Payback. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
LAW OF THE JUNGLE
In Mexican cartel country to rescue an undercover agent, Mack Bolan arrives to find the stronghold smoked and his man missing. It’s the second failed play at the same site, where five years earlier a mission went deadly sour. This time, Bolan suspects betrayal in the highest places. And when the mission shifts from rescue to revenge, the trail extends into the corridors of Washington.
Bolan uncovers a wealthy industrialist selling arms to drug dealers to finance a daring political gambit. The billionaire has a rogue, high-level CIA official in the game and ambitions to put a puppet in the White House. With genetically enhanced supersoldiers to do his dirty work, he’s unstoppable. Until one of those soldiers dedicates his last fight to helping Bolan take down this enemy of the state who’s convinced he’s got the power to commandeer the U.S. presidency. The Executioner won’t stop until he proves him wrong.
Who the hell are these guys?
The guy with the Fu Manchu mustache turned toward Bolan and said something. The Executioner couldn’t hear, but he was able to read the man’s lips: We’re Americans. Here to assist.
The mansion shook with a series of explosions, and its interior erupted in yellow flames. The big guy with the mustache got up and raced toward the burning building, the muzzle of his weapon spitting flame.
Bolan’s senses were returning. He glanced around and saw that Cepeda had been placed next to him. The soldier reached over and placed his palm on top of the dressing to apply pressure. It was already sodden with the captain’s blood.
Sounds of an explosion ripped through the night. More flames shot out of the mansion, and Bolan saw the new group of men, their saviors, pumping rounds into the burning structure. The cavalry had arrived, and they weren’t taking prisoners.
No one was getting out of there alive.
Time for Bolan to act.
Payback
Don Pendleton
I am concerned for the security of our great nation; not so
much because of any threat from without, but because of
the insidious forces working from within.
—General Douglas MacArthur, 1880–1964
I don’t care who the enemy is. I will always defend this
nation and her people to my last breath.
—Mack Bolan
Contents
The South American jungle
Five years ago
The undergrowth rustled in the darkness about twenty yards ahead. Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, raised his fist to signal the rest of the squad to halt. The heavy foliage had made the movement almost imperceptible, but he was certain he’d seen something through his night-vision goggles. Exactly what, he wasn’t sure. An animal, perhaps? They were in the jungle, after all. Or could it have been a man? Was someone up there waiting for them? Their nighttime insertion by truck along the twisting, mountainous road and the subsequent mile-long hike had been treacherous and lengthy, but supposedly assured the element of surprise. It should have been impossible for anyone to shadow or precede them. Unless they were expected.
Bolan kept his eyes on the area ahead. There was no more movement, but it was still one more tiny crack in the ops plan that he’d been given.
The Executioner didn’t feel totally at ease with this mission. Even its tag name, Operation Cat’s Cradle, bothered him. He remembered the childhood game of looping string around your fingers. He also remembered the Kurt Vonnegut novel by the same name, with the repeating refrain, “See the cat? See the cradle?” Like characters in the book, Bolan never thought the configuration resembled a cat or a cradle.
Things hadn’t seemed quite right at the onset of this op, either. Maybe it was the degree of absolute assurance the Colombians had given them during the briefing. An overweight army colonel who looked as if he’d never missed a meal had smiled throughout the presentation, explaining first in Spanish for Captain Carlos Cepeda and his men, and then making a deferential show of adding a sentence