Read Online The Libya Connection by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Don Pendleton
Tags: Fiction, General, Action & Adventure, Mystery & Detective, Men's Adventure, Non-Classifiable, det_action, Bolan; Mack (Fictitious character), Vietnam War; 1961-1975
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the large room.
He fired two rounds at where he determined the sound was. He heard a groan of pain, desperate in the dark.
Bolan dodged again. A handgun opened up from the far corner of the room. He heard the hiss of a bullet slice past him.
Bolan fired to the right of the pistol shot. He darted sideways himself a microsecond after triggering the round. He was not rewarded with the sound of a hit. Bolan's opponent knew how to handle a fire-fight in the dark, too. Bolan's target was constantly moving. On the offensive.
Two heartbeats. The open doorway was now visible, a deep gray. And empty. Another pistol shot slammed through the darkness. Another tongue of dirty flame across the room.
Bolan heard the darkness as if it were breathing, and divined through a mix of gambling and the intense will of the air itself that his opponent would choose to dodge to the right again. That is where he fired.
He knew he was on the money when a wet rattle bubbled from a body with a sound that no man can fake. The sound of death.
The noisy collapse was succeeded by a hushed stillness in the dining room.
Bolan could hear sounds of assault from outside. Doors were thrown open, running men were entering the inn.
Within seconds the lead invaders were silhouetted in the grayness of the open doorway. Bolan blew away three of them instantly, with three shots and unerring accuracy. His was an inexhaustible command of judgment. The remaining soldiers scampered out of sight for cover, back the way they had come. There were sounds of retreat in the darkness.
Bolan utilized the fleeing seconds before more soldiers came. He moved to where the body of the handgun-wielder had fallen. He looked closely in the gloom.
He was looking into the dead face of one of Kennedy's Italian-togged black customers.
The other buyer was also dead, visibly crumpled near the door. So the first cry in the dark had been that one's last.
And Kennedy was gone.
Bolan moved through the doorway. He was into starlight.
There was troop movement from several areas in and around the small village. The activity centered in the street fronting the inn. Bolan swiftly trotted around to the back of the ancient stone building, then cut off diagonally in a line toward the dunes. His senses were attuned to perceptions of the enemy, and informed him that the deployment numbered ten or twelve men at most, although they were widely scattered and dangerously answerable to no one.
Kennedy could not backtrack through the tunnel to the villa. Bolan recalled meeting those black troopers as he was first helping Fahima and her father to escape. The soldiers had looked like they were on their way to where the girl and her father were hidden. The Africans therefore knew of the room with two doors and Kennedy's "secret" tunnel. Something had gone down here at the inn. Kennedy would know that they knew, because it had just happened.
Kennedy's actions in his office earlier, when Bolan had been watching him, told Bolan that Kennedy was alone on this except for the merc Hymie, no doubt promised a slice of the action. Not even Doyle, Kennedy's second-in-command, knew about what Kennedy had been up to.
Kennedy's probable course of action would be to cut across the open terrain and get back inside the villa, utilizing his knowledge of security of the Jericho property.
Bolan had to make Kennedy talk.
Kennedy knew where Evita Aguilar was.
But Bolan had to find him first.
11
Kennedy jogged through the night, listening to the sounds of his own labored breathing.
The village of Bishabia, and gunfire, receded to lower ground behind him. He was moving in a zigzag course toward the walls of Leonard Jericho's villa a quarter mile away. He planned a slip back in via his office window. He would bluff his way out of this, whatever happened.
Kennedy's main concern was Mike Rideout. Or whatever the guy's real name was. Kennedy had little doubt that "Rideout" would be hot on his trail, and closing fast, at
He fired two rounds at where he determined the sound was. He heard a groan of pain, desperate in the dark.
Bolan dodged again. A handgun opened up from the far corner of the room. He heard the hiss of a bullet slice past him.
Bolan fired to the right of the pistol shot. He darted sideways himself a microsecond after triggering the round. He was not rewarded with the sound of a hit. Bolan's opponent knew how to handle a fire-fight in the dark, too. Bolan's target was constantly moving. On the offensive.
Two heartbeats. The open doorway was now visible, a deep gray. And empty. Another pistol shot slammed through the darkness. Another tongue of dirty flame across the room.
Bolan heard the darkness as if it were breathing, and divined through a mix of gambling and the intense will of the air itself that his opponent would choose to dodge to the right again. That is where he fired.
He knew he was on the money when a wet rattle bubbled from a body with a sound that no man can fake. The sound of death.
The noisy collapse was succeeded by a hushed stillness in the dining room.
Bolan could hear sounds of assault from outside. Doors were thrown open, running men were entering the inn.
Within seconds the lead invaders were silhouetted in the grayness of the open doorway. Bolan blew away three of them instantly, with three shots and unerring accuracy. His was an inexhaustible command of judgment. The remaining soldiers scampered out of sight for cover, back the way they had come. There were sounds of retreat in the darkness.
Bolan utilized the fleeing seconds before more soldiers came. He moved to where the body of the handgun-wielder had fallen. He looked closely in the gloom.
He was looking into the dead face of one of Kennedy's Italian-togged black customers.
The other buyer was also dead, visibly crumpled near the door. So the first cry in the dark had been that one's last.
And Kennedy was gone.
Bolan moved through the doorway. He was into starlight.
There was troop movement from several areas in and around the small village. The activity centered in the street fronting the inn. Bolan swiftly trotted around to the back of the ancient stone building, then cut off diagonally in a line toward the dunes. His senses were attuned to perceptions of the enemy, and informed him that the deployment numbered ten or twelve men at most, although they were widely scattered and dangerously answerable to no one.
Kennedy could not backtrack through the tunnel to the villa. Bolan recalled meeting those black troopers as he was first helping Fahima and her father to escape. The soldiers had looked like they were on their way to where the girl and her father were hidden. The Africans therefore knew of the room with two doors and Kennedy's "secret" tunnel. Something had gone down here at the inn. Kennedy would know that they knew, because it had just happened.
Kennedy's actions in his office earlier, when Bolan had been watching him, told Bolan that Kennedy was alone on this except for the merc Hymie, no doubt promised a slice of the action. Not even Doyle, Kennedy's second-in-command, knew about what Kennedy had been up to.
Kennedy's probable course of action would be to cut across the open terrain and get back inside the villa, utilizing his knowledge of security of the Jericho property.
Bolan had to make Kennedy talk.
Kennedy knew where Evita Aguilar was.
But Bolan had to find him first.
11
Kennedy jogged through the night, listening to the sounds of his own labored breathing.
The village of Bishabia, and gunfire, receded to lower ground behind him. He was moving in a zigzag course toward the walls of Leonard Jericho's villa a quarter mile away. He planned a slip back in via his office window. He would bluff his way out of this, whatever happened.
Kennedy's main concern was Mike Rideout. Or whatever the guy's real name was. Kennedy had little doubt that "Rideout" would be hot on his trail, and closing fast, at
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