Read Online Save the Children by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page A

water. The men had reached their boat and were clinging to it.
    "Are you all right?" Bolan shouted over the sound of his engine.
    One of the men spluttered and shook his head to get wet hair out of his eyes. When he could see, his eyes widened when he found himself looking up at the man in a black outfit, who was holding what appeared to be a hand cannon.
    "W-we're okay," he called back.
    "Were there just the two of you in the boat?" Bolan asked hurriedly.
    The man nodded.
    Bolan glanced at the other speedboat.
    It had put a sizable gap between itself and Bolan.
    He looked back at the upset men in the water.
    "Sorry," he called to them.
    He fed power to his engine again, increasing the throttle only when he was far enough away from the overturned skiff not to cause any more turbulence.
    The men in the water started shouting after him, but he did not go back, knowing there would already be rescue craft approaching those two unfortunates.
    The speedboat chase resumed, this time only at a slightly slower speed as the two vessels wove among the night river traffic that got in their way.
    Bolan was glad he had wounded the gunner when he had. He didn't want bullets flying around here where innocent people could be hurt.
    People yelled and screamed at the speedboats as they rocketed past, wanting to know what was going on.
    Bolan didn't blame them for their curiosity, but wished they would get out of sight, under cover.
    He eyeballed his quarry as they raced past a barge loaded with refuse. He swung out to follow, momentarily losing sight of the Mafia speedboat.
    It popped up again directly in front of him.
    Coming straight at him!
    He palmed the wheel and swung his boat hard to starboard.
    The refuse barge loomed dangerously close.
    Through the speedboat's windshield Bolan saw the face of the Mafia pilot, contorted with rage.
    The guy had gotten tired of running, obviously.
    Someone on the barge yelled, "Look out!"
    Bolan missed the barge by inches, popping through the narrow opening between the barge and the oncoming speedboat.
    He craned his neck and looked over his shoulder.
    The gunmen kept going, headed back toward Lake Michigan.
    Bolan whipped his boat into a turn and whizzed back past the barge, ignoring the shouted questions from the sanitation workers on board.
    The air bit colder heading back toward open water again, and the high-pitched keening of his boat's engine on open throttle rattled his eardrums as the wind played roughly with his hair.
    The chase had returned almost to that point where the river split into two channels.
    This time he would catch them in the straightaway.
    They were out of the marina area again, both boats pouring on the speed.
    Bolan glanced toward the shore. He saw the flashing lights of police cars up and down the streets lining the river.
    The other speedboat was some seventy-five yards ahead of him, just passing the Sun-Times building.
    Ahead of it, coming their way, was a cruiser bearing the insignia of the Chicago Police Department on its bow and an angrily flashing light splashing the night.
    A bullhorn-amplified voice boomed out over the river.
    "You there! In the speedboats! Slow down and heave to! This is the police! I repeat, heave to!"
    Neither boat slowed down.
    Bolan kept the throttle pushed up as far as it would go. He slipped Big Thunder back into its holster and returned both hands to the wheel for some tricky maneuvering he figured was coming up.
    Suddenly, the gunman that Bolan had wounded in the shoulder pulled himself up into a sitting position. The whole left side of his body was covered with blood, but he managed to lift his right arm. He held a gun in that fist.
    "Dammit, no!" Bolan gritted.
    The gunman opened fire on the police cruiser, the report of his pistol sounding small and ineffectual.
    Cops in flak jackets lined the railing of the oncoming cop cruiser. They dived for cover as the bullets from the hood's pistol whistled around them. They carried automatic weapons