Read Online The Libya Connection by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page B

this very moment.
    Kennedy paused when the ground suddenly angled downward. The village lights and activity dipped out of sight behind him.
    The merc swung around and crouched, listening. He was sure he could hear very light footfalls gaining on him, rapidly approaching from the direction of the village.
    Kennedy estimated his pursuer to be about one hundred yards away. Time enough to set a trap.
    He unhitched the compact transceiver from his belt. The radio was Kennedy's contact to Doyle and the other mercs in the villa. Kennedy knew Doyle would be going berserk trying to raise him on the radio the minute they heard the uproar from the village and couldn't find Kennedy. There would be plenty of squawking over the transceiver right now.
    Kennedy ran to a nearby ridge in the rock-and-sand terrain. He placed the transceiver in a shallow surface gully. He flicked a tiny switch, activating the unit. It started crackling.
    Kennedy ran back to his previous position. He bellied out prone. He swung the Largo-Star machine gun around by its leather strap into firing posture. Less than fifteen seconds had elapsed since he first paused and listened for the sounds of Rideout's approach.
    He would be waiting when the desert starlight silhouetted Rideout's approaching form.
    "Boss! What the hell's going on? Do you read me? Are you in the village?"
The sounds from the transceiver crackled clearly in the night.
"Come in, goddammit!"
    Enough time had passed, thought Kennedy. Where the hell is he?
    "Right behind you." A cool voice answered his thoughts. "Drop your gun. Turn over slowly."
    Kennedy swung around onto his back, the Largo-Star blazing.
    Mack Bolan had not expected a man like Kennedy to be taken alive. Bolan tried. But the main thing was Bolan staying alive.
He had to find Eve.
    He leaped aside in the instant of time it took Kennedy to twist around.
    Kennedy's burst slashed across the space occupied by Rideout's voice. Except that the origin of the voice was moving as fast as a voice could carry across a still desert night, and had slipped out of target acquisition even as the words were sinking in.
    Bolan had slid in one process from a voice in the dark to a guy who was out of the picture.
    Now Kennedy's execution was fast work. The Galil in Bolan's grip thundered three times in rapid fire. For good measure. Three heavy slugs exploded through living matter, rendering it deceased, spinning Kennedy into a dead man's roll across the ground, leaving a glistening trail of bloodied sand in his wake.
    Bolan shoulder-slung his own rifle and picked up the dead man's chopper and an extra ammo clip. Then he hotfooted to the spot where Kennedy's transceiver was still crackling.
    Doyle's voice.
    "Does anyone read me? Is anyone there?"
    Bolan depressed the transmitting button, then started out of there.
    "Yeah, yeah," he growled irritably. "Hold on to your shirt!" He was already jogging away from Kennedy's body as he spoke to Doyle. "I'm all right."
    He was approximating Kennedy's speech pattern.
    He counted on the airwaves and tension of the moment to do the rest. It did.
    "Top, what the hell's going on down there?"
came Doyle's voice.
"Are you in the village? Do you need backup?"
    "Negative. Get ready to lift off. Ten minutes from now, whether I'm back or not. The pilots have the coordinates?"
    "I gave 'em the same ones you gave me. Whadaya mean, if you're not back?"
    "I'll catch up," snarled Bolan. "Don't disobey orders. I have something for Mr. Jericho."
    Which was true enough, figured Bolan. He arced around, back toward the village at a steady gallop, hoping like hell that ten minutes would be enough time.
    Bolan could not make out the type of markings of the truck that had been sent out of the village to investigate his shots. His hearing told him it was a heavy-duty personnel carrier.
    The machine was speeding in his direction, bumping across the rough ground.
    No headlights.
    That confirmed it for Bolan.
    The bulky shape of the truck