten just as the pilot had precar-iously regained control of the bird.

The machine was buffetted again, and this time Bo-lan knew they were going down. They had just barely cleared the rise leading down to the riverbank, and Bolan let go to fall twenty feet as the chopper dipped quickly, then rose, then plowed sideways, embedding its main rotor deeply into the sand and tossing the pilot out his window.

The Executioner rolled down the hillside, hugging his duffel, rolling with it. He hit on the bank and jumped up, setting down the bag to run to the pilot.

The man was already sitting up, head in hands, as Bolan ached him.

""ng broken?" the big American asked.

"I.. I don't think so," the pilot returned, standing shakil.

was n let's go!" Bolan said, grabbing his arm and hurryi g toward the riverbank.

was where?" "I w a row boat. We're going downriver." He pointe to the still- bright sky above the rise. "This place ill be crawling soon." Heand the boat where he'd spotted it upon land- ing, grabbed the duffel to toss it inside.

was at about my chopper?" "it tomorrow," Bolan said, pulling the bow right onto the bank so the pilot could clamber in next the ordnance. The Executioner climbed in be-hind a id shoved off with one of the oars.

The river was wide and lazy. Bolan manuevered them i to the current, then simply let them drift. The pilot bbed his arm and grimaced.

Bo pulled the headset out of his harness. "Hold on a " ute," he said, putting the thing on. "I've got to m a quick call." Cleveland Ohio "I ain't never stayed at a nice hotel before," Lureen Masterson said from beside the Vulture in the Cad-illac's back seat. "Sarge always said you can sleep jest as good on a ten-dollar-a-night mattress as you can on a hunnert-dollar-a-night." "Well, Sarge just seems full of homespun wis-dom," the man answered, wondering how such horribly mangled speech could come out of the mouth of such a beautiful young woman. "Noble savage that he is." "Huh?" The Vulture smiled and patted her on the blue-jeaned thigh. "A woman like you deserves the best of everything, my dear," he said low. "And you'll have the best. But you must remember to keep your mouth shut when we're around strangers. You do un-derstand that?" "Here's the hotel, boss," Mulroy said from behind the w eel as he pulled into the circular driveway of the F "ngham Hotel. Prominent on Superior Ave-nue i east Cleveland, the hotel was ringed by the cult l gardens, the historical society and the Cleve-land Aquarium. There was even a decent view of Lake Erie a block north. A shame they'd have to leaven the morning. The Vulture made a mental note to visit the area whenever he was in the neigh rhood.

"u and Armon get us checked in," he replied.

"Aftfour days in custody, I could use a drink.

We' going to retire to the bar. Meet us." was o rooms, boss?" "T o rooms, Willy," the Vulture returned, the worn snuggling against him. Anyone's dog who'll hunt, e thought. She'd be amusing for a day or two. This y pulled up before the hotel, and Mulroy climb out to wave at the doorman. "Howdy!" he call then hurried into the large glass lobby to reg-ister while Armon popped the trunk to unload the lugg every.

This fake beard that went along with the dyed hair was i hy, and the Vulture rubbed his hand against it. He'd also traded his eye patch for a pair of wrap-arou sunglasses.

He unwed and kissed the young woman on the tem-ple. " Would you like to go get a drink while they get the m set up?" "Sure," she said. "I never turn down anything free." "I'm not surprised," the Vulture replied, opening his door and disclimbing out of the car. Lureen was al-ready out her side before he'd had a chance to get it for her.

He'd been hearing endlessly about her life, about how she'd been forced to marry her cousin at age fourteen and about how he'd traded her to Sarge Mas-terson for three machine guns at age seventeen, how Sarge had kept her a virtual prisoner ever since.

The woman had enough wind to float a hot-air balloon.

Arm in arm they walked into the fancy lobby, the Vulture turning immediately toward the bar, the Or-chid Room.

"What should I call you?" she asked. "Nobody ever uses your name." He smiled, reaching into the new billfold in his pocket. He got it and removed the driver's license, a picture ID of him, patch and all, smiling. It identified him as Jerry Bendorff. "Call me Jerry," he said, and they got into the bar, a dark, moody place, too small, with absolutely no orchids anywhere.

He picked the farthest table from the door, one that backed into a corner, and called to the bartender as they walked there. "Scotch straight up," he ordered, then looked at Lureen.

"Rum and Coke," she said loudly. "In a glass!" The few patrons in the place laughed as they took their seats. "But Jerry's not your real name," she whis red, leaning across the table and kissing him quick on the lips. "You know, the name you usually go byit "I've got a lot of names," he said. "In my line.of work, it's best that no one know anything real about you." was you saying you don't have a name-no friends that call you by your real name?" "11...1 do have a name that I bought about ten years go, but I can't tell you that." ny.

"T still me. You don't want to be burdened by know edge about me. Just enjoy the ride.:. it's free." This bartender showed up with the drinks just as Muletter y and Armon walked in.

He waved them over, then mmediately ordered another Scotch from the man fore he left.

The men sat. "You boys want a drink?" Lureen asked.

was ey don't drink on my paycheck," the Vulture said. "We're in a war zone." He picked up his shot of Scotch and tossed it down in one drink, slamming the g s to the table, then holding it in the air.

was rry," he said. "Make it a double." "1' worried," Mulroy said. "We haven't heard from ranz yet. He was supposed to get in touch with us on they reached the farm." "aybe they haven't reached the farm," the Vul- ture'd, reaching into his pocket to bring out the tiny spring knife that had been with his gear.

Small, palm sized.

But deadly.

"I don't know, but the minute I saw that-was The man clammed up as the bartender returned and put a double shot of Scotch on the table. "Get an-other," the Vulture said.

The bartender nodded and walked off.

"That bastard from Paraguay," Mulroy continued, "I knew something was real smelly about this whole business." "Would you look at that!" a man sitting at the bar exclaimed.

The Vulture's eyes drifted to the television over the bar.

Monstrous explosions rocked the twilight sky, filling the screen with orange, streaming fire. The words "Bainbridge, Pa," were written on the screen.

"Gawd!" Lureen yelled; then immediately lowered her voice and looked abashed.

She looked him hard in the eyes. "It's the freakin' farm." "So it is," the Vulture said, jamming the blade hard into the tabletop to quiver in the low lighting, "I'm telling you," Mulroy said, "all this is tied up with that guy from Paraguay." "Belasko," the Vulture whispered, knowing that, like him, the big man used many names.

The cellular phone on Mulroy's hip bleated, and he quickly answered it. "Yeah, go ahead. Uh-huh. All of them. Jeez. Hold on." He looked at the Vulture. "Delta Team is down, blown to pieces." was at means that damned Sarge is blowed up, too," Lureen said. "Good fer him." This Vulture held out his hand. "Give," he said, and ulroy handed over the phone. He spoke without prea ble.

"Continue west, we'll find another sourc." He disconnected and handed the phone back to Mul you. "Could it be that our paths finally cross again?" he asked, downing the double Scotch and holding the glass up again. "More!" This bartender brought the bottle, leaving it on the table d hurrying away.

P shot through the Vulture's eye socket, the pa-thetic remnants of his right eye. Air got in around the edge of his sunglasses, stinging still after all these years H fixed his good eye on the still-quivering blade befo him.

Reaching, he grabbed it and jerked it out of maple tabletop and held it before his face, re-living the moment.

He'd been tracking the man he knew as Belasko for fifteen yews.

The man was a profe sional, he knew that much, and that he seemed to be elusive and yet everywhere. He knew Belasko to be a human machine steeped in continual warfare, impo sible to pin down, and wherever he appeared, death followed. The Vulture felt connected to him.

"How many people do we have left?" he asked, still staring at the blade.

"Five teams, four per team, including us," Armon said.

"More than enough. We will snake our final ar-rangements in Kansas City tomorrow night." "What about the big guy?" Mulroy asked.

"We'll do our job, wait until he finds us, then kill him." He brought the blade close to his good eye, re-membering. Someone had held his head down while Mulroy had strained to jerk the blade out. It had missed his brain by a sixteenth of an inch as it plunged through his skull to stick out above his right ear.

So much pain. He'd kept the blade razor sharp, used it often to keep it in shape. But it wanted to go home, and the Vulture was a good enough Samaritan to return it to its rightful owner.

Virtue was its own reward.

MACK BOLAN SAT in the parking lot of a Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, McDonald's, trying to digest a Big Mac while reading a map in the yellow light of the golden arches. He had Kurtzman on the headset.

"Take this down," he said. "I talked to the guy at Bob's Texaco, and he said a whole parade of them came through this morning filling up. He estimated twenty-five to thirty. Get that to Hal-quicker this way.

Bo pulled the plastic top off the Coke on the dash d took a sip.

"That Bainbridge farm left a rathe big mess that's not so easy to hide. He might not happy about that. But after what happened in New York, there's not much choice." was...x's all over the TV They found seven bodie." was at's my count, too. And a helicopter," Bolan add "S re. What else?" "T 11 him they're headed west and there are women amon them. It means some can travel as husband and rife to throw off suspicion.

You got anything?" was direct hit," Bear said. "In. a place called Front Roy Virginia.

It's on the border with West Virgi ia." was ld on," Bolan said, finding his place on the map. e saw it, right at the mouth of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

"What happened?" was e cops got a make on all the cars stolen at the sce in New York, all taken within a block of aban- don nt. I'll give you the list in a minute." was ver mind," Bolan said. "They'll have changed cars y the morning." "Anyway, a Front Royal cop called in a speeder, and i was one of the target cars, except with stolen pl They skirmished. The sheriff is dead, the dep- uty in the regional hospital in Front Royal, shot up. Everybody and their brother is on their way down there." "How old is this news?" "A couple hours." "Too bad. That place is reeking with testosterone by now. Anything else?" "No. Not a peep, although I've got a question for you." [*reggg'allyes"...[*thorn] "Front Royal is south of Bainbridge, not west." "I've noticed. I think I'm going to go in and sniff after the government dogs anyhow. It's a pretty quick shot for me down Interstate 81 from Harrisburg right to Front Royal. Once I get there, I'll probably just follow the news vans to the hospital. How many cars did they steal?" "Seven," Bear answered. "But two were later found abandoned in the city, and you're not going to believe this-was "They took a diaper-service van." "How'd you know?" "They'll find the pieces of it on Sarge's farm. Call Hal. Let me know if anything happens." "Watch your back, buddy." "Yeah," Bolan said, disconnecting.

He sat back, trying to force another bite of the ham-burger, then rewrapped it and put it back in the bag. Five cars left. Five times four was twenty, probably all tak rig different routes, which would explain why the tar et car was in Front Royal-traveling south to separa e from the others before turning west. He'd only able to follow one trail at a time.

Front Royal seem the place to begin.

He worked the rental Cougar onto 81 and headed south, finishing the Coke, saving the ice. The back end w is heavy with the ordnance bag. He'd comgotten the pi t squared away, at least until hell broke loose when hey traced the chopper back to him.

Heas concerned about lack of sleep. The adren- aline as flowing heavily right now and he'd be okay for a y or two, but at some point he'd have to sleep to sta in fighting shape. His adversaries were prob-ably i bed by now, tucked away for the night in motel with "clean" cars parked in front, cars they had t en not from, busy streets, but from isolated farmhouses.

He knew what they'd done to get those cars, t The anger juiced him, his mind reliving the mo-ment his arm arced in slow motion toward the tall man's throat, the merest glancing blow sending it up-ward rid outward enough to save the man's grotesque life.

Which n he pulled into Front Royal at three in the momi g, his jaw ached from keeping his teeth tightly cleric d for hours: The Executioner stoked a large fire.

He ound the hospital easily enough, a simple two- story building on the west end of town. There were a number of news vans parked outside, the reporters endlessly recycling the few uritnesses to the shooting, asking the same questions over and over.

Bolan drove near the back of the parking lot, park-+ under a burned-out pole light. He rummaged through his harness until he found the badge. It was an ID card with a photo in the comer that identified him as Cliff Jones, of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Avoiding the front entry seemed to be the thing.

He slipped into the ER entry, making his way quickly to the front of the building.

lie got through a metal-detector station with the use of his ID.

The place was swarming with cops and government people.

The Vulture's entry into the U.s. and subse-quent escape involved so many government and New York State agencies that they'd be fighting one an-other just to use the bathrooms.

He followed the main flow of investigators up to the second floor, finding a large knot of them arguing over jurisdiction in a doctor's lounge just off the nurse's station.

Everybody wanted a crack at inter-rogating the wounded officer. Two beefy plaincloth- esmen, probably FBI, guarded a door farther down the hall. His destination.

An older nurse with gray-streaked hair and a puck-ered mouth worked in the nurse's station. Bolan ap-proached her, speaking quietly in a hallway filled with people.

"Just checking on the officer's condition," he said with smile at the nurse.

"I guess she's lucky," the nurse said.

"One shot graz her side, cracking three ribs and giving her a good ash.

Another went clear through her left hand, right on the palm.

She'll be out of here in the morning." was ," Bolan said, and meant it.

"w, if we could just bring her man back." was ugh," Bolan said. He'd heard the whole story of Julie and Ted Powell on the radio while driving to Front Royal. And he'd heard about the two children left hind, adding this to the ever growing list of payb k items for when he found the Vulture. And he would find him.

He thanked the nurse and moved easily down the hallw you. He reached the doorway, nodded at the two agent and tried to move past them through the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" a tall man with 4i L gray mane asked. His ID read Darryl Johnson.

"I' going in to ask the officer a few questions. Let e pass." They both laughed. The other guy's name was Hobb. He laid a menacing hand on Bolan's arm as he d his ID. "You clowns have no jurisdiction here, he said. "This is a domestic matter now, so butt ut. What the hell do you think everybody's ar-guing about down the hall?" "e Vulture's terrain is global," Bolan said. "I am personally representing the President and I insist on going in that room." "The President," Hobbs laughed. "We've had that line used three times on us tonight and we've only been here for an hour." Bolan withdrew a card from his pocket. "There's a Department of Justice number to call. Do it, or you'll regret it later on." Their eyes narrowed, but after glancing at each other they shrugged and watched as Bolan brought the headset out of its harness. After he punched in the number, he spoke briefly and handed the headset over. Then he watched as Johnson had a quick exchange that left him very subdued.

"Right," Johnson said, and Hobbs hurried to open the door. "Look, if I can do anything to help..." "I'll let you know," Bolan said, and slipped quietly into the darkened room. He could hear the woman crying in bed and walked slowly to her.

Her torn and bloody uniform was wrapped in a clear plastic bundle on the night table, with her cap lying atop her folded-up belt and holster outside the bag. She turned toward him as he approached, her face wet with tears.

"I'm Special Agent Jones," he said, holding up the badge. "I'm sorry about your husband. He must have been a good man." "What would you know about it?" she asked. "Some," he answered.

H left hand was bandaged heavily, and she mov gingerly under the hospital gown from the rib injury. She had small glass cuts in a dozen places, all of them cleaned and dressed.

She wasn't an especially good looking woman, but forthrightness shone out of herd e a beacon.

"I thought they weren't going to debrief me until the morning," she said.

"I just want to ask a couple of questions," he said.

was ow about some answers for me. I'd like some ans rs, too." was his car," he said, "the white Mustang. It was heading into the mountains when you last saw it?" "I ve already told them this." "You didn't tell me." was he mountains, yes. What else?" was ere were four of them?" was eah, four." "All men?" was o...I think there were either one or two women in the car." was scribe their look." was ropean...one Asian... maybe one was a Span iard. traveled a lot with the service and am pretty good with character types.

Not an American in the bunc." B an walked away from the bed. This trail was as good as any. He'd have a go at it.

"t me ask you a question," he said, his back to her. "The highway-patrol dragnet failed to catch these guys. Why?" "You're asking me?" "Yeah... why do you think the dragnet didn't scoop them in?" "Mr. Jones," she said, and he turned around to find himself staring down the long barrel of a$38 revolver. She cocked it, her eyes burning with the fires of righ-teous vengeance.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Bolan stared down the barrel of the.38 and could tell, even from four feet away and in half light, that no bull filled the chambers.

Hospitals had a thing about loaded guns-lying around. Deputy Powell had just ade her second mistake of the day-or was it? was asy, Officer Powell," he said, playing along.

"W t are you doing?" was ho are you?" she demanded again.

H moved closer, holding out his II) tag as he did so. "I'm Special Agent-was was obody told me a thing about you, that you'd be co g to see me. I consider that unusual given the circ stances." was ell, I'm not associated with the run-of-the-mill law nforcement agencies. My affiliations are of a high y covert nature-in other words, I can't tell." was hat do you want from me?" was s much information as I can get as quick as I can et it about the animals who killed your husband. I'm acking them." "Are you going to take them down?" "Yes." "Good," she said. "That's what I thought.

We'll track 'em together." "I don't think so." She looked around the room. "The first thing you've got to do is help me get out of here. There's a ledge beneath the window, isn't there?" Bolan looked. "Yep. There"...ness a ledge.

Why would I help you?" "Because I'll kill you if you don't." Bolan sighed. "Look, Deputy Powell-was "Call me Julie," she said.

"How about you?" "Mike. I really don't think you'll kill me." He moved to sit on the bed.

"Please. Just answer a few questions, I'll be out of your hair and I'll get the man who killed your husband. And you, you need to get some sleep, go home, bury your dead and take care of those children of yours. They're going to be need-+ you in the next few weeks and months." 6'After," she said, moving painfully toward the closet to retrieve an overnight bag. "Right now I want you to go into that bathroom and wait for me to get dressed. We'll try going out the window." "In your condition?" he asked. "Yes, in my condition," she barked.

"No," he said. "I'm not going anywhere.

We're wasting valuable time." She thought for several seconds, shrugged, then open the suitcase, removing a casual change of clothe , jeans and T-shirt. Still keeping the empty gun train on him, she began pulling off the flimsy hos-pital wn.

"Also right," Bolan said, turning his back to her.

"Now is there anything you can add that the cops don't now yet." was re's a lot," she said. "I want first crack at those astards." "W uld you stop it?" he said, exasperated.

"You" shot, hurt less-than You're holding up the progress of a mas ive manhunt that will catch these people." "W y don't you get out of the way of the massive manh t?" He uld hear clothes rustling, the sharp intake of breath as she tried to pull a shirt over cracked ribs.

"I' smarter than they are," Bolan said. "Me, too," she answered.

"Let's go." He moved to the sealed window with her. Bolan held b k, just waiting. She finally looked at him.

"I' got some information," she said, "that might possib y put you right on their trail. If you want it, you'll help me out of here, because the only way I'm giving you anything is if you help me." He ode an instant decision-to go along with the rambli gs of a woman driven by shock and grief. There as something about her face, the look he saw there.

"You can put the gun away," he said.

"It's not loaded." Her eyes widened as she popped the flange to empty chambers.

Bolan reached into his jacket, into the harness, and came out with a glass cutter and suction cup. Within two minutes he was out on the hospital ledge; helping Julie Powell through the window space.

The night was still all over them, but Bolan knew it would be graying toward morning very soon.

"I'll lower you as best I can," he said, "then go out the same way I came in. You sure you want to do this?" "With or without you," she said.

"Okay." He handed her his car keys. "I'm under the burned-out pole light in the back of the lot," he said, then frowned at her. "This is going to hurt more than anything has ever hurt before in your life." "That's already happened tonight, Mike." "It's going to hurt as I louver you, and it's going to feel like you're dying when you let go and fall the rest of the way to the ground." She nodded and sat on the edge of the ledge, her feet dangling toward the ground. He took her by both hands, letting her slide off the ledge until his hands were her- only support, her full weight jerking her arms, pulling her rib cage. He could hear a cry strain- ing to get out of her throat.

"Let go," he whispered, and the woman complied immed ately, crying out then swallowing it as she hit the and and fell back.

"A you all right?" he whispered.

She at up, face drained of color, and nodded, wav-+ hi away.

He lave her a thumbs-up and climbed back into the pital room. This was either the smartest or dumbe t thing he'd ever done. The woman could re ally h e something or she could be hysterical with grief.

ple dealt with the death of loved ones in strang ways.

He ad made an emotional choice and was now going o have to live with it. Taking a breath, he walk to the door and slipped out, and the FBI men still s ding guard looked at him.

was s," he said. "She's weak and has gone to sleep. ow about letting her get some uninterrupted time t rest?" "Ye , sir," Hobbs said, both of them at attention. Bol walked down the hallway, crisp but casual as if belonged there and nobody would even dare questi n his presence. That approach usually worked best.

s he passed by, the bureaucrats were still ar-guing n the doctor's lounge. It's what they did best. He xited through the ER, the same way he'd come in, an got through the parking lot, expecting at any minu for someone to realize the star witness was gone.

Heched the car to find Julie Powell hunched down in the front passenger seat, shaking in pain, her face still drained. He could see blood staining the side of her T-shirt. The escape must have torn the sutures loose.

The Cougar accommodated him easily as he slid behind the wheel and started. it up.

"You weren't kidding about the pain," she said quietly, scooting up on the seat as he drove out of the parking lot and headed into the darkened streets around the hospital, staying far away from the main drag.

"We haven't bought much time, Julie," he said.

"If you've got something, let's. go with it. But be honest with yourself.

Ask yourself if' you really want to work with me and not through other, more... conventional, options. Ask yourself if you can handle this physi-cally and emotionally. Ask yourself if your kids really want to have both of their parents dead on the same night." "For a man of action, you sure talk a lot," she said. He took that as his answer. "Lady, I'm all ears," he replied, shutting down the engine on a dark stretch of narrow asphalt road fronting residential frame houses that scaled the foothills. The Shenandoah Valley lay below them, wide and fertile, not a place for violent death.

"I shot one of them," she said simply.

He jerked in the seat. "The reports didn't-was "That's because you're the first person I'm tell- ing." he was big for a woman, five foot ten or so, and as he looked at her she seemed larger, filling her side o the car, her eyes glowing pinpoints of fire. The "ng heat from her rage seemed to roll off her in wa so.

"Di you kill him?" the Executioner asked.

"H took the Remington 12-gauge right in the face," she says. "Yeah...I killed him. And I've got three ore to go." " o men, two women?" "y. Any ideas?" "f e got one," he said. "I've made a couple of assu 'ons. First that these guys don't know their way d here very well." [*reggg'C nea" was ndly that they must have avoided all the ma jor probably the secondary roads in order to elude the hi hway patrol." "I" e thought that, too." He heId her eyes. "You know these hills pretty well? he asked "Well enough to know where ev-. g goes?" Sh nodded. "I'm listening." was reconstruct the event, only thinking of it from the e mies' point of view. Can you drive?" was is car?" was. I want you in your car. I'll follow."."...AA by not go together?" "I a plus ork alone, Julie. That's how I can concentrate on the task at hand without worrying about the safety of others. If we get a lead here, you're on your own afterward." "I understand," she said stoically. "The car's at my house." "There'll be protection at your house," he said.

"In case they come back to finish you. They won't, by the way. Do you have access to another vehicle?" She smiled grimly. "The impound yard," she said, turning to look out the windshield. "Turn north at the next intersection. It's about five minutes away." "Good," he said, starting up the Cougar and get-ting back on the road. "What I want you to do is put yourself in that white Mustang.

You're traveling south along the Blue Ridge Parkway. You've just killed a cop and know that the HP is undoubtedly on their way. Your car's shot up and you've got a dead man lying with his head in your lap. How do you elude and, more importantly, where do you dump the body once you've eluded?" He made the turn north and stepped on the gas, realizing that all the Front Royal cops were either dead or in the car with him. "What good will having the body do us?" she asked.

"It'll get me to the next car," he replied.

Powell stared at him but didn't say anything.

"Dearborne's Crossing is the road I'd take down from the mountains if I were looking for a getaway. It's not this best way out, but it sure is the best-looking way that." was " ll start there," he answered.

was o are these people?" she asked. "Nobody's sayin very much except that they killed a bunch of folks in New York. Some kind of militia or some ing?" was rcenaries," he replied. "They're working un-der a terrorist known only as the Vulture. They're mosd overseas people, soldiers of fortune willing to do an ing for money." was o is this Vulture? What is he doing here?

What does want?" "don't know his real name or existence," Bo- lawn' ntly answered. "Got our first picture ----ever- of hi just two days ago. Mug shots." "H w do you fit in to all this?" she asked.

He turned and. stared quickly at her. "There's a junky, up ahead," he said.

was W's it. Kill your lights." He id as he was told. The car rolled up through a grave drive to stop before eight-foot chain-link gates with locked chain holding the. gates together. The sign ve the gates read Pop's Salvage.

moved up in the dark to the fence, and Powell put a roger to her lips for silence. The shadowy hulks of cars filled the Executioner's vision. A small mobil home, lights out, was parked fifty feet into the labyrinth. It was one of those places where only the owner knew where anything was.

Powell pointed to the mobile home. "We'll let Pop sleep," she said, and reached for the lock, giving it a quick jerk. It came off in her hand.

"It broke about five years ago," she said as she quietly slid the looping chain through the fence and dropped it. She raised the latch and pushed open one of the gates. At that second, two growling rottweilers charged through the yard toward them, baring their teeth.

Bolan's hand instinctively went to the Beretta until Powell started in with the talk. "Hello, big Bruno," she said in a gentle, confident voice as she painfully dropped to one knee. "How's the big guy? And how's my Panzie?" The dogs became immediately docile, and the dep-uty hugged them as she kept talking in the same soft, soothing tones. Then she stood.

"I'll be right back," she whispered, walking into the yard, the dogs trailing happily behind her.

Within a minute Bolan heard an engine start up in the distance, rumbling, powerful. A car moved slowly through the lot without lights, picking its way to the yard. It was a souped-up Camaro.

When she got through the gate, he closed it, affix-+ the chain and the broken lock, the dogs padding happily through the yard, wagging their stubby tails.

"Courtesy of some drug pushers," she said, patting the on the side.

"Let's go." H moved to the still-running Cougar and climbed in.

ithout another word she sped off-fast. Bolan shoo his head and followed.

S sped back to Highway 11, taking him down to the i tersection with Skyline Drive. The area was still and investigation.

Her patrol car, the hood smashed in, e door gone, was cordoned. off with yellow tape as i estigators worked under floodlights. One lane of t parkway was still open, and a trooper directed traf dround the investigation.

T moment she passed the place, she kicked it into gear again, speeding off, and Bolan tried his best to keep up on the winding uphill grade. Almost imme di y he started seeing signs for a cutoff to Highway 211, the intersection of the Luray Caverns and the place the Virginia HP would set up roadblocks.

The real utoff would have to be before that point.

S bypassed several roads leading down off the mou tain before heading down a dirt road that see at first to just be a scenic turnout with picnic tabl. But the road continued beyond the tables, win ng slowly back down Mount Marshall and head-+ est.

It as perfect, or seemed perfect anyway.

The other road had been too big, too exposed. Dearborne's Cros ing was the kind of road Bolan would look for if he were trying to beat a dragnet.

Once down the mountain, they were suddenly into farm country. She bypassed two quarter-mile sections, then skidded to a stop at the third. He pulled up beside her.

"I think by this point, they'd realize they'd made it down," she said. "Once they'd passed two inter-sections in the middle of nowhere, they'd realize there were a lot more. I'd go down this road, either direc-tion. But we'll find a body in the bar ditch." "You go north," he said. "If either of us find some-thing, we'll blast the horn to let the other know." "Got you," she said, and drove off to the north. Bolan drove slowly, his lights on high beam, look-+ for anything. The road was one-lane blacktop, etched heavily with a borrow ditch--more commonly called a bar ditch-on either side that was overgrown with tall weeds.

He was glad to be away from Julie Powell.

If he could find the body first, he'd take off and leave her to her other duties. He couldn't help but believe that, once she thought it over, she'd realize she needed to be with her kids because of the blow the family had taken.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when he saw the flattened grass from the driver's-side window and some tire tracks leading up to the place. He stopped the car, looking around as he climbed out.

He moved to the ditch, walking the tire treads to the flattened grass, then stepping down several feet into e weed-choked gully. He walked slowly along the itch until he bumped into something on the grou do. He bent, clearing weeds, to see a man's shoe.

H leaned right-brace over and felt a leg.

He pulled the legs up t e incline of the ditch until the head came into view The face was gone, blown apart by a shotgun.

Letting go of the body, Bolan climbed back out of the itch and scanned the ever-brightening horizon. Two miles away he saw the small dot of a farmhouse atop a high hill.

There was nothing else around for mile a.

If e were the mercs, once the body was disposed of, "d have to look immediately for a new car.

e distant farmhouse drew him like a lighthouse.

Chester Gap, Virginia July 18 Bolan sped down the country road, then turned up the long gravel driveway. The name on the mailbox read Wortham. The house was set perhaps a thousand yards from the mailbox, up a long hill. Rolling farm-land surrounded the fenced-in yard of the house, but the house seemed separate, removed. It told him who-ever lived in the house was probably older, retired. People who'd spent their life working the land and then sold it off to spend their final years watching others toil as they had toiled.

The gate defining the house property was hanging open; the house, fifty feet distant, was a typical white frame farm dwelling. He drove in slowly. An old, rusted combine collecting bugs and tall weeds sat be-neath an oak tree.

He saw no car parked near the house. A bad sign. Lights burned within, and the sound of a television blare even out in the yard. He parked near the con-crete porch, unconcerned about finding trouble here. The Vulture's people would have put as much dis-tance between this place and themselves as quickly as this y could. If this was the place.

Hpulled on a pair of tight black leather driving glow and climbed out of the car.

H moved up the stairs to the wooden screen door. Behi d it the.

inner door was open, a morning farm-repo program blaring out of the unseen television. All could see through the open door was a small foyer H knocked, lightly at first, then with increasing tena ty. He heard a dog bark mournfully, then whine, and t e animal limped up to the door, dragging its left hind eg. It was bleeding.

It as an old bloodhound, its ears drooping, its tail betty n its legs.

"hat is it, boy?" he said gently, and pushed open the d r, the dog baying, low and sonorous, then turn ing t hurry back into the house. B an followed.

H moved through the foyer and into the living room, Two old people, a man and a woman in country work clothes, sat on a worn couch.

They'd been shot dozes of times, their bodies riddled, blood every- wher. They'd never known what hit them. TV trays full f cold dinner sat before them. The dog, crying softl , was up on the sofa, curled up between them.

The TV was so loud Bolan could barely think.

One of them must have been hard of hearing.

Pulling the gloves up tight, he shut the set off. An-ger welled within him, spilling over, at the pointless and cruel end before him.

Time was the enemy right now. He'd tracked them to this point and needed to keep going. If he was right and they'd holed up for the night, it meant they might not be that far away right now. But with daylight just beginning to suffuse the sky, they'd be on the move again and probably be looking for another car.

He went through the kitchen quickly, then the din-+ room. In the corner of the dining room sat a small desk with a beat-up old typewriter and a stack of mail.

Older people tended to be organized when it came to their personal record keeping. He hoped that was operational in this case as he rifled the piles of paper, looking for car-registration records.

He found them in a cubbyhole on the desktop, next to the Medicare paperwork and life-insurance forms. He grabbed up the license-tag renewal form for a 1982 brown Buick Skylark and committed the tag number to memory, though their M.o.

showed the Vulture's people stealing a separate tag for every car they'd stolen.

The screen door creaked. Not much, but enough to let him know someone had entered the house. The living and dining rooms were separated by a rounded alcove. He pulled the Beretta from his webbing and bent over it, muffling the sound of its priming with his body, then put his back to the wall just on the other side of the alcove.

Flrboards creaked just a touch, and his senses tingl. He held the gun up beside his face, alert for any und. A footfall. Closer.

en he estimated the interloper to be on the other side f the alcove wall, he swung out the Beretta in front f him just as Julie Powell approached from the other direction with her.38 at the ready.

This y stood, a gun pointing to each fiercely tense face. Then they eased back their weapons.

was at have you done here?" she demanded, no-ticing the ransacked desk and the paper crumpled in his f hand. "What kind of maniac-was H held out the tag application. "They're in this car," he said.

"And we're wasting time." H face relaxed with the realization the murder wasn t Bolan's doing. She lowered the gun, holstering it. was rry," she said.

H looked toward the living room. "Did you know them?" Sh nodded. "Tom and Rose Wortham. They were good people, real good people." B an got into his harness, bringing out the headset. "The dog---" was eneral Lee," she said. "That's his name. He was born on this farm and lived his whole life around those two old people. He won't get over this.

Looks like he's hurt pretty bad, too." "Want me to do it?" Bolan, offered.

"No," she replied. "It needs to come from me." "You take care of things, then," Bolan said, and walked out of the dining room and through the living room with its terrible still life on the couch.

His anger felt like a physical presence or a shadow that walked him to the door.

As he made his way to the car, he punched up Stony Man, getting Kurtzman on the horn. "I'm on them," Bolan told him. "They've changed cars again. No one knows this but us." "Give me the data," Bear said, and Bolan provided the details of the Worthams" car.

"I can't sit on this," Bear said. "It needs to go back in the net." "Give it an hour first," Bolan said. "Now listen. Here's what I want us to do with it. I'm assuming you have no new information." "Nothing here. They've got some identification coming in from Interpol on a few of the dead mercs in Manhattan. So far, all of these people dropped out of society several years ago and haven't been seen since." "Figures." "Now what?" "I agree with you that they went to ground last night.

That tells me they probably stopped as soon as they t ught it was safe, somewhere within, say, one hund d miles." was at's a big radius, Striker." "n (t if you just looked west and in another state, whic is what I want you to do." He studied his map, openi g it on the hood of the car, the sky just light enou to read by. "Got a map?" "I' looking at it now. Where are you?" 46 e area is called Chester Gap. Miles and miles of f land. Look west. Do you see a city called, Elkin , West Virginia?" was t it." "T there first. Call every hotel and motel in that city d talk about the car, not the tag number." was y Elkins?" "It west," Bolan replied, "and can be reached by secon ary roads.

It's eighty miles away, just about the right distance.

It's big enough to have hotels, but small enough to not attract obvious attention. I'm on my you. Call me when you've got something." was it... there's something coming in. Okay. Okay.

Mack?" was ?" "T ere's been a shooting in North Carolina, in Charl tte. Minor traffic mishap... man and woman in car g t out with guns... three dead in the other car. They pcd away. A witness said they were speaking in a reign language. That's south, Mack. South." "Ignore it," Bolan said. "Call Elkins and get back to me. Ou." As he folded up the headset and put it away, the sound of a gunshot came from inside the house, and Julie Powell exited the house: within seconds, smok-+ gun still in her hand. She holstered it and ap-proached him.

"Where's their car?" Bolan scanned the yard, pointing to a small barn behind the house.

"Let's check it." They jogged to the tumbledown spare-lumber barn, the barest hint of red paint just visible when they got close. The hasp was shot off, and the lock was lying intact on the ground, the door ajar.

She started to pull open the door and clutched at her ribs with a grimace. Bolan grabbed the door. The Mustang sat within, pockmarked by bullets all over it. They walked to the passenger side, where the door was filled with pellet holes, windows smashed, blood splattered everywhere.

"I got him good," she said.

"Did you see him in the ditch?" Bolan asked, opening the door to peer within, looking for anything that would help. But the car was stripped clean of everything save a monstrous bloodstain. Profes- sionals.

"Yeah," she said.

Bolan straightened and handed her the car infor-mation.

"We split off here," he said. "Thanks for your help. I ask you to give me an hour or so before handing this over to the Feds." was ere are you going now?" she asked, following him o t of the ramshackle barn.

"f going after the people who killed your hus-band," he said.

"That's all you need to know." He turned and pointed to her bloodsoaked side. "Go home. Get well.

Goodbye." He bbed the map and climbed into the Cougar, keying it to roaring life. He slipped into reverse and turned around.

In the rearview he could see her watch him d ve away, her arms folded. She wore her gun high o her hip. Her eyes were staring him down from behind as he jerked it into first, hit the gas and sped away, er image disappearing in clouds of dust.

For e first time in the game, he was going to make little time, close in just a bit on his quarry. He ma e it out of the farm roads, then took state roads west, oving through the Shenandoah Valley and into West Virginia in less than an hour.

At the time he crossed the state line, his headset bee and Bolan retrieved it. "Yeah?" "M ck, it's Kurtzman," came the man's excited voice. "We got a positive on that car." was ere?" "El 1ns, West Virginia. A place called the Bickle Knob not. Two women and a man, European accents.

Paid icash. Checked in at ten-thirty last night." "Got 'em," Bolan said, his foot instinctively push-+ down harder on the gas pedal.

SPECIAL AGENT WILLIAM "Frosty" Peaks of the Drug Enforcement Administration sat in one of forty-seven coffee shops in Los Angeles International Air-port, listening to his co-worker bitch while stirring his fourth spoonful of sugar into his fifth cup of coffee.

His eyes, however, were locked on to an interesting tableau just across the busy aisle, near a bank of phones.

"So, I said to him, "Man, you've either been snor-tin" coke or your mustache has the worst case of dan-druff I've ever seen!"" The man laughed at his own line. "Did you get it? Dandruff... cocaine..." "Cute, Gordon," Peaks said. "Now I've got one for you. What's our friend Agent Madison doing over there by those phones?" Gordon Dinsmore turned to casually look at the phones. Madison, in a glen plaid suit, was holding a receiver but obviously not talking to anyone. He kept eyeing a Middle Eastern-looking man on one of the other phones. The man had a large briefcase in his hand.

"Looks like he's either trying out to be the dumb-ass poster boy this year or is sniffing up that dude on the other phone." "If they got a problem with the guy, why didn't they nhim when he came through customs? That was ison's job the last time I looked." "C 't help but wonder what's in that briefcase," Dins re said.

"S ikes me," Frosty said, "that setting up sur-veill and organizing busts is our job, not his." He pu led his cell phone off his belt.

"y really want to screw with this?" Dinsmore asked.

"S...why not? Who's mobile?" as.

Pe punched up the man's extension in the mo-bile u it cruising the parking lots outside. He watched Midi n's surveillance. The man had all the finesse of a nster truck as he all but loomed over the for- eigner with the briefcase.

Lo picked up the page. "Listen," Peaks said. "Get our fanny down to baggage claim and look for us. A I mean look. When you see us, get over there in a h. We'll be tailing somebody." was you're on the move," Dinsmoree said, gulping his co fee and standing as Madison trailed after the man ith the briefcase, dressed in a black suit.

Pea clipped the phone back on his belt and threw two d llars on the table. In their casual clothes they merge with the crowd and trailed behind Dexter Midis n-in their joint view the stupidest person ever t man a customs counter. He was so bad, he'd been promoted through the system to headman within five years.

The crowd flowed through the gates and drained into the escalators that fed baggage claim below. In the claims area, the Middle Eastern man waited pa-tiently for the bags to arrive, neither pacing nor checking ground-transport boards.

A modest-sized suitcase eventually found its way to his hands, and he carried it, along with the brief-case, directly outside.

Peaks and Dinsmore hustled out at the same time, except through doors a half block down. Madison, of course, followed the man out the same door.

"Where's Lopez?" Peaks said as the quarry moved to the curb and into the passenger seat of a yellow sports car.

Top down, the car was driven by a woman in sunglasses with a red-polka-dotted scarf tied around her blond hair. These two were a total study in incongruity. They didn't match.

"Here he comes," Dinsmore said. Both he and Peaks hurried to the nearly new Range Rover they'd taken from a drug suspect, just as Madison climbed into a Ford and the yellow car sped off.

"Get 'em," Peaks told Lopez from beside him in the front seat, an arm wrapped around the roll bar. "The yellow sports car." "What'd they do?" Lopez asked, moving them into the traffic.

Peaks shrugged. "Won't know that until we get them, he said, and pulled sunglasses out of his shirt pocke.

He put them on and laid his head back on the seat. "Mea time, I'm going to enjoy some California sunshine." IT w just before 9:00 am. when Mack Bolan pulled his re tal car into the parking lot of the Bickle Knob Inn, hich had gotten its name because it sat by a small mountain called Bickle Knob. Elkins was an-other tourist trap, surrounded by beautiful country-side, national forest and the Spruce Knob-Senecal Lakes National Recreation Area. A great place to hide.

Strangers among a city of strangers.

le were up and around, campers, boaters, ex-cited be on vacation.

But the killers Bolan was looki for were hard at work. He cruised the busy parkilot until he spotted the old Skylark, then he park in a slot nearby that afforded him a good view Of it d waited.

There was no way he was going to appro h or initiate a firelight amid the crowds that were necking out of the motel and loading cars and trade Be des, it was the Vulture he wanted. Wherever his ki ers were going was where he would be. They woul nest somewhere, and the Executioner would get m all at one time.

He sat for fifteen minutes, then feared he'd been too I *ence, that they'd already taken another car and fled. Frowning, he climbed halfway out of the car, then saw them.

Two women and a man. Twenties. Dark haired. Lean and hard like knotted rope. Their clothes had a European flair. They moved with a mean aloofness, staring arrogantly at the families wandering happily past them. Bolan slid down a bit in the seat and watched them from twenty feet away, on the other side of the parking lot.

They moved to the Buick, and Bolan knew im-mediately they weren't going to drive away in it. They stood, chatting aimlessly as their eyes relentlessly scanned the surrounding area, trying to get a feel for what was happening around them. After ten minutes of this, one of the women, dressed all in black, pulled a screwdriver from under her loose, untucked blouse and knelt before the car next to theirs, going to work on the plate. The other two stood blocking her, mak-+ it tough to notice. Then the plate went under her blouse. At that point they stood and chatted same more, trying to pick a car.

Two men were walking through the parking lot, and Bolan strained to hear their conversation. They were deciding whose car to take out to Senecal Lake. When it was worked out, one of the men got his fish-+ gear out of an innocuous Pontiac and drove off with the other man in his Jeep.

The killers had their car, one that wouldn't be re-ported stolen for hours.

The pulled their bags from the Buick, used a slide to unl ck the Pontiac, then loaded up and left. They were n, out and gone in forty-three seconds, and not a per; n in that area had any idea of what had just hap ed.

Ex pt one.

Ma disk Bolan pulled out seconds behind them and establ shed a loose tail. He'd decided to ride this train all the way out to the end of the line.

The meres pulled onto State Highway 33 and heade west.

This Executioner's adrenaline rush was still strong enou to keep him awake and keyed up. But the next time ey slept, he'd have to sleep, too.

He ad a big job ahead of him.

Kansas City, Missouri The Vulture had finished his meal and was sitting at the hotel dining-room table with Lureen beside him. He smiled when the cocktail waitress set the eigh-teen-carat-gold puzzle ring on the table in front of him-eight bands intricately twisted together to form one ring. The sign.

Casually he scanned the room quickly and elimi-nated tables as he went, then returned to the logical choice-three slightly dark men in business suits who leaned toward one another to speak and who never seemed to smile at all. They drank coffee.

"Where're we goin", honey?" Lureen asked as they hurried across the room.

"To return a man's ring that got misplaced," he replied, nodding approval of the tight white dress he'd bought her. Lureen was definitely talented in some areas. It was a shame she was a compulsive talker.

He stood before the table, where the-men were still hud ed close together. Two were older, white haired, goin to paunch. The other was very young, maybe late ns, early twenties.

The Vulture couldn't ascer-tain is purpose at the table.

"I believe someone lost this," he said, placing the ring n the center of the table. One of the older men react ed out and slowly drew the ring to him. He had a s all white mustache and wore thick, black-frame glass so.

"I am most grateful for its return, sir," he said. "W Ad you please join us? May we offer you a drin some coffee perhaps?" T Vulture pulled up a fifth chair for Lureen, and everyone shifted around to accommodate the extra chair "I appreciate your hospitality," he answered, then leaned over to call to the waitress. "A couple of Sco hes, please." T other older man, who was balding, said, "We were led to believe, sir, that we would be meeting only with you. No one said anything about-was was , my associate," the Vulture interrupted. "She is m most trusted ally and greatest compatriot. Trust me when I say that by speaking before both of us, it is as "f you are speaking only before me." was at is good enough for me," the man with the glass s said.

was you have the money?" the Vulture asked, sit-ting ack to get a twilight view of the Quay River just utside the hotel.

"It arrived in the country this morning," Baldy said.

"Where is it?" "We are not prepared to tell you that yet," Glasses said. "There are-was "I've got people in the field getting shot at," the Vulture growled, pushing his sunglasses up hard against the bridge of his nose. "How long do you think this operation can hold together while you play your little games with money?" He banged on the table.

"I've already done enough for you. By God, you're going to do something for me." "Please, sir," Glasses said, looking around the room. "We just need to speak. of several things." "What things?" "We were... promised a large operation," Baldy said. "While devastating, the attack in New York is hardly-was "Gentlemen!" The Vulture smiled wide.

"That was just the warm-up act, the preview of coming at-tractions. That was my free show to you, to let you know I mean business." "You're joking?" Glasses said. "Then that wasn't... T" "My plans are as large as your imagination," the Vulture told them.

"You said you wanted terror: All right. First I frighten them with a deadly show of power, then I elude their increasingly desperate at-tempts at catching me, then l hit them with the big even , something so large it will break the will of this coun ry and make all the citizenry distrust their gov-ern nt. Is that good enough for you?" was es, my friend," Glasses said, his tone low, so-noro so. "You will be a hero in Iraq." was don't want to be a hero. I want my twenty mil-lion merican dollars...in advance." "Of course," Baldy said. "To that end, we have acqu red a safehouse in California where the cash is bein guarded. If you wish us to bring it to you-was was o," the Vulture said, smiling. "Just give me the a.r ss and let your contact know I'm coming and will there tomorrow night.

California is perfect. Mor than perfect." was have one more request," Glasses said as the Scotch finally showed up.

L reen turned her nose up at it, but the Vulture dow ed his in one shot. He looked at Glasses. "You were saying?" was was about to say that our... sources of funding are willing to trust such a vast sum to you in ad-vanc. Knowing your feelings about waiting, we wor out a compromise." was hat compromise?" the Vulture said, feeling the ange rise up his neck to flush his cheeks.

was y nephew-was he nodded to the young man "comi the son of our benefactor. If he accompanies you n this mission, we are willing to pay the cash in a ance. It is a small thing." "Civilians just get in the way," the Vulture said. "Do you want to get him killed?" "Our family is no stranger to death," Glasses said. "That is why we wish to repay the Americans in kind for their illegal war on our people." "So be it," the Vulture said easily, reaching a hand across the table. "Welcome to the mission." The young man shook it vigorously. "It will give me great pleasure to kill Americans," he said. "Good for you," the Vulture said. "But you need a name. We'll call you Arthur."" "Arthur?" "Indeed. We should all get some sleep now. It will be a long day tomorrow." "One more thing," Glasses said.

"You seem to have a great many one-more-things," the Vulture said, his patience nearing an end. "Politics is complicated," Baldy said.

"Politics is politics," the Vulture replied, nervous energy building within him like a constantly tight-ening mainspring.

"People complicate it." "It's the thin line we must walk," Glasses said. "Our government wants credit for this... event, but wishes, for obvious reasons, to retain its deniability also." "You came to me, sir, because of my impeccable reputation in these matters. I have invented an ex-tremist group that will claim responsibility on behalf of y r country but make it seem as if the movement sprang up spontaneously on American soil." cellent," Baldy said happily.

"What exactly are you going to do?" T Vulture looked around, then pulled off his sun-glass s to stare hard at Baldy with his one good eye. The an recoiled from the torn- up eye that even fif-teen ears of plastic surgery hadn't been able to make prey table. "Don't ever ask me anything like that again," he rasped gutturally.

B dy nodded silently, then looked away.

T Vulture replaced his shades, then smiled arou the table. "Are we quite finished?" he asked. GI ses had taken a notebook out of his pocket and was usily writing on it. He tore off the sheet and hand d it to the Vulture. "Here is the address of the safeh use," he said. "By this time tomorrow, you'll have our money." This Vulture took the paper and stood, committing the dress to memory before tearing it up. He fin-ished the drink that Lureen had barely touched and walk d out of the club, his new charge, "Arthur," on his h ls.

H was, as always, proud of his sense of calm and bean go. B.

inside he seethed. How dare they pre-sume to send a watchdog to supervise him, and an idiot y on top of that.

Well, he survived in his busi-ness y following one simple rule-- give in to nobody. Ever.

Lureen was prattling in his ear as they walked back to the elevators to take the ride up to the seventh floor of the aging, charmless hotel, Arthur still behind him. He wondered if the boy was armed. Probably not. But just in case, he'd be first. The woman kept intruding, like a buzzing fly, into his thoughts.

When they exited onto the seventh floor he walked out onto the tattered beige carpet, an ugly stain from water damage discoloring it in a large circle. That was it, the final indignity. He would not stay here another hour. There had to be a better hotel in town.

They moved down the hall to 714, with Lureen huddled up close to him, her hand moving slowly up and down his back.

His right hand found the knife in his pocket, his thumb caressing the blade- release switch.

He keyed them into the room and immediately took care of them, one stroke each, from behind so the blood pumping from the carotid artery would squirt away from him.

714 adjoined 712. He opened his connecting door and knocked on the other. Mulroy opened it within seconds to stare down without expression at the scene on the floor.

"I think we should move on," the Vulture said.

"This place is how do you Americans say it?" "A dump," Mulroy said.

"A dump," the Vulture repeated, wiping the blade on a handkerchief, retracting it and replacing it in his pocket. He placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the doors * they left.

THE TA-URANT wAs called the Bricktown Brewery and set in an old, abandoned section of Oklahoma City tat had once been the industrial district and was now nsidered picturesque. Named for the huge brick arehouses that dominated the mile-square area, Brick wn was part of the attempt at revitalizing a long ad downtown section. It might have worked had t the Oklahoma City bombing in.

"95 caused such estruction.

The restaurant was highly varnished exposed wood on the inside and contained its own microbrewery on premi es.

Bolan sat upstairs, on the second floor, in a gami area full of pool tables and virtual- reality ex perie so. The rock music was too loud. He ate fish and d ank iced tea. He had just watched his quarries multi ly from three to seven and could almost feel hims f getting closer to the Vulture.

Hefollowed the Pontiac all day, through Knox- villed all the way to Oklahoma City. An hour be- fore, ey'd checked into the Medallion Hotel, across from e convention center, the only hotel in down-town KC.

Un er the Belasko name, the Executioner had taken his o n room across the hall from the three terrorists, all of whom shared the room. He watched their room throu h the peephole in his door.

Within fifteen minutes four men dressed as soldiers knocked on their door, which opened immediately, and the soldiers hur-ried inside.

They'd just hooked up with another cell in the or-ganization. The platoons were beginning to merge for the operation, whatever it was.

He'd followed the seven of them to this restaurant, three blocks from the hotel. They'd taken separate vehicles, the impostor soldiers driving a blue sedan with DoDo plates.

Now he sat eating fish and watching them play pool as the rest of the patrons cleared out slowly. It was nearly eleven. The women sat at a table near him, talking quietly together, occasionally holding hands across its top as the five men played pool and ate sandwiches. They drank no alcohol, showing signs of a tight, well- trained unit.

He'd been listening to snatches of conversation for nearly thirty minutes, trying to pick up any word, any utterance that would give him some idea of what they were planning and where they were going.

They were tight and wary. He wondered if the Vulture was nearby.

He had picked up a couple of names. The women, both dark haired, were named Selena and Mischa and looked hard-bitten. The men could have all been skin-heads. The one he'd followed all day was a curly blond named Yuri. All the soldiers wore full dress unifo s so they could conceal weapons beneath the jackets Mulroy was nowhere to be seen.

He' leave them alone for now, in fact 4would prob-ably s itch to following the soldiers tomorrow lest the of rs begin to get a notion about the same Cou-gar on their tail. But follow them to where?

The was one other thing. Both Yuri and one of the soldiers wore cell phones on their belts--squad leaden, He wondered how many squads there were.

It w the presence of the cell phones that finally convin ed him to not try intervention at this point. Bolan as more than adept at obtaining information from willing subjects, but what if he grabbed one only find he didn't know anything, that his infor-mation came in over the phone?

He as currently sitting in a most advantageous positi and saw no need to relinquish it just yet. "Will, darling, there you are," came a female voice at the able. "I've been looking all over for you." He atched Julie Powell, in makeup and dress with heels d a matching handbag, sit down across from him. r eyes were hard, glittering like ball bearings. Scary yes.

was at the hell are you doing here?" he whispered harshl.

"Wen I got to the hotel and couldn't find you," she s loudly enough to be heard at other tables, "I had this nice man at the desk get me another key." "L y," he whispered low, "this isn't funny any- more. You're putting your foot in the middle of some-thing you know nothing about." Her stare never wavered. "I told you in Front Royal I was going to hunt down my husband's kill-ers," she said.

"And here I am and, I think, here they are. The two women by the jukebox.

The blond man.

Right?" "You followed me?" he said.

"Guess us country folk ain't as dumb as y'all think we are," she said, batting her eyes maniacally. "Also-though I like to think that you subconsciously brought me here to exact justice." "Get out of here," he said. "Get out now." "You know I'm not going to, not without Ted's killers under arrest." "Arrest?" he said.

"I'm a cop, Mike. I take my oath seriously. I want to drag them back and let the law run its course." "They'll never let you do that," he said. "And by the way, we're in a den of them right now." "There's more? Who?" "If you're going to turn," he said softly, "make it natural. See our four boys in uniform?" "So that makes seven," she said.

"And if you walk out of here right now," he said, "I'll be able to continue tracking them all the way to their source and get every stinking one of them." She took a long breath. "At this moment in time I am unable to appreciate your dilemma. I'm sitting here hile the animals who made me a widow and my c "ldren fatherless are playing and laughing and... reathing. It's all I can think about. Do you under nd me?" He odded, mind churning, trying to reconcile the situation. There had to be a way to gracefully get her out of there before- The quarries were suddenly on the move, the sol-dier this the cell phone pointing to his watch, giving them e lights-out speech.

Jul iiwas up in a flash, moving just before themthey flowed past and down the stairs single file the female deputy in the lead.

Boljumped in at the end of the lire, knowing what as about to happen but unable to stop it. He seal into the combat mode and hoped there were pieces to pick up afterward.

The bottom section of the restaurant was quieter, with a large bar and tables filling a huge dining room. It was a straight shot from the stairs to the front door, which opened onto Sheridan, Bricktown's main drag.

Po ell was out the door first, hurrying around the buildi g in the direction of the parking lot behind the place. Good cop that she was, she was avoiding con fronta 'on in front of civilians. Bolan continued trail-+ a it, figuring to make up the distance as they walk to the back lot.

He was loose and focused. The Beretta and the.44 sert Eagle rested easily in the combat harness.

They had been. primed, safeties off, since he'd checked into the hotel.

When the firelight came, and it would, he'd go for the squad leaders first. They'd be the toughest. After that it was a toss-up.

He figured if push came to shove and the shooting started, Powell would concentrate on the Front Royal killers.

He'd take out Yuri, then move on to the soldiers.

After everyone had exited, he waited for an endless half minute before leaving himself. No one was on the Sheridan Street side of the building. He hurried to the corner and looked down the side street, watch-+ them moving from the semidarkness of the streets to the brightness of the parking lot a hundred feet distant.

He moved quickly, keeping to the shadows right up against the side of the three-story brick building. When he made it to the back, he drew both guns while standing in the shadows, then took a cautious look around the corner.

The soldiers were walking toward their car, ten car spaces away from the Pontiac, and Powell stood near her own Toyota, fumbling in her handbag for her keys. She'd set it up perfectly; they had to walk right past her.

As they did, the purse slipped from her grasp to reveal the.38 in her right hand. Her left held up a badge.

"Police officer!" she said loudly. "You're un-der arrest!" Eve thing happened at once.

The terrorists scattered automatically, instanta-neously, as the soldiers drew guns and charged Powel.

Bolwas out from behind the building, running intoe parking lot, coming up behind the soldiers.

Shots g out, one of them Powell's, and blond Yuri took header right into the front end of a pickup truck.

Bol assumed the stance and fired the Desert Ea-gle at the squad leader from behind, hitting him on the b k of the neck, the man's spine shattering as he simply crumpled forward onto the hot pavement.

Bo took out the second leader with two chest shots ust as he was turning around. Blood exploded from 's chest as the innominate vein blew apart un- der this thrust of a.44 slug.

Juli Powell and the women had taken cover be-hind ars and were shooting it out as the two other soldi s dived for cover in opposite directions. Bolan fired ice at one to his left, catching him in the gut and left thigh. The man grunted hard as he flopped to nd, his MAC-10 skittering away.

Bo swung the.44 to the right; but the other sol dier as already inside a car, bringing the engine to life.

This tires squealed in reverse, burning rubber, then the m swung the big Dodge out of the parking slot. He b ked it right at the Executioner, who dived and rolled to avoid the car as it bounced over the bodies of the downed terrorists.

"Julie!" he called.

"Go! Go!" she shouted amid gunfire. "I'm all right!" He turned toward the Dodge, which skidded to a momentary stop in the side street, then jumped for-ward to take the corner on Sheridan on two wheels.

Bolan was in motion, charging toward the Sheridan intersection. He made it, running out into the center of the nearly deserted street.

The Dodge was a hun-dred yards away and picking up speed.

He brought the.44 up and focused, taking a long breath, relaxing as he let his mind become the weapon. His finger squeezed ever so gently as the car approached the Santa Fe Railroad bridge that sepa-rated Bricktown from the rest of the city.

He fired one shot, letting the wind play the hand for him, his mind not consciously pushing it. There was the slight sound of the tinkle of glass on the driver's-side back window, then the car simply turned itself toward the bridge abutment, plowing dead into it at sixty miles per hour. Even at that distance, Bolan could see the driver fly through the windshield, his head turning to instant pulp upon encountering the uncompromising stone of the bridge. The car flipped onto him and burst into bright orange flame.

Bolan still heard shooting in the back lot and turned to hurry back there. But it had stopped by the time he reached the place.

A employees tentatively stuck their heads out the back door of the restaurant, Bolan walked up to a stoi Julie Powell as she popped the spent cartridges fro the.38 and speedloaded another six rounds.

46, got my three," she said without inflection.

Then, she ked up at him. "Should I feel bad about this?" H shook his head. "You've done the world a fav." was ood," she said. "'Cause I don't feel bad. I'm free now. I can bury my husband and try to make a new life with the kids. Maybe something besides law en f cement." "till hurts as badly, though, doesn't it?" he asked, and watched her eyes melt.

S e cried then, looked human and vulnerable for the first time. She moved into his arms, and he held her while she grieved. After several minutes she pull d away, looking embarrassed.

was orry," she said. "I'm not." S e nodded then and moved off. Bolan knew he'd nev r see her again.

could hear sirens in the background. It was time to t out of there.

He wouldn't even have time to fris the bodies. As the sirens roared closer, he gra bed Yuri's phone from his belt on impulse and ju d into the Cougar, turning away from the main drag, slipping quietly into the dark residential neighborhoods.

He hadn't traveled three blocks when the phone tweeted. He brought it to his ear and tried to approx-imate the accent he'd heard Yuri using all night long. He spoke low to cover inconsistencies.

"Yeah." "Who's this?" carne the response, in a voice he remembered from the past.

"Mulroy?" he said. "It's Yuri." "You sound funny." "I'm choked up," Bolan said. "I've been running. We've got a problem." "Tell me." "We were attacked... in Oklahoma City.

We were with Jorge's group.

It was one man, Willy." "A big guy, tough looking?"" "Yeah. He came out of nowhere and started shooting." "Damn it! What happened?" "They're- dead, Willy. Everyone's dead." "The big man?" "He went down, shot twice. I ran over him with the car." "He's dead?" "Dead as they get. What now?" "You're free?

You're driving?" "Free and driving." "Here's your orders. Don't go to bed. Proceed di-rectly across country to Los Angeles. A room has beebooked for you in the name of Erik Freund at a plcalled the Plantation Motel. fddet me give you the dress. You'll be contacted there." Ian listened as Mulroy gave him the address and committed it to memory. Julie Powell had just done him the favor of a lifetime. He turned south and headed toward Will Rogers Airport. He could catch a di t flight, sleep on the plane and beat anyone else which was going to be at the Plantation, giving him tim to set up surveillance. On top of that, the Vulture no thought he was dead and wouldn't bother look-+ r waiting for him.

"d caught the crest of the wave. Now to ride it.

The Pentagon, Washington, D.c. July 19, Midmorning The Pentagon was a small city of twenty-three thou-sand residents, forty thousand telephones and eleven thousand miles of cable. Built to run the World War Il effort by Franklin Roosevelt, it slowly grew during the Cold War into a monolith of secrecy and ever- increasing government expenditure until military might became the economic stability of the United States in the 1960's. It was a cash cow.

The Pentagon had its own subway terminal, mar-kets, barber and beauty shops, banks and shoe-shine stands. It was in the barbershop that Hal Brognola caught up with General Amos Betweencher, attach6 to the secretary of the Army, liaison to his boss during the meetings of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and as connected with the power structure as anyone Brognola knew.

"You know how it works, Hal," the general said as he sat statue- still, a lance corporal clipping with scis rs the sides of a crew cut that looked as if it didn" need anything done to it. "NSC has a. lot of leeway. It's the Chief Executive's own little Intelli-gen agency, so its authorization runs deep." was rom my experience," Hal replied, "it sometimes see to run with no authorization." was ell, the National Security Council is its own ex-cuse for being now. Once you stock a pond with hun-gry ish, they're going to start eating everything in sight" was at about this Vulture business?" Brognola aske was made some calls for you. Found out all I could." was ounds as if you don't have much." T e general shrugged, "Depends on what you n Here's what I know.

The NSC has been inter est for a long time in the ebb and flow of liquid capi in and out of this country. It seems like a good way to ferret out terrorists and drug thugs just watch for large cash flow not attached to legitimate busi-ness in any way." was hat's this got to do with-?" "t me finish, Hal," Betweencher replied as the cor- porbuzzed his head, making it flat as a pool table.

"O of the ways in which we watch this cash flow is b putting agents into Switzerland to keep tabs on elec onic transfers of funds into Swiss banks from Am nca." was he Swiss would never allow anything like that," Brognola said. "They protect their banking records from any outside scrutiny." "Which is why this is a black program." "We're spying on the Swiss?" "I wouldn't put it into those words," Betweencher said, suddenly swiveling his chair around to look in the mirror, making the barber pause in midbuzz.

"Looks fine, son," Betweencher said. "All done." "But, sir..." He tore off the linen covering and stood.

"Thanks, son," he said, walking out the door of the small shop, Brognola on his heels.

Looking at his watch, Betweencher shook his head and hurried down the long, wide hallway, which was jammed with workers going in and out of the estab-lishments here in the commercial part of the building.

He glanced over his shoulder at Brognola.

"Got a meeting in D.c.," he said. "Walk me to the subway." As they moved quickly, Betweencher talked rapid-fire. "It's a black program run by the NSC Army rep but financed by NSC grant money, not Army budget. I want you to know that. It's called Operation Snow-bank. Don't talk to Livingston, the Army Chair, about it, though, because he won't know anything." "He won't?" The man shook his head as he walked up to stand near the subway tracks where a large group of uni-forms and civilians were already queued up. "He sim-ply makes assertions on the sorts of things, generally spe ng, that he wants done. That way he can retain denia ility if the fit hits the shan, if you know what I me his was o implements, then?" "T e Office of Covert Studies is the name of the divisi not. Hell, you can even look it up in your gov-ernm nt phone directory. The place is affectionately call Cove Stud and is run by a hotshot colonel name Mulligan.

"G ve them a call," Betweencher said, smiling broadly as the train pulled up. He started to walk off, dropping the ci ar in the receptacle, then turning back around to nt. "They won't tell you anything, though. Nothi go. And worse... you can't make them tell you." "A os," Brognola called to the man.

"There's a mania loose in this country, and they can help us find him." Be her climbed into the train, then frowned back at B gnola. "They won't," the man called, and the doors slid closed, whisking him immediately away. Br ola sat on one of the station benches to think. Repo of skirmishes between Americans and "Eur-opean types" had grown in the past day, plus the Okl ma City shoot-out to cap it all off.

He been unable to reach Bolan since the previous day, t he knew the Executioner had had something to do with what happened in Oklahoma City. Infor-matio was of the essence for all of them right now if the Vulture were to be stopped. He made two de- terminations on the spot. First to trust Betweencher's esti-mation that Cove Stud would never give up information willingly, thus leaving out the direct ap-proach. Secondly he determined he'd get the infor-mation no matter what. To the latter end, he stood, picked a quarter out of his pocket and found a pay phone on the wall beside a small bookstore.

He first called his office to get the number for Cove Stud. Betweencher was right it was there. He dialed it up directly.

"O.c.s.," answered a pleasant female voice. "This is Marilyn." "Yeah...Marilyn," he said quickly.

"Mulligan needs to get something out right away on Snowbank and we're drawing a blank on the op's name. Could you help us out... quick?" "You mean Dennison?" "Yeah, yeah... we know Dennison. The first name. We need the first name." "Rennie," she said. "The colonel knows that.

He's always joking about the rhyme in- Wait a minute-who is this?

Who am I speaking to?" "The name's Brognola, Marilyn. With the Justice Department. I'd like to speak with Colonel Mulligan right away on a matter of national security." "I don't see your name appearing anywhere on the command chart. I'm sorry, conMr. Brognola, but the colonel only speaks to and through his active chain of command. It is the nature of this office." was...maybe I'll get my friend, the President, to set u the appointment for me, heh?" was at name doesn't appear on the command chart, ei ," she replied.

"Thank you for your call." She hun up immediately.

B gnola slowly set the receiver back on its cradle. He h ad a name.

Rennie Dennison. It was a start.

RES AND READY, Mack Bolan stood smiling at the chec comin counter of the Plantation Motel. It was set in this.

middle of the craziness of North Hollywood, a few locks from Beverly Hills on La Cienega Boule-vard just off the Santa Monica Freeway.

He'd flown in on a military flight Kurtzman had it was either that or arrive without his weap-ons, which sat in the duffel in his trunk now.

bag under his arm contained new clothes and a j et, and he couldn't wait to shower, and change. was ow long you gonna be here?" the clerk asked him he went over the registration form.

"111 pay you cash for a week," Bolan said, having no i of where any of this was leading. He pointed out open doorway.

The two-story Plantation was squwith an inner-courtyard parking lot, with every roo opening into the courtyard.

was want a room on the second level, in that corner." clerk handed him the key to 223 after taking his c h plus an extra hundred for not mentioning him to one.

He drove the rented white Mustang into the court-yard and parked.

The irony of his choice of rental car was not lost on the Executioner.

His room was the perfect surveillance post. He had a clear view of the entire compound from high ground, plus the wrought-iron-and- concrete stairs were right beside his room.

He climbed out of the car quickly and moved to the trunk, scanning the quiet courtyard before opening it and hoisting out the duffel.

He hurried past the per-functory five-foot-square pool and up the stairs, get-ting into the room as quickly as he could.

The place was suitably drab, as he'd expected when hearing how cheap the rates were.

He locked the door, then spent the next ten minutes peering through a slit in the window curtain, looking for movement, looking for enemy action. If he were sent here, might the other squads be sent here also?

When nothing happened, he decided to shower and change. The waiting would begin then. He grabbed his keys and his wallet containing all his Belasko identification out of his pockets and threw them on the bed, along with a wad of cash. As he took off the warm-up jacket, he felt something in the breast pocket.

He pulled out the envelope, soaked with dried, flaky blood, that Gene Tripp had given him as he lay dying.

Bolan sat heavily on the bed and tore open the enve*e. A key dropped into his lap, along with a handvbledritten letter.

oever's reading this letter is looking at the w of a dead man. A dead man who's going to k you a favor. The key is to a safe-deposit bo. In the box is forty-eight hundred bucks, all I'v been able to save.

me don't know about it. Nobody does. n I retired, I wanted to surprise her with a se or something. Get her the money. Please. S "ll need it to bury me.

Ate bottom of the letter was Tripp's address, plus the 1tion and number of the safe-deposit box.

Bo took a long breath. Forty-eight hundred bucks for a lifetime of service. Most crooks had suits that t more than that.

Thhe would do what Tripp asked in the letter wasforegone conclusion. If the man had been look- ing f an easy mark, he'd found one.

an grabbed a hot shower and shave, then chan into jeans and a black shirt and tennis shoes. He 'eved- the headset from his harness and punc ed up Stony Man. Nothing going. He'd de-stroy the cell phone after his talk with Mulroy, fear- ing y more contact would certainly give him away.

It w possible the Vulture had smelled a setup at that point and moved everything.

But the man had made an arrogant mistake before. In Paraguay.

Bolan checked through the window again as he got through to his wheelchair-bound computer man. It was the middle of a hot, still afternoon, the sun bleaching the courtyard like a spotlight. The Execu-tioner craved action.

"Talk to me, Bear." "I assume that was you last night in Oklahoma City," Kurtzman said "Me and the craziest, bravest woman I've ever met," Bolan answered, unzipping the duffel to take out and slip into the black leather combat harness. "Woman?

He pulled the bazooka out of the bag, lining the rockets up next to it. "Never mind." "Are you close on this thing?" "Maybe real close," Bolan said, pulling an Uzi from the case and setting it beside the other gear. "What have you got?" "They found the body of the wife of that arms dealer who blew up in Pennsylvania, along with some Middle Eastern guy we haven't gotten an II) on yet." "Where?" "Kansas City. She checked in with three men, two military-looking types, the third a heavy drinker with long, bright red hair and beard." "His eyes, Bear, his eyes."" "C tilde , yeah. He wore wraparound sunglasses day or night," "Bingo!" Bolan said. "That's him. They're all movi g in this direction." H had unloaded the bag, filling the bed and floor arou d it with his weapons. He'd have it out with the here if it came to that.

"at do you need from me?" Kurtzman said was eep doing what you're doing. Knowledge is pow r, my friend Keep me supplied." was y the way," the computer man replied, "the FBI put gether a composite drawing of the man who wal away from the shoot-out in OKC. It's a very unfl ttering picture, Mack." Ian jerked to the sound of an engine running outs.

"I've got to go," he said, and broke contact immediately, tossing the headset aside.

H grabbed the Weatherby sniper scope from the bed d moved to the window. A truck had pulled into the courtyard and was parked by the office. It was a two-and-a- half-ton, canvas-covered ten-w len e Executioner brought the scope up to his eyes, adj sting the cross hairs until the driver's-side door of e truck came into sharp focus.

door opened. A man got out. Mack Bolan was Sbledi into the wild-eyed, good-old-boy face of Willy Mu*oy. The motherlode.

THE VuLT-URE, smooth-faced again, his hair back to its normal silver, sat on the elegant brocaded couch in the palatial Beverly Hills home, drinking a Kahlua and coffee and listening to the phone ring in his ear.

He had a view out through French doors onto a western exposure, an acre and a half of meticulously kept garden brightening with the late-afternoon sun. It was lovely.

"AmerAlert," came a tired-sounding female voice after fifteen rings.

"Yes, good afternoon," the Vulture said, picking up the small magazine and looking at the circled entry on page fifteen. "We're trying to coordinate a dem-onstration, and I'm just checking on the times." "What shipment and where are you?" "We're in L.a.," he said politely. "I believe the shipment originates in Eugene, Oregon." The voice got interested. "What group are you with?" "We're called Awaken Los Angeles.

We're brand- new.

"God bless you," the woman said. "Somebody needs to get out there and let this country know the dangers that pass through its streets every day." "What time should we expect that shipment?" "We just heard from our Coalinga spotter who saw the truck pass his observation point at 5:00 p.m. That gives you about two hours. The truck is dark blue and totally unmarked, but it's heavy and will look heavy, reinforced lead and iron all around. It will drive slow than most vehicles. Do you know that this is the 1 est plutonium shipment ever put on the road? We' protested this for months." "I is still traveling Route 5?" was so. But it will switch to 405 in Los Angeles, then ick up 5 again in Laguna Hills. It will take 5 to S Diego, where it will interchange to interstate 8 an on to the Gila Bend storage facility." "I m in Hollywood. Would you say we should line the roadways by six-thirty?" "Yes. When you spot the truck, try and follow it, honk at it, call attention to it so people will know. We have "t heard anything about this. Will it be a big demonstration?" "e biggest," the Vulture said, and hung up.

H finished his coffee, then adjusted his silk patch. His ye still tormented him, the headaches blinding his eye, this despite Mulroy's news that the big man as dead. He didn't believe it. His eye told him diffe ndy.

H stood and walked to the living room, a large roo with many sofas separated from the hotel-sized entr foyer. The house had once belonged to an old-time movie star named, he was told, Lupe Valez.

He, of course, didn't recognize the name, but he smiled and acted amused anyway so that the lady of the hou would be comfortable.

T* woman was an enigma, more so than most women. She had some vague connection to his con-tacts in Kansas City, apparently through a diamond-smuggling operation they'd been involved in with her late husband, who'd drowned in his own swimn- ting pool. Her name was Verna Cassabian, and she en-joyed spending money, so much so that she'd run out. She was leasing, the place to her husband's ex-partners for about a million dollars, a lot of money for a safe-house. It made him wary of his new compatriots.

He saw that the emissary was still gagged and bound to a straight wooden chair, his hands cuffed behind him. Verna Cassabian sat beside the man, a drink in her hand, chatting away as if he were visiting her at some kind of tea party. Verna was another in- veterate talker, a habit that was almost certain to have permanent consequences attached. Too bad.

"Hi, Charlie," she said, looking good in a tight white blouse and short, little-girl skirt. Her blond hair showed no black roots. She held up her drink. "Join Me.

"Later," he said, checking his watch. "I have a job to do today." He moved to the man tied to the chair, smiled at his wide, bulging eyes. "Have you been rehearsing your speech?" he asked, and smiled when the man nodded.

"How long are you going to be staying?" Verna asked.

The Vulture smiled. He liked this one. She, at least, had bit of class. "Several days," he said.

Which was ut as long as his hostess had to live. "Do you get any visitors?" he asked.

S e frowned, shaking her head. "Since my husband died the men have come around to hit on me, but that about it. Guess I need to get out more." "ell, maybe you can with all that money you've just llected.. Remember; it's tax free." 64, ire cute, you know that?" she said, crossing her g seductively.

was out, too," he returned, his fingers idly playing wi the blade in his pocket. Mulroy needed to hurry. B m, jerked the gag from the mouth of the man tied to chain "Let's do your speech, then. It's time." "'Why are you keeping me tied up?" the man ask taking deep breaths, sweat running down his face "Are we not on the same side?

I brought you our nd of the agreement, I-was was ight there." The Vulture smiled, sitting beside Ve on the couch and pulling the large briefcase and the suitcase toward them, opening the latch. "y 've hit on it. Your end of the agreement was to brin me twenty million American dollars in cash, co t?" was ere it is! See for yourself!" Vulture cocked his head and opened the suit-c to pull out a bundle of hundreds.- He fanned it before his face.

"Looks funny to me," he said. "Feels t funny." He plucked a bill out and set it on a marble coffee table before him, then reached into his pocket. "It's money!" the man said frantically, "I brought it to you at great personal risk." He was a little guy, a middleman of no consequence trying to save his useless life, his eyes continually darting.

"I don't know a lot about a lot," the Vulture said, bringing a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket to set beside the middleman's. "But I have a little money test I've always done.

Watch this." He picked up an alabaster lighter from the table in one hand and his comown hundred in the other. The lighter flicked to destructive life, and the Vulture set his money ablaze to the delighted squeal of Verna Cassabian.

He dropped the burning bill on the tabletop and lit the bill from the suitcase, placing them carefully side by side. "You see here," he said, "my bill is burning a sort of grayish smoke while yours is burning bright white smoke. Now, that's different.

You see what I'm saying?" "Yours is burning a gray because it's been in cir-culation a long time and is dirty." "Are you saying that your money has never been used before? But it came in from out of the country and has many, many different serial numbers." "I'm just the delivery boy." "So, you don't know if this money is real or not?" "I dis.i...please just let me go. This has nothing to do w this me." Vulture ignored his pleas, instead taking a tiny tape reorder out of his pocket and turning. it on. The hand written piece of paper lay qn the man's lap. The Vul re picked it up and held it before the man's face. T man read, his voice just the right mixture of des 'on and determination. "People of America. I am ailing you today to proudly claim responsibility for tragedy that has engulfed Los Angeles. We are the ommittee for the Liberation of Iraq and are sho 'ng our power today to let you know that your im 'alistic aggressions cannot enslave the world. Free my people!

Free my country from your destruc-tive sanctions! If you will not, you will feel our wrath agar tilde [*thorn] TI e Vulture turned off the recorder, applauding light y at the man's heartfelt performance.

was xcellent," he said. "One take. A real Hollywood play r, eh?" "lease let me go now," the man begged.

at if you've given me counterfeit money?" was m just the courier. If it's counterfeit, I didn't know it." was , you're inconsequential to the process?" was es...please. Yes." was orth nothing to them?" was o. I was just hired to carry the bags here." 66 l right, then," the Vulture said, pulling the three-inch hilt from his pocket and releasing the spring. The stubby blade jumped out and locked into place. The Vulture made one quick slash, and the man's eyes opened wide.

Everything was still for a moment. Then the blood rushed out of the gaping neck wound, bubbling from the man's mouth as he tried to speak.

Verna Cassabian jumped off the couch. "My car-pet!" she screeched.

"You're getting it all over my carpet!" He fixed his good eye on her. "You're earning your million dollars," he said as he wiped his blade on the dying man's hair.

THROUGH THE SWER SCOPE Bolan watched Mulroy as he strode out of the truck and walked into the of-fice. He checked the passenger side.

Empty. The Vul-ture wasn't with him. The Executioner didn't like the looks of the truck. It meant they'd connected with another arms dealer and were once again loaded with instant death.

The blond man, leaner, without the baby fat he'd remembered from Paraguay, walked back out of the office and stood before the truck with his hands on his hips. He was looking around.

His eyes drifted in Bolan's direction and held for a long time, the cross hairs centered right between his eyes.

n the man walked to the truck, reached through n window and gave the horn two quick beeps. n seconds people began coming out of motel Men and women, all wearing bulky jackets in t sun and carrying overnight bags. They didn't or acknowledge one another, they just moved i the cars in the lot and stowed their bags in the This the o Wi doors the h speak tower tru He counted eighteen, with Mulroy making nine-teen. I M roy climbed. into the truck and drove farther into e lot, working at turning it around. Bolan rush the ordnance back in the bag and threw his own j cket over the combat harness.

This cars below started leaving the Plantation in a kind f loose convoy. Bolan ran down the stairs and into s car as soon as the last one turned north on La Ci nega.

He followed, but the convoy didn't go far. They pas Olympic, then turned west on Wilshire, then wound up into Beverly Hills, where houses as big as ap tent buildings gouged into the hillsides.

Tw quick turns later Bolan saw the lead truck sev-eral b ocks farther on, turning into a walled estate. The , staggered, trickled behind.

He ve slowly on, checking the neighborhood.

Every se was isolated, set in spacious grounds that sep it from its neighbors. An ideal location if it came 0 action.

The house Mulroy had turned into had a ten-foot concrete wall with ornamental ironwork on the top, security cams, the works. The lot was deep and so heavily wooded Bolan could barely see another home in the distance. He wondered about corning in from behind.

Then he saw it. A typical DEA stakeout van, black, with the small tinted window in the side that the cam-era sat behind.

What the hell was going on?

In the next couple of blocks he spotted several cars with plainclothesmen sitting in them. It looked as if they even had some houses covered How did they get here first? They didn't look like FBI. Something had gone awry. And worse, if Bolan could spot them so easily, so could the Vulture.

He ripped the headset out of the ordnance bag be-side him on the seat and called Stony Man. Kurtzman, like the Executioner, didn't punch a time clock. His job ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a weak.

"What the hell's going on in L.a.?" he asked when Kurtzman came on.

"Nothing," came the reply.

"So how come me and fifty thousand cops have got the same place staked out? They've-was He had to swerve to avoid the two blue Beverly Hills cop cars that converged at the upcoming inter-section, cutting him off. He jerked the Mustang into reverse, then looked in his rearview mirror to see ten other cops running toward him.

"I've got something in Beverly Hills," Kurtzman said, was ut it doesn't pertain to-was "Tel me quick!" Bolan said as the cops swarmed the car guns drawn.

"This Treasury Department has been tracking twenty million in counterfeit dead presidents from Iran North Korea to Hong Kong to here. They're waiting on a warrant to go in and bust them." "O of the vehicle!" a cop screamed just outside Bolan" window.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" 44me who's in charge here, quick!" Bolan said as f pressed in all around him.

"A reasury guy named Delany working with a custo agent named Madison... and for some reason the D is all mixed up in this." "He goes;" Bolan said, and signed off. A dozen wea s pointed at him from outside the car.

He owly opened the door and stepped- out, rough hands bing him. "Take your hands off me!" he said, s voice cool and cutting. "Get Delany and Madi over here or you'll all be real sorry." They eased their grip but didn't let him go.

Inside the car they found the duffel, and someone opened his jacket to see the combat harness.

"Get this guy to Delany," a police captain said. His hands cuffed from behind, Bolan was led into the bushes of a large estate two blocks from the Vulture's nest.

"There's no time for this," he said. "You don't know who's inside those walls. What kind of fire-power do you have?" "What do we need, cannons?" said the sergeant leading him.

"He's got a bazooka in the bag, McAvoy," said the patrolman who had him by the other arm, the duffel weighing down his shoulder.

They walked farther into the gardens of the estate, then turned back in the direction of the Vulture's hide-out, approaching the back door of the estate directly across the street.

"Those aren't street punks holed up in that house," Bolan told the sergeant as the man led him up thickly carpe stairs to the second floor. "They're combat-harde ed mercenaries and they're up to the eyeballs in ordnance, heavy stuff. You understand what I'm tellin you? Watch your fanny out there." This man nodded, his eyes locking hard with Bo-lan's. "Thanks for the warning," he said. "Who the blaze,, have we got?" was e Vulture," Bolan said, and both cops stopped in the middle of the stairs to look at him. He had their atten not.

"I atched him kill a hundred people in New York City o days ago." picked up the pace, finally stopping behind two en with binoculars at the large window of a maste bedroom the size of Rhode Island.

The win-dow verlooked the walled estate across the street.

was o's this?" asked the older of the two, turning aroun , revealing a wine-colored birthmark on his left templ. He scowled at Bolan.

"stopped him at the checkpoint," Sergeant McA y said. "He asked for you or Agent Madison by n every. He says you've got the Vulture holed up acros the street." Bo Delany and Madison laughed.

"H 's gut enough stuff in his bag," the other cop said, to start a small war on his own." Del y narrowed his eyes, then moved to stare at Bolan and the duffel weighing down the king-size bed with the black silk sheets.

"Just who are you?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," the Executioner said.

"What matters is that you've got a lot of people on the streets out there who aren't prepared for real warfare, and that's what's going to happen when you try and take that house. What are you waiting for, by the way?" "The warrant's coming," Madison said, a real bot-tom feeder if Bolan had ever seen one.

"We ask the questions," Delany said. "Now, who are you." "You think you've got counterfeiters inside that house," Bolan said, "and maybe you do. But those counterfeiters are trying to use that money to pay off the Vulture for a major act of terrorism." "What act of terrorism?" Madison asked.

"Pull your men out now," Bolan said "Leave them to me." Both agents laughed again. "Your collar, huh?" Delany said. "I don't think so." "You don't understand-was "They're leaving," the sergeant reported, "some of them anyway." "What?" Bolan said, charging to the window, hands still cuffed "It's happening." "We'll follow them," Delany directed, taking a handset off his belt and keying it on. "Units three and nine." was comght," Bolan said. "I spotted you guys a mile awa. So did they." was and nine, come in, please." was ey're going to be ready for you," Bolan w as he watched the five cars drive out of the gate the first car pulling a small U-Haul trailer.

U its three and nine were staticking through De-lany s belt speaker.

"ell everybody to get down!" Bolan shouted as the ar turned out of the driveway and the trailer un-cou led to roll into the middle of the street.

was Would you quiet-was "Down!" Bolan yelled, diving at Delany, taking him to the floor as a huge explosion went up on the str. The bedroom wall blew out, and everything was in motion as the bed jumped, smashing itself agai still the wall, the dressers falling over, glass shrap-nel verywhere.

P aster dust mixed with smoke as Bolan rolled off the reasury man, who was coughing and groaning. The m was totally exposed to the outside. Madison lay ear the opening, arms flailing, his head nowhere to seen. The sergeant was croaking down deep in his roat, the patrolman beside him skewered by a pan of glass large as a platter.

was at the... the..." Delany moaned as Bolan got to feet.

was ey'll have left someone in the house," Bolan said "Get these cuffs off me!" "Where"?" "McAvoy's pockets... hurry!" McAvoy was on his knees, vomiting blood as De-lany got into his pocket, pulled out the key and un-cuffed Bolan. He tore into the bedroom, pulling up a huge chunk of wallboard to conretrieve his duffel, and replace the Beretta and the.44 Desert Eagle into the harness. "You're going to help me get them," he said.

Delany staggered after him as they moved through the debris of a multimillion-dollar home, the stairs half-gone, small fires burning through the entire structure.

Outside was a mess. A huge, smoking crater touched the curb on either side, and surveillance cars were blown to pieces or upside down. Trees and houses burned all around them, a vision of hell.

Two blocks away, at the checkpoint, dead men lay all over the street, body parts everywhere. A few still-living agents were picking themselves up off the ground, weaving drunkenly, disoriented.

Bolan ran to the dangling, twisted gate of the walled estate, Delany behind him. He squeezed through the opening left by the explosion and ran through the trees toward the house until he drew fire.

The house was his only shot. With the Vulture on the road again, the house might contain clues. He crouched behind a large redwood eighty feet from the house as a steady stream of fire kept him behind cover. The house was stone, Tudor style, all its win- dow blown out. A stone fountain in the curving driv way was scattered all over, the stone Cupid that had topped it lodged high in a redwood that was crac ed and split right down the middle.

Smoke and fire ere everywhere.

lany, his clothes shredded, fell to his knees be-side Bolan, shaking his head, trying to reorient.

was out ever kill anybody?" Bolan asked him as he pull the bazooka from the duffel, then lined the roc up on the ground.

"couple times-in Vietnam," the man said.

was lood enough. You're going to kill some more." juiced the bazooka, building the charge, then han Delany one of its rockets. "Feed me." e man fell into his old military training, waiting unti Bolan had set the sights on the entryway of the hou before shoving the rocket into the weapon's rear. He tapped Bolan on the shoulder, then ducked. Executioner clicked the fire control; the rocket which shed loudly, spurting fire from the tube's back and making impact with the house a second later. The roar of the explosion was followed by billows of blac smoke filling the courtyard.

was air.!" Bolan called, and fired off another one into the smoke.

is go!" Jumping to his feet and using the stn e for cover, Bolan charged toward the house, not stop ing until he reached the edge of the tree line on the ircular driveway.

He pulled a fully loaded M-16 out of the duffel and tossed it to Delany. "If you were in Vietnam, I'm sure you know how to use this," he said.

"Too well," Delany replied, ripping off the rem-nants of his jacket and tie, then priming the thing as Bolan dropped the duffel and drew the pistols from the harness.

"It's the jungle," Bolan told the man.

"Kill or be killed.

Remember. Let's go!" The two men charged out of the tree line and into the thick smoke.

They could hear the crack of gunfire, but it was invisible in the smoke. Movement was their friend.

They reached the ruins of the entry and found two terrorists blown to hell amid the stone rubble. They hugged the wall on either side of the hole they'd blown. Bolan instinctively grabbed a grenade from his harness, pulled the pin and tossed it into the house, and another explosion sent smoke and debris back out the opening.

They charged inside. A magnificent foyer, strewed with rock debris, greeted them.. Double stairs curved upward, and on the landing above, two men were manning an M-60.

"Get under them!" Bolan barked.

Delany charged toward the gunners instantly as Bo-lan dived and rolled, coming up with the Beretta on target just as the machine gun cut loose, its rat-to-tat echoing hollowly through the house.

Bolan fired twice at the gunner's hands, tearing the man's fingers off even as the breech exploded back at him.

any had made it beneath the high landing, an-grily pening up with the M-16 and emptying the clip into e floor above him. The other terrorist jumped, taking the hits, then tumbled headfirst to the tiled foyer floor.

M vement from the left swung the Executioner to the s de, the Beretta immediately spitting fire at a large man with a shotgun.

The gunner collapsed in the rway, his heart exploded, dead before he hit the rather.

any kicked through a door at the back of the foyer and ran through.

Bolan heard gunfire from back there he turned to the right and charged into a huge livin room to dive behind one of many large sofas set p in cosy groups on the luxurious white bro loom.

Automatic fire immediately rattled the room.

His sofa as torn to pieces, fluff blasting out of the up-hols ry to float through the room like snow.

B an crawled in a rapid zigzag motion, then dived for other sofa, drawing more fire. The second it stop , he jumped to his feet with both pistols out innt of him and emptied the clips at the three to sts who were frantically trying to reload.

It as sloppy but got the job done. The three twitc ed with the.

shock of bullet impact, the Execu- tioner's fists spitting fire as his assailants tumbled over furniture and one another.

Guns empty, Bolan fell behind the sofa again, drop-ping both clips at the same time, then reloading within seconds to no return fire.

Snapping a round into each chamber, he came back up over the sofa to see noth-+ but bodies. The whole house was suddenly quiet, the only sound that of distant sirens.

He wondered where the Vulture was.

"Hey!" came a voice from the back end of the living room, where it led into a kitchen or pantry. "Big man!

It's me, Delany. I'm coming in. Don't shoot!" "Roger!" Bolan shouted back, but kept his weap-ons at the ready just in case.

Delany walked in, his shirt torn off, smeared with soot. Suddenly Vietnam didn't seem so long ago. The man's M-16 was slung over his shoulder in the true dogface tradition. If the Treasury Department had more men like Delany, the country was in good hands.

He was dragging a crying blond woman by the arm.

She seemed on the point of hysteria.

"Hold her here," Bolan said. "I'm going to check the rest of the house." He hurried off, giving the place the quick once-over but finding nothing of value. When he came back downstairs, the blonde was drinking a huge glass of bourbon and sitting on a torn-up sofa.

Delany had moo halfway across the room and was staring into the f ice of a man tied to a char, dead, his clothes soak through with blood, as if every drop in his body had pumped out onto him.

was now him?" Bolan asked, walking up beside Del you.

"He's the reason we were hem," Delany said.

"His ram s Said Jahpur.

He's a go-between, a middleman con ted to a great many terrorist groups. On his own 's nothing-, a gofer, a messenger boy. But the inte nnected chain of organizations that used him s worldwide." was e was transporting counterfeit money?" any nodded as Bolan got down and looked at the ound. Jahpur's throat had been slashed all the way the same way Sarge's wife had died. Fro the size. of the gash, the knife must have been smal and squat, almost pyramid shaped, no bigger than coupleeaof inches long; the cut was wide but not people. Bolan had once owned a knife like that.

He beg to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This ad to end soon.

was money came into his hands in Hong Kong," Del y said. "We've been watching Iran. They've been nterfeiting hundreds of millions of U.s. dol- lars flood our economy and create instability.

Our con traced twenty million, following it through man countries as it changed hands." was the Iranians are behind this?" "I don't think so," Delany said. "On the last stop before Hong Kong, in Bangkok, it was exchanged for a million real U.s. dollars, a payment to Iran." "Iraq, then," Bolan said.

Delany nodded "That would explain the long and complicated travel path since those two countries hate each other so much they could never do business face-to-face, or even admit to it." A fireplace was set on the west wall.

Bolan walked over to it, giving the woman a sidelong glance as he did "What about her?" he asked.

"Name's Verna Cassabian," he said.

"disShe's the widow of an international thug who specialized in the import and export of contraband, including guns." The hearth was clean as a whistle, except for what looked to be a small magazine that had been burned there. He picked the charred remnants out carefully and walked over to the woman.

"You better talk to me, lady," he said.

"Mister," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, "I'll tell you anything you want to know, just don't... hurt me." He sat beside her, holding the burned magazine gin-gerly on his lap. "Did your husband's old associates set this up?" She nodded, squeezing out more tears. "I... I asked them for something. I was running out of money." "Was there a man with a patch here?" "Oh, God... yes!" she said, pointing to the corpse tied t the chair. "He killed that man with a little knife he pulled out of his pocket. At first he had red hair and a beard and wore sunglasses. Then he changed his appearance.

He was in charge. He told everybody what do." "D he give you a name?" "Jut Charlie," she said. "I think he made it up on the s t so I could call him something. None of his people ever called him by that name, or any other I could ear except for "Sir."" Del y had wandered up close and was squatting before the woman, listening intently. Bolan plucked the nk from her hand and gave it to Delany. Then he t her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"H was cruel, wasn't he? Heartless?" [*reggg'y so." was en why are you still alive?" "I Found her in a closet, crying," Delany said. "Un ed." "In the confusion I hid," she said. "They didn't look r me." Bol nodded. "Listen to me very carefully," he said. " I must know why they were here. Did you hear any " go...anything that might tell me that answer?" "I now the man with the patch was in a hurry," she s 'd. 'It was like he had to be somewhere at a certai time, you know?" She shook her head. "I'm a pretty good snoop. A girl has to learn to survive. But these people were closemouthed. I'll tell you one thing, though, Char-lie-the guy with the patc"...id something really weird. He made that poor man in the chair read a statement, like a letter, while he tape-recorded it." "What did the man say?" "Something about the liberation of Iraq and taking credit for the terrible things that were happening to L.a. That's not word for word, but that's what I got out of it. It scared me when I heard it. Then he killed that poor guy as soon as he was finished with the speech." Bolan and Delany shared grim looks. It got worse every minute.

"Do you know anything about this?" the Execu-tioner asked, holding up the charred magazine. 6411m sorry," she said, shaking her head again. "Charlie carried it around the whole time he was here. I remember seeing once that he had circled something in it. He burned it as soon as his friends showed up, then they all left.

"What was the book called?" "I don't know. Something about America. He kept it open and folded up in his pocket most of the time. That's all I know. Honest." Bolan started picking at the pile of ashes in his hands, blackened pages that crumbled to dust at the touch. Somewhere in the middle of the mess he found three pages that were completely burned except for an i h-square section, charred brown, one of which con 'red a partial word: "AmerAlso." erAlso," Bolan said. "Amer Also." "America Also," Cassabian suggested. his cohol," Delany said. "A lot." was ot," Bolan murmured, then it hit him.

"Alert. Am Alert." was e'll need a phone number." Delany rushed to an e d-table phone and picked it up. "It's dead." B Ian grabbed the headset from his harness and tos it to the man.

"at's AmerAlert?" Verna Cassabian asked.

was 's an organization that tracks the movement of nucl ar waste across American highways," Bolan said, "keeping their members posted as to when-ra-dioa tive material will be in their area so they can go out n the highways and protest hazardous materials in it cities." was don't follow," the woman said.

B lan stood. "Never mind now," he replied, walk-+ stand beside Delany, who had raised AmerAlert on e headset.

was es... yes... the Los Angeles area.

Yes, we're part of this -, protest." He opened his eyes wide and looked at B Ian. Then he looked at his watch. "The San Fern do Valley now?" was k her what it's carrying," Bolan said.

was argo," Delany said. "How dismuch.

You're kid- ding." He looked at his watch again.

"Thanks." He hung up.

.his eyes were full of fear when he looked at Bolan. "Big blue unmarked truck," he said, "heavily rein-forced and in the San Fernando Valley right now. It will take I-405 through the greater Los Angeles area. It's carrying four and a half tons of highly unstable plutonium." "Four and a half tons," Bolan repeated.

"You figure a hijack?" The Executioner nodded. He needed a map.

"What would they do with so much nuclear material?" "That's not tough," Bolan said with bitter resig-nation. "You're not from here?" "D.c.," Delany replied.

"Los Angeles has always had a water problem. They solved it by getting their water from the central valley." c'SOT plus Just then the police started moving, guns drawn, into the house.

Bolan would have to get out of there quickly. "There's several hundred miles of aqueduct in which they could dump radioactive waste," Bolan told Delany.

"The water supply." "That's a really ugly way to go," Bolan said, and held out a hand.

"Get the word out." De ny shook the proffered hand "I will," he said, and ed to give Bolan the M-16 back.

was p it, and remember." He as out the door and gone.

Santa Monica Mountains, Los Angeles Bolan sped north through the Hollywood hills on 1-405 after cutting onto it from Santa Monica Boul-evard.

Though it was evening, the winding four-lane street was jammed with traffic, but Los Angeles streets were always jammed with traffic. He was look-+ for trouble.

He had the map open on his lap and Kurtzman in his ear as he drove.

Bathed in the setting sun, the hills rolled easily all around him.

"Who's in on it now?" he asked into the tiny wire mike set near his mouth.

"Everybody but my Aunt Matilda, Striker.

You'd better back out of there. You seeing any choppers yet?" "Yeah, Plenty, I- Hold on." Traffic had suddenly slowed to a crawl, then stopped. Bolan jumped immediately out of the Mus-tang and grabbed the duffel.

H jogged in the oncoming-traffic lane because there was no traffic approaching. Both sides were stop led. Fifty yards ahead he saw why.

T o men lay dead in the middle of the highway, with cars, swerving to avoid the bodies, smashing into one other. He ran to the dead men. They were all shot up and had left no vehicle behind. Car jackings didn't happen on the highway.

was Vulture's got the duck," he said, then turned and ooked around him. The snarl would take hours to tangle, but the roadway was clear in the north- bout lane beyond the site of the killing.

H ran to the first car he came to, a convertible Me edes, top down.

A young, man with extremely long hair and little square glasses gazed myopically up a him.

"Hey, dude," he said hesitantly.

B Plan opened his door, and said "Sorry, but I need this." He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and haul him out of the car, then climbed behind the w like. The duffel went in the passenger seat.

He bac up, banging into the car behind.

"de," the driver said plaintively, getting up and hu ing to the car. "Oh, dude: Dude!" an slammed down the gas pedal, leaving a trail of ber as he swung northbound again and contin-ued e chase.

E erything had come apart for the. Vulture this time Its money was counterfeit, his hideout had been staked and the whole world was closing in on him. Given that, why was he still going for the plutonium? Bolan assumed that the dead men on the road had been the drivers of the plutonium truck.

Delany's fast action with the police should have suggested to the terrorist that he would never make it to the aqueduct. So why was he still doing it?

The answer came back crystal clear, perfect in its selfish simplicity-the Vulture simply wanted to use the plutonium as a diversion, a way of covering his escape.

"I think he's going to turn it loose," he said into the mike.

"That means a backup escape plan. What's your next intersection?" "Mulholland Drive, then Ventura Boulevard." "What are you going to do?" "Stay on him. That's all I can do." More choppers filled the sky, the media now join-+ the chase, and police cars bumped up onto the highway with Bolan, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

Then he saw the target. A big blue semitrailer with an entourage of five cars. It was a nightmare as the convoy fanned out, forcing cars on both sides of the road onto, then over, the shoulder to plunge into the valley below.

It was a claustrophobic death trap with no room to maneuver-a steep hill on one side, a drop-off on the other.

One of the police choppers dipped down close to the truck, and a uniformed cop tried to call through a bu horn.

A tracer whooshed from the rear of a con-verti le, tracking in a second to the chopper, and it went up in a monstrous ball ocom flame that seemed to hang suspended for several seconds before crashing dow ward, right in front of him.

Executioner jerked hard right, running up the hillsi e, nearly tumbling. Two police cruisers ran head n into the blazing wreckage and exploded. All of it as behind Bolan in a second as he steered back to bp onto the roadway a hundred yards beyond the dy parade as cars continued to smash into one ano r or fall off the edge of the roadway.

warrior had felt a lot of emotions run through his arred battlefield of a mind and body, but rarely had been faced with a feeling of sheer frustration befo. The Vulture's strength lay in his total disre-gard for human life, life that Bolan had vowed to pro that. The Vulture was a farmer with a scythe, mow, g through human fields indiscriminately. A cy-clon would be easier to stop.

Amatic fire came from the entourage, and Bolan duck as his windshield cobwebbed, then fell out.

A car o lanes away flipped end over end down the high ay, throwing screaming passengers out the windows.

H saw another tracer as he skidded around a burn-+ lice can They must have a Stinger. This time a news helicopter went up, falling into the luxury homes on the hillsides. The hillsides were burning now, a long, dry summer having turned an entire state into so much kindling. And it was hell he was driving through. All the choppers were backing way off-exactly what the Vulture wanted, no one to watch his escape.

His Mercedes sped past a sign: Mulholland Drive-3 Miles.

He pulled the Desert Eagle out of the webbing and aimed it at a trailing car right through the window space, dodging debris the entire time. Managing to pull within fifty yards, he squeezed off two quick shots, taking out the back of the driver's head just as the passenger drew a bead on him with an AK-47- The car jerked right, then flipped upside down on the hillside, dented and squashed. The road twisted the other way, and suddenly Bolan was overlooking the edge of the abyss as the hills climbed on the west side of the road. In the curve one of the Vulture's lead cars collided head-on with another truck trying to get out of the way. The result was instant rubble as the truck continued on, pushing the tangled wreck ahead of it like a snowplow, smears of blood splotching the road as they passed.

"Aaron, are you still on?" "I'm watching you on TV They've got cameras in those choppers." "Do the cops know what they're dealing with here? We don't want any roadblocks, any impediments. We can f Ilow him until he runs out of gas if he wants to pl y it that way." was police are trying to clear the roadways ahead to give it free passage, but you and I both know he's not ing to play it that way." "I think Mulholland's his street," Bolan said "Which tever's going to happen is going to go down there," was no more oncoming traffic, since the cops had 'verted it. All at once, the convertible with the miss e drifted fully into the other lane, and the gun ner the weapon back toward the trailing traffic.

B Ian lifted the Desert Eagle instantaneously, with-out nscious thought, and fired into the convertible.

Het the gunner; who jerked around as he fired, and the 'ssile targeted his own dashboard.

T1 e car went up with a loud whump. The concus-sion lew another trailing cat, a big Buick off the road to h down the hillside.

T1 e convertible disintegrated, sending huge chunks and e occupants a hundred feet into the air. A tire back toward Bolan, bounding over the Mer-and through the windshield of a cruiser behind, thou the driver somehow skidded safely off the road ay.

Ian was just passing the burning wreckage when jdeb slammed into his hood, smashing it in before nting away. Body parts fell like rain all around him, and he looked up to see the intersection with Mulholland in the distance.

THE VULTURE wAs ANGRY, angrier than he'd ever been. He'd always given dollar value. To be treated this way, with counterfeit money and a safehouse that was under surveillance, when he was on the verge of what would have been his greatest triumph, was sim-ply intolerable. He would exact a terrible vengeance on those who had made him play the fool. The seeds of his retribution were already firmly sown, in the greed that had led to this betrayal.

"We're comin" up on Mulholland," Mulroy said from behind the wheel.

"So we are," the Vulture agreed, and removed the square metal box with the red and green buttons from his jacket pocket. He leaned forward and pushed the button on the dash that opened the sunroof.

It was a Lincoln, a sturdy vehicle. He owned one himself.

They drove the outer lane right beside the truck full of nuclear waste. Such a great idea. It wouldn't have cost a cent. All down the drain because he'd had to deal with greedy amateurs. Passionate men made stu-pid mistakes. He'd never deal with zealots again.

He flicked a switch, and the red light on the square box came on.

He pulled out a small antenna. Mul-holland was a mile ahead. He turned to Armon in the back. "Do it now," he said, and the man struggled to bring the bulk of the small antiaircraft gun from the seat to rest on the back window space. He slammed the cli of ammo into place on top and braced it on its trip A. The bolt jerked back with a loud metallic clang, d the weapon was now fully operational.

In side-view mirror the Vulture kept catching sight f the man in the convertible whom they coul "t shake. It was the big man. It had to be. His eye w throbbing like a beating heart.

"W 're closing on it," Mulroy said.

The Vulture clicked another button on the box, and the n "ready" light came on. He caressed the trigg toggle with his fingers, teasing it.

Heuldn't think of the big man now or of the idiots ho'd betrayed him. Self-preservation was the key. e stared at the nearing exit ramp. He had to time i just right., Ei t hundred yards. Se hundred "I op e you gentlemen can still shoot straight," he said, fling aside his timer to prime the SMG be-twee his legs.

was y, Willy," he said, picking up the detonator again "Ready...." Fi hundred yards... four hundred. "Now!" M y gave a cowboy yell and tried to jam the gas through the floorboard. They shot past the truck startled faces peering at them from the cab. Mul y waved out his window as the Vulture flicked the switch, and the C-4 he'd planted just above the truck's rear axle went off, physically lifting the back of the truck in the air. When it slammed back down, there were no wheels beneath it.

It screeched loudly, gouging the highway, then tipped over, taking the cab with it. The semitrailer skidded on its side down the highway amid a shower of sparks and banshee screeches.

It whiplashed for a hundred yards, then the cab finally slammed into the hillside, crushed flat behind the weight of the truck and its contents, everything creaking loudly, like the roar of a dying prehistoric beast.

The contents of the truck lay all over the highway. As Mulroy took the exit ramp at a hundred miles per hour, the Vulture stood in the front seat to take aim through the sunroof at the half-dozen police cars deployed in front of them at the bottom of the exit ramp.

The Vulture watched the police scattering for cover as they realized what wrath was descending upon them. It was almost comical.

Mulroy, a natural left-hander, stuck an Uzi pistol out the driver's-side window and slowed to sixty. At thirty yards from the loose roadblock, the Vul-ture said, "Fire." They unleashed the kind of firepower that the po-lice could never have expected, antiaircraft shells tar-geting cruisers, blowing them into the air as automatic fire tore into rapidly fleeing police.

This intersection was on fire when they reached it.

Kn 'ng the hulk of a burning car out of the way, they kidded into a wide turn and raced into the hair-pin 'st of Mulholland Drive.

was 1 over first chance and steal a car," the Vulture said asually as he retreated into the car to sit. He rel "I believe the police will have their hands toonow with an evacuation to worry about us." was u've got a way out of here?" Mulroy asked. Vulture laughed. "Of course I have a way out," he said.

"Unfortunately I can only take one per-son disth me." that, he turned to the back seat and emptied his c ip into a surprised Armon.

BoLike 1 ms SOOT on the brakes when the truck tipped over, skidding wildly as cruisers fish tail past him. He looked to his right at the hillside's long lope, graded at forty-five degrees.

H had to take a chance.

H aimed his skid at the shoulder and left the road, ai for several seconds before slamming on the hard packed dirt of the hillside, choked with weeds and rub oak.

Mercedes careered downward and Bolan fou t the wheel, trying to steer around rocks and gulli as he bounced wildly up and down, the car tryin to buck him out.

Ash he sped down the long hillside, he could see the Vulture destroying the intersection and skidding onto Mulholland a half mile away.

He reached bottom, slamming down hard on the access road running beside and below 1-405, pieces of car clanking onto the road and thick black smoke pouring from under the hood.

But it was still running, and the Executioner gave it gas. The Mercedes wobbled along the access road bleeding thick black smoke.

He got to Mulholland in a minute, the car unable to chug over twenty-five. Following Mulholland, he found the Vulture's Lincoln ten minutes later. It was abandoned, a dead man in the back seat with a surprised look on his face.

They'd changed cars.

Civil-defense warning horns were blaring loudly all through the hills. A chopper flew overhead, a godlike voice emerging from it to boom like thunder on the expensive houses below.

"There is an extreme bio-hazard at the juncture of Mulholland and 405. You must evacuate the area. Evacuate now. Extreme bio-hazard. Evacuate now." The Executioner climbed into the remnants of the convertible Mercedes and chugged away on Mulhol-land, putting distance between himself and the hot waste.

"Kurtzman," he said into the headset.

"Yeah," the man returned, dejected. "It's a horror show." "On any of the chopper cams, did you see...?" thing," the man returned. "He got away clean. he won't be able to get out of the country." ght," Bolan said. "And maybe pigs can fly." at now?" f he won't stay in my yard, I'll just go to his." witzerland?" that's what it takes. I own that bastard and I d to collect. It's all up to Hal at this point." HAL BR-OAATIONOLA STUCK the smahl plugs in his ears as he alked up to the practice range at the FBI training cent r at Quantico, Virginia. He'd spent the better part of e entire day tracking down one Colonel Dan "R was Mulligan, top of the organizational chart for Cov Stud and Operation Snowbank.

ulligan was a difficult man to find, especially sine he never, apparently, wanted to be found. There was 't even a home address for him in the govern me files. There were endless phone numbers and fax achines and pagers Brognola could talk to in s but the genuine article had continued to elude hi B t Brognola had learned patience long ago. He'd m to methodically track down Mulligan's gov-ern ent license-plate number, then ran it through the co ters to see if it was checked in anywhere.

It turn up a positive on the firing range at Quantico and hadn't checked out yet, so he hustled over to catand the elusive Colonel Mulligan in person.

It was an outdoor range near the famous Hogan's Alley testing ground for FBI recruits. Concrete slabs separated each target area.

The targets, bull's-eyes and silhouettes were suspended on wires and could be moved easily.

He found the man without difficulty, but not be-cause he had red hair. In point of fact, he did not. But he was the only man on the range dressed in an Army colonel's uniform, the jacket off, folded neatly and hung over the concrete slab.

It was nearly dark, and the range was already bright with artificial light.

The man wore mufflers on his ears and was firing what looked to be a nickel-plated Smith and Wesson 586.

It was a prestige gun, called the Distinguished Combat Magnum. Flashy, but not noticeably osten- tatious. It told him a lot about the colonel.

Having just emptied his chambers into a silhouette target, the colonel hit the button that returned it the fifty feet back to him.

"Colonel Mulligan!" the big Fed said loudly be-cause of the man's mufflers.

The man turned around, pulling his mufflers down around his neck and removing the plastic goggles that protected his eyes from back- flash. "That's my name," he said. "What can I do for you?" "My name's Brognola. I've been try-was "Yeah," the man said, taking down the silhouette to study. "I know who you are." "You're a tough man to track down." " 'm surprised you were able to." " 'm persistent." " d connected." " of connected enough to have you return my call." He walked up beside the man, who was ig-no g him as he studied the silhouette, six shots all in e chest area. Brognola was impressed. "Nice " I try and stay field-ready," the colonel replied. "How about you?" rognola-shook his head. "I only come out to the ran e when I want to lose my comhearing." He took off his rumpled seersucker jacket and threw it over his "Nice gun-357 Magnum, right?" " that the six-inch barrel?" " don't like the accuracy of the four-inch," Mul-ligan replied, plunging the spent shells from the child bees and reloading by hand No speedloader for Col nel Mulligan. He was a fastidious man, his hair co bed and parted just so, his uniform crisp, as if he" just put it on. He was one of those guys who con d work constriction all day and come home cl. He was short and reminded Brognola of a strut-ti banty rooster.

e man finished loading the gun and snapped the child bee shut. He held it loosely in his hand.

"n't see a lot of revolvers out on the range any- more," Brognola said. "Everybody seems to want semiautos." "Get to the point, Mr. Brognola," the colonel said, his tone both sharp and condescending. He still held the gun between them, which was intended to make Brognola feel uneasy.

"This is about the affair in Switzerland, correct?" "Of course that's what it's about." Brognola was already beginning to hate the man. "Have you seen the news from California?" "Yep," the man replied, shifting the gun from hand to hand. "It's a shame your people fumbled on the goal line." Hal felt the anger rise up his neck but held it in check. "There were a great many contributing fac-tors," he said, surprised at the calm in his own voice. "The important thing now is that we not let him slip completely away. We need the help of your contact in Zurich." "We are running an extremely delicate and impor-tant operation in Switzerland--" "Snowbank," Hal said.

"--t really can't be tampered with on any level.

My operative stumbled upon the information about the Vulture and, trying to be a. good scout, turned it over to you bunglers." The man fixed Brognola with hard eyes. "My op-eration has already been jeopardized enough. I will allo no more contact. Good day, Mr.

Brognola. You've come a long way for nothing." was ere is-nothing," the big Fed said, "that you soul possibly be doing in Zurich that is more im po t than the capture of this madman. He has cre-ated a major ecological disaster in California, an env' ntal slate wiper.. Hundreds of people have died since he entered this country, thousands more may die on the West Coast." was day, Mr. Brognola," Mulligan repeated, and turn away.

"nnie Dennison," Brognola said, and Mulligan swg back around, the gun pointed at waist level.

was you threatening me with that, gun?" Brognola ask ""s gun?" Mulligan said, suddenly bringing it uptarget Brognola's forehead, a scowl on his face as pulled back the hammer.

J t as suddenly it was gone, bingo, lying beside him n the loading table. "I'm not threatening any-body," he said.

"I'm just trying to inform you of the fragility of our enterprise and hope that you have the g sense and foresight to appreciate our position.- "I want to contact Dennison. I want to find out the real ame of the Vulture." was d I'm saying no." "04y," Brognola said. "I wanted to appeal to your better nature, but you don't have ale." The big Fed Omiled slightly. Paybacks were great. "I know about Dennison, quite the computer hacker he was until getting forty years in a federal jail for selling stolen national secrets to the North Koreans. How did you manage to get him out? Some sort of executive order that wasn't really signed by the Chief Executive or even anybody close to him, I'd venture.

The forms from Joliet are being faxed to my office right now. Do you really want me to go public with this?" "That sounds like treason," Mulligan said, his eyes drifting to the gun on the table. "This all falls under the umbrella of national security." The man was still looking at the gun. Brognola had had enough. "If you're thinking about picking up that gun again, you'd better be ready to drop the hammer on me, because otherwise I'm going to take it away from you and give you a tonsilectomy with the barrel. And I mean it, Colonel. You get my meaning?" The man looked hard at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Now tell me how to contact Dennison." Mulligan's shoulders drooped slightly. "We usually use a dead drop," he said, "but he's got a room in Zurich." He went resignedly into his jacket hanging on the slab and pulled out a phone log.

"I want you to okay contact," Brognola said, and Mulligan nodded again. "And don't do anything to get in the way of this or I'll see you busted down to washroom attendant. Thank you very much for the inforkation. You're doing our country a great service.

Gooc day, sir" was day," Mulligan said.

B gnola started to walk off, then turned around and 1 ked at the man. "Why do they call you Red?" he ed Tman shrugged. "It just sounded like a good nic ame so I started using it." Bo pacsn, his eyes glued to the motel television as talked to Hal Brognola on the headset. "Aaron says hem's nothing, no trace at all." "He's skipped," Hal said.

was ow soon can you get me out of here?" "I 's eleven now. First flight out is 7:00 am. Cal-iforn a time." was at's the time difference there?" 664; comx hours later than Washington time." was at'll have me arrive in the middle of the night." H stared at the television, watching footage of crews in burn suits trying desperately to con tain spill until it could be cleared up. All the while ga rays from the high-energy decay of used plu- tonirods were pulsing from the spill at the speed of li t, disrupting every living cell they came in con tact 'th, overpowering in their intensity. Invisible. you. People were dying already of radiation poi-soni and would be joined by more.

The first erner-genc tilde crews on the scene were unprepared for a radioactive spill, and their bodies were still being carted away from several miles of highway in both directions. He'd probably- gotten a good dose himself.

People were on the move, being evacuated, and Bolan was in Fresno, two hundred miles to the north. Even he could hardly believe the Vulture's handi-work, even though this kind of possibility always existed.

"You know he's going to be dangerous on his own ground," Brognola warned. "You also know I can't predict how the agent in Zurich will work with you. If he's anything like his boss..." "I know. Hal, I don't care. I'm going to end this and be done with it. He's a monster walking the earth in human form, and I'm going to stop it. Thanks for the address, buddy. I'm sure Mr. Dennison and I will get along just fine." "I'm not going to tell you to be careful," Brognola said, "just smart. Don't let your own rage get in the way of your jungle sense." "I'll get the job done," Bolan said. "One way or the other. See ya, Hal." "'allyeah." They cut contact. On the screen the death count rose to over two hundred. Bolan's rage was cold and deliberate. Nothing would stop him.

Castle von Maur, Swiss Alps Juhi 21, Sunset The Vulture sat beside Mulroy as he drove the open-top Bugatti up the winding, protected road to his "f ily" castle. Purchased ten years previously from the rake and dissolute heirs to the place, he had le-giti ately bought the family name along with its en-vi so.

His new name was Baron Karl von Maur. His stags was that of a demigod, for the town could not exi except for the baron, who kept it busy working for 'm, either in his castle, his private, army or in the sm 1 chemical-fertilizer plant on the edge of town. low him, several miles beneath the snow line, sat e town of Maur, the family's traditional barony..jus to the west, was the magnificent Saint Bernard Pas;, where both the Roman Legions and Napoleon h driven their armies and where Napoleon's famous arti lery , pieces were transported over the snow-co*red gorge by a system of pulleys the little Cor- sican had invented himself. Even the von Maur castle had begun as a Roman fortress, Octoduras, con-structed by General Servius Galba under Julius Cae-sar's orders.

The pass was no longer in use. The roadway system now tunneled beneath, and the Saint Bernard dogs no longer carried brandy casks to lost travelers. But the Vulture felt himself the heir to a lineage of famous warriors who'd conquered these hills. It was right and fitting that he be their master.

They continued upward, beyond the trees surround-+ Maur and into the altitudes where the snow never melted. The chill air was bracing in the open car. Here they passed the first checkpoint, one in a series of fortified bunkers developed from the remnants of Gal-ba's original stone fortifications that extended, at bro-ken intervals, around the entire peak.

The sun was dipping low, the magnificent, snow-covered Alps effused with a warm glow all around him.

"I love it when we come home," the Vulture said, waving to the armed guards at the checkpoint as they passed.

"I wish we'd taken the chopper up," Mulroy said. "It's too damned cold around here. Man, I'd take the beach in Galveston any day." "You know people live longer in cold climates than in hot." "That's because only the strong ones stay there," Mui tilde y answered. "You know, I'm not sure you're righ about being set up. I mean, couldn't they have just tilde een conducting some kind of normal checking or something-?" was irst of all," the Vulture said, "I don't make a habi of saying something I haven't thought through corn letely and know that I'm right. Secondly I was 't selected randomly or indiscriminately.

They werbled looking for my passport, and when they found it, h the police in America were waiting there to t me. No, Willy, unfortunately someone betrayed me. e question is- who?" was aybe it was someone in the platoon," Mulroy retu. "If so, we don't have to worry about it be-cau they're all dead." was y dear Willy. You're long on heart and loyalty but hort on intelligence. A person doesn't snitch on his sociate, then go out and die for that associate. The platoon proved its loyalty by dying to a man." ulroy shrugged. "I don't know, then." was ou'd better know. I'm malting it your job to find out ho it was, and I mean quickly. The wine festival is i three days. I don't want any trouble connected wi lt." was at kind of trouble?" was comever betrayed me, betrayed me first to some-one n this country.

We're going to find that person, too. This must be tidied up. Then there's the matter of toe big man." "The big man's dead," Mulroy said "Shot and run over." "Did the man who told you that ever show up at the motel?" "No, but-was "They know something about me. They'll come for me.

He'll come for me." He laid two fingers to his temple, right beside the patch, rubbing gently. "I can feel him... here. I want you to hire more men." The road narrowed, spiraling lazily upward around the rocky hillside, the distant peak of the Matterhorn coming into view ten miles to the east.

"It may not be possible to find the snitch and his contact in three days," Mulroy said.

"I have faith in you, Willy," the Vulture said, pat-ting the man on the shoulder as they passed the sec-ond checkpoint, a siege line of sharpened logs and razor wire one hundred yards across, with fortified-iron gates. Fully a dozen men in the traditional Swiss mercenary uniform of red and white with a bearskin cap saluted, as the gates were opened. Their laser-sighted automatic weapons, though, were anything but traditional.

The castle walls loomed ahead, tall and imposing with towering spires on three sides and bowman notches on the battlements.

Thrusting itself out of solid rock, the castle merged with the peak like a magnificent sculpture by a cosmic artist.

Snow lay everywhere, snow and a stunning vista, shrouby darkness now. Mulroy shivered beside him. ven the Vulture felt the chill as they drove throu the open castle gates and into the huge, wide and with the chopper pad in the center.

Se ants ran out to get their luggage when they pull to a stop before the great hall. Light spilled from mammoth cathedral doorway, silhouetting the troop milling about.

old, stooped servant in red livery moved into the d rway, snifter in hand, to smile at his benefac-tor. " Welcome home, Baron. We have missed you." was ank you, Mr. Schwander." The Vulture stepped into qhe vestibule and took the brandy from the old man. "I can't tell you how good it is to be home." was successful trip, I hope?" was t especially." y walked into the great hall where roaring fires spill warmth from fireplaces at each end. Mulroy ran i ediately to the west fireplace to warm him- selftens of sofas and chairs arranged in conver- sati groups filled half the hall, and the other half con dining tables for up to one hundred people. rooms opened from the mezzanine above.

was had a special-delivery package today," Mr. Such r said as he followed his employer down the h 1. "A very special package." "Where?" "The study, Baron." Thp Vulture charged through the vaulted arches of the side chambers and tore open the study door. A brown parcel rested on an easel in the center of the room.

The office was modern, with electronic communi-cations equipment and a large mainframe computer featuring his own compiled data base on the govern-ments and mercenaries of the world. Not even Inter- pol got near his knowledge base.

He ran to the large television next to his teak desk and turned it on. It was tuned to CNN news. The spill in California and the various details of assigning re-sponsibility, the trail of counterfeit bills and customs involvement were hot on the agenda.

What he didn't see was an arrest report on Verna Cassabian. Good.

He moved back to the package and carefully started to open it as U.s. government officials droned on about bringing the infamous "Vulture" to justice. He'd been hearing that for years. They even showed his New York mug shot on-screen.

Unflattering.

What they'd never know was the true story-the story about using the shoddy lawyer to get word to his people to make the breakout spectacular. His real plans had ended the second he'd stepped off the plane at Kennedy Airport. Everything from the arrest on had been improvisation. If he couldn't succeed with the Iraqis on the money issue, at least he'd raise his market value by the scope of his audacious terrorism and the beauty of his escape--a seaplane waiting in Santa Barbara; quick flight to Santa Cruz Island's air-

strip and the chartered Learjet; on to Midway Island, Tokyo] and Bombay for refueling before landing in Zurich.

He'd caught up on his sleep and was now totall refreshed and clear of mind. All in all, things could much worse.

He gently pulled the paper from the package, his brew catching in his throat at the sight of the paint-+. I was his favorite Degas, Foyer de la Danse, all muted] pastels and dramatic lighting in the artist's oft-used 1 tilde cale, the ballet.

The Vulture was a sentimen at heart, and Degas's loving and generous child to his subjects always touched him. He was rld's major collector of Impressionist art, the most tilde xciting period of art history in the world to him-tilde efore the camera had been developed, forcing the 4st to shun reality and invent interpretation.

U rtunately very few people got to see his col-lectio. Most of it was stolen from the great museums of the world. He'd commissioned this theft just two wee before from the Louvre.

"It beautiful, Baron," Mx Schwander said "y s," the Vulture whispered low.

"How are the prep tions for the festival gala coming?" was comfile not as efficient as when the baron is on the premises, we have done our best to keep in step with the ssary arrangements. By the way, the English duc s and Count and Countess Wolfstein have ac-cep their invitations." "EX-CELLENT." talist app the w "And there's one more thing," Mr. Schwander said. "Do you remember that American actress you met at Cannes last year Kimberly Adams?" "Oh, yes. I remember Miss Adams." "She rang us up earlier today and said she'd been displaced by the nuclear spill in California and was, as she put it, "looking for some place to escape to for a couple of days." I took the liberty of extending your hospitality. She will arrive tomorrow." The Vulture turned and smiled at the man. "How fitting," he said.

"What irony." "Sir?" "Never mind. You always anticipate me, Mr.

Schwander. I like that in an associate. Good initia-tive." "Thank you, Baron." "Not at all," the Vulture replied, letting the picture wash over his senses, almost smelling the perfume and sweat of the rehearsal studio circa 1872. He loved art. It breathed individual genius.

Besides, paintings were portable assets not tied to any one currency. A good investment for someone in his position.

BOLAN PAID THE CABDRIVER in Swiss francs and emerged out of the small Peugeot onto the glittery street.

It was almost 2:00 a.m., and the street crowds had started to thin out as late-night Zurich folded up.

He'd arrived at the downtown Hilton barely thirty minutes before, checked in, then come right over to the o rator's address. Time was of the essence.

If the Vul had returned to Switzerland, he needed to be take out and quick. If he hadn't returned, he needed to be" ambushed when he did. Bolan was in the man's lair. "me was on his side now.

Hey wasn't armed. Stony Man had sent his harness and rdnance along in the diplomatic pouch, and he wouldn't be able to pick them up until the morning.

walked Langstrasse, crowded with restaurants ars. Like most cities, Zurich rose high and nar-e the mountains. The six-story buildings were up right next to each other, and their narrowness heined the densely built-up appearance.

Langs-trassbled was the entertainment center for a city that ba sicalrolled over and died at 4:30 p.m.

every day whe all the commuters left their city jobs and went horn to the country.

re were Turkish delicatessens, Italian travel age ies and Hong Kong secondhand and shoe shops. The staurants were exotic, and the bars looked very muc like American discos of the seventies.

H keys from every country of the world worked the s ts, but they didn't approach Bolan. Street peo ple ays understood when someone else was on the s doing business. The limos of the pimps cruised slow up and down, some of them nearly stopping besi him only to speed up and move along.

Hey found the small apartment block near the inter-section with Hohistrasse. It was five stories of straight H and row, lined gray stone with ornamented wooden shutters painted a sky blue.

He looked up.into the chill but comfortable night sky, seeing a light burning from a fourth-floor win-dow.

Dennison's address was 4B.

Bolan moved through the doorway set on the side of the building and scanned the narrow stairs leading up to narrow landings. He moved catlike, the wooden stairs barely creaking beneath his light touch.

On the fourth floor he walked to the first door he saw at the head of the stairs. It was 4A. There were two apart-ments per floor. The light was coming from Denni-son's flat.

He moved quietly down the hall to 4But and knocked softly.

"Dennison," he whispered, and the sliver of light shining under the door disappeared im-mediately. "Dennison.

I'm from the colonel." He listened but there was no answer.

"I know you're in there," he said "I saw your light. I just want to talk. Mulligan has contacted you about me." Again silence was the only response.

He reached out and touched the knob. It turned easily in his hand, and the door swung open to a dark room.

"Dennison," Bolan said, reaching around the door frame to find the light switch. "We don't have time for this." He stepped partway in, switching on the light just

in time to see an iron bar blurring in an arc right towar his head.

GueaA END, AR-MNA, wAs a dusty, sleepy town just off th* interstate in the south part of the state, all flat desert and small clusters of mountains. It was a blinker-one blink and you could miss it completely. V Cassabian, in a black wig, frowned at the 105 gree heat beating through the windshield of her ren car as she pulled into the parking lot of the Motel and turned off the engine.

Shef d pulled her Ford Taurus right beside the ma-roon i "llac, Ari's car, and hauled the suitcase and the efcase out of the trunk, carrying them to the door.

It pened without her knocking. She hefted the bags ide room 130 of the one-story motel. It look like just what the sign outside advertised-,a ten " lar-a-night room, complete with vibrating bed.

Ad smiled warmly at her from behind his large, black frame glasses.

Tariz, bald and staid looking, perc uncomfortably watching a baseball game on the te vision. His eyes jumped quickly to the suit-case, n back to the television. The suitcase con-the twenty million dollars in counterfeit y left behind by the Vulture, and in the brief-case as the million paid to Cassabian for her safeht right-brace use.

She'd cut a deal. If everything fell just right, she could come out of this on her feet, like a cat.

Ari had moved to the window to peer out into the parking lot and surrounding desert. Those were the only names she'd ever heard them called. First names, always. Nothing more. She wondered what their real names were.

"So, you've come to us," Ari said, "to return our money." "To fence your money," Verna said "And ten cents on the dollar for paper of this quality seems to be "a wonderful deal for you, too." "Indeed it is. More than fair. We can either use our own means to pass it or resell in bulk at a decent price." "Get on with it," Tariz said, turning off the tele-vision with a remote. He walked to her and took the suitcase out of her hands to lay on the bed. "Ask her how she managed to get away." "I was being questioned," she answered, looking at Ari, whose face was kind, gentle. "Everything was in a mess, cops and neighbors everywhere. They were trying to question me on the scene...I was busy playin" innocent victim, when the warning horns went off and the loudspeakers came on. Everybody scat-tered. I'd stashed the suitcase and valise when Charlie left. I just grabbed them and walked away. Then I called you. I had to cash a few of the bills for expenses." "Why did the man leave the suitcase behind when he let?" Tariz asked. "He knew he was driving into bush. He wasn't coming back." "I lwondered about that," Cassabian said, perching on a jchair. She nervously got a cigarette out of her hand tilde ag. "He knew it was counterfeit. Why take it?" "Fix the same reasons we're standing here," Ari said, 1 asserting authority. "Have you- opened the bag?

was I'd seen the cash in it before, but I wanted to c right-brace 1k and make sure it was still there. I grabbed a gills, then shut it up and haven't opened it since. I only took.

fifteen hundred. You can deduct m my payment." an few Ho that "I'want you to open it again," Ari said softly.

4 "S." She shrugged, walking to the suitcase. "li tilde ot tilde yet," Ari instructed, and moved to the front door, Tariz hurrying out with him.

"Now," he said, and closed the door from the out-side, leaving Verna alone in the room. She moved to the 4itcase without further thought and opened it. It stuffed with banded hundred-dollar bills.

boo!" she called. "You can come in now." door opened slowly as the men peered around y didn't come in until they saw the open suit-n the bed.

y went up to it, staring down.

"Amazing," Ari This a saxa. com"It really has come back to us." "Now, how about my payofPr" Verna asked.

"Your payoff," Ad said, and pulled the small.22 out of his shark- skin jacket. The silencer was already attached.

"I...I don't understand," Verna said, suddenly feel-+ extremely cold. She shivered.

Ad pointed the gun at her. "You have achieved a miraculous thing," he said. "You have brought this gift to us with no trail attached No one will ever know about the money. It could be in the possession of the Vulture, it could have been confiscated and kept under wraps. Nobody knows. Except you. The paper trail ends with you, the only other logical per-son who could have also had it. If you disappear com-pletely, and believe me you will, everyone who doesn't believe the other explanations will assume you took it and ran away. It's so perfect." "But my husband... your friendship-was "Your husband was scum, a liar with no honor," Ari said. "And I mean that with all due respect. He cheated us.

I drowned him myself in your swimming pool.gg*thorn] Tariz, grinning broadly, looked into the case, stuck his hands in, fingers tracing down the stacks of bun-dled cash.

"I still can't believe he left it behind," he said, grabbing out two handfuls of banded bills. "I still don't und-was He felt return pressure on the wads of bills and looked down, too late, to see the trip wire.

There was a click, a small hum, then a flash of tremendous intensity as the deadly barbed tentacles of the Vbledamenture reached out and exacted vengeance on the Arizona desert in the middle of a scorching afternoon. Instant karma.

They bodies were vaporized and never identified.

Bolan ducked easily under the path of the iron bar, then came around with an elbow to the side of the head as the attacker's momentum carried him right past Bolan.

He connected solidly on the man's temple.

The stunning blow sent him sprawling, the fight already out of him, to the floor. The man appeared to be in his early twenties, with shoulder-length hair, and his wire-rim glasses lay beside him from the fall.

"Please don't hurt me," he moaned, his arms wrapped around his head as Bolan bent down to pick up the weapon--,a fireplace poker.

"You were trying to kill me," Bolan replied, touch-+ the man's ribs with the poker. "Get up." The man rolled away slightly, trying to keep some distance between himself and Bolan. He stood on shaky legs, the right side of his face all red and puffy. He'd have a hell of a bruise by morning.

The apartment looked narrow and deep. It was jammed full of sophisticated computer gear and trans- n equipment, including a cryptophone.

Bolan finitely come to the right place.

ere's Dennison?" Bolan asked, holding up the poke "You've got about five seconds to tell me be-fore if use this on you." "Idda.xm Dennison," the man said, gingerly rub-bing Ns face. He sat at his small kitchen table on a n chair, offering the other to Bolan.

Bolaan sat, leaning the poker up against the table.

"ff you're Dennison, why did you try and bash my brain] in?" was get you out of my damned life," Dennison answ*red. "Believe me, killing you would be my only viabo option in this situation." "I think you've got some explaining to do." "D tilde you mind if I make some coffee while we talk?.. disneed a cup." ahead," Bolan said.

son got up and began working with an old-rcolator. "Where do you want me to start?" with Mulligan. I assume he got in touch with style "S you."! "O ,her the scrambler." hat did he tell you?" at someone from the Justice Department would ng to my flat to talk about the Vulture." at's all he said?" man shrugged. "It was enough. Once my name got revealed, I was cooked. He's very powerful. That information will find its way back to him, and he'll kill me." "The Vulture, you mean?" "Yeah. And my work here's not even finished yet.

Not that it matters now. I'm out of here first chance. I didn't hire on to get killed." "No, you hired on to get out of prison. What, ex-actly, is your work?" The percolator was already on the gas burner, and Dennison sat across the table from Bolan. "Kind of eclectic, really. I've been able to access the top five Zurich banks and eavesdrop a bit. All on the periph-ery. My machines listen in on and intercept electronic transfers of funds from America into the numbered accounts. As you know, the Swiss don't share their financial data with anyone willingly. So we use the back door. When unusually large amounts of cash start coming in, there is generally reason to suspect something illegal happening on the American side. It's kind of an investigative tool. Domestic branches use the information as a starting point in asking for federal wiretaps and surveillance." Bolan sat back and stared at the man. He was look-+ at some lower-level computer nerd whose job was to sit in Zurich and try to drum up business for the FBI in America.

"What the hell does any of this have to do with the Vulture?" "Absolutely nothing." "Nbledthing," Bolan repeated "Don't make me work for this, kid How did you come up with your infon*ation?" ison shrugged, looking at his glasses, now an impossible angle. He twisted them back ape and put them on his face, slightly askew. "I lead a solitary fife," he said. "In this job... well, I guess you already understand the dangers of becom-close to people." Executioner understood.

ave no friends, no social life at all. I drink at own the street, called Der Stein, occasionally nversation with the regulars." They coffee was perking dark brown now, and he jumped up to turn off the burner and pour them each a cup. "W- few months back one of the regulars took a real ng to me and wanted to talk a lot. He's a printebled and it turns out he prints more than just res-taurani.

menus." Dennison paused to sip his coffee. "He has under-world connections and has a pretty good traffic in fake sports and identity cards, All hidden assets. The S "ss love hidden assets. He eventually took me inffconfidence and told me he had just made a phony port for the Vulture, one of his best clients. A few) questions later I had all the pertinent data. It was ndipity." "Why do you think he told you?" De bent into s mg t The "I a bar make "He's like me... lonely, friendless. When you've got hot news, you want to tell somebody." "So, who is the Vulture?" Bolan asked, not quite believing the story. The printer-forger and his chance meeting with Dennison seemed too coincidental to be true. And if Dennison was as afraid of the Vulture as he acted, why had he turned the man in at all?

There had to be something else, but Bolan decided to play along for a while.

"His real name, I don't know," Dennison said. "But if you promise to leave me alone after this, I'll tell you the name he "owns" here in Switzerland" "You're an NSC operative engaged in clandestine activity illegal in the country in which you are resid-+," Bolan said.

"I'm not going to leave you alone. I might need your help." "Go to hell." Face set hard, Bolan grabbed Dennison's shirt and hauled him close.

His blue eyes bored into the younger man with chilling coldness.

"I pretty well have a free hand when the stakes are this high. If you value your hide, you'd better tell what you know right now." Dennison was convinced and went pale. He'd heard truth and determination in the voice. He nodded, and when Bolan released him, he slumped into his chair "Hey... sure man," Dennison said.

"Anything you say." "The Vulture, Rennie. Tell me about the Vulture." "Sere... sure. Like I said, I don't know his real name,; but he bought the lands and title of the von Maur family a number of years ago." "T tilde e local authorities don't know who he really is?" His Th@. man shrugged. "It doesn't matter whether they do orj not. They wouldn't do anything to him any-way."" "'A by n"...[*thorn] was u don't know much about Switzerland's his-tory, i lo you?" "C ocolate," Bolan said. "Cuckoo clocks. Neu-trality Dennison straightened his shirt, then once again tried 10 fix his glasses. "Because the Swiss are neu-tral, everyone assumes they are peaceful. But since the 4ddle Ages the Swiss have been a country of professional soldiers, and have fought for one side or the *er in every major European war for the last thous tilde nd years without those wars touching them. Military service is mandatory here, and men can be call to active service up till the age of fifty." was they like mercs," Bolan said.

"Its always been a respectable profession to the peopl here." "Where can I find him?" was e city of Maur is south of here, in the Alps, a region they called the Valais. Castle von Maur is lo- cated on a high peak, within easy sight of Saint Ber-nard Pass." "How far away is that?" "Nothing's very far away in Switzerland Some-thing like 125 miles.

They have a fine railway system running out of Zurich to most of the country. If you go down to the main station-was "Do you have a car, Rennie?" "I'm not going to lend you my car." "How right you are. You're going to drive me." Dennison stared at him. He may have been a jerk, but he was nobody's fool. Bolan could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes and resolved to always keep a close eye on him.

"Look, I'm just a hacker... what should I call you?" "Belasko. Mike Belasko." "I'm a hacker, Mike. One of those guys in high school who always wore glasses and had pocket pro-tectors for their twenty pens. I've never fired a gun in my life...hell, I've never even been in a fight." "Except for tonight." The man put a hand to the rapidly darkening welt on his right temple, wincing with the pain.

"You should get some ice on that," Bolan said.

"It'll help." "I'll be on ice if you drag me along," Dennison said. "You look in my eyes, check me out and listen to me. I'm a coward. I have no desire or intention of involling myself in a military operation.. How many men Dave you got?" "Its just you and me." "Jyst you and me," Dennison repeatod softly, his eyes locked on the Executioner's.

"I to went to Maur for the wine festival last year," Dennson said. "A holiday, just getting away for a couple of days.

You can see eon Maur's castle quite we tilde m the village.

It's an operational fortress gu by a private army that sits at the top of a mountain$91 'Tve always liked the Alps," Bolan replied, now seeinj nothing but honesty coming from the kid's eyes. I "And everybody's a coward, Rennie. It's situ-ationI that force us to be otherwise, self- preservation and a l that." "I don't believe in any of this. It's not my "I ddon't care." "y tilde u won't be able to depend on me.

I might fieezq up or run or something." member your own theories," Bolan said, He mov toward the door. "The Vulture will not let you get o tilde t of the country alive. He'll have his people watching all the booked flights, looking for somebody who doesn't belong. Like you said, Rennie- He's goinglto get you... unless I can get to him first. Where are y6u parked?" "Drown the block. I-was "Let's go then," Bolan said, and was out the door and down the stairs.

The man was right: he'd be no good to Bolan in a combat situation, but he wasn't ready to turn the man loose yet. There were still secrets, pieces that didn't match up. For example, given the nature of Rennie Dennison, he would have never jeopardized himself and turned in the Vulture to begin with. He was, after all, a man who had sold national secrets for money to an enemy of the United States.

No, there was something more at work here, some-thing more complex.

THEY'D DRIVEN National Highway 9 in a cramped Alfa Romeo all the way to Sion, the canton's capital, then took the small local roads from there for the short trip to Maur The Valais, Latin for "valley," eighty miles long, was nestled in the chain formed by the Valaisan and Bernese Alps.

Mountains surrounded them everywhere on their drive, fifty one of them soaring over fourteen thou-sand feet. It was beautiful but claustrophobic.

They pulled into Maur just before nine in the morn-+ as early light was beginning to wink over the mountains. Maur was a typical medieval town of stone houses and narrow, winding streets meant to confound and contain enemy attacks. It was backed up against a mountain and would have looked for-boding had it not been for the Swiss practice of using brightly decorated window shutters with, flower boxes attached "i'll give you a notion of the people here," Den-nisoo said The whole right side of his face was an ugly) purple-and-yellow bruise.

"The local hero arou6d here is a guy named Farinet who decided the govornment had no right to monopolize the money supply and started counterfeiting his own. He was killed in a hail of police bullets.

They write songs and boobs about him. This is a different world, Belasko." "full over," Bolan directed just before they entered the enter of the town.

Dennison complied, pulling the Alfa into the weed-choked shoulder of the one-lane country road.

T tilde e mountain rose majestically above the city, and atop; it, thousands. of feet above them and covered in snow, loomed a fantasyland castle of towering spires and vast battlements. It fairly glowed in the first rosy glo* of morning light.

at's it," Dennison said "That's the Vulture's He and a couple hundred of his closest armed ates enjoy all the comforts of home there." Bolan shook his head Here was a monster for whose life a sewer would be a much better metaphor, yet 1 he had been granted seemingly unassailable hei ks like your buddy is home, too," Dennison said", "How do you know that?" "See the flag flying atop the highest spire?" Bolan pulled Dennison's binoculars from the glove box, wishing he'd have waited a few extra hours be-fore making the trip to Maur. He still hadn't retrieved his gear from the consulate. He focused on the tall spire.

The flag was huge, maybe as big as a house, and rippled stiffly in the hard wind that blew up that high. The flag was black, its center icon a clenched fist.

"Whenever the baron is in,"" Dennison said, "the flag is flown.

Kind of like the Queen of England." "I'll be a son of a bitch," Bolan whispered. "The man's arrogance has no boundaries." "And why not?" Dennison chortled. "Even Swiss television is dominated by the nuclear spill. Not one of those idiots we call servants of the people back home was able to stop him." Bolan slowly lowered the glasses and turned his head toward a grinning Dennison. "I'm about thirty seconds away from the end of my patience." The man began to speak, stopped, his eyes wid-ening in sudden understanding. "I didn't mean any-thing personal, you know. If you were involved with the attempt at... you know, capturing... I mean, you've got to kind of respect somebody who can get away with what he got away with, no reflection on any one individual intended." Bolan grabbed the man's lapels and pulled him closble. "He hasn't gotten away with anything," he snared.

"That flag tells me different." "'What flag tells me I'm only a mile or two from that beother eye," the Executioner said, shoving Den-nisoo away from him.

Dennison straightened himself out. "I assume when you; talk about the other eye, you mean it just as a... symbol, right?" B tilde lan just staged at the man.

"ph, my God," Dennison whispered "What have I gotten myself into?" "You should have asked yourself that question the day ru decided to break into Department of Defense con*uters," Bolan said. "I want a closer look." "You're the boss," Dennison said, driving off dowp to the cobbled street entering the city. It was barely wide enough for the car to squeeze through.

There seemed to be a lot of people in the streets, a kbled" of cars blocking progress. The town square was full tilde af people when they reached it, with long tables set Op outside.

Dennison parked near the city's one chinch, its steeple tall, its Gothic origins in keeping wi the rest of the town.

think we can get a pretty good look just on the other side of town," Dennison said. "I seem to recall a fit ild that gives an unobstructed-was was want closer than that, higher" was out ever do any climbing?" "Some. I know the rudiments. How about you?" "I've been here two years," the man answered.

"You learn to do everything Swiss in two years. We'll need gear. You got money?" Bolan nodded. "Where are we going to make the climb?" "I'll show you," Dennison replied. "Let's get out." "What's going on around here?" Bolan asked as they climbed out of the car. "Seems busy." "Remember I talked about the wine festival? It starts in a couple of days. It's the biggest time of the year in Maur. The baron throws a big party for the town, then has his own private party in the castle. It's a good time." "I'm so glad you enjoy it," Bolan said, frowning. "It might be a good cover for us, though." "For US?" "Yeah," Bolan said, walking off. "Show me where we're going to climb." Dennison hurried to catch up to him. "A couple of things before we get into this," he said, getting beside Bolan. "First be careful what you say and who you say it to. Quite frankly your nemesis owns this town and everybody in it. Anyone here would turn you in without a second thought. We're lucky, in fact, that it's festival time. There'll be a lot of strangers in town, and people won't be so suspicious." "What else?" "They call themselves independent in the Valais, which gives them a certain license. They'll say or do anything they choose. If you tell them you love Zu- rich, t right-brace tey' ll tell you what's wrong with it. If you tell them you hate Zurich, they'll tell you how wonderful it is. But don't let that make you think they're free thinkets. The people of this village have lived off the welfare of the von Maurs for six hundred years. Being owned is part of their heritage. Get it?" "Yeah," Bolan said, shaking his head. "I get it." He was following Dennison now, who was leading him out of town and a half mile into the countryside into a field of millet.

They got a different angle, and were 4pproaching a piece of the large mountain that had conntered off hundreds of millions of years ago and w sat nearly a mile from its larger cousin. It warn'ble quite as tall, but almost, and seemed easily scaleable.

"They call it the little Madam. It's a favorite of beginning climbers in the area because you can take it in Yarious degrees of difficulty. The side we're looking at slopes upward before the real comclimbing starts. tilde The other side of the Little Madam is a sheer

wall of rock." "Lt's take the easy way up," Bolan said, knowing that n tilde thing was easy.

"Fihe," the man replied. "Why don't you stay here and I'0 go to town and purchase our gear?" shook his head "No way, partner.

Until I'm throu with you, we're joined at the hip." "y worry too much. If I want to get rid of you, I'll just let you fall off the mountain." The mountain was a lot taller than it had looked from the ground, and climbing had become a lot more dif-ficult once they'd hit the snow line. The slope was steeper, handholds nonexistent.

"Hurry it up!" Dennison called from thirty feet below, dangling from the tether line holding them to-gether. "I want to get up there before I'm old enough to collect social security." "Dead men can't collect anything," Bolan responded.

They were nearly to the peak. Bolan was kicking out hard, the metal spikes of the crampons attached to his climbing boots digging in hard "We're getting there," he called back.

"Be patient." "No worries there, chum. con1'm protecting some hot property with these pants. Speaking of hot...I wish we had some coffee." Bolan smiled despite himself. For all the man's ob-noxiousness, he was an excellent climber and worked well its the teamwork situation, willing to let them move at a safe, if a bit slow, pace.

Bolan used the snow ax to chip away at the ice just beside Ihis head. It was solid. He pulled out a ringed piton, hammered it to get it started, then screwed it into the solid ice until just the ringed end was ex-posed. comThen he clicked a snap link onto the piton and made cure the rope attached to the snap link was palled to taut.

"Crime on up!" he called.

Dennison immediately kicked out from the ice and climbed it in huge leaps, feeding rope back through to dangle beneath him. He was beside Bolan in seconds.

"ArO we having fun yet?" he asked.

"Hbledw long to the top?" Bolan asked, looking up, his masked and goggled face peering up at what still seemed an endless expanse of ice. It was cold, numb-+ evon through four layers of clothing.

"Fi5en minutes," Dennison said, smiling, enjoy-+ be right-brace ng in control; "I'll go ahead and scramble up from here.

We're getting a nice inward slope now. I'll throweaou back a line." "I' going up with you," Bolan said, and they retrie their ropes and wrapped them around their shoulders. Using nothing but ax and crampons, they scurriOd up the long wall of ice, Bolan feeling the fatigue in his thighs and upper arms.

Just when it was becoming unbearable, they crested the peak to stand on a broad plain several hundred yards wide, broken by minipeaks and gullies. Bolan was amazed to find a crude stone but sitting on the castle side of the peak.

"What's that?" "Did you think you were the first person to climb the Little Madam?" Dennison asked, sitting atop a rock and taking a long breath. "This is a beginners' peak, remember?

The house is for people tike us who take too long to climb up and have to spend the night like we're going to have to do." "Good," Bolan said, walking in that direction, mesmerized by what he saw beyond.

Castle von Maur sat barely a mile away, only slightly more elevated. It was huge, massive, its. high walls seemingly a part of the mountain itself.

He dug through his backpack and brought out the binoculars, focusing on the walls. They teemed with activity, guards with automatic weapons. The spires were topped by rooms, but he couldn't see within them well enough to know if they were defensive bunkers or simply real estate.

He glanced quickly at his watch. Barely 5:00 p.m. "It gets dark so quick," he said.

"Listen," Dennison said, "there are towns in these hills that are in shade nearly ten months a year be-cause of the mountains. Think about that." Bolan continued to scan the target area, deepening the focus to examine the main hall, located in the rear of the castle grounds and built into the face of the hill.

The top of the main hall had balconies that over-looked the city below. One of the balconies was oc-cupiebled. He hit the focus, and the face of the Vulture sharpfed into definition. The man stood- casually, in suit aAd tie, holding a brandy snifter in his hand. He was gazing down at the village below.

All at once he jerked, his head snapping to look across at the sister peak. He stared hard, and if the Executioner's binoculars had been a rifle scope, he would have shot the man right between the eyes.

THE VuLT-URE HAD FELT the pain stab straight through his eye and into his brain as he stood in his favorite spot on the balcony. It sent a spasm through him, and he looked at the Little Madam. From there. The pain came! from there. Could it be? Could the big man actually be this close already?

"This is beautiful, Baron," came the female voice from behis study.

Hey turned, forcing the pain into the back of his mind and walked in from the balcony, a smile on his face.

IT-HE actress was studying his Degas. She wore a cli*ging red gown, subtle red, that showed off the highlights of her strawberry blond hair. In fact it sho*d off a lot of highlights.

"An amazing man, Degas." The Vulture moved up beside her, their bodies barely touching, giving off heat. "He's a link between static Classicism and the movement of modern art. You see here, we have what would be a scene of action-- the musician, the dance instructor, the ballerina-yet they have stopped their motion, the instructor halting things in midaction to make a criticism. Static action.

Fascinating." "I don't understand a thing you just said," Kim-berly Adams replied, "but I just love the soft emo-tions of the thing." "I, also," he said, lifting his drink. "Allow me to make a toast-to the most beautiful woman who has ever gazed upon this painting." "How romantic." The woman smiled, catlike, and raised her glass of white wine.

"I've been thinking about you since Cannes last year," she said.

"I'm flattered," the Vulture replied.

"You, also, have occupied my thoughts on many sleepless nights. It gets very lonely up here sometimes." "I don't see how." She moved around the office, walking out onto the balcony herself. "It's like a sto-rybook here.

This is the most spectacular view I've ever seen. I think if I lived here I'd feel like a princess every morning when I woke up.

Isn't it strange that it took a tragedy to bring us together?" He joined her on the balcony, the pain hitting him the moment he walked out of the safety of his office. "A wise man turns chance into good fortune," he replied, slipping an arm around her waist.

Sh* turned to him, fitting herself against him. "I don't know if I've ever thanked you properly for tak-+ me in." "Vkell, you know we believe in being proper here in the Alps," the Vulture responded, his eye socket throbbing painfully. The big man was here. He was!

Shy took his face in her hands and brought his lips to hers, a long, lingering kiss.

It Would come down to a confrontation, man to man,; and in Maur, a new legend would be born. Hey pulled her fiercely to him, grinding his lips agairand hers, his pain and madness and passion flow-+ m one to the other. The woman, eyes wide, pusl*d herself away from him.

"11Moa, tiger," she said. "I'm hot to trot, but I like to be warmed up first. Let's notch it down a frame or two, okay?" "Year my passion for you overtook me," he said.

"Yoi now know just how much I've thought about mce you Cannes. My sincerest apologies." "baron-was hisby 'tilde Carl'...please." Sloe nodded. "Don't worry, Karl," she said, eyes ng. "I like dangerous men, and you are nothing t dangerous. It should be. an interesting few

y thoughts exactly," he replied, then turned to Schwander standing in the doorway, some-thing in his hand. "What is it?" "Miss Adams's arrival made me realize that your passport has expired," he said, holding up the small booklet. "You'll need to renew if you plan on going to Cannes again." The Vulture rolled his eye. "Give it to Mulroy. We have a man in Zurich who takes-was He stopped talk-+, his mind moving to Zurich and Jost Sprecher, the best forger he'd ever seen.

And the worst drunk. Drunks talk.

"Get me Mulroy immediately," he snapped, then turned to the woman.

"Kimberly...z much as I hate to say it, I've got some business to attend to. If you wish to wait in the library or the game room..." She stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the lips. "Don't be too long," she said, then hurried from the room.

Sprecher. Sprecher. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He was the only man outside of the regi-ment's inner circle who knew about the passport the Vulture was using for the American run. He could have told anyone. He could have told hundreds of people.

"You want me, Baron?" Mulroy, dressed in fa-tigues, said from the doorway.

"I've got a name for you. Jost Sprecher." "Sprecher," Mulroy said, coming inside the office. "It's got to be. I'll go down there tonight and see to it." "No," the Vulture said "Send someone else.

I've got other work for you. Come here." M ilroy followed him out onto the balcony.

Night had descended fully on the mountain, and the lights of the village below were bright and festive. The Vul-ture equals pointed to the dark bulk of the Little Madam. "I thint someone's up there," he said "Lots of people climb-was "I think he's up there. I want you to check it...how! And I want a squad ,positioned on the peak for the duration of the festival." "Yes, sir!" The man executed a sharp, military turn and moved swiftly toward the door.

"And Willy?" the Vulture called. "Whoever you send to speak with Mr. Sprecher...make sure they get eveuy bit of information he has.

I'm sure you under-stand what I mean." "Count on it," Muhoy said, and smiled wide.

be BobledAN AND Dwvtasoation sat on their still-rolled sleep-+ "bags and ate beef stew from cans. Dennison sleep-dily drank from a large thermos full of coffee he'd brought up with his gear.

'I1hey'd covered the outside of the but with blankets to @ddlock the wind that was whistling through the craciks. The small heater worked well.

small window looked out at the castle, lost in darkness now except for the lights on the parapets and in the main hall. Bolan pulled aside the blanket cov-ering the window and stared.

"You going to do it tomorrow?" Dennison asked.

"Yeah," the Executioner replied. "We'll haul it out of here in the morning.

Will I have to go all the way back to Zurich to get a high-powered rifle?" The man laughed. "Switzerland is the land of high-powered rifles.

People love their guns here as much as we do back home, and the rifle is the weapon of choice. Ask anyone in town tomorrow. If you can haggle, you can get any kind of rifle you want." "Good. We'll just climb back up, and I'll take him first opportunity." "Correction. We won't be doing anything.

I'll stick with you through the gun purchase. After that we split.

You're up the mountain, and I'm on a flight back to Zone Interior. You don't need me to get back up the mountain." Bolan nodded. "Fair enough." It was almost too good to be true. With luck he could finish off the monster quietly, without the man's usual collateral fanfare of death and destruction. A day after that he could be back home, the Vulture just grim memory.

A mechanical sound drifted lightly from the direc-tion of the castle. Bolan lifted the blanket again to take a look. A chopper was just clearing the castle walls, a bright spotlight shining from its bottom. He waited for it to angle down to Maur, as it had done many times that day, but instead, it turned, gained altituide and headed right for them.

"We got trouble," Bolan said as Dennison crawled through the small but to gaze out the window. "Mere we go," Dennison moaned as he slid de-jectedly into a sitting position. "I wish I'd have killed you in my flat last night. I could have been halfway home by now." They had about a minute before the chopper would reach them. There was nowhere to hide on the peak. The spotlight would capture them soon enough. They had 1People take decisive action. "I don't suppose you've got gun?" Bolan said.

Toe man just turned and stared blankly at him.

"You're the killer," he said. "You're the one who's supposed to have the guns." Bight light illuminated the window space, blinding light; "Get your crampons on," he said. "Hurry. Theyrre almost here." y should I-was it! Quick!" The man slipped the heavy spikes over his new climbing boots. "I'm going to draw their fire," the Execptioner said, moving to the covered doorway of the *t. "When I get them past here, I want you to grab handful of snow. screws and commake your way up th* jagged edge of the peak, the highest point. See it?" The man looked out the door His face was set but fearful. They could hear the chopper above them, snow blowing crazily under the winds from the rotor.

"I'll lead them there," Bolan said. "Try and make them come down low.

When they do, start chunking the pitons at the tail rotor, the small one. It's their stabilizer." "This isn't happening," Dennison said "Brother," Bolan growled, "it is happening, and if you don't back me up on this we're both dead...z in really dead. Now go!" He raced out of the hut. The chopper was hovering thirty feet overhead, its spotlight racing over the ground around him. It was an old Huey Iroquois in pristine shape and loaded for bear-a 7.62 multibarrel Minigun, a 20 mm six-barrel cannon. The thing could ultimately hold over seventy rockets.

There was an M-60 placement mounted in the open bay.

He ran.

Dodging between the jagged rocks that dotted the summit, thrusting out of the snow, Bolan put distance between himself and the chopper, knowing the move-ment would catch their eye more quickly.

He turned behind him and looked, afraid that Den-nison might simply lie low and hope they were sat-isfied killing him, but as soon as the bright circle of the spotlight passed the hut, the man dodged out and ran rock to rock, staying behind the slow-stalking chopper, moving to the same place Bolan was-a jag- ged section of ice and rock that rose forty feet above the actual summit.

The spotlight caught Bolan as he was reaching the outcropping. The night was absolutely clear around him, inky black, brilliant stars.

Death.

This chopper's Nfnigun rattled, and he dodged right. ire big slugs slammed into rock, blasting stone shrapnel at Bolan, who dived and rolled, watching icy snow bursting under heavy fire across the ground to-ward him.

Jumping to his feet, he charged back the other way and dived behind a rock pile the size of a phone booth;. There was a second of silence, then Bolan thought he heard the tinkle of distant laughter mixed with the swirling prop wash of the Huey's rotor.

Thon the Minigun was firing, staccato, like a slowly throttling engine. Orange fire shook the plain as rodk and ice ripped to pieces in a constant chain of explosions.

His rock pile crumbled, and Bolan went down hard u nderj the debris, covering his head. Pain flashed, was lost i* the adrenaline rush. He struggled out and ran left, wanting to distance himself from the upper peak; where he hoped Dennison was getting into position.

Ths M-60 cut loose from the bay right in front of him, the snow churning angrily. He jerked, then turned back, the ground exploding before him. Boxed in, he stopped, looking up to where the Huey hovered not twenty feet above him. Mulroy hung out of the bay, grinning that country-boy grin.

"Hey, Paraguay!" he called. "How ya doin'That" "I've been better!" Bolan called back. "How about you?" "Can't complain! You're harder to kill than a tick!" Bolan shrugged, watching past them as Dennison made it to an ice peak on a direct line with their tail rotor.

"Just lucky!" Bolan said. "I see you're still play-+ soldier boy even though you washed out!" "Where are your guns, cuz?" "I'm just here for the wine festival!" Dennison was balanced precariously on the jagged peak and was fumbling in the pockets of his heavy coat.

"Normally I'd think about taking you in for de-briefing!" Mulroy called. "But you'd just cause some kind of ruckus. I'm gonna do you now, pard!" "No, you're not!" Bolan called back.

"T was right about you in Paraguay. You don't have the goods. You forgot rule number one- cover your ass!" At that moment Dennison threw a handful of pitons at the chopper's tail, followed by metallic pings, then quickly another handful, and this time there was the screeching rend of metal on metal as the rotor blade twisted back onto the tail, tearing a section of it out. The chopper immediately lost balance, jerking in the ait wobbling as the pilot tried to regain altitude. The gunner tumbled out of the bay, but Mulroy man-aged 0 cling to the door as Bolan charged the man who f6ll.

He vvas groaning, trying to rise, as the Executioner reachbledd him, knocking him over onto his back, a knee comin full weight on the man's throat, crushing it.

Bolan ripped the man's coat open as he lay, thrash-+, suffocating in the death agonies. The chopper had clim and was swaying wildly, trying to make it back o the castle.

ThO dying man was wearing a side arm, a Glock 17, 9 mm semiauto.

Bolan tore it out of the holster and sapped a round into the chamber.

He raced to the edge of the precipice, watching the distant form of Willy Mulroy scrambling back into the b*.

The chopper wasn't going to make the castle. Rather it was going to ditch in a snowy hillside within the estate's peripheral defenses.

An@. shot he'd make would be a waste of a bullet, a b 4t they'd desperately need in a few minutes. Inst tilde Bolan walked quickly back to the now-dead gunne.

He went through the man's clothes and found one extra 3-round clip.

He stuck it in his pocket.

"n w what?" Dennison asked.

"n w we see how quickly we can get down that mountain." "In the dark?" He pointed to the distant chopper. "You want to wait around for their friends to join us?" Dennison was gone in a flash, grabbing the rest of the gear as Bolan jogged to the section of the Huey's tail that had been chopped off by the broken rotor. He heard Mulroy's chopper hit ground with a loud rend-+. No explosion.

The piece of tail was about three feet by five feet. Bolan dragged it to their ascent point as Dennison charged up with their gear.

Bolan fixed the spikes to his boots.

They tied the tail section to Bolan's back and went down the way they'd come up, finding their old cram-pon holes from the afternoon, trying to use the pitons they'd already screwed into the ice.

Troops would have already been deployed by this time, probably a lot of troops. They'd ring the peak and move relentlessly forward until finding Bolan and Dennison. Timing was everything at this point.

They reached the series of pitons and clamped them, sliding down their lines from piton to piton. In the rush of excitement, neither man spoke, and neither felt the cold or the pain in their arms and legs.

Bolan sneaked a look down. They were nearing the point where the Little Madam was a long downward slope of snow, walkable all the way to the tree line a mile farther down. He could see the dark forms of men charging up from ground level, moving through the trees.

Gbledtionfire from below gouged the rock and ice beside them" Two hits ricocheted off the sheet metal strapped to beIan's back.

was t some marksmen down there," Bolan said, un-clip ng from the rope, then working the crampons. The were on solid ground, looking at a long, sloping hillsi , then trees.

"I hey're all marksmen here!" Dennison yelled as another shot took a large chunk of ice right beside his he "We're sunk." "Maybe," Bolan hedged, unstrapping the heavy pi of metal from his back.

was you're making a contest of it," Dennison said.

"Taking turns." " it problem," Bolan returned.

"You ever toboigan?" man smiled down at the three-by-five-foot of sheet metal. "An idea man," he said. "Cool. G.i. Joe, you're okay." Il take the front," Bolan said, pulling out the. "You sit behind and try to steer by pulling on

so.

men positioned quickly as more shots re-ed around them.

sou r an braced in the front, then Dennison gave a from the rear and jumped behind.

and serpentine," Bolan called over his shoul-der.

"It'll take a little longer to get down, but they won't know where to try and converge on us." "You're the man," Dennison called.

The wind was whistling hard, whooshing, stinging their faces as they picked up more speed. Shots rang from all through the tree line now, flashes like fire-flies, bursting everywhere, and bullets whizzing past them.

"Left!" Dennison yelled.

Both men leaned as Dennison pulled up on the metal. The sled arced wide left, and shouts came from below as men ran in that direction.

"Right!" Dennison yelled, then "Left!" as soon as they'd started the turn.

Directly to their left, as the tree line rushed toward them, several men had broken into the open to fire at them.

Bolan held on with one hand, firing single shots into the small crowd with the other hand Two fell, rolling down the mountain, the others scattering.

"Right!" Dennison called.

They were flying, everything a blur except the trees. They were close.

More shots came from close by, and Bolan swung the Glock to the right to take out two more men with chest shots.

"We're running out of snow!" Dennison called. "Aim for open space!" Bolan yelled as they hit the tree line.

The toboggan jerked to a dead stop once it ran out J 1 J 1 ,.

tree, lacking out for a second before shaking it off and sing on wobbly legs.

D s, and tall trees surrounded him, with the had F 1 1 -- m past their assailants. W1' Dennison?

con1 a full circle, trying to see in starlight.

1 yl 11 1 a ii, 11 1 moved plus 1 the direction 1 f 1 - , ,". con1 whispered, taking r 1 1 the. 1 f

incoherent erent but docile as Bolanv

tilde from behind called 1 out in Valais German. : comi 1 f. f 1 -- t J comJ s hard as he could. The man's eyes slowly.1.1 n like hell," Bolan replicd, and took off to the sound gunfire fim- behind.

Dennison was beside him within seconds. "I could have been home," he kept saying. "I could have killed you and gone home." Bolan ignored him and turned to fire over his shoulder at thrashing in the thicket beside them. A grunt and a crash to the ground rewarded his effort.

Suddenly they broke from the tree line, reaching the valley floor.

The millet field was full of cars and transports, and men rushed from the forest all around the peak.

They were being charged from all directions as they hurried into the makeshift car lot, frantically checking cars for keys left behind.

"Here!" Dennison yelled, pointing to an ugly yel-low Volvo.

Any port in the storm. The man was already behind the wheel as Bolan ran to the passenger side. "Go!" he yelled as he climbed in, firing over the fender of a truck parked beside.

A man in a red-and-white uniform sprawled over the hood in a spurting haze of blood.

Dennison popped it into gear and bounced off the English Ford parked on the other side, then gained control and aimed toward town, passing a long line of cars and tricks.

Two men in white snow fatigues jumped into their path fifty feet ahead, firing rifles, shattering their windshield.

Bolan leaned out the window and emptied the rest of the clip into them.

Their white uniforms d drooled red as one spun away, the other plowed under theminin the Volvo bouncing high as it ground up the body) ThOy bounced from the field onto the roadway, and Dennison floored it as other vehicles were starting up to gt e chase. Bolan dropped the empty clip and reloa ed.

"J*st get to the town square," Bolan said.

"We can make; it on foot to your car from there, get away in the ebnfusion." kay," Dennison replied, humping it into town as Bolan went through the car, looking for weapons. He fqund a fully loaded AK-47 under the passenger seat.

This" y roared into town. A huge dance was in pro-gresstin the square. The townspeople were dressed in brighi red-and-yellow traditional costumes, laughing and singing, quaffing huge steins of beer. More of the red- id-white mercenary uniforms were evident amid the rrymakers.

This y pulled up in the middle of the street and just left e car.

Bolan stuck the pistol in his pocket and carried the Kalashnikov out in the open. Nobody no-ticed.; Most of the men were carrying their weapons.

Thy were halfway through the crowd when other cars uealed up to the square. Men jumped out of the v hicles and charged into the crowd, causing more confusion as Bolan and Dennison made their way to the Gothic church and the small Alfa they'd left parked there that morning, a million years ago. They made the car and pulled quietly down side streets, Dennison continually checking the rearview.

"First chance you get, step on it," Bolan said.

"To where?" "Zurich. We've got to get to your forger friend before the Vulture does." "Oh, my God," Dennison said. "Sprecher could tell them my name!" He hit the gas, and they were off.

Zurich 3 July 23, 4:00 ant. I Dennison drove Bolan slowly through the dead-of-nightjcity, taking Lagerstrasse, just south of the rail-way lines, where Zurich's slums existed side by side with he opulence of the world's financial capital. Once the refuge of Catholics from neighboring can-tons aping the medieval Reformation, the area was now mprised of shabby, gloomy blocks of flats that housed the cheap labor pool of the money barons. were so close... that close," Dennison said, g a thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "How know we were there?" aybe someone from the town dropped a dime," said, unconcerned with what was already past. the immediate future to deal with.

there was nothing suspicious. People climb there (all the time-it's one of the reasons people come to M4ur, for Cod's sake." "He's tough," Bolan said. "We'll have to be tougher." "This is a wash, man. Over. There's no way you can take him." "There's always a way," Bolan replied. "How far to the printer's?" "A block farther up... on the left." "Pull over here. On the other side of the street." Dennison did as he was told. Bolan brought the AK-47 with him, and the Glock was snuggled in his coat pocket. They climbed from the car and walked the street slowly, staying in the shadows of the side opposite the shop.

"There," Dennison said quietly, pointing across the street to a narrow store on ground level with housing for the owner above.

There were no lights on in the structure. All seemed quiet, except that a black Peu-geot was parked partway on the sidewalk in front of the building.

"Der Stein is a block down," Dennison said, point-+, "my place a block farther on from there." "What kind of car does Sprecher drive?" Bolan asked.

"Herr Sprecher does not drive," Dennison said. "He has never driven." Bolan primed the AK-47 and handed it to Denni-son. "You know how to use this?" "No," the man returned. "And I don't want to learn." "Itts set for single shot. You point and pull the trigger. Don't shoot unless you've got something to shoot at. And if I'm in front of you, don't point that thing my back." "Its a thought, isn't it?" Subledenly the apartment above the print shop flashed brilliantly to light----three times in rapid succe@.sion.

y were too late.

Dme on!" Bolan said, charging across the street, gon out of his pocket, Dennison hanging way He was only fast when they were running away. an jumped the sidewalk and hit the front door shop on a dead run. The door had already been crawl arred open at the latch. The place was dark, filled with lumpy shapes that must have been ma-chine. He could barely see. He primed the Glock. T'be were thirteen shots in the magazine.

In e back of the shop, he could hear the sound of f rumbling down stairs and could see the danc ing s t of a flashlight. They were coming and didn't know they had company. He moved to position him-self hind a printing press. With surprise on his side, he co d take them easy.

7b tilde room exploded with light, Dennison standing wide yed at the switch. "Hey, 1.-was was wn, you idiot!" Bolan yelled as four men on the w, n staircase opened up with automatics to a deafeOing roar The place was jammed full of bee- This.6Go the back. Bo of this hives of typefaces-no computers here-and low-hanging lights, and everything inside the small shop jumped, danced, under a hail of fiery death.

He looked to see Dennison, down behind a huge linotype machine, shrugging at Bolan, his weapon ly-+ on the floor.

"Pick it up!" Bolan yelled, standing to fire at the four men, who'd jumped the stairs and were charging. He took out the first man with a head shot and was already drawing a bead on the second as the first crashed into a stack of print drawers, sending little wooden cubes flying everywhere.

He plugged the second man through the chest and throat. His momentum keeping him running right past Bolan, a hand to his neck, blood leaking between his fingers.

The other two were on him, and Bolan had to dive and roll as Dennison pulled the trigger from his side of the room, over and over, wasting ammo but man-aging to hit one of the men in the arm.

But it drove the men out, and the assassins crashed through the glass remaining in the front door to make the street. Bolan was up, giving chase. The guy he shot through the neck was standing, leaning against the door frame-dead-his hand still holding his throat.

The Executioner jumped through the glass space in the door and shot at the man Dennison had wounded. He hit him in the back of the neck, and the man stag- ge d forward several more steps before he plunged heccirst to the cobblestones.

The fourth man had climbed into the car and was s ing the engine.

Bolan charged at the car.

4 tilde I started with a roar and lurched off the curb, but the l Executioner was already digging for the driver's d* even as it picked up speed down less-than the street. I tilde e ran hard and came abreast of the driver's-side wi ow. The driver looked over at him, surprised, as he put two bullets through his forehead.

Oolan stopped running, and the car continued on, pic tilde ing up speed.

It traveled on, straight and true, for more blocks before swerving hard right at ty miles per hour. It flipped, end over end, before hing into the brick facade of a boutique and oding.

Dennison was walking out of the print shop, drag-gin tilde the AK-47 by the barrel. He moved to stand over the an he'd shot, frowning down at the body. Bolan jog ed to him as the sound of distant sirens filled the nig that. People were beginning to poke their heads out of indows.

"Come on," Bolan said. "The first one's always the' hardest." "This man, he...he..." It's meat," Bolan said. "Let's go!" "What about Sprecher?" ",He's gone." They hurried back down the block to the Alfa, climbing in and sinking down in the seats just as sev-eral police cars screeched by, the sirens bleating like sheep.

"We've got to assume they called the Vulture on you," Bolan said.

"You can't go home." "What about your hotel?" "Yeah... right. After my little run-in with Mulroy tonight, we'd never make it out of the parking lot of the Hilton.

We need someplace else to stay. Where?" "Another hotel?" "Forget the hotels and the airport. You must know something about this place after two years." "I told you, I have no friends, I- No, never mind." "What? You were going to say something." "There's a... a girl," Dennison said.

"There's always a girl," Bolan returned.

"Could she also be connected to the Vulture?" "No, no. That's not the problem. We're not.

together anymore.

Marta Kleppe broke up with me because I'm too weird." "Sensible lady. Let's go." Dennison started the Alfa and pulled slowly away from the curb as vehicles and citizens filled the streets before the print shop.

There was a confusion of lights and noise. Some things were the same everywhere around the world.

As they drove out of the city, Dennison was unusu-ally quiet after the firefight. The man he'd run over in Maur had been happenstance, unavoidable, but in rint shop he'd had to make the decision to pull gger. It's not one that everybody could make.

adn't done well, but he'd tasted blood. They for thirty minutes, then finally Dennison pulled subdivision of chalets built into a hillside. They new, all fake gingerbread, meant to mimic the "s perception of Switzerland, all A-frame and woo en decks.

T ey pulled up to a house halfway up the four-hundred-foot hill and climbed out.

was hat am I supposed to say to her? It's been six mo so...." "ell her you have a business proposition for her, that you need lodging for one night, no questions aske Cl." iey were moving up the stairs, and Dennison was ing his head. "It's not going to be that easy.

the the He dro into wer wor Ian interrupted him by knocking on the door per-tly, enough to wake someone without rousing ighborhood.

few minutes later a slightly fearful female voice ded from the other side of the door. "Who is it? 's there?" arta," Dennison said softly. "Marta. It's me, Ren.".eao away." The man looked at Bolan, who prodded him, nod- ding toward the door. 'TA must talk to you. I have a... business proposition to offer." "What sort of business?" she said, the door still closed tight.

Bolan reached into his pocket and took out a thou-sand-franc note, shoving it under the door. Fifteen seconds later they were standing in the vestibule of a cozy little house with a loft bedroom.

It would do. The Executioner was beginning to un-derstand the thinking of some Swiss citizens.

WILLY MULROY, in pleated pants and a baggy shirt with a sports jacket, wandered down the length of Langstrasse.

The smells of the bakeries and delis cranking up for the day made him realize he hadn't eaten since the previous night.

That guy from Paraguay could screw up anything.

Mulroy was lucky to be alive after going down with the chopper. The pilot hadn't been so fortunate.

He moved up, getting across the street from the police barricades.

Crowds of tourists and locals gath-ered around, and a separate but similar show was tak-+ place down the street where that idiot Heller had crashed.

Sprecher had apparently had no phone, not even a business phone; Heller had stupidly forgotten to take a cell phone along to pass information.

Now it was gone, lost with the printer and Heller.

ig man had put Mulroy's butt in the wringer The again.

H kept walking, looking. Sprecher had spent his ye on this street and had probably done his drink-+ here, as well.

Mulroy was looking for a place a lose like the forger would frequent.

H didn't have to look far. Barely half a block from Sp her's tiny business, he came across a neighbor h bar called Der Stein. It was a working-class plac , cheap booze, cheaper conversation, unlike the discs and retro sixties clubs that filled the rest of Lang strasse.

A small man in an apron with a huge handlebar mustache was sweeping the sidewalk in front of Der Stem. Mulroy sidled up to him and put on his good-old- y smile.

was owdy!" he said, loud. The man looked up and smil d distractedly.

"You speak English?" Mulroy aske.

"I possible to have a business on Langstrasse without speaking English. How may I help you?" "I m just passin" through, on vacation," Mulroy said, moving closer to the man.

"I was just wonderin' what happened over there across the street.

Somebody get sot or something?" "five people shot," the man said, holding up five fing. "It was horrible. They shot poor Mr. Spre her, then shot among themselves...I don't know whatjwas going on." "You saw it?" "I saw the end of it...the last. All the guns, they woke me up. I looked out the window and saw men shot in the street, a man trying to drive away. This big man chased down the car and shot the driver right through the window. Then another man came out of the building and ran away with the big man." "Another man," Mulroy said, not a question.

"Did you tell the police about it?" The man laughed. "The police?" he said, and spit on the ground.

"They can all go to hell, you know? They've done me no favors." "Boy, I hear you. Hey, you said, "poor Mr. Sprecher." Did you know him?" "He was my best customer," the tavern owner said sadly. "It's going to make a difference in my busi-ness. I always worried about something happening to him. He was a petty criminal." "Really?" Both men stood for a moment, staring over at the crowds and the police tracking blood trails on the sidewalk and streets, trying to reconstruct the action. "If Sprecher was here all the time, I guess there's a lot of people who'll miss him." The man tugged on his mustache, his eyes narrow-+ just a touch.

"He kept to himself," he said. "No friends, really, except for the young American fellow, a long-hair who did something with computers." "Computers," Mulroy said. Things just kept get- ting tilde tranger. "Did the young man live around here, too?"' by would you want to know these things?" m just a curious guy." ell, I'm very busy and must get back to getting lace open. If you want any more of my time, have to pay for it." ow much?" ive hundred francs." ilroy had the money in the man's hands in ds.

M seco "Ts name is Rennie Dennison," the man said qui-etly. "He lives in an apartment at the corner of the next lock. I returned a book to him there once. The number is 4-B. That's all I can tell you." man turned abruptly and moved into the tav-ocking the door behind him.

letteroy, whistling happily, went down the block, g the apartments without much trouble. He mad it quietly up the stairs, tapping gently on 4-B to n response.

T1 e lock jimmied easily with Mulroy's Swiss Army knife, and he walked into a computer nerd's wet drea.

Computers and telephones were everywhere, scre s running continual data.

He walked around, tryin to put something together, when he saw the scrambler.

lly Mulroy was no genius, but he knew a scram-bler Phone when he saw one. A scrambler phone ern, M findi meant covert activity. The guy at the bar had said the man here was an American. A spy! He'd also said the big man had had an accomplice last night.

He smiled, walking out the door and latching it back up tight. The American spy and Belasko were working together. With all of his equipment here, the American would come back.

All Mulroy had to do was wait, and the big guy would be delivered to him.

He took his cell phone off his belt and dialed up the security number at the castle. The baron himself answered after two rings.

"I've got him pegged," Mulroy said. "Just waitin' for him to return to the roost." "I've been very disappointed in you lately, Willy," the Vulture said. "I hope you've got control of the situation this time." "We need to keep a watch on 817 Langstrasse," Mulroy said.

"Surveillance. It'll pay off, I promise. Send me some men, too." "How many?" "Thirty should do it." Zuri h Police Headquarters 10.15 a.

more.

The inspector's name was Stiles He was very precise neat. His hair was short, slicked down, his mus-clipped to a pencil line, his wire glasses small 4ound. He held Bolan's passport in one hand and oto of the Vulture in the other.

ow, you say, Mr. Belasko," he said in precise sh, "that you saw this man-was he held up the "comin our airport when you got off the plane, at this man is the international terrorist, the re?" es," Bolan said, taking a desperate stab at get-omething going.

ay I ask where you acquired his photo?" hey were handed out in the airport when I came here on vacation." nd you saw-was he turned the photo to Bolan's face rather'-this man when "Yes. I've already told you that. And I heard the custom's man say, "Welcome home, Baron von Maur."" "I see," Stiler said, handing the photo back to Bo-lan. "Well, we'll...look into it, Mr. Belasko." He handed back the passport.

"You're not going to do anything, are you?" "Mr. Belasko, Baron von conMaur is a very famous man in my country, like... Elvis, huh? He's a world-renowned art historian and critic, and is a benefactor to many. I do not believe he is the Vulture. Their resemblance ends at the eye patch." "He's coma vicious, sadistic killer," Bolan said. "Thank you, Mr.

Belasko," Stiler said. "Enjoy your stay in our country." "I'm afraid, Inspector, that you will come to regret this decision." In response, the man swiveled his chair, showing only its tall back. Bolan picked up his passport and left, not saying everything he wanted to say.

It was destined to fall on his shoulders, and he was probably foolish to think it otherwise. Now he knew for sure. Private army or not, he was going to have to go up that mountain alone and kill Baron Karl von Maur, the Vulture. He could count on nothing from Dennison-the man wasn't any good in a firefight. The best he could hope for would be some help in getting himself there and ready. And he would insist on that.

He left the modern glass-and-steel building and took " cab back to Rapperswil, where they'd spent the ght with Marta who worked at a diamond-brok ge firm in Zurich. She'd let them stay, for a thous d francs a day, only because she was leaving town or vacation. Bolan had driven into Zurich with her is morning, picking up his combat harness at theinsulate; the war drums would beat any time, and " d best be prepared.

This bustling metropolis of nearly a million people slid his window, all swiftly gliding trams and gray tone banking houses. There were cosmopolitan rests is on the great stone banks of the fast-movi g Limmat River. Zurich was a city of jeweled es ments and refugees of all kinds.

In many senses Switzerland was like much of Ame ca --hardball business and plainspoken com-mon olk. No nonsense. But in some ways it was corn etely different, the citizen's loyalties tied more directly to his locale than his nation, the confusion of nine n languages and dialects politically and so-cially daunting even to the Swiss.

The picturesque trip passed quickly, with Bolan's mind entering on getting up the mountain. He'd seen two fensive lines, plus the castle walls themselves. Fifty o sixty feet high, they were an obstacle to be reek with. He had enough confidence in himself to figure if he was able to get inside the walls, he could! get to the Vulture. But part of being good was being honest, and getting past those walls was going to be a problem-unless he could bypass the defenses completely.

After spending the day in Maur, he'd had a chance to observe the comings and goings of the castle. There were two choppers that he knew about. One of them he'd taken out of commission on the Little Madam the night before. It had been a part of their perimeter defense, making a sweep around the moun-tain every two hours.

But there'd been another chopper, one that was used to ferry guests up to the castle, since the car ride up was picturesque but dangerous and time consum-+. The old Navy Chinook had a landing pad near the town square, but was never left in town. It always went back up the mountain after making a pickup or delivery in town.

If he could scheme his way onto the chopper, the job was three quarters done. All he'd need from Den-nison would be a diversion once he'd gotten inside.

They pulled up to the fake-rustic subdivision and took the winding hill up to Marta's chalet. The rest of the hillside sprouted identical houses to Marta's. They were like mushrooms.

He got out and paid the cabdriver, then moved cau-tiously up to the house, checking through the front window before entering.

Holding a coffee mug, Den-nison was gathering notes together.

"And how goes the grand scheme?" Dennison asked tilde s he put down his coffee cup and stacked his notes plus eatly on the dining-room table.

"Everything's simple to me. I've got some notions." "S do I," Dennison replied. "I've been ordered out." "I ive the orders." "I poke with Mulligan this morning," he said, and was told that the operation has been contami-d that I should shut it down completely and quickly as possible. You may be pulling on in, Belasko, but the U.s. government owns my s is NSC.

Top priority. What the hell am I to do?" just stared at him, wondering what the notes 1 about.

"I ve also been ordered to offer you a deal. And I have to say that I hope you don't take it." "W at deal?" Bolan asked, sitting at the dining table.

was en I shut down operations, we'll lose all of our tact with the bank accounts. But there is a bug I can lant at the source that will do the job without needi somebody like me to watch it." nated return my child ass. suppo Bol were was if you can help me plant the bug, I can give you wand getting to your destination and-getting you set for; your run up the hill.

I'll then just take the Saint Bernard Pass and drive into Italy. I'll fly out from there." "What kind of help do you need from me in plant-+ a bug?" Bolan asked.

"Well, we've got to... get in, you know, after hours to do it. I thought that with your vast experience-was "You want me to break into the Zurich banks for you?

"Just one...Bank Leaeu. That's where the majority of our leads come from. It won't take long once we get in." Bolan pointed to the phone. "Call your boss back," he said. "I want to talk to him." "I can't call him on a regular line," Dennison said. "He won't accept anything other than scrambled con-tact from the field." "Where did you call him from before?" "My flat.

I-was "You went back there?" Bolan said, running to a window and twitching the curtain aside. "I told you not to go back there." "It's cool. I didn't see anybody or anything." Through the window Bolan saw carloads of men dispersing through the development. They were de-ploying rapidly, surrounding Marta's house. "They're here," the Executioner said. "We've got to move now!" The Glock was lying on the table. Bolan ran to it, priming it and handing it to a pale, shaken Dennison.

was do you mean, they're here?" Bola ran back to the door, dragging the man comwith him. was ou've got seven shots left in the clip," he said, u holstering the Beretta and snapping one into the child ber. "Don't fire unless you've got a sure tar-get or eed to push somebody back.

Sight down your finger, ust point and shoot" Bola opened the door. "If they get set, we're dead.. Got car keys?" "y "y drive. Let's go!" Bol charged out of the house, Dennison right with , as usual, as they sprinted away. They ran around the wooden deck to the back, with gunfire crackli g from nearby, wood chips flying beside their feel[*macr] The vaulted the back rail for the Alfa, which was parked on a small driveway right beside it Bullets whi around them, and Bolan fined at a man armed with a 'fle who was jumping over a hedgerow across the s t, hitting him in the groin in nddleap. The thug nt down in agony amid the bushes. Bolan swung Immediately to the side of the house right next door, ding a head shot to take out a gunman aiming around the corner Bull is thudded into the Alfa as Dennison got be-hind wheel and started the engine, then Bolan was next him in the passenger seat.

"God Go!" Bolan said, jamming his foot atop Den- nison's on the gas pedal. The car surged out of the driveway just as Bolan heard the whoosh of a mortar rocket.

Marta's chalet went up in an orange ball of fire just behind them, sending burning debris falling all over the street, bouncing off the car.

"Ignore it!" Bolan yelled, grabbing the wheel from the reluctant man and jamming his foot down again. Another mortar took out the street right behind them. The car jumped, coughing, but still on line.

"Keep moving downward," Bolan said. The streets all around them were crisscrossed with enemy vehi-cles, men with guns everywhere.

The windshield went a second later, and Bolan cleared out the shattered glass with a well-placed elbow. "Always down, even if you have to go overland." He rolled down the window as they sped toward an intersection with cars racing to block them off. Dennison swerved wide as the intersection filled with cars. The Alfa went up on two wheels as Bolan emp-tied the Beretta into the roadblock, several men going down hard, a car catching fire.

The Alfa bounced back to four wheels only to jump the curb and fishtail through someone's yard. They banged the chalet's deck on the way past, the support columns snapping to dump outdoor furniture into the streets, and the Alfa was bleeding black, oily smoke from beneath the hood.

"Damn!" eep driving... don't stop!" Ian dropped the clip from the Beretta and re-ed, bringing out the.44 at the same time. He ed it and prepared for Armageddon. They were blocks from the bottom of the hill, careering loa pri still dovtnward at a forty-five degree angle, and the noose pulling tighter around them, choking off their av-s of escape.

s they bounced back onto the stmt, the engine tered loudly, wanting to quit.

This damned-was Dennison began, but the explo-s cut him off.

ortars went up all around-ground, streets, houses-and a holocaust of fire and smoke and shrap-nel blinded them as the ground buckled in front of the in. The Alfa jumped high, and Bolan braced him-self for impact.

They carne down sideways and rolled through bur ing debris and smoke, then the car landed up-rig t, all four wheels splayed out on the ground, the h popped open to churning smoke.

plan pulled himself up from the floorboards and kicked open the busted passenger door. Dennison was mo ning beside him, blood pouring down the side of his face.

"Come on!" Bolan growled, rolling out of the car an onto the twisted street. "Don't lose your weap-on!

His w enu spu The man was out of the car immediately, survival instinct overcoming all else.

They ran.

The chalets were spaced fifty feet apart on a rolling hillside of thick grass. Bolan took them into open fields, through the yards.

They were less than a quar-ter mile from the bottom of the hillside, but several streets and houses still separated them from escaping the jaws of the trap.

He looked around. A confusion of men on foot was trying to bring them down on the hoof.

Bolan and Dennison pumped hard in a losing cause. The noose drew taut as loose lines of men and machines were cutting them off in all directions.

The men on foot charged The last chalet between Bolan and freedom lay to his right.

"The house!" he shouted.

Dennison turned with him, and both of them charged the chalet as their assailants opened up from mere dozens of paces away.

The Executioner sprang onto the porch and dived through a picture window to roll and jump back to his feet, both guns, fully loaded and primed, out be-fore him.

All the glass inside the house began shattering un-der relentless fire. Dennison rolled through the win-dow space, turning to fire behind him, knocking down a man in a small fedora with a shotgun.

was indows!" Bolan yelled as the Vulture's men char ed the house, reaching it on all sides at once. H reacted with pure warrior's instinct. Guns up and ady, he turned a circle, firing at anything that mov , both barrels blazing away.

O e man on the porch... two. He knocked them off, then blew both barrels at a large form lunging through the rway, taking his eyes out to a strangled scream as nnison fired at the two windows facing out.

B lan swung the other way, firing four shots at two me coming from the back of the house. He hit them both twice, chest high, the men spinning a ballet of deal in the kitchen doorway before flopping to the poll hed wood floors.

was ome on!" Bolan urged, moving toward the kitc en area, swinging back to take another man in the oorway and one more at the front- porch window. B es were falling atop one another, piling up, but a deal ping racket of automatic-weapons fire still. filled the ouse.

I a crouch Dennison hurried to him, firing once mo at the window until the slide snapped back, em you.

lan dropped the clip from the Beretta and with the serf Eagle he took out a man coming through the kitchen door. He jammed another clip into the bott m of the gun and tossed it to Dennison, who fired three shots through the porch window. A man fell inside, yelling in pain, his screams eerie amid the jangling gunfire.

The Executioner reloaded the.44 and shot another man at the back door. "We go through the back!" he yelled.

"Take the closest car to us!" "Okay! Okay!" They moved to the kitchen[*thorn] where wood paneling exploded all around them. A small hall separated liv-+ from kitchen areas. Bolan swung quickly into it and dived forward as bullets whizzed just over his head. Returning fire, he nailed one gunner in the head and another twice in the chest. The man shot in the head wandered blindly into a back room, where gun-fire threw him back into the hallway, his body chewed up.

The man was still screaming in the living room as Dennison took an extra shot to target a man in the doorway who'd stumbled over the bodies of his associates.

Bolan grabbed him and pulled him into the kitchen, shooting a man off the back porch.

"Ready?" Bolan asked.

"Would it make a difference if I said no?" "Now!" They charged through the open back door just as a grenade blew up the living room behind them. A black BMW was parked just beneath the porch rail-+. One leaping step and they jumped onto the top of the car, leaning down to fire right through the win- dows, blasting the three occupants to hell, brain tissue and blood running down the windows.

y jumped to the ground.

B lan was on the driver's side. He pulled his man out t tumble on the grass, straightening to fire at two men rounding the comer. He got the first, and the seco d ducked back.

H climbed behind the wheel and Dennison climbed in beside him.

Bolan hit the gas before the man leven had his door shut.

car lurched into the street at the bottom of the every.

Dennison rested his arm at the bottom of the w and fired the rest of the clip at the men on ide of the house, forcing. them to cover.

ood boy!" Bolan shouted; firing the Desert Ea-gle om his window, knocking over two men who we tilde chasing on foot, and a third man tumbled over the other two, bouncing hard on the pavement.

e Executioner squealed hard into gear, leaving a strip of rubber on the road behind them. In the rear-vie mirror, the picture-perfect development was a nigh mare of burning houses and twisted metal, bod-ies 1 over the streets. Behind them the Vulture's men we running back to their vehicles.

T ey were entering the town proper and its narrow, twis "ng medieval streets. "Turn right here," Denni-son aid. "When I dated Marta, I got to know this tow pretty well.

We need to get past the.

bus station." T*ence narrow street twisted wildly, then opened up hills win that straight to the square. The bus station was on the other side.

"Take the dirt road," Dennison said.

Bolan bounced onto an old wagon path leading into stands of tall bushes, and the roadway, then the town, disappeared behind them.

They crossed a rickety bridge over a small, quiet stream, and Bolan pulled up behind a stand of holly bushes tall enough to cover the car entirely.

He sat back, getting a breath, as they listened to the sounds of squealing tires and honking horns. It could have been in another universe. They were sit-ting in a beautiful field of waving grass and grazing cattle, a tiny farmhouse in the distance. They could have been five hundred years back in time.

"Marta and I used to picnic here," Dennison said. "Now her house is blown up." "Happens," Bolan said, holstering the Desert Eagle and taking the Beretta back from the man. "I've been thinking about Mulligan's proposition." his "I will help you break into Bank Leu tonight if you help me tomorrow." "Great," the man said dejectedly. "The fun never ends." "THIS ISNT EXACTLY what I had in mind," Rennie Dennison said as he and the Executioner stood on the toilet seat in the executive washroom of Bank Leu so their Ifeet wouldn't show through the bottom of the stall.

"Simplest is always the best," Bolan answered. "I" sure better men than me have tried to break in here. We'll just skip that part." He was looking up. "This se are movable ceiling panels." unison pointed just beside Bolan's head. "That's a to n support beam right there," he said. "It'll hold our eight easily." was ow do you know that?" was ve done some carpentry." was ow strong are your shoulders?" "I'm not anemic or anything, if that's what you meat.." was it on the back of the bowl. I'm going to climb onto our shoulders and see if I can hoist myself up." B lan climbed onto Dennison's shoulders and pushed the ceiling panel out of the way.

Straighten- ing, e was shoulder high in the spacious ceiling.

Den ison had been right; a long support beam ran thro the entire structure. Bolan grabbed hold of it and auled himself up. Once he was positioned on the s pport, he reached down and pulled Dennison up behi d him.

They replaced the ceiling tile and sat on the am.

y had about three feet of space to work with betweenw n the fake ceiling and the real one, which was olden Much older.

Cold stone.

Light sliced up into their aerie through tiny cracks in the tiles, like thin walls of light.

They'd cleaned up as best they could in a public restroom, getting blood out of Dennison's hair and combing it over the large cuts on the side of his face where his car window had shattered all over him.

"Where do you want to be'?" Bolan asked as they listened to the sounds of people leaving below them. It was four-thirty.

"Any office that has a working terminal," the man replied.

"You have a device to plant?" "No. It's a string of commands that leads into a lot of strange places before getting to the part where their electronic data is retransmitted back to the Comstar satellite and then Mulligan's office. It will go out with scheduled transmissions.

It's a beautiful system, if I do say so myself. I designed it." "Good for you." "You know, this is a really stupid way to break into a bank. I could have thought of it myself." "But you didn't. And now you're stuck with me." "How long should we wait'?" "Hour. Hour and a half." "I can't believe I'm doing this." Something in Dennison's expression made Bolan look hard at him.

There was something in the man's eyes he didn't trust. Maybe it was the glow in the near-darkness, just shadows. Tricks of the dim light- ing. atever it was, confirmed his first impression of the man and made him uneasy. Bolan never ig nored at particular feeling.

,The waited for a full hour and a half before hear-+ the place settle down to the shuffling feet of an all-ni t guard and a janitor. The security cameras were orated in the lobby and vault areas, which meant they were bypassing them completely by going direct into the offices off the lobby.

Thi could work.

This stayed on the main beam; lifting ceiling pan els as to check their position. They found a back-corne office, far from the main business of the bank, then moved the panel and dropped quietly to the office itself.

He watched Dennison move right to the terminal and s de out the extra desk panel above the left-hand draw and look beneath it. He closed that and opened the to drawer, checking under that, too.

Bolan knew what e was doing-the old safe-combination trick. Peopl who couldn't remember safe combinations or comp ter passwords usually taped them to the bottom of a rawer or the sliding desk space.

This man chuckled, then logged on to the terminal with e password he'd discovered: He slid into the syste like eggs on Teflon.

"T is is going to take a while," he said, his hands busy with the keyboard. "Maybe you could go out and check on the guard and the janitor. I'll work better if I know you're monitoring the situation out there." Bolan knew the bum's rush when he saw it. "Time to make a sweep anyway," he said in agreement.

The offices were wood-paneled cubicles with glass fronting onto the hallway and a wooden door. The offices were elegant in a way he could only describe as old-world. He moved out into the hall, which was all offices on both sides and led back to the large, open, high-ceilinged lobby area. He went to the end of the hall and peered into the lobby.

The guard had a small station near the front door where he drank coffee, read magazines, watched the monitors of the security cameras and occasionally dozed.

He could hear the janitor in the west wing, down a hallway like this one on the other side of the lobby. He'd be there for hours.

Bolan walked into another luxurious office and sat behind the desk in a plush leather chair. A computer sat in front of him, the screen saver flying dollar, pound, mark and franc signs. He pulled his headset out of the harness and put it on, getting on the satellite system to reach Stony Man. As the connection went through, he peered under the pull-out and scored the password on the first try.

He logged himself on to the system as the phone rang at Stony Man.

K rtzman answered immediately. "Where are you." "That's what i want to talk about," Bolan said, "I' in Bank Leu." was o, you're not. I've got a clock here set to Zurich time and Bank Leu has been closed for two hours." "That's what I want to talk about." was ou're really in Bank Leu?" 64' 11 ep.

was e careful. They treat money thieves like the Old Wes used to treat horse thieves." ""disbe NSC guy cut a deal with me for this," Bolan said The computer screen in front of him offered a larg menu of choices, none of them what he was looking for. "He says that he's invading the bank's sys ms in order to retransmit their electronic funds tran ers back to America for study. Does that make sense?" was aybe, though I believe it's possible to do it from the outside.

Is he on the machine now?" was eah. I'd really like to see his screen." was ossible to do," Kurtzman said. "I'm sure they're inter ally linked and probably use a Unix-based sys-tem. No reason our machines can't chat. Have you got heir modem number?" "com eah, its here on the machine." Bolan gave him the umber, and Kurtzman went off the line but left it o 7n. Within minutes his console began bleeping, and (kurtzman was back on the headset.

"We're contacting the master unit at the bank-everything else slaves from that one. Once we get the master, we can give you the screen. I can work it from my end." Bolan sat and watched commands and responses flash quickly on the screen. A minute later Bolan was watching Dennison's work on the computer in progress.

"Are you watching this, too?" Bolan asked.

"Yes," Kurtzman replied.

"We're looking at a lot of transit numbers, something being moved around a lot." "That's the diverting tactics he talked about," Bo-lan said.

"I don't think so," Kurtzman replied.

"Those tran-sit numbers are connected directly to inner bank codes, which have the exact same number of digits as numbered accounts. Those are then attached to amounts right... there. Bingo! Checkmate." "What"...[*thorn] "Funds transfer," Kurtzman. said, "from one num-bered account to fifteen others, finally ending up in a sixteenth numbered account in Geneva. Give me a minute to total the amounts in American money.

There. In case you haven't figured it out yet, Mack, you are in the process of stealing fifty million dollars from a Bank Leu account.

I hear Swiss jails get very cold." a was n of a bitch," Bolan said, immediately printing a co y of the screen.

was uddy, you're playing the rear end of the horse, and suggest you get yourself out of there as quickly as y u can." was y thoughts exactly," Bolan replied, ripping the hard copy out of the printer and sticking it in his poc that. "Thanks." H broke contact and put the headset away.

He mov out into the hall and down to the corner office. Den ison stuck his head out just as he reached it.

"May, I'm done," he said. "I guess it's back into the iling until the morning, huh?" was law," Bolan said, saving the anger. "I think we shou d be really creative. Here's a nice overcoat and hat, or instance. I saw a briefcase in one of the of-fices Let's fix ourselves up." ey moved rapidly from office to office, picking up odds and ends, finally gathering enough clothes and outrements to look like distinguished bankers. Well, close.

B lan picked up the phone and handed it to Den-niso. "Dial zero.

When the guard answers, ask him to me down here and escort the auditors out of the buil ing." A the man did as he was told, Bolan walked to the oor and turned the lights on. Then he gave one of laminated ID badges he'd found in desk draw-ers t Dennison and clipped one to the dapper trench a coat he'd just acquired. He wore a small homburg hat and carried his umbrella and his briefcase in the same hand, the way he'd seen the bankers do earlier.

The guard showed up and made a slight fuss, Den-nison doing all the talking.

Then they all left, Bolan turning the lights out be-hind him. When they went to the front desk to sign out, the guard glanced at their badges and merely bobbed his head in approval.

They were on the streets in minutes, the guard smil-+ and waving at them as he let them out. Twilight was descending upon the deserted financial heart of the city, and a chill breeze swept through the stone-and-steel canyons. Bolan turned up the collar of his trench coat.

"We just walked out of there!" Dennison said glee-fully. "Man, oh man! You pulled that like you do it all the time!" "Comes with the territory," Bolan replied as he flagged a cab.

Dennison climbed in first. "I'm starved.

Let's get something to eat." "Good idea," Bolan said, and listened while Den-nison gave directions to the cabbie.

When they stopped, Bolan spied a narrow alley close by, flanked by blank gray stone that rose six stories. He gently steered Dennison into the alley, then released his arm and pulled the Beretta from the harness.

was u've got ten seconds to tell me the truth," he said, leveling the Beretta. "I wouldn't think twice about leaving you dead in this alley." "T truth?" Dennison returned.

...l about the fifty million I just helped you al. Truth like that. Truth like what your real corm Lion to Sprecher was." "I sought Sprecher out," the man replied imme-diate , unwilling to challenge Bolan. "I was looking for a forger. I got to know the owner of Der Stein pre well and thought he could recommend some- one. precher's number came up." was u wanted to create a new identity," Bolan said, work g the puzzle pieces himself.

"Sire." The man shrugged. "So would you in my place Prison is constantly dangled over my head. I didn" want to live under Mulligan's thumb for the rest f my life. I found I enjoyed living in Europe. So I figured that if I could create a new identity for myse f through forged papers, I could slip away one day d simply be gone." was hat about the money?" was nce Sprecher had done the job for me, he began trusti g me with all his knowledge. The money sche was born the day he told me about von Maur. I tho ght, here's this jerk with all this money. I de- cided to turn him in and let you people take care of him, en to take as much of his money as I could get.o would care, you know? But I never could crack their systems from the outside. Then you came along." "That's the Vulture's money you stole?" "Yeah. Got close to cleaning him out. Do you want to give it back to him?" "I don't think I'm going to make a decision about that right now." "What do you mean?" "It strikes me that you really need for me to take down the Vulture or spend the rest of your life look-+ over your shoulder. Maybe I'll decide what to do after I see how you do tomorrow at the castle." The man's face fell, and Bolan put away the Beretta.

"Okay, it's chow time," Bolan said, "fuel up for tomorrow. There's hope for you yet-you didn't do quite as bad as expected." Zuri h July tilde "4, 6:23 a dism.

Bola moved quickly and quietly along Langstrasse until he came to Sprecher's print shop. There were a few awhorse barricades around the front, and the busted-out door and window were boarded over. He slip d around the barricades and did some judicious pryi g with a pocket knife, removing enough boards to slip inside.

H walked into the gray glow of the print shop, who diffuse light was supplied by cracks in the boar d window.

Most of the equipment was shot up, wrec ed, blood splattered everywhere. The silhouette outli es of the men he'd killed were chalk outlines on t floor.

V y little of any interest was visible up front, but Bola couldn't help but wonder- if Sprecher didn't keep his seamier side out of view- H moved quickly to the back of the shop and found the sliding panel under the stairs quickly enough.

It led into another print shop, a small one, with cameras and fingerprint equipment and stacks of official-looking Swiss government stationery. There were rows of hundreds of rubber stamps and various seals. A large laminating machine sat in the corner. He pulled the printout from his pocket and rechecked the information.

Bolan flipped the light switch, relieved to find the electricity still operational. He moved to the passport-photo booth immediately, setting the auto timer and moving against the white background. The flash went Off.

THE VuLT-URE sToon atop the battlements, the bin-oculars glued to his face as he swept them slowly across the wide breadth of the lower mountain and his defenses.

His troop ranks had swelled to over 120 thanks to some successful recruitment. They were out in force and would remain so, and the Vulture had brought thirty.50-caliber machine guns out of storage for an extra measure of safety. Two surplus American M-1 tanks prowled the snow-covered hills between the first and second battlements.

The town lay far below, already crowded with strangers.

Could Belasko be among them? The Chi-nook was just taking off from the square, weaving its way around a half-dozen hot-air balloons that floated lazily hrough the morning sky. The partiers were ar-riving also, the cream of European society paying homage to one of their own.

For the moment he would let Kimberly entertain them.

Kimberly was a very entertaining woman.

"B on!" Barbaro called from the nearby parapet. The an's Neanderthal face, thick with black beard, poked from the bow slot.

"We are ready disfor you." The Vulture nodded, removing his binoculars and puttin them in the case slung over his shoulder. He wore black tuxedo with a miniature red rose, pro-vided by Kimberly, in his lapel.

He moved along the narrow ledge. The courtyard, cleared of last night's snowfall, was fifty feet below. The p-off on the other side was hundreds of feet. The s y was huge around him, the bright sun parting gray louds, Nature's vast panorama a present just for him.

2 eye began to throb as he moved into the cir-cular Lower to climb the spiraling stairs set against the outer wall.

This big man would not ruin his festival. The castle coin not be penetrated.

This stone stairs led into a tower chamber, which was w fixed with three of the heavy machine guns sticki g through the slots and sandbagged all around. The other two towers were similarly buttressed. But that asn't what Barbaro wanted to see him about.

Wily Mulroy, stripped to the waist with arms spread wide, was chained to the wall. Ugly welts cov-ered his torso--burns and the bloody tracks and grooves of flailing. The weighted leather cattails, dripping blood, were on a side bench.

The man's eyes were wide, wild things. Nearly in-ured to the pain by now, Mulroy had to be living in a pristine mental state, adrenaline flowing, endorphins pumping through his system to narcotize the pain. His mind was probably clearer than it had ever been, as it should be. He was dealing with the issue of contin-ued existence on a very personal and immediate level.

Barbara was over by the bench, going through a leather pouch full of what looked like dental and car-penter tools. Barbaro had been with the Vulture for many years. He was the point maker, the man who took over when civilized methods no longer helped. He was very talented and believed in using his talents. He'd lusted after Mulroy for a long time and had fi-nally gotten him. The Vulture believed in rewarding good service.

"Willy," the Vulture said, "how it pains me to see you in such a situation." "Don't kill me," Mulroy rasped.

The Vulture walked up, grabbed him hard by the jawline and squeezed, watching his eyes. There was fear there, pain, questions- but no blinding hatred. He had acted as a mentor and tutor to Mulroy since Paraguay. The loyalty it had engendered was obvi- ously tal. Fine. When all else failed, loyal sacrifice was u ally dependable.

He ward the match strike, and both his and Mul-roy's yes darted to the candle Barbaro was lighting on the bench.

was n't worry, dear friend, no more burning." "Please don't kill me," Mulroy said. "I can still get hi." was e question of what to do with you has been most rplexing," the Vulture said. "You are so won-derful y, doggedly loyal on one hand and so feck-lessly stupid on the other." He asked to the bench and took Belasko's knife from is pocket, tripping the spring that opened the blade. He walked to the candle and dipped the blade into e flame, holding it there.

was at are you going to do?" Mulroy asked, watch ng the blade as Barbaro moved to his left, a pair garden clippers in his hand.

"I ame to the conclusion that no one is stupid," the V lture declared, ignoring the question, "that the kind f irresponsible ignorance you have displayed is simpl the result of shabby thinking and that it can be co meted." was n't kill me." "I' not going to kill you. I love you. But some-times you have to hurt the ones you love in order to teach them the proper lessons in life." He looked at Barb. "Cut off a finger." "No!" Mulroy yelled, struggling against the chains that held him fast.

"Which one?" the dark man asked.

"He still needs to be able to shoot and fight. Just a little finger." "Baron, please!" Mulroy screamed to no avail. Barbaro smiled slightly as he snipped off the digit, bone crunching beneath the onslaught of the clippers, Mulroy's eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at the bloody stump where a little finger had been.

He screamed.

"Here," the Vulture said. "Let me help you." He jerked the knife out of the flame and walked to Mulroy's hand, laying the edge of the blade on the open wound to cauterize it. The smell of burning flesh made the gunners turn around and wince.

Mulroy swooned in his chains, but the Vulture slapped him and brought him around. "I'm giving you one more chance," he said. "Do you understand me?" "Yes... yes," the man said.

"I want you to make sure that Mr. Belasko does not interfere with the festival. Will you do that?" "Yes.

please..." "If you fail, I will cut you apart a piece at a time... a little piece at a time. Clear?" He shared a long look with the man and could see absolute understanding between them, true commu-nication.

H looked at Barbaro. "Clean and dress his wou ds. Willy is going back to work. He has a job to d(.11 B baro held up the finger. "And this?" was t it on a string and hang it around Willy's neck. In c e he forgets." THE FAKE BEARD rrcHED but Bolan was willing to tale to it because he could hide behind it so nobody wou see who was wearing the leather shorts with sus nders that Dennison called "traditional" and the little Alpine hat with the feather in it.

A d in fact he blended right in with the rest of the sho der-to- shoulder crowd, none of them embar-rass about being dressed as they were. Soon enough it f It normal, and Bolan didn't think about it any ore.

unison was gone in his cute little outfit, check-+ with some of the balloon owners to see if they wer rentable.

Bolan was improvising as he went alon.

H avily armed men with roving eyes were every-whe , all of them looking for him. It was what made suc serious disguise mandatory.

For the moment eve his harness was safe inside the trunk of the B Bolan had "borrowed" in Zurich.

ere were probably three thousand people in a tow whose usual population was about two hundred. The was free and spirited drinking, and the oompah bands played everywhere. Rifle shots rang out from surrounding fields, from the marksmanship competi-tions for schoolboys; the value of a good eye and steady hand was as important here as skill at mathematics.

Bolan's eyes took in everything, memorizing his surroundings, marking the killground. He'd especially been watching the Chinook.

The ceremonial guard surrounding it sported the traditional red- and-white uniform and tall bearskin hat. The uniform jacket would cover the combat harness just fine. If he could get close enough to the chopper, he could take it. And one of those uniforms would sure help him get close. Nightfall wouldn't hurt, either.

He stopped to lean against a small statue of a print-+ press, apparently a homage to the famous local counterfeiter. He looked up the hill at the castle and pretended to drink his beer. It was a rough route any way but by air; and by air was going to be a million-to-one shot.

Dennison, who looked quite natural with his long hair and leather outfit, angled up to Bolan's position, standing with his back to the castle. He pretended to drink his beer.

"Any luck?" Bolan asked.

"There's a guy who'll rent me a balloon at dusk," Dennison said, "but he wants it back before dark. No one's willing to let them go up after dark." "Dusk it is," the Executioner said.

T man grinned at him. "You know, it just oc cu to me that I can't lose with this proposition. If you "ll the Vulture and get away, there's a chance I'll profit. If you kill the Vulture and die, I'll defi-nitel profit. if the Vulture kills you, oh well. I'll pro and move far away." was out just help me up that hill," Bolan said.

"This the only thing you need to be thinking abo was He showed the inside of the pouch he wore over his shoulder. It contained their climbing gear, plus several empty bottles.

was grabbed three or four good-sized bottles from the reets," he said. "We'll find a few more along the ay." was ottles?" was eah. We'll take them out to the car later and siph n the gas out of the BMW to fill them." was out want me to drop Molotov cocktails?" Den-niso asked.

was my enough to make them think there's an attack co g from the other direction," Bolan replied. "En gh to grab their attention.

After that, you're free go." was I have any gas left in the BMW" was n't mess with me," Bolan said. "Just keep up you end of the bargain. You know how to pilot a ball n, don't you?" was he guy said he'd show me." "great." He pushed Dennison out of the way to watch the chopper slowly descend from the lofty peaks just as a convoy of several large trucks rumbled down the mountain trail into the city.

"What's happening?" Bolan asked.

"The trucks are delivering barrels of wine for the festival from the baron's cellars, made in his own vineyards. That's probably him flying down right now to officially dedicate the festival." "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Bolan said. "I could have set up down here and gotten away in the crowds." "I'd forgotten," Dennison said. "Hell, I've just been here once.

You can't expect me to remember everything." Bolan briefly considered trying to grab a rifle and take the man cowboy style, on the fly, but something held him up. So far the Vulture had lived a charmed life. But he was careful, too, a planner. Knowing the Executioner was in the village would be enough to make him alter his normal routine.

"Let's see how close we can get," Bolan said. They packed in tightly around the square, getting within thirty feet of the landing pad, and Bolan no-ticed Mulroy in charge of protecting the bird when it landed.

"There's your blond friend from the Little Madam," Dennison said.

"I'd hoped we wouldn't see him again." "Look at his hand," Bolan directed. "It looks like he's missing a finger." Dennison had small opera glasses to his face. "It's not missing," he explained. "It's hanging from a stri g around his neck." was nd that's how the Vulture treats his friends," Bol said. "That's what he got for letting us slip this gh at Marta's house." ur open-backed trucks rumbled into the square, and a thunderous cheer went up from the assembled. As e chopper descended to the city, men rolled bar rels to the edge of the trick backs and tapped them, and the wine flowed unchecked.

e helicopter reached the square but didn't land.

It vered, blowing full skirts and tablecloths and tras in billows around the square.

"My friends," came the Vulture's booming voice this gh a loudspeaker system on the chopper itself. was lcome to our festival!" lan couldn't see the man in the bay. The voice sounded recorded.

"Unfortunately, due to some poor health today," the voice continued, "I am unable to join you in per-son for the opening of the festival. To do the honors for e this year, I introduce you to someone far easier to 1 k at. I give you a goddess of the American cin-em and my very dear friend, Kimberly Adams." woman in a lime green chiffon evening gown wi three-quarter gloves appeared in the bay, waving as the crowd cheered. Hell, they'd been drinking since early thiscom morning; they'd cheer anything.

"The baron sends his regrets," she said. Her voice was loud, and feedback forced everyone to put their hands over their ears. "But I want you to know I'm taking very good care of him!" Loud laughter and cheers stoked a black anger in Bolan. He wondered if the woman knew exactly who it was she was selling herself out to.

"And now it is my great honor and pleasure to officially open this year's von Maur Wine Festival with a gift to you from the baron from his vine-yards-von Maur burgundy, the finest in the world!

Enjoy, people!" The crowd charged the trucks then, and the chopper angled off.

"He's not coming down the mountain today," Dennison said.

"No. He's waiting for me to come to him. Let's wander around a bit and enjoy the festival. We've got hours until dark. Study the town.

Maybe it will pre-sent something to us." "I've got something for you to see," Dennison stated. "If we're not too late. Come with me." They walked through town, past a field where a number of circles of sand had been piled for Swiss wrestling, a popular local sport. Six matches were go-+ all at the same time, spectators betting and cheer-+ on their favorites.

Next to the wrestling field was another field, this oneso surrounded by spectators who were cheering andjoling. But Bolan couldn't see anything hap- peni in the clearing itself. Two cows, little cows at that, ere quietly eating grass and swatting flies with their tails.

y joined the circle watching the two little cows.

The en were pointing and betting. "I give," Bolan said.

"What's going on?" was w fights," Dennison said.

661 conow fights," Bolan repeated, as if saying the wo would put it in perspective for him.

was eah. Those cows are small, but they're Eringers, a ve y aggressive breed. These are the toughest from two different herds.

It could be a good match. This man next to me just bet a million francs on the one with the dark spots." was ow do cows fight, Rennie?" 46, (h, I don't know. They just kind of.

butt up agai still each other, you know?" was of really. When does it start? Do they ring a bell or mething?" was o. The cows just have to get around to it when-eve they feel like it." d how do we know when the fight is over?" Then one of the cows runs away." Ian smiled and lifted his stein to the man on his rig This was the craziest place he'd ever seen.

TOGETHERT HALL TEEMED with fife, and the Vulture wbasking in his role of lord of the manor. His eye had hurt steadily for several hours, yet no trace of Belasko had been found. He stood with Count and Countess Wolfstein near the tables, where a feast of the foods of three countries was spread for all to share. The great hall held up to four hundred, and there were at least that many here now, their talk and laughter creating a constant echoing rumble in the mammoth cathedral ceiling.

A sixteen-piece jazz band played on a raised plat-form. Jazz was another of the Vulture's loves, another art form created out of synchronistic change and pain. He found its permutations endlessly fascinating.

"You are such a rogue, Baron,". the count said, sipping a gin and tonic. "You are reported to have one of the world's great Impressionist collections, yet you do not have it out for everyone to see." "My dear Count," the Vulture said, "in order to achieve a great private collection in this day and age, one must necessarily heed the word "private," for there aren't a great many works of the mid- nineteenth century up for sale through altogether.

legal chan- nels. One must go where the art is.".

"I understand the nature of collecting," Wolfstein agreed. "My wife is obsessed with Delacroix. We have had to resort to the basest of means to satisfy her." The Vulture turned and smiled at the woman, a stern, midfifties, matronly type. "Why Countess," he said, "you have a bold streak. Delacroix.

Decisive. Swift. beating heart of impressionism was born in his tyle." was work is so active," she returned, flushing slight. "And his portraits of the Hapsburgs..." "I wn several Delacroixs," the Vulture boasted. was , was the countess said. "Which?" "S veral of those Hapsburg portraits you talked about " he explained. "But I have one I believe wool tempt you more." was your artwork for sale?" the count asked.

"E erything is for sale, Gregore," he returned. "It's 1 just a question of prices." was ich painting?" the countess asked, and the Vul enjoyed watching the avid fire come into her blue yes. It made her much more attractive. No won-der e count catered to her obsession.

"I m not going to tell. You'll just have to see it." " ow?" was y not, but we must tell no one else, eh?" He look at the count.

"I hope you've brought your chec book, Gregore. This may prove to be a very ex sive day for you. Follow me upstairs." He turn to Kimberly at his side and smiled. "My dear?

Will you join us?" took her arm and led her up the stairs. He liked this ne a lot.

She'd been an animal the night before. He as always an animal.

"I don't understand what's going on," she said.

"Why can't we say anything about your paintings?" "I'm a very bad boy," he returned, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "As you said, "dangerous." Many of, my paintings were acquired over the black market." "Stolen paintings?" "I prefer to think of them as homeless." They reached the mezzanine, the open balcony run-ning around the great hall on three sides, with doors leading to bedrooms and studies.

He walked them along the balcony, stopping to un-lock a door with a key from his pocket. They walked into the gallery, a long, richly decorated room fifty feet long. It was jammed with paintings, from waist level all the way up to the top of the ten-foot-high wall.

"Oh, my," Jessica Wolfstein said. "This is amazing. his And truly it was, several of the world's most fa-mous paintings fighting for space within one room. The countess charged around the room, squealing like a schoolgirl, while her husband backed slowly into the center of the room, turning a slow circle.

"I'm amazed," the count breathed.

"You should see what I have in storage," the Vul-ture commented, walking to the countess. "Jessica, my dear.

Here is what you want to see." He led her down the wall, stopping near the corner and pointing to the picture at eye level. The woman's moth fell open.

"The Death of Sardanapalus, was she whispered, a han going to her throat. "But I thought-was "There's a perfect facsimile at the Louvre," the Vul ure said, watching the woman's growing excite-me that. It was a painting of the potentate Sardanapalus preparing to immolate himself, his servants bringing his favorite wives, horses and dogs in to cut their thr ats before him. It was considered scandalous at the time.

e countess turned to her husband. "Gregore," she said. "I must have it." "What's going on outside?" Kimberly asked, star-+ out from one of the tall, narrow windows.

e Vulture joined her and watched the men un-pac "ng crates marked with danger signs from the huge trucks below.

" I've decided to give my guests and the townspeo-ple an extra treat tonight," he said. "When it gets dar , I'm going to put on the greatest fireworks dis-pla Switzerland has ever seen!" e expected the big man to come with the dark-nes.

When the fighting began, the fireworks would cov r the noise and the explosions.

"Now, we are friends," Wolfstein said. com"...ally wouldn't overcharge a friend, would you?" The Vulture smiled. "This is business, Gregore.

Market value is what a picture's worth to the individ-ual. Let's see what it's worth to Jessica." Schwander appeared in the doorway, a cell phone in his hand. "Baron, someone from Bank Leu wants to speak with you." "Tell him it's Wine Festival. I'll deal with it-was "He says it is extremely urgent." "Excuse me." The Vulture moved to take the phone out onto the mezzanine.

"This is von Maur," he said.

"Baron," came a frightened voice-his accountant. "This is Grauwiler. Something is seriously wrong with the books." "What are you talking about?" the Vulture said angrily. "Don't you know I'm in the middle of-?" "Your money's gone," Grauwiler said.

"What do you mean, gone?" "I was transferring funds," Grauwiler said, "want-+ to buy American dollars from the numbered ac-count while they were low.

There was no money to transfer. Have you put it into another account?" "Of course not. That's your ,job." "We show a transfer going into another numbered account yesterday." "How is that possible?" "We were hoping down here that you could en-lighten us." "Someone stole my money! Get it back!" "It's not that simple," Grauwiler answered, his voic shaking. "First of all, we can't just go into an-othe numbered account and take the money away without reason." was 's my money! That's your reason!" was aron-please. This is difficult enough as it is.

The will have to be a formal investigation, charges brow ht, a hearing in court before-was was out know I can't do that!" the Vulture snapped; then owered his voice to a desperate whisper. "I can't deal with the law...I won't. There must be another way. Get the money back. Tell whoever you need to tell at there will be a generous reward for my mon-ey's afe return, no questions asked." ""You still don't understand. From the numbered acco nt, the money was transferred again, into a do banks and brokerage houses in a dozen differ-ent I arts of the world. We can't just take that money awa y not?" was o one will give it to us. It was put there by the own r of the numbered account. Without the court pros dings-was e Vulture bellowed, "The name, Grauwiler.

Which name is attached to this number?" was aron," the man whispered. "You don't know the trout le-was 64,4 r want trouble, you bald-headed idiot, I'll give you 1 you can handle. Give me that name or I'll cut your tongue out and make you The man's voice quavered. fearfully as he said, "My contact at the bank would only say it was an American customer. You must realize-was The Vulture threw the phone down the mezzanine. Belasko had managed to do it. And it had to be Den-nison, the computer whiz. That's who'd grabbed thecom money. This was no longer a diverting game, but a true life-and-death struggle. The Vulture hadn't sur-vived to this point by being stupid. He knew that all that surrounded him- everything he had, every friend he knew, every woman who loved him- was bought and paid for. without money he was just another cheap gun for hire, like Mulroy. Since he had no heart, he had to buy the hearts of others. It was the closest to really being alive he ever got.

He couldn't give that up. He would die without it.

He pulled the knife out of his tuxedo jacket and cut himself on the hand, across the palm. Blood welled up quickly to sheet down his hand and drop on the floor. Pain flared along his nerves.

He used it to stoke his internal fires and prepare for battle.

Bola now had his means of admittance into the cas-tle. He'd relieved one of the men in the Swiss guard unif of his outfit and left its owner tied up in the bush so.

H buttoned into the red trousers, a trifle large, stuffing the shirttail into the pants. Then he tried on the d-and-white wool jacket; its larger size would leave room for the combat harness.

H quickly moved through the grass a thousand yard from the edge of the city, carrying the bearskin cap nder his arm and tugging at the fake beard.

H jerked hard, and the beard ripped off, stinging his f every. He put on the black frame glasses he'd taken from the guard, and the world blurred immediately. He s id the glasses down his nose and looked over the so.

H angled back in toward the city lights, reaching the stant parking lots where they'd left the car this morn ng. They were close enough to town to hear the musii tilde , especially the tubas, and the laughter of the crowds-all potential enemies now. He stared up the castle looming forbiddingly above.

They were parked amid a thousand cars, and Den-nison was busy siphoning gas from other cars. Bolan slipped into the harness with its protective body armor and put the coat back on. It worked well.

He pulled on the tall cap, hooking the strap under his chin, then adjusting the clunky glasses.

"Next step," he said. "I walk up and get on the aircraft and take it to the castle while you drop Mo-lotov cocktails on the western slope from your balloon." Dennison shrugged. He looked into the sky.

"Get-ting dark." "Yeah," the Executioner said. "It's time. Good luck to you." "You're the one who needs the luck. You realize I think you're mad to take this on?" "Luck's fickle, and maybe his luck is ready to de-sert him. You think me mad, but he is rabid. So let's forget the talk, and just do it." "Sure," the man said. "Why not? This is totally weird." "No... last night at the bank was totally weird. This I understand. It's very direct." They moved closer to the city, picking up a dirt road leading in.

They sank into themselves, each pre-paring in his own way. Bolan considered the possi-bility of defeat. As difficult as it was going to be ge g in, he had no way out planned. It was the ulti ate cowboy job in the final analysis. He was the mo confident man in the world, but this was differ-ent. It was personal. There was no risk unacceptable, no ds too high. No hasty exits like in Paraguay. He wo d either succeed in killing the Vulture or he wo d die in the attempt. One thing he knew, if he we down, it would be because the Vulture's whole ed army had taken him down.

That's what it wo Id take.

e dirt turned to cobblestones, and the city rose aro nd them. The sky was cherry pink as they re-joi d the street crowds and moved along the main dra toward the square, to the sounds of the singing cro do.

" trange," Dennison said. "There's a girl in the cro d moving just ahead of us who looks like M." "Leave it alone." "Did she tell you where she was going that day?" " Just leaving town for a few days of vacation time. k, here's the balloon. Let's do this part now." e balloon was tethered in the middle of a blocked-off street. Gray houses rose on either side of it, e balloon almost touching their facades. It was em lazoned with a smiling sun face.

"See you on the other side," Bolan said, giving Dennison a starting shove.

Dennison nodded and began to maneuver himself out of the flow of the crowd.

And then it happened: everything changed in the blink of an eye. A woman just a few feet in front of him stopped walking and turned.

It was Marta.

Bolan tried to get next to her, but it was not to be. Her head cocked to the side as she caught sight of Dennison, doing a double take when she saw the fake beard, then laughing and shaking her head when she knew it was truly him.

She broke immediately from the crowd. "Rennie!" she called. "Rennie Dennison!" Dennison froze, his shoulders hunching up. She ran to him, and Bolan slid out of the crowd to watch from the shadows of the house beside the balloon.

He turned to her, smiling slightly. "Uh, hi, Marta." "What are you doing here? And in that beard?" The man turned and put the sack full of Molotov cocktails and climbing gear inside the balloon's bas-ket. He turned back around, his eyes scanning wildly through the crowd. "Wine festival," he said. "Had to come back after last year." "And the beard?" "It grows... really fast." Bolan saw the cordon of men moving relentlessly through the crowd toward the balloon. Mulroy was in their midst, talking on a cell phone, probably setting his men up to draw the noose tight.

Civilians were everywhere. As usual, the Vulture had icked an impossible place for a firelight. Bolan sank ack in the shadows, watching several men pass him n their way to spring the trap.

Mtoy MOVED through the crowd like a vampire sg a victim, his eyes scanning every human be- ing came in contact with.

H "d been moving through the darkness of the side s , and now his quarry had been identifiers for him. What a piece of luck, he thought with rising exci ment.

It was him, the man who'd started all of this. Sp her's friend, the man with the computers and the cryp H slid closer, pulling the cell phone from his belt and hing the button that put him in touch with his peop e on the streets. "We've got the younger one," he s 'd softly, "at the corner of Kleinstrasse and latz. Long hair, phony beard. Get here now. We" take him on my signal." A he crept through the shadows, he scanned the su ding crowds, looking for Belasko. If one was here, so was the other.

H watched his men positioning themselves. "M e in slowly," he ordered, switching the phone to i bandaged hand and pulling the nickel-plated.45 t of the garrison belt.

H strode toward tho man, still straining to watch the would. Dennison was talking to the woman when he walked up, cocked the gun and stuck it against the man's temple.

"Hey, Rennie. I've been looking all over for you," Mulroy said His men rushed up then, over a dozen. They grabbed Dennison and seized the woman when Mul-roy nodded toward her, too.

"Quick... down here," he said, moving into the darkened street. A phalanx of men totally surrounded Dennison and the woman, dragging them down the street. The woman tried to scream, but one of Mul- roy's men slapped her and muffled her mouth with a big hand.

Mulmy picked a house in the middle of the block and kicked open the door. Everyone filed into the darkened house, spreading out. The owners were at the festival, like everyone else.

"Where is he?" he rasped in Dennison's face, then knocked him to the floor when he didn't answer quickly enough.

"Where's the big man?" The woman was crying. Mulroy twisted his good hand in her hair and pulled her to her knees beside Dennison.

Paybacks were great.

"He's... in the city," Dennison said, not looking up, blood bubbling from his lips. ""We'd just split up." "What's your plan of attack?" "Listen, we weren't-was Mulroy shut him up with a jackboot to the gut.

Dennison doubled up into the fetal position and beg throwing up. "Let the woman go," he said thro gh clenched teeth from the floor "She has noth-+ do with this." was othing to do with it?" Iwiulroy looked at the gro of men jammed around him.

was t out of here," he said "Go watch the balloon. Just eave a half dozen in here." s men filed slowly out. "Where were we?" Mul-roy ked, jerking on the woman's long brown hair, nice hair, like his mama's.

S e cried out just like his mama, too.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "You were saying how she di t have anything to do with this." was t her go," Dennison said, half rising, his arms ped around his stomach.

hny kicked him again, this time in the face. was s is almost too easy," he said as Dennison fell hea 'ly to the flooc "Now look at me." letteroy pulled the woman up against his legs and sho the.45 against her ear. "Here's what she has to with it. If you don't tell me the game plan as Isoo as I'm finished talking, I'm gonna blow her brai s all over you, and you'll still end up telling me before we're through." was o!" the woman moaned, in the grip of terrible fear.

was ill you let her go if I tell you?" "Sure. I'm easy." was was supposed to take a balloon and create a diversion while he commandeered the chopper and went for the castle." Mulroy laughed. "That son of a bitch has fifty-pound balls, don't he?" "Now let her go," Dennison said.

"Soon as I'm through with her." Mulroy smiled, awkwardly pulling the cell phone off his belt with his wounded hand.

"Looks like you're falling apart," Dennison said, nodding toward the finger on the string. "Is that the punishment for screwing up at Marta's house?" Mulroy kicked him in the face again, knocking him back hard to the floor.

"What about my house?" Marta said, wincing.

"It's gone, honey," Mulroy said. "Blown to hell." She looked at Dennison. "You blew up my house?" The man shook his head, spitting out a tooth.

He pointed to Mulroy.

"No, he blew up your house." Mulroy connected with the chopper station. "Is the bird in the nest?" he asked.

"We're waiting for it to come down from the castle." "Okay." He punched up the baron's number in his study, and he answered immediately.

"This had better be good news." "I don't have the big man," Mulroy said, "but I've got the other one, the hippie. You want me to kill him now?" was o, no, no," the Vulture returned, excitement in his oice.

"Please. Whatever you do, don't hurt Mf.

ison. I must speak with him immediately. This is e llent work, Willy.

Excellent. I am very proud of y (us. Bring Dennison to me. Bring him now." was said the big guy's gonna try and take the chop-per," he said.

was re is it now?" was t the castle, waiting to ferry people back to the his tOW] Can' (rive up," the Vulture instructed.

was n't you want to stop the chopper from comin' do the mountain?" was o, Willy. We will prepare the chopper on this end or a reception worthy of our adversary." was ut not Dennison?" was "son is my best friend at this moment. Bring my 'end safely to me. Drive. Is that clear?" guess so. But I don't underst his was ou're not supposed to. Hurry, Willy.

Hurry Den-ni to the castle.

He and I head to have a conver-sati n about computers." was ere's a woman with him." ow nice. Bring her along, too." The Vulture hung up.

y looked at the men remaining in the room. "B the car around," he said, "but keep an open-linecontact to me the entire time There's ing out there who could kick all of your asses with his eyes closed. So watch it." They hurried out. Mulroy noticed through the open doorway that the fireworks display had begun up on the mountain.

Brilliant streamers of flashing, glitter-+ colors gilded the clouds above and reflected on the snow below. But the real fireworks would start later-that much he knew.

BOLAN WATCHED from the rooftop across the street as Dennison and Marta were dragged from the house and shoved into the big white conMercedes as fireworks exploded brilliantly overhead.

A number of factors were immediately obvious.

First, there was nothing he could do for Dennison at this moment.

Any rescue attempt would surely end in disaster for both Dennison and Marta, and it would be foolish to risk losing his main target.

Secondly, judging from Dennison's condition, he'd obviously told Mulroy the plan. If the chopper wasn't held up at the castle, it would come down loaded for bear. Thirdly, he couldn't figure out why Mulroy hadn't killed Dennison immediately, unless there was al-ready feedback from last night's theft.

If that was the case, Dennison might not be in any imminent danger- not until after he was forced to capitulate and return the stolen money. He could see absolutely no other reason for the man to be still alive.

The Vulture wouldn't hesitate to have him killed im-ately if he had no use for him.

e car disappeared along the road up the moun-tain Bolan slid along the high-peaked roof to shinny do the drainpipe four stories to the ground.

moved cautiously into the dark street. All the not , light and action were a block farther north, w throngs of people danced and laughed, pointing up the fireworks with collective oohs and aahs.

He wslowly back toward the action, briefly consid- eri riding the balloon as an alternative.

could have the sky immediately, but with no con 1. He'd be at the whim of the wind and would risk being blown off target, or worse, hovering for ho while they shot him down.

T dung the Chinook was still the best shot.he 1up at the castle, so small yet imposing in the d is and smiled when the chopper crested the top Of wall and angled down toward the town square, picked up his pace and walked into the square. The uniform was serving as a better disguise than he" originally expected. The Vulture controlled an arm of strangers. No one would shoot the uniform and he had thoroughly checked out the man wearing it, still the same thing happen to him.

n he walked into the square, the chopper was y halfway from the castle. He began looking for aHe zeroed in on a huge, bearded tough- looking man dressed in short leather pants, but no-body would ever dare tell this guy he looked silly. He was standing, talking with a group of men who were all drinking. The men were leaving, and the big guy waved to them as they moved off in a happy mood. Then he turned to the woman at his side, snarled something at her and shoved, sending her sprawling. It must have been jealousy because now she was crying and trying to button her revealing blouse. The big man narrowed his eyes and looked around just as Bolan approached him with a friendly look. The chopper just hit the pad fifty feet behind him.

"Excuse me," Bolan said in English.

"There's something I must do." The man smiled, gesturing broadly with his hands to indicate he hadn't understood.

Bolan saw that the chopper was down, idling on the pad, no one getting in or out. He had to make his move now' Bolan decided.

without another word, he came around with a hard, stiff right to the man's gut. He was muscled, but dou-bled over anyway, and Bolan grabbed the back of his head and held it as he slammed a knee to the man's nose.

The man went down, blood spurting from his nose.

"I have him!" Bolan yelled in English, which seemed to be the official language of the Vulture's multicul- tural you. "I have the big man! He's down!

Hurry! H This. crowd swept back as men rushed from their hiding places to converge on the scene and scrambled from "n side the Chinook.

big man growled from the ground, then got i.

'ately to his feet, anger burning in his eyes. He was 'ng away, but Bolan didn't understand a wo Jas the mob of mercs reached them, Bolan stom hard on the big man's foot. The man acre ed loudly, swinging a beefy right hand that conn wted solidly on Bolan's jaw, driving him back into 1 he pack.

T1 e hired guns jumped the man, and Bolan stum-bled back through their midst, then staggered, hand to hi aching jaw, toward the helicopter.

o men armed with M-16's guarded the open bay of Chinook. "They got him down there," Bolan said "Looks like he got you," one of the men said.

"ahead if you want to get in on it. I've had eno. I'll watch the bird for a minute." ey were off in a flash. Bolan pulled off the glas and hat and immediately jumped into the bay. He " rked out the.44 and the Beretta, much to the sure "se of the three heavily armed men in snow earn-oufl e who sat on the metal bench seat welded to the every.

Fire spit from both barrels, and they all went down, unable to even fire their weapons. But the sound would bring back the others and timing was critical. Bolan turned and kicked out at the small cockpit door, prepared to force the pilot into the air, but the pilot had other ideas.

The pilot was trying to pull a pistol out of his belt, but it got hung up on the control panel, snapping free only to discharge beside his head. He turned and looked blankly at Bolan for several seconds before sighing loudly and sinking back in his seat, his brains running down the side of his face.

Bolan pulled the pilot out of his seat and took the controls, lifting off before any of the mercs could re-turn to the chopper.

The rotor wash drove everyone back as the chopper swung in a wide arc. Bolan watched through the bubble windshield as the square came into view. Bullets pounded the side of the chop-per, and Bolan pulled up hard just as his bubble front was ready to smash into a parked bus. The bird rose quickly, and the city was suddenly small beneath him.

Renn Dennison sat beside Marta. Both of them were han uffed behind their backs. She leaned her head agar his shoulder and sobbed quietly, fearful of Mu y's rage. But the rage hadn't been there, not since the phone call.

'son smiled. The money. The money was keep" g him alive right now.

was at did you do?" Malta asked him. "Why did they low up my house?" "1 s complicated," Dennison replied, his mind w ng the possibilities. Bolan, had taught him one thing life belonged to those who, took the possibilities without hesitation. To the bold.

It had worked so far.

"1 ain't complicated," Mulroy said from the front seat, turning to face them. He shrugged at Malta Kle.

"We were after the guy your boyfriend hangs arou with, so he goes along with the deal. He's a gov nt snitch, your boyfriend. You just hap-pen to own the house." was "s not my boyfriend," Marta said.

"Whatever." "You certainly misunderstand the importance of my role in all this, Mr. Mulroy," Dennison said, try-+ some bait.

"No way," Mulroy said. "You got lucky with Sprecher and snitched, hopin" it'd help you escape Zurich." "What's wrong with Zurich?" Marta asked.

"Nothing," Dennison said.

"I love Zurich." He turned back to Mulroy. "I'm sure that the baron told you on the phone to treat us properly, correct?" Mulroy's slack face spoke volumes.

"Do you want to know why, Mulroy?" The man made a fist to punch him, then looked down at his bandaged hand. He stared at it for a min-ute, then looked back at Dennison.

"Why?" he asked. "Because I stole all his money." Mulroy's eyes went wide in the multicolored lights of the fireworks. "All of it?" "All except for pocket change," Dennison said. "Fifty million American dollars." "Fifty... million?" Manta repeated.

Dennison nodded. "I hope the baron hasn't written any checks to pay for the festivities tonight." Mulroy just stared at him.

"Think about this," Dennison urged "We'll go up to the castle and I'll negotiate with the baron, prob-ably cut a deal with him pretty quickly. I'll get all his money back for him and get a hefty percentage for my ti every. In fact he may even want to use me in future on a nsulting basis so something like this doesn't h again. You, however, screwed up one thing and h ve to wear your finger tied on a string." was n of a bitch," Mulroy said.

was t us go, Mulroy," Dennison said. "I'd just as soon ut my deal with you and the gentlemen in this car with Long John Silver up on the top of the hill. What would you say to about ten million in American doll ?" was enty," Mulroy said.

"F n, no more." was venteen-five." was venteen and a quarter," Dennison declared emp tically.

was ," Mulroy said as the other men in the car spok among themselves.

M Iroy's phone rang. He put up a hand for quiet and swered. "Yeah?

Yeah-how the-?" He sla the driver. "Stop the damned car." y jerked to a halt a hundred feet from the first chec int. Mulroy kicked open his door to stare into the ht sky, while Dennison leaned over to look out the b k window.

was at is it?" Marta asked.

"I s that damned Belasko," Dennison said.

"All we." Chinook was angling away from the village, movi g inexorably in their direction. Belasko.

"He's coming this way," Mulroy said into his phone from the pitted blacktop. "Notify the check-point.

Everybody open fire. We'll bring him down." Mulroy leaned back into the car. "Everybody out!

Take your guns. A million francs to the merc who brings down that chopper!" "Let us go now," Dennison said to him. The merc's face was hard as the large car emptied, the door on Dennison's side left standing open. "Just un-cuff us and we're gone." "Yeah... that's what I'm afraid of," the man an-swered. He pointed skyward. "Until this is finished, all deals are off." Mulroy was out of the car then, directing his men off the roadway and into the snowbanks to get the best angle on the incoming chopper.

Dennison turned to Marta. "You have small hands. Work them, try and slide out of the cuffs." "They're tight. They hurt." "Just keep trying." he answered, sliding toward the door. "Come on.

Let's get in the front." He slid out as the chopper came in overhead.

Mul-roy and his men opened up on it, the lower battle-ments joining in a moment later, rattling the night.

Dennison turned to open up the driver's-side door to let Marta slide in first. He then slid awkwardly behind the wheel, which jammed into his stomach because of the position of his hands. He couldn't close the door.

was at are you doing?" she asked.

was "ng advantage of an opportunity," he returned, leani in her direction to push the gearshift into neu-tral ith his body.

was t what about your deal?" "can't make deals with animals. Are you wg on your cuffs?" he asked as he raised a knee, bring g it back to his chest.

his," she said. "They're coming. It's not easy." was y!" someone called from the field. Mulroy was runni g back toward the car with several of the men.

" ner" Dennison said, and tripped the handbrake lever with his foot. The car immediately rolled bad ard.

"the hell are you doing?" she screamed.

was t out of the cuffs!" he yelled back, bringing up his r knee, steering with them as they rolled back ard.

of the mercs jumped on the hood. The driver's door apped, then tore the other way, snapping, flying off hinges and wiping Mulroy off the road.

"re crazy! You're crazy!" Marta yelled at him as sh pulled her hands against the metal cuffs, twist-+ r arms.

was e" re still alive!" he returned, working his knees furi sly to get them around a small curve. They were pin i g up speed, the incline steeper at this point. "H g on!" Hhands suddenly came free from behind her, the wrists red and raw, a little bloody. They were going fast now, a hairpin curve coming on them, a forest of thick trees jammed around it. His knees couldn't da it.

"Grab the wheel!" he screamed, taking his knees off and straightening his legs, jamming his feet down hard on the brake pedal.

The car skidded, then slid and turned as Marta fought the wheel while he pumped the brakes.

And they were suddenly facing forward going into the turn.

Marta's hands were blurring on the wheel as she worked the turn, the Mercedes sliding into it but pulling out, moving forward, the speed dying as he kept working the brakes.

He stopped the car and climbed immediately out of the open space where a door had once been. "We'll change places," he said. "You okay to drive?" "After what we've been through," she replied, climbing out and helping him slide back in, "I could get away with anything." She climbed behind the wheel and jammed it into gear, burning rubber as they took off. He could see her face wide-eyed and intense.

"Where?" she said.

"My car... in the lot outside of von Maur. We've got bolt cutters." "Then what?" "Your call," he said. "Did you really steal fifty million dollars?" was "s waiting for me in Geneva. John Smith, glad to ow you. I'd shake hands, but..." was ennie," she said. "I've never seen this side of you. You were always so sullen and morose. I loved you, but I didn't think I could five with that." was...cdn't tell you I was a spy," he said, rolling with it. "I still love you." S e looked at him as she buzzed into town.

Every-one the streets was watching the skies, the flight path of the chopper set against the exploding rockets of e fireworks.

S e half smiled at him. Her eyes were alive, danc-+ n the fireworks. "Maybe I was hasty when I bro off with you," she said.

was 's wouldn't have anything to do with the fifty mill on dollars, would it?" he asked. "Turn left here." S e turned into the road leading to the parking lot. "I" Swiss," she said proudly. "I'm many things, but am also practical. I will love you for the rest of our lives and help you spend your fifty million pro rly." "it's the best deal I've heard all day," he said.

"Ri t in this next line of cars." was can't believe we got away with it," she said.

" is my new philosophy," he declared.

"Live... big. I like that.

Live big. There's the BMW." S e stopped and they got out of the car. Marta fish his keys out of his pocket to open the trunk. She got out the long-handled bolt cutters that Bolan insisted on bringing and snipped the chain binding his cuffs.

"Oh, yeah," he said, moving his cramping arms.

"That's better." She handed him the keys. "Let's just go right to Geneva," she said.

"When the banks open in the morning, we can withdraw the cash, make the prep-arations and get out of the country on an evening flight." She got into the passenger side while Dennison moved to the driver's door and climbed in. He stuck the key in the ignition but didn't turn it.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go." He sat there for a long moment, then looked at her. "I'd love ,to but I can't," he said.

"What?" "I made a deal with Belasko. He takes up the chop-per and I take up the balloon and drop Molotov cock-tails on the western slope." "So, he's fulfilling his end of the bargain. I'm go-+ to fulfill mine." "This doesn't sound like you at all." "The new Rennie, remember?" He opened the car door. "Take the car. Find a place to hide for tonight. I'll call you at work tomorrow if I make it. We'll go from there."" He scrambled out and started to trot toward town.

He'd almost reached it when she drove up beside him.

"I" going with you," she said, stopping the car and ope "ng the door.

climbed in the passenger side. "It's dangerous," he arned.

was is a fifty-million-dollar gamble. Live big, re-me ber? Besides, you'll need somebody to light your Mo v cocktails. It works better that way." stared at her. "Maybe we're more alike than we real." ey drove up the back street to the balloon, pass-+ place where he'd been beaten by Mulroy. Its ribs were still throbbing, his face simply numb.

ey moved to the balloon unmolested. Everyone else was a half block up the street, watching the spec-tacle as cannons were brought to bear to try to down the hinook.

T ey climbed into the basket, his bag full of home-bombs right where he'd left it. Each taking a side they unsnapped the tethers.

The balloon rose, the hou s moving by on either side.

T ere was a large tether rope meant to hold them bac be the owner wasn't willing to rent his balloon wi t a two-hundred-foot guarantee. Dennison used the pocket knife Bolan had made him carry to cut thro gh it as they rose.

a moment the city was beneath them and they we floating into the blazing night sky. Silently. Maj stically.

BOLAN FOUGHT THE CONTROLS, the dead man bounc-+ in the seat beside him. He'd taken a hit some-where vital, and smoke was pouring from the back rotor. The engine was coughing, wanting to stall out.

He needed altitude, but it was all he could do to keep from plummeting to earth. He juiced the dual throttles and wobbled higher, the machine shivering the entire time.

The altimeter read two hundred feet and climbing. The cockpit was shot to hell;.50- caliber shells had torn right through fabric and sheet metal.

A ground-to-air rocket exploded fifty yards from the cockpit. It was coming from the line of bunkers below. Then another exploded just overhead, shaking the bird. And all around, other rockets of happiness exploded, showering the colorful stars and wheels of celebration over the village of von Maur.

He continued the slow, shivering rise, reaching three hundred feet.

He kept pushing it, with the ma-chine straining loudly beneath him as it continued to rise.

He heard the crack of a cannon and looked down to see an M-1 tank bleeding smoke from the 105 mm gun. The cannon fired again as more rockets leaped at him. The sky exploded like chain lightning all around him, and he was at four hundred feet above the up-sloping ground.

There was a double hit to the tail section. A gust of fire blew through the aircraft, and it was only the cock it door that kept him from burning to death. And when he saw the back rotor go flying off the machine, glidi g to earth, spinning and fluttering, he knew that the b rd was going down and that he was a dead man.

H sat in a bunting fireball, suspended hundreds of feet n the air.

He charged through the pilot's door and ked into the brightly flaring night, amazed at what he saw.

A undred feet below him was the balloon with the sun ace on it, drifting languidly with the wind. He a rumble in the tail as the cockpit door crashed inw followed by a ball of fire. Bolan jumped from the pen doorway, spreading himself out fail as he fell 'to, the night.

coshing air screamed past his face, and he heard a w wnp from above. The fuel tanks had exploded on Chinook, pieces of the chopper zinging past him n an explosive rush to ground.

A second later he slapped into the tap of the bal-loon sinking deeply into the bag of hot air then pop-ping back out as the balloon ejected him.

grabbed at the restraining ropes as his body tried to slide off the curved surface. The burning hulk of helicopter was plunging toward earth, passing the alloon and missing it narrowly as it fell.

and bleeding, he scurried down the balloon's rope; and dropped into the gondola to find Dennison and Aaft Kleppe staring at him with wide eyes.

The still-flaming chopper hit the ground, spreading flaming wreckage everywhere.

Below he could see men running out of the fortified bunkers, the first defensive line, to try to shoot the balloon down.

"Crank the fire up!" the Executioner yelled.

"Let's try and get out of range! Marta... help. me with the bombs." They dug into the leather pouch. Bolan grabbed a liter wine bottle full of gas, with a torn-up shirt stick-+ out of its mouth. They were an unmissable target, and bullets screamed through the basket or punctured the balloon itself as Dennison turned the burner up full. The whole balloon glowed brightly, its sun smil-+ happily down on the troops below.

"Light me!" Bolan called.

Marta fired a Zippo lighter to set the rag aflame, and the Executioner chucked it toward the closest bunker and the men outside it.

When it hit the bunker's concrete top, liquid fire exploded outward. White-suited mercs lit up like torches, running through the snow screaming.

The tank fired its cannon again. "Down!" Bolan yelled.

The three of them hit the deck as the shell exploded near the basket, rocking them wildly, its concussion blowing the balloon higher. Bolan dug another bottle out of the pouch.

"Lights!" he yelled.

M a% grimly determined, torched the liquid bomb. threw it at the tank below and bit the turret. Fire prayed onto the gunner on the cannon, and the man toppled back into the machine, flame shooting out top.

was es!" Marta said, and Bolan had another bottle in hi hand y were still rising slowly as the.50-caliber ma-chin guns opened up on them from another bunker, and other tank clanked across open ground to have a go at them with the big gun.

TI e shot hit the balloon, blowing a huge hole in it. It de ated, falling slowly as part of the bag still des-ly tried to hold air.

lan grabbed more bottles out of the pouch, and M lit them even as they fell back to earth. The boner hurled them in all directions to try to keep lack the charging troops.

y were coming down near the tank he'd hit. Two burning men climbed out of it to comfall onto the grow d Bolan ripped the Desert Eagle out of his web bing for a mercy shot at one of the screaming men; the r mere was already still on the ground was on!" he yelled as the balloon sputtered out the 1 of its air, and plummeted earthward from fifty feet.

y came down hard The snow cushioned the fall so hat, but the impact still sent them flying out of the ndola to land near the tank.

Bolan was up immediately, grabbing the satchel and firing at approaching troops as Dennison ran to help Marta.

"Get her into the tank!" Bolan yelled.

"It's our only shot!" The woman was dazed but able to get to her feet and aid in her own escape. Bolan jumped onto the treads, then the turret, making the cupola as Marta was climbing in. The stench of burning flesh was nearly overpowering; all of them were gagging but not turning down their only port in the storm.

Bolan swung the cupola toward the advancing troops, opening up with the antiaircraft machine gun, tearing a blood-drenched swath through their ranks from thirty feet away, driving them back.

"What's it like inside?" he called down to Denni-son as he swung the gun in the other direction to hold back the troops who were making their way through the burning wreckage of the chopper and the still-flaming bunker.

"Awful," Marta cried out.

"How about this?" Dennison yelled, and put the tank in motion, clanking them through the snow. Bolan let himself slide in, closing the hatch and locking it down tight. It was awful, with the cloying smell of burned flesh. One of the operators, probably the one he'd hit with the cocktail, lay dead on the floor, twiglike.

Bolan slid into the driver's seat and revolved the to watching the countryside through the view pla stopping when he saw the other tank rumbling tow d them.

"ad the cannonff[*thorn] he yelled. "The shells will be sto in that case behind you." unison got into the case, hefting out a 105 mm shel and moving to slide it cominffthe already opened b h of the cannon.

Bolan pulled the lever that. lock and armed it, then moved to ,the computer bo "Dennison," he said. "Juice this thing up and lock on to that oncoming tank." was 've never-was was is a computer." e man dived for the board, his fingers running ove a small keyboard. "Yes," he said. "Yes. No sw his pan looked down at his screen, saw the cross hairt line up the tank. He fired without hesitation, just other tank fired at him.

blast rocked them, smoke bleeding from the con l boards. The Executioner jumped up to look gh the periscope at the other tank.

Its turret was blo off, and thick smoke poured from the hole. It was dead.

was ake over!" Bolan said to Dennison.

"Move us tow the siege line.

Marta, reload the cannon." Ian moved away from the periscope and turned to e ammo cabinet. "This thing. should do thirty," heled as he slid open the cabinet, finding three extra canisters full of ammo for the half-inch gun. "Open her up!" Dennison kicked it and the tank jerked forward, picking up speed as Marta reloaded the big gun and levered it into firing position.

"My mother will never believe this," she muttered as she looked through the periscope.

Bolan was climbing the ladder, hefting the heavy canister under his arm to place it.

He popped open the hatch and stuck his head out-side, grabbing a breath of fresh air. Troops were fall-+ back behind them as the tank picked up speed He turned the other way. The siege line was still a mile ahead Maybe time enough.

The spent-cartridge canister pulled easily out of its nest beneath the machine gun. He threw it out and slid the full one into the space just vacated, pulling the feed through the top slot to lock into the antiair-craft gun.

He slammed the breech closed just as a Jeep with a mounted machine gun in the back roared through a spray of snow toward them. He swung the machine gun in their direction and fired a three-second burst at the windshield. He wanted to kill the men, not the car.

Glass exploded in a shower of red, the car rocked and the back gunner was thrown out as the driver tumbled through his door. The car traveled on by it- self, pointing downward and coming to rest in a sno bank.

lan jumped from the tank and charged toward the ". He hopped in and raced back to pass the tank driving in front so they could see where he was, wa i g, then taking up his rear position again.

71 ey were rapidly approaching the siege line, de-sign to slow any advancing force. Defenders could be ployed to their position through the gates of the main road only. He'd learned that by watching drills the day he'd climbed the little Madam with Den icon.

TI e siege line gradually became something other than a pencil line across the horizon. They reached it quic y, stopping as Bolan pulled up beside them.

Marta and Dennison poked their heads out of the t to stare in disbelief at a sea of wood and wire six feet high, stretching a football field's width and mpletely encircling the entire mountain.

was at'll we do?" Dennison asked.

was ack up a touch," Bolan called back, looking up at m from the jeep. "Ibrn on that searchlight you got n the turret and take a look at those poles. Then start blasting with the big gun and see what happens. Do now. They'll be here pretty quick." it heads disappeared, and several seconds later the Might came on, bright, shining on the siege line. The light was also marking their equals position. He heard distant gunfire and answered with a quick burst from the machine gun, just to make sure it worked The cannon fired, blasting splinters out of the big trees. Five seconds later it fired again.

Five seconds later again.

Bolan could see dozens of men running toward them several hundred feet distant, illuminated under the light show still pumping furiously overhead.

He quickly turned to the siege line to see twenty to thirty feet of defense blasted or torn away, a crater gouged from the line.

Dennison didn't need to be told the drill at this point. Starting up the tank, he drove right into the notch and fired again, clearing more away, creating a narrow channel for the tank to pass through.

Bolan jumped behind the wheel and followed the tank into the corridor, watching the advancing troops getting closer as the cannon blasted again. He was only wishing he'd counted the shells.

He hoped they had enough to get through.

He drove right up on their tail, forty feet into the line. Wire snapped and curled into itself, and huge, splintered logs were blown apart and shoved aside.

The cannon fired again, and he slammed on the brakes and jumped into the back to man the machine gun. White-suited mercs charged into the breach three abreast. Bolan let them get ten feet into the chamber before cutting loose with the.s'-caliber weapon. It buck solidly in his hands, his teeth clenched, vib "ng.

This I- strains of death rolled out of the staccato drum-ming of the machine. The men were totally trapped in confined space, and he mowed them down, four rows of three writhing to the ground, piling up like cord ood, the others ducking out of the tunnel to take covet another blast from the tank, the Executioner cum back behind the wheel to follow it another thi feet into the line.

They were nearly a third of the ay through. He caught up; their progress had slow to a crawl.

H stopped the Jeep and jumped on the hood, then onto the back of the tank as it blasted again. He grab two of the ten-gallon extra fuel tanks tied to the de of the tank and walked around to the front. Setti g one down, he tossed the other as far in front of m as he could, then did the same with-the sec-ond an.

moved back. The cannon feed again, shaking the igniting the gas and spewing it outward in a I e path.

B hind him the white-suited troops were rushing the Jeep. Bolan jumped down from the tank and rip the Beretta from the harness, firing as he ran.

jumped to the hood of the Jeep and leaped to the hine gun in back.

Grabbing the handles, he hit thumb triggers.

The machine gun erupted, spraying the corridors. Men fell, shot and sliced to pieces by the razor wire. One of them jumped up with him, and Bolan swung the barrel around to knock him off the Jeep and into the razor wire, then swung back to open up on the troops again. The belt vibrated, spent shells flying through a curtain of acrid smoke.

The mercs turned and ran, leaving another pile of bodies behind.

Bolan grabbed the Beretta and finished the man still writhing on the razor wire.

He jumped behind the wheel and caught up with the tank again. A major portion of the surrounding defensive line was burning out of control.

The tank stopped again, and Bolan vaulted onto the wide back, then up to the turret.

"We've only got three shells left!" Dennison called loudly up to him as Bolan opened up with the anti-aircraft gun, hosing down the men behind them.

The fire was surrounding him completely, and its fiery heat was chasing his assailants totally out of the corridor.

Bolan dropped into the interior to escape the heat, but it was far worse down below. They were in an oven. Both Dennison and Marta were red-faced and dripping sweat.

"Let's take our shot," Bolan said.

"We're going to cook if we don't. Blast the three shells, get a running start and hit the barricade with all you've got." Dennison nodded, then looked at Marta.

"Ready?" he asked.

woman nodded, hefting up another shell, arm m les tensed.

unison fired the three shells, blasting the wooden barn de in front of them.

was lack it up!" Bolan yelled. "Get a good jump on ltf[*thorn] unison complied without hesitation. The tank mov blindly backward, banging quickly into the Jeep shoving it, then bumping over bodies, flattening the B lan looked through the front viewport to see no ng but fire before them. "Enough," he said. "Le s do it." unison started forward, and Bolan grabbed the 1 r while Marta climbed into the nearly empty am-mun tion cabinet.

ey picked up speed. Fasten Faster.

en they hit the siege line at full speed. A terrible bell roared as irresistible force met immovable ob-ject. The impact threw Dennison off the controls to spin to the stairs. The machine was still moving and Bola rushed to take his place. The machine was stru ling to free itself from a fiery tomb, but slower. Ever slower. "d"-me on!" Bolan yelled. "Come on!" gh the view plate he saw fire, endless, churn-+ range. Fire, nothing but- S ddenly the mountain was in front of them.

ey'd broken free. Bolan hit the brakes, then struggled up the ladder to open the hatch for oxygen.

It streamed in, sweet, cold air rushing in.

Bolan climbed into the night, amazed to find a growing ring of fire threatening to consume the entire siege line. The castle walls were glittering up a steep slope a thousand yards ahead, with nothing but space between them and the wall.

And then he saw them, emerging from the snow itself.

Dozens of men stormed the tank, on it in sec-onds, swarming like army ants.

Bolt tried to pull down the hatch, but mercs were ing it.

H struggled up farther, trying to free his arms from the hway. A merc jumped on the cupola to kick him n the face, and Bolan fell back down the hatch-way to flaring pain in his jaw.

H came down hard, right beside Dennison, in-stin "vely reaching for the Beretta. Like a boxer tak-+ beating, he moved through sheer training and ex 'ence, firing, straight up. The man who'd kicked him m4 back into the arms of his fellows.

lan rose, still dizzy, and climbed the ladder, fir-+ e entire time to keep them from bringing guns to lx ar on the hatchway, which would be the kiss of dead 'd lost count of spent shells in his haziness, and ho as he crested the hatch that he had something left. e came out, twisted behind him; firing at a man whothrown his body over the hatch itself The shot gutted him, and the man jerked and rolled back onto his men.

The hatch lay open. Bolan grabbed it even as gun-fire spit at him and seared across his shoulder He turned and fired indiscriminately at the scrambling men. The gun emptied, spent, as he slammed the hatchway on someone's hand, pulling hard, four fin-gers dropping into the hatchway with him as he clamped it shut and let himself fall to the floor of the interior.

He held on to consciousness, twisting to look at his shoulder. It was a clean flesh wound that had done a decent gouging job. It was bleeding but wasn't serious.

"Dennison!" he called. "Shake it off. We need a driver!" Dennison was on his knees weaving, shaking his head. "Did we make it through?" he asked. "Yeah," Bolan said.

"Get us to the wall quick!" The man staggered to the controls. Bolan slid pain-fully out of the wool coat and checked his wound. With some pressure, the bleeding would be staunched. "I need a bandage," he said as the machine reluc-tantly started up and clanked forward Marta IG-EPPE moved quickly to him, grabbing a long scarf out of her coat, which was covering the burned corpse they'd shoved to the side as much as possible. She moved to Bolan, and though she looked sh ked and wild, her eyes showed simple jungle sur rival.

"What about the men on the tank?" she asked as she wrapped the wadded scarf over the wound and ti a knot.

" they want to ride, let them. We'll hit the castle deft uses in a minute. Riding this tank will not be the pl to be." " at happens when we reach the castle?" she ask.

"We get through the walls." 6 How?" unison turned and stared at them, raising his eye rows. "We climb them, just like we climbed the Li e Madam." arta looked surprised. "But that's out in the open, ex sed-was "That's why you're going to keep them off us," Bol said.

How?" " e antiaircraft gun on top," he said. "And you'll hav to reload it, too." unison and Bolan took turns at the controls w hi e preparing their climbing gear, then Bolan made carry a heavy canister of the ammo up the lad-der to see if she could do it. They even cracked the h h so the Executioner could show her how to pull the reach and load the belt. That's when he saw the pets- The spire, rising well above the rest of the wall and bulging out from it cylindrically, was spitting.50-caliber death in their direction. The shape of the parapet, however, kept it partially hidden from half the battlements, the closest half. It would be their best route up, especially since the gunners in the turret itself wouldn't be able to tilt their weapons far enough down to hit them.

But much, ultimately, depended on Marta's ability to quickly reload the antiaircraft gun.

They closed the hatch and prepared for combat.

Marta found side arms for herself and Dennison in personal lockers.

They were closing on the castle quickly, with bazooka hits now pounding down from the high walls, hitting near the tank, shaking the ground around them.

"Pull up on the side of the closest tower," Bolan directed. "Try and get in the center, blocked from the two side walls." "Got id" He turned to Marta, taking her by the shoulders.

"They're going to come at you from the castle gates and from the walls above, and they're going to be fired up. Keep them back.

Always work first on the men on the battlements. They've got the best angle on you." She nodded. "Will you and Rennie each take a can-ister up with you when you go? Leave it on the turret. That way I won't have to come back down for it." "Good," he said.

" I'm getting there," Dennison said, turning them left at the top of a long upgrade.

lan threw lengths of rope over his good shoulder.

"Let me be lead," Dennison said. "I'm faster up, an you're a better shot." " No argument." y shuddered to a stop. Dennison also grabbed ro from the satchel.

"Look for cracks in the wall," he id, "spaces between stone blocks.

Jam your pons there. They'll hold. If there're enough ks, maybe we can forego the rope and pitons and ju scurry up." 'Go," Bolan said, then turned to Marta.

"Good lu. You're a hell of a woman. When we take the to , lock yourself in here and just drive, get as far aw y from the castle as possible." nodded. Dennison was already up the ladder, 'ng the hatch, driven back by gunfire from the b ments two hundred feet above.

oIan took his place, jumping into the cupola and ing the antiaircraft gun. He pounded the notched ments, driving men back.

Then he swung the way as Dennison, canister under his arm, moved pas to set down his burden and jump to the wall, pons holding fast.

Executioner ducked into the tank, grabbed an-canister and put it up beside Dennison's as he took control of the antiaircraft gun again, firing single shots at the notches.

Above, the fireworks continued, with twenty to thirty going off one after another, indicating the big finish.

He aimed at the other wall. Dennison's climb was a lot slower than it should have been. He fired ten times and started to worry about ammo right away. The two side walls he could see were well over a hundred feet long, each topped with a turret similar to his.

"Hit the searchlight!" he called down to Marta. The light came on, and he could see maybe fifty men creeping out of the gate in the wall. They jumped with the light, bringing their weapons to bear, but the Ex-ecutioner was already up in the cupola and working the machine gun.

Bolan emptied the entire canister into the advanc-+ column, driving the survivors back into the gates. He tore out the empty canister and reached for an-other, slamming it into the nest and feeding the belt into the exposed breech, then snapping it closed.

A rope dangled down to him. Dennison was secure forty feet above, continuing upward as distant shots gouged the wall near him.

"Pick your shots!" Bolan yelled down to Marta as he clamped the rope to his utility belt and pulled him-self up, walking quickly up the wall.

the gun below, Marta tried to lay down cover -- in fire.

e felt death ricocheting off the walls beside him knew this was too slow. They'd have to go for it. hell with any thought of safety.

nn clamping the rope, he jammed a crampon into the wall and started climbing, grabbing for handholds on protruding rocks and crevasses.

"Forget the ropes, raison," he called up to the man. "Go! Just go!" Vie man dropped the ropes from his shoulder.

Bo-1 did the same and scurried as quickly as possible fo someone climbing a sheer cliff wall.

olan looked down from a hundred feet to see preoccupied with the gate, not noticing a squad of nercs charging from the direction of the blazing sie e line. He pulled the Beretta and realized he'd e disggtied it while trying to close the hatch earlier.

olstering, he awkwardly got hold of the.44 as he cl g precariously to the escarpment. Holding it ag 'nst the tower wall with his head, he primed it with hi free hand, then grabbed it assailants were just reaching the tank when he 1 ed down again. He fired once, then again, and tw men fell to roll off the tank. The sound alerted M; rta, who swung the big gun around and blew away her ten men from nearly point-blank range.

olan stuck the.44 in his garrison belt and started cli bing again, straining for cracks and protrusions in the wall. Dennison was far above him now, past the top of the wall and moving just on the tower itself The Executioner picked up the pace, his hands, arms, and legs straining, his resolve shoving the pain away. He let the wall take him instinctively, moving steadily as the machine gun stopped below while Marta reloaded.

Firing came from everywhere-the walls, the ground, bullets pinging just beside them.

Dennison started to move faster. Bolan followed suit and he'd crested the wall and was continuing up as Marta began firing again, driving back those on top of the wall who'd been positioning themselves to kill the climbers.

Dennison was barely a foot beneath the slot win-dows, where men poked their heads over the big bar-rels of the machine guns to peer down. Bolan joined Dennison and, holding on with one hand, pulled the.44 with the other. Dennison nodded and drew his side arm, a 9 mm Ruger, priming it the way Bolan had done.

They could hear confusion within the tower as men called down on cell phones for information. It had to happen now.

Bolan saw a nice crack about eight inches up and over from his left foot. It would put him right in a bow slot.

Unfortunately a barrel would be jammed into his chest. He pointed and nodded to Dennison, and they both took a step at the same instant.

Bolan came up to the bow slot and blasted a surprised gun- ner ri t between the eyes. The man fell back, blood pump ng out of his head even as Bolan was turning and ring randomly into the small, circular room.

Tmen jumped and danced under a relentless hail of s lls with nowhere to run. Blood spurted every-when as both Bolan and Dennison emptied their clips into room, its darkness flashing lightning.

On , more step and they were inside. Bolan grabbed a.5 caliber machine gun with a fresh belt attached. They stood atop bodies.

There was no other room. M had stopped firing.

below-Bolan hoped be-cause she was escaping.

"n (w what?" Dennison asked, breathing heavily throu teeth clenched hard, his face set hard. He was a w 'or after all.

was ey know we're here," Bolan said as he jerked the Its out of the other machine guns and threw them ver his partner's shoulder, then handed him the canis r containing the belt already loaded into the gun. Movement is our only friend." He nodded to the mo belts. "Feed me. Let's go!" IN y walked across bodies to the door.

Bolan kick it open, knocking a white-garbed killer off the stairs plummet down the parapet.

This stairs down were lined with men, but Bolan came out firing, assailants crumpling and falling down the tower.

Both men moved forward, always forw down the stairs, firing at anything that mov below them. Above them nothing lived They wound around the tower, reaching the door-way, nearly taking off the head of a man coming in as the weapon ran dry.

Bolan peeked out the door as he jerked open the breech. Dennison fed him from one of the heavy belts on his shoulder.

Snapping the breech closed, Bolan immediately jerked back the bolt to activate live ammo. They stood beside a pile of moaning, dying bodies ten feet high, the men who'd fallen from the stairs.

"Here we go," Bolan whispered, and stepped out of the open stone doorway and onto the battlements. Lines of men on the walls turned their guns on the intruders, but Bolan emptied the belt in a long, sweep-+ spray. Knocking them off the walls before they could respond, Bolan then jumped back into the tower to reload.

"Once we stop moving, they'll nail us.

Movement is the key, trust me," Bolan said.

"Ideas?" "Yeah. The courtyard's fifty feet down.

It's filled with cars, filled with cover. There are stairs to our left.

Here, hold this." He handed the bulky weapon to Dennison, who jumped, burned, under the hot bar-rel. Bolan pulled the Desert "disEagle and the 93-12 from his webbing and dropped in the clips, reloading.

He took back the big gun as Dennison reloaded with another clip from his holster. "We empty this on them, the Executioner said, "then run for the stairs down. His was com.11 never make it all the way down." "I w," Bolan answered. "Get halfway and jump Into the space beside the stairs, then run for cover 'n the cars.

Okay?" was nds just crazy enough," Dennison said.

"Let's do it.

This charged out again, their assailants better po sition this time behind bodies and buttresses. It was unrav ling quickly.

Bo fired from the hip, sweeping the walls in a back- d-forth are, driving them all back to cover, givi the two men several seconds of reaction and aimin time.

n the gun ran dry, Bolan threw it and charged onto stone stairs down to the courtyard. They got close halfway before return fine rang out. Both men jum from twenty feet, falling into the shadows cre-ated the stairs.

"GA" Bolan yelled, jumping immediately to his feet a id running the twenty feet toward the crowd of limos parked haphazardly around the chopper pal. All they ad on their side was reaction time.

He pumped hard, and Dennison caught up to him just the impacts of automatic fire tore up the grou around their feet. Both men dived into the sea 7of cand crawled quickly on hands and knees as bullets thudded into metal and windows shattered, showering them with glass.

Then the firing stopped, and there was deadly calm, frightening calm.

"I don't like this," Bolan said "Keep moving to-ward the hall.

Watch for-was "You sons of bitches!" came Mulroy's screaming voice from the helipad.

"Keep moving," Bolan whispered.

"1'm going to tell you straight up, Belasko!" Mul-roy yelled as the fireworks above abruptly stopped, the sky now dark. "I've got fifty men left. Fifty! And they're all here, all looking for you." Bolan glanced back to the walls. The battlements had been abandoned "They're going to close you in, tighter and tighter, until you got nowhere else to go. Then we're going to take you.

If not alive, hell with it." Bolan looked at Dennison. "Did you offer him a deal on the money?" The man shrugged "It almost worked. I could've been halfway to Geneva by now." "But you're here." "So I am." "We've got your woman, too, Rennie!" Mulroy called back. "We've got lots of plans for that bitch. The man who kills you gets her first!" Dennison stiffened, but Bolan put a hand on his arm. " e 's just making that up, trying to get you to give y position away." was at if he's not?" "M a's got a side arm," Bolan said "She'd never be tak n alive by these animals." De 'son relaxed, frowning. "Okay." "If you come out with your hands up," Mulroy said, untinand "we'll take you alive to the baron. I'm sure y (u can still make your deal, Rennie!" Bolcd hear them approaching in the si- le swish of material, the soft padding of feet.

The Kinds came from everywhere, and not that far away.

"O ay!" Mulroy shouted "Time's up.

Guys, swee slowly in, be thorough. These men are dan-ge. Shoot to kill and then keep shooting. Do not let du m slip through your dragnet or I will kill you." This were moving faster, bobbing up and down, occas nal interior car lights coming on as insides of vehic were checked.

The noose drew tighter, choki go.

"do we do?" Dennison whispered urgently.

Bo looked him hard in the eyes. "Take off your shirt," he ordered.

Dennison stared at the Executioner. "My shirt?" "Yeah," Bolan said, tearing off the remnants of his own shirt.

"We're going to make a couple of big Mo-lotov cocktails." Dennison hurried out of the shirt, pulling the sus-penders of the short pants back up over his shoulders. They crept to the next row of cars, finding two whose gas tanks faced one another. They quickly pried off the caps with their pocket knives, then dipped the shirts down into the tanks.

"They're getting closer," Dennison whispered.

"You got a light?" Bolan asked.

The man shook his head. "Marta took my Zippo." Bolan had nothing in the uniform pants or the har-ness. He slipped into the limo and killed the overhead light, then pushed in the lighter.

"Would you hurry!" Rennie rasped urgently.

"They're on us!" The lighter popped, and Bolan jerked it out.

"We're going to have to shoot some of them," he said, tying the s 'tgr and laying the coil lighter against the-soaked material. "Then make your way up twoand get in the back seat of the Caddie. I've al y 4I ecked-it's open." rVy rim do.-T9 shirts burst into flame just as they were spotted from both directions from several cars away. Both men 'pped their weapons out and fired at the dark fi coming for them. The shooting would attract the of the mercs, but Bolan kept firing into their ranks With his back glued to the Executioner's, Den-nison fired the other way and moving toward the Cadil ac.

"It's going to got" Dennison yelled as they reached the li and tore open the door, diving inside onto facin seats.

two gas tanks went up simultaneously. The blast lammed closed the limo's still-open back door and ked the car.

Windows shattered, and a tongue of o ge fire shot through the windshield space, set-ting e front seats afire as burning fuel spewed over the hole area.

was is get out of here!" the Executioner yelled He opened the door on the other side and fell out into re. Dennison followed, nearly landing on top of him.

y were up, weapons in hand, charging toward the hall. Fire was everywhere, burning men twisti g and screaming all around them, the living jumping up and firing, but the Executioner dropped them on the fly, blowing away shadows.

And before him, his goal, the great hall and a date with the Vulture. He charged toward death.

Dennison at his side.

THE VULTURE, like everyone, else in the great hall, turned toward the front of the building when the ex-plosion went off in the parking lot.

"My friends!" he called from the food tables just as he was about to ask Kimberly Adams to become a more permanent house guest. "No need to be alarmed. I'm afraid we've had an accident with the fireworks. Enjoy yourselves, I'll attend to it." A sea of guests, toasting and laughing, opened a wide channel for him to pass to the door, Kimberly hurrying up beside him. But as he reached the middle of the hall, the front doors burst open and Willy Mul-roy stumbled in, his clothes and face burned. He was stooped over with pain.

"B-baron!" he called, stumbling in to gasps from the crowd, falling to the floor five feet from the Vul-ture. He rose to his knees.

"That g-guy... that big son of a bitch.

He's... he's in." His rage bypassing his brain, the Vulture jerked his Ruger from his belt and shot Mulroy in the chest sev-eral times. "You're stupid!" he screamed, shooting him again. "Why did I take you in! Idiot!" He shot him again as two men charged through the door.

J rking the gun up, he shot at movement immedi-ately, dropping the long-haired man with two hits. But the ig guy dived left and roiled.

Vulture fired twice at Belasko before he got cov behind a pillar.

Expecting movement on the of side, the Vulture fired five more times into his o guests. People screamed, Gregore Wolfstein went do n-but no Belasko.

e crowd swept backward, leaving two dead be-hin. At least the Vulture had a clear field of fire now an a shield. Kimberly Adams stood, stupefied, be sick him, her mouth and eyes open wide as she stared nd in horror. That's why the big man hadn't taken hi down.

He didn't have a clear shot.

"Hey, Belasko!" he called. "Look what I've got." e grabbed Kimberly Adams, pulling her hard against him as she gasped. "No. No.

please," she w pered.

" Belasko!" he screamed, and pointed the revolver to the ceiling, pulling the trigger.

was spent, empty. He hadn't even noticed.

The gu dropped from his hand.

lan walked out from behind the pillar, the Desert Eagle in his hand. The Vulture dropped the gun and rea bed into his pocket in a blur. Within two seconds the little blade was lying against the woman's throat w re he could slash both the carotid and the jugular in ne swift movement.

"Put the gun down or she's dead," he barked.

MACK BoLA-IV moDo ten feet from the man he'd come halfway around the world to kill, a young, frag-ile woman in a chiffon party dress the only thing sep-arating them. He recognized his own knife at her throat, wondering how many others had been killed with it.

"I have something to return to you, no?" the Vul-ture said, smiling down at the knife. "Put down the gun, and I won't have to get it all messed up with someone else's blood before giving it to you." The Executioner smiled. He had no doubts about the man's weakness.

He wasn't a real human being. He just imitated "Why should I give a holy damn about her?" Bolan asked. "I Trot here by being just like you. Think about how much her life is worth to you, and you'll know how I feel." Bolan raised the weapon to eye level and kept mov-+ forward. The Vulture's eyes narrowed as he tried to imagine the possibilities of someone being as soul-less as he was.

Bolan smiled, closer still. He wanted to get close enough that the terrorist would think he still had op-tions.

"I'll shoot her out of our way if you want." The surviving mercs charged in, taking to the stairs and positioning themselves around the mezzanine, ri-fles pointed downward.

With that the man made the move Bolan had ex-pected. He shoved the woman hard toward him, fol- low ng with the knife pointed at the Executioner's y for it, Bolan never lost his sighting on the mat 's fist. He fired over the woman's shoulder from a faway, and bright blood flowed over the knuck lesf the Vulture's left hand The knife clattered to the oor as the woman slammed hard into him, send-+ 'm reeling backward as the Vulture doubled over, goi g to the floor, cradling his bleeding stump, sev-ers fingers lying on the ground.

lan shoved the woman away.

" Kill him!" the terrorist shouted to his men.

"A hal billion francs to the man who kills him. Shoot hi now!" "fles were raised all over the room, and a shot ran y, out from the floor beside Bolan. Mulroy, dying, h shot a huge, ugly man with thick lips, throwing hi back against the wall.

Don't fire!" Mulroy called weakly, trying intently to 'se to his knees without success. "He can't give yo any money. He doesn't have any! These guys s e it all! It's.gone!" riflemen hesitated. "There's too many dead people piled around here for this to go away," the E utioner said. "It's a mess and it's over. If you get out now, you might be able to outrun the trouble yo 're in." at was it. The Vulture's army disintegrated on this spot, its members charging down the stairs and out of the house in disarray. Bolan looked down at Mulroy; the man was dead, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

The Vulture had risen, cradling his hand, his face pale. "My friends," he said, "please don't let this man destroy me. I've been cruelly attacked, maimed. Kimberly, dear." He moved, staggering, toward her. "You understand. You-was She swung her hand out at him, long-nailed fingers digging into his flesh, four long, bloody trenches left in their wake. Kimberly Adams turned and stalked away without a word.

"My friends..." he began again.

"Your friend," Bolan said, "is a vicious killer who goes by the name of the Vulture." There were gasps through the great hall.

"He's not a proud mercenary! He's not a benefactor to Switzerland.

He's a pathetic monster who kills in-nocent people for money! Is that your friend?" "No," the terrorist protested. "Look what I've done for you. The feast:.. the music..." He walked to a group of tuxedoed men, his good hand outstretched.

"Roberto," he said. "Henri. Re-member Cannes last year? Remember the fun?" One of the men punched him, knocking him back, while the others moved in to beat him.

"Leave him," Bolan said as he heard the sounds of distant sirens.

The men backed off. The Vulture was still on his f bent over, staring in hatred at the Executioner. Su my he bolted forward, his right hand streaking tow trd his waistband.

lan flashed out with the blade, running true and s t, and it plunged into the: man's remaining eye, si ng it deeply into the brain.

went down, screaming and writhing, his legs kic " wildly on the ground, thrashing the death ag oni. It didn't last long enough.

" You keep the knife," Bolan said, then turned and hu ied to Dennison.

niformed police were rushing through the door-wa along with medical personnel with stretchers. warrior knelt beside Dennison. The man was b g heavily, labored Ids eyes fluttered open. we get hm"...[*thorn] " course we got him," Bolan said Executioner picked him up, ignoring his own pai and carried him toward the doorway as crying and horrified people crept guiltily from the great hall.

came face to face with Stiler, the detective from Zu child. No wonder help had gotten there so quickly. was nscience bother you?" he asked the man, who s red, staring.

lan took Dennison to a gurney just being T.

w led into the huge room from outside, and a doc tor nt over him immediately, taking vital signs and ring up morphine.

"Belasko," Dennison said, taking hold of his arm. "I helped you all the way, top to bottom." "You did good." "The money," Dennison said. "What are you go-+ to do about the money?" "You're a thief, Rennie." "You said if I helped you, you--" "I'd think about it," Bolan said. "Who knows.

Maybe I'll think about it just a little longer since it looks like you'll be laid up for a while. I've got lots of time to think about it. Take it easy, kid." "Belasko," he said, "this isn't fair.

It's not right." "See you sometime." Bolan smiled, walking off. "Don't you touch my money!" Dennison yelled. Bolan turned to wink at him, then left, moving into the profusion of flashing lights and uniformed cops who filled the courtyard. A large group of men was putting out the fires still burning there.

He smiled, spotting Marta Kleppe walking slowly, gingerly through the courtyard toward the great hall. He was glad she'd made it.

When she saw Bolan, she ran to him, hugging him.

"I'm so glad you came through," she sobbed. "I was so worried, I.

Rennie, where's Rennie? Is he... he.

That' Bolan shrugged. "He got shot up a little bit," he said, pointing over his shoulder toward the hall, "but he's too ornery to be hurt bad." Her face lit up like the balloon's sun face, and she touc his arm with a glad cry before running to the hall The look he saw in her eyes had nothing to do wi money.

Better than good. It's what made Bolan go on.

moved into the sea of cars and cops, picked a J ar and climbed in.

The keys were inside, so he s it up to a rumbling roar and drove out through the ates.

was free of Paraguay finally.

Geneva, Switzerland July 25, 10. 00 a. more.

The cabdriver pulled up before the small bank buried deeply within the confines of Geneva's old city. The former fortress town, surrounded by enemies, was now the capital of peaceful negotiations. An interna-tional city.

Bolan climbed out of the cab and asked the driver to wait, then walked into the five-hundred-year-old structure with the three teller windows and the walk-in safe-deposit-box rooms. This was not Bank Leu, but he had the feeling that it did business just as sharply.

He bypassed the windows and moved to a secre-tary's desk that sat before an important-looking office. "My name is John Smith," he said. The woman's eyes widened slightly, and she said, in heavily accented English, "You will wait a mo-ment, please." She rose and disappeared into the office, returning withi a moment with a tall, older man.

His hair was whi and he was thin, bent over But he had piercing blue yes that tore right into Bolan's. "you are Mr. Smith," he said, offering Bolan a chaff n willing to take him back into the office. "I am Durer, president of this establishment. Do you mind if I look at your papers?" an sat, producing the fake identity papers he'd rove in Sprecher's forgery room. The man went this the papers, smiling at the photo page. "Nice pic ," he said, handing back the passport. "You unde t and the need for confirmation?" was mainly," Bolan said. "Is my transaction read That' man looked at his secretary's desktop. She was now [e to be seen. "You must understand, Mr. Smhe said, "that your request is highly unusual. Wever done anything quite like-was "Bolan said. "It was my understanding that Swinking is capable of accomplishing anything. If ynnot honor my request, perhaps I should take thef my money and put it somewhere-P " t be hasty." The man smiled, reaching into the tary's drawer and withdrawing a long white env. "We have done as you've asked. We just fear ts format." "e careful, Mr. Durer," Bolan said, standing, takie envelope and shaking the man's hand. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you.

You'll hear from me again." He turned and left them, figuring that Marta Kleppe and Rennie Dennison could get by on a little less than fifty million. The cab was still waiting. He climbed in happily and closed the door behind him. "Airport," he said.

ANN-MORE TR-RNP WA-RATHER Km reluctantly into the lobby of the First National Bank of Patterson, New Jersey. She moved slowly, looking around for the man who'd called her on the phone and told her he had something from Gene.

Everything was so confusing. There was the horror, then the funeral just yesterday. She couldn't seem to focus her mind; the empty place in her heart was as large as the sky. She hadn't even begun to believe he was really gone.

So soon. So very soon. Then the phone call, her family begging her not to go alone, as the man had suggested, a man who wouldn't leave his name. But what did it matter? She was a new widow with a stack of bills and a government life-insurance policy that barely covered burial expenses. What could it hurt to meet the mystery man, probably someone try-+ to scam her out of her insurance money?

"Mrs. Tripp?" came a gentle voice. Annie tamed in surprise to see such gentleness coming from such a large man. "Do I know you?" she ked. "I mew your husband, ma'am," the big man said. "I...with him when he died." was were?" she said, taking him by the arms. "Did he.

did he say anything? Did he suffer?" was went quickly," Bolan said, "but he had a lot to sa about how much he loved you and how he'd put little something aside for you two to take a crui after his retirement." Ssmiled with the thought. "Gene was always talkiab us taking the big trip," she said, "but we ver had any money. He didn't suffer?" was , ma'am," the big man said. "He gave me some ing for you and told me to make sure you got lt." B an held up the safe-deposit-box key and the in-fo 'on. "This is for you," he said "If you want, I'll you back to the box." "... all right," Annie said, confused again. n they went through the sign-in process, Annie kne as she saw the signature card that Gene had forge her name on it. He was always doing that. y moved back with the bank official, both of them using their keys, the box in Annie's hands. The big watched until the teller was gone before spe ing again. "I just want you to know that what you find in there is yours to keep. It belongs to no one else. And it's legitimate." She nodded, setting the box on the table in the cen-ter of the long, narrow room. She worked the key slowly, not knowing what to expect now. She opened the lid to find several thousand dollars in cash and smiled.

He'd probably spent the past twenty years saving that money. Then she noticed the envelope, taking it out to open it. She looked at it for a long moment before actually realizing what it was-a cashier's check for ten mil-lion dollars. "I don't understand," she said, turning to the big man. But he was gone, vanished. Only the cashier's check remained in her hand.

The End


THE MACK BOLAN LEGEND

Nothing less than a war could have fashioned the destiny of the man called Mack Bolan. Bolan earned the Executioner title in the jungle hell of Vietnam.

But this soldier also wore another name--Sergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compassion he showed to wounded comrades-in-arms and Vietnamese civilians.

Mack Bolan's second tour of duty ended prematurely when he was given emergency leave to return home and bury his family, victims of the Mob. Then he declared a one-man war against the Mafia.

He confronted the Families head-on from coast to coast, and soon a hope of victory began to appear. But Bolan had broken society's every rule. That same society started gunning for this elusive warrior--to no avail.

So Bolan was offered amnesty to work within the system against terrorism. This time, as an employee of Uncle Sam, Bolan became Colonel John Phoenix. With a command center at Stony Man Farm in Virginia, he and his new allies--Able Team and Phoenix Force--waged relentless war on a new adversary: the KGB.

But when his one true love, April Rose, died at the hands of the Soviet terror machine, Bolan severed all ties with Establishment authority.

Now, after a lengthy lone-wolf struggle and much soul-searching, the Executioner has agreed to enter an "arm's-length" alliance with his government once more, reserving the right to pursue personal missions in his Everlasting War.

Mack Bolan  The Executioner Series
001 War Against The Mafia
002 Death Squad
003 Battle Mask
004 Miami Massacre
005 Continental Contract
006 Assault On Soho
007 Nightmare In New York
008 Chicago Wipeout
009 Vegas Vendetta
010 Caribbean Kill
011 California Hit
012 Boston Blitz
013 Washington I.O.U.
014 San Diego Siege
015 Panic In Philly
016 Sicilian Slaughter
017 Jersey Guns
018 Texas Storm
019 Detroit Deathwatch
020 New Orleans Knockout
021 Firebase Seattle
022 Hawaiian Hellground
023 St. Louis Showdown
024 Canadian Crisis
025 Colorado Kill-Zone
026 Acapulco Rampage
027 Dixie Convoy
028 Savage Fire
029 Command Strike
030 Cleveland Pipeline
031 Arizona Ambush
032 Tennessee Smash
033 Mondays Mob
034 Terrible Tuesday
035 Wednesday's Wrath
036 Thermal Thursday
037 Friday's Feast
038 Satan's Sabbath

118 Warrior's Revenge
119 Line Of Fire
120 Border Sweep
121 Twisted Path
122 Desert Strike
123 War Born
124 Night Kill
125 Dead Man's Tale
126 Death Wind
127 Kill Zone
128 Sudan Slaughter
129 Haitian Hit
130 Dead Line
131 Ice Wolf
132 This-Every Big Kill
133 Blood Run
134 White Line War
135 Devil Force
136 Down And Dirty
137 Battle Lines
138 Kill Trap
139 Cutting Edge
140 Wild Card
141 Direct Hit
142 Fatal Error
143 Helldust Cruise
144 Whipsaw
145 Chacago Payoff
146 Deadly Tactics
147 Payback Game
148 Deep And Swift
149 Blood Rules
150 Death Load
151 Message To Medellin
152 Combat Stretch
153 Firebase Florida
154 Night Hit
155 Hawaiian Heat
156 Phantom Force
157 Cayman Strike
158 Firing Line
159 Steel And Flame
160 Storm Warning
161 Eye Of The Storm
162 Colors Of Hell
163 Warrior's Edge
164 Death Trail
165 Fire Sweep
166 Assassin's Creed
167 Double Action
168 Blood Price
169 White Heat
170 Baja Blitz
171 Deadly Force
172 Fast Strike
173 Capitol Hit
174 Battle Plan
175 Battle Ground
176 Ransom Run
177 Evil Code
178 Black Hand
179 War Hammer
180 Force Down
181 Shifting Target
182 Lethal Agent
183 Clean Sweep
184 Death Warrant
185 Sudden Fury
186 Fire Burst
187 Cleansing Flame
188 War Paint
189 Wellfire
190 Killing Range
191 Extreme Force
192 Maximum Impact
193 Hostile Action
194 Deadly Contest
195 Select Fire
196 Triburst
197 Armed Force
198 Shoot Down
199 Rogue Agent
200 Crisis Point
201 Prime Target
202 Combat Zone
203 Hard Contact
204 Rescue Run
205 Hell Road
206 Hunting Cry
207 Freedom Strike
208 Death Whisper
209 Asian Crucible
210 Fire Lash
211 Steel Claws
212 Ride The Beast
213 Blood Harvest
214 Fission Fury
215 Fire Hammer
216 Death Force
217 Fight Or Die
218 End Game
219 Terror Intent
220 Tiger Stalk
221 Blood and Fire
222 Patriot Gambit
223 Hour of Conflict
224 Call to Arms
225 Body Armor
226 Red Horse
227 Blood Circle