Dragon Key. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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DRAGON’S LAIR
When an American operative is jailed, Mack Bolan must finish the agent’s mission to smuggle a Chinese activist and his family out of the country. But getting the dissident away alive becomes a logistical nightmare for Bolan and the two inexperienced CIA agents assisting him. Not only are the Chinese authorities on their tail, but the activist insists on retrieving a stolen flash drive in Shanghai.
The memory key contains sensitive information belonging to a renegade general. As determined to recover the data as the dissident is, the general has hired a legendary assassin famous for eliminating anyone who gets in his way. In a battle where only one champion can survive, Bolan may have met his match. But the Executioner is used to fighting against overwhelming odds and has something much more important on his side—justice.
“Do you have any weapons?”
Huang pulled back his jacket, exposing a Walther PPK .380.
“I’ve got one, too.” Kelly began to dig through her handbag.
Bolan glanced at his watch. It was 16:25. They had a few more hours until Grimaldi’s flight was scheduled to land. “Let’s go check out the prison. I want to see what we’re dealing with.”
Huang and Kelly exchanged a look. Bolan sensed they were holding something back. He stared at Huang. “What else do you want to tell me?”
Huang glanced at the woman again, licked his lips, then said, “When Wayne and I were talking to Han, he refused to go with us. He insisted he has to stay in China until he gets some issues resolved. He just wants to make sure his family is safe.”
“He’s not worried about his impending arrest?”
Huang shrugged. “He said he had some kind of...insurance policy.”
Dragon Key
Don Pendleton
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
—Benjamin Franklin,
Poor Richard’s Almanack
Nothing is more dangerous than someone whose ugly secrets are about to be revealed. But once the truth comes out, it’s time for justice.
—Mack Bolan
THE
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.
Contents
Hong Kong, warehouse district
It was a matter of honor, the Praying Mantis thought as he moved in the semidarkness of the alley. That was how Mr. Chen, his master, had described this mission to him. Honor and tradition... Two things that were very important to the Triad, and thus to the Mantis, as well.
Duty is preceded by honor, he thought.
He dragged his left foot and leaned heavily on a long walking stick. Just another Hong Kong beggar out for a night’s work, going through garbage cans and asking for handouts. The long overcoat felt cumbersome, but it was a necessary disguise. He mimicked a limp as he drew nearer to the rear entrance of the warehouse, closer to the two guards who stood there in their casual contempt. They were young Chinese, cocky and full of themselves. Chong should have chosen better. They both wore finely tailored navy suits with black silk ties and sunglasses, even though it was close to midnight and the sun would not shine again for hours. For these two it was all about the image. Chinese gangsters trying to emulate what they saw in some John Woo movie. All image and no substance. The Mantis flexed his abdominal muscles in anticipation, but he doubted these two would present