Blood Play. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“Incoming!” Kissinger shouted.
Grimaldi eased off the accelerator, falling back a few yards. Behind him Bolan powered down his window and leaned out, rattling off a diversionary burst. The ploy worked. The Stony Man warriors heard the faint throttle of the AK-47, but the rounds flew wide of their mark.
Kissinger had ducked below the dash, but righted himself, clutching his pistol, his eyes fixed on the rear of the panel truck in front of them.
“Looks like the guy’s reloading,” Grimaldi warned, putting the pedal to the metal. “Hang on. I’m going to ram them!” The Stony Man pilot was executing a last-ditch play. If they didn’t stop the truck, Franklin Colt was as good as dead.
Blood Play
Don Pendleton
Mack Bolan®
When a friend is in trouble, don’t annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up something appropriate and do it.
—Edgar Watson Howe
1853–1937
What’s appropriate is direct action against perpetrators who commit atrocities for their own profit. Law-abiding people have no chance against these predators. That’s where I come in.
—Mack Bolan
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Taos, New Mexico
Walter Upshaw stared noncommitally at the elaborate architectural drawings laid out on the table of his modest two-bedroom home. It was situated atop Pueblo Peak, which afforded a panoramic view of the one-hundred-thousand-acre tribal reservation he helped administer as seven-time president of the Taos Pueblo Governing Council. One set of drawings illustrated a proposed sixty-thousand-square-foot casino with an attached four-story, four-hundred-room hotel. Another rendering transposed the designated site for the gaming facility onto a topographical map that included several circled areas set deep in the Taos Mountains. There were no markings to explain the intended use of the latter areas, but Upshaw knew they indicated long-abandoned uranium mines. Resting next to the topo map was a manila file filled with documentation as to various means by which to carry on an environmental cleanup of the sites.
“You’ve certainly put a lot of effort into this presentation,” Upshaw finally told the two men who’d made the arduous four-mile drive up a winding mountain road to confer with the tribal leader. He’d already met Freddy McHale, a bald, barrel-chested man of roughly the same age, several times during the past few months. McHale’s colleague, a younger, rusty-haired man who’d been introduced as Pete Trammell, was noticeably shorter than his companion and had said only a few words since Upshaw had invited them into his house. McHale, on behalf of Global Holdings Corporation, ran the gambling operations at the Roaming Bison Casino, a co-venture with the Rosqui Tribal Council located an hour’s drive south of Taos on the outskirts of Santa Fe. McHale had told Upshaw that Trammell was GHC’s Ancillary Project Manager. The widowed tribal leader hadn’t bothered to ask for a translation as to what such a job might entail.
McHale smiled amicably. “I know we’ve already hashed out most of this a few times and gone over some crude drawings,” he said, his voice tinged with what seemed to Upshaw more of an Eastern European accent than the Irish brogue his name would suggest. “But I thought maybe if you had a clearer picture of what we had in mind you’d see this as a win-win deal. We’re not only offering you a way to increase your pueblo’s per capita income by at least a hundred percent, we’re also committed to cleaning up uranium sites that, if they existed outside the reservation, would likely be declared EPA supersites due to the risk of toxic exposure.”
“I can’t help thinking there has to be some kind of ulterior motive on your part,” Upshaw replied. “All this altruism about cleaning up the uranium sites… I’m sorry, but something about it doesn’t ring true.”
“It’s not just altruism,” McHale explained. “As you know, we don’t just run the casino at Rosqui, we’re also in charge of the nuclear waste site there. We have a sound track record on that front, and it’d be easy enough for us to secure funding to add facilities for dealing with your uranium.”
“It’s business,” Trammell piped in.
“And a successful one,” McHale went on. “If you don’t believe us, ask any of your colleagues at Rosqui. They get a cut of both ventures, just as you would here.”
“You’ve presented this same argument every time we’ve met,” Upshaw said, “and when I counter with my position, I can almost see the words going in one ear and out the other.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” McHale’s voice had begun to lose its tone of cordiality. The shift was not lost on Upshaw, but he pretended not to notice.
“Rosqui Pueblo is a bit fonder of Red Capitalism than we are here in Taos,” the tribal president went on. “Here, we’re already a bit uncomfortable with what little gambling we offer at our small casino. We have, if you’ll pardon the pun, certain reservations about expanding things any further. As for the uranium mines, they’re located far from any inhabited areas, and we’ve already conducted tests to confirm that the tailings are in no danger of leaching into the watershed. The way I see it, it’s a case of ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’”
“Are you sure you speak for the majority of your people?” McHale asked. “Not to mention your fellow members of the tribal council?”
Upshaw