Death Dealers. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
STONY MAN
They’re the world’s best military warriors and cyber specialists, and they belong to a top secret black ops group that answers to the President of the United States. The Stony Man team is dedicated to striking down terrorism wherever it may be, even if it means paying the ultimate price.
DEATH MARKET
Terrorists from around the world have gathered in Hawaii to bid on stolen missiles. Whoever wins will have a weapon powerful enough to destroy an aircraft carrier with a single shot. With the clock ticking, Able Team goes undercover to stop the auction and take down the arms dealer who set up the buy. Meanwhile, Phoenix Force is on the hunt to retrieve the missiles and do whatever is necessary to eliminate the shadowy group behind the theft.
LYONS PUMPED A SINGLE ROUND INTO THE FALLEN ATTACKER’S SKULL
The man at the end of the hallway paused and turned at the sound of the finishing shot. He had one more round in his big revolver, and he raised it toward Lyons. The Ironman wasn’t risking the spread of buckshot reaching him. He pumped three rounds into the outlaw biker, catching him in the upper chest.
The gunman’s revolver blasted a storm of lead into the ceiling above him as he crashed backward, ribs broken, lungs torn apart by the fat 230-grain mushrooms of lead and copper.
Lyons swept closer, his Colt leveled at the man’s head.
In an instant, guards were running everywhere. Lyons lowered the pistol, muzzle aimed at the carpet. The uniformed men regarded him cautiously, then looked at the body on the ground.
“Try not to get any more blood on the walls,” one guard grumbled. “We’ll send up someone from maintenance to fix whatever they shot up.”
Lyons took a deep breath, then nodded.
Their first morning at the weapons auction, and someone had already tried to kill him.
Death Dealers
Don Pendleton
Contents
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
Blackness engulfed Dr. Robert Baxter’s vision as what felt like the weight of a mountain range lay upon his back. He tried to shift himself, squirming his way through the cracks that surrounded him. It was midnight-black in there, and as he tried to take a breath, he could feel the pressure of the rubble around him. Fear gripped him, but he flexed his fingers, dug his toes in and inched along.
He could feel the scrape of pebbles and dust against his bare chest. Somewhere in the explosions that had rocked him and the rest of the Naval Weapons Testing Ground, he’d lost his shirt and laboratory coat. His glasses were gone, so even if there were light, he couldn’t have seen much farther than the crook of his elbow.
He was forced to stop when he encountered a hunk of reinforced concrete that was far too big to move. Baxter wished that he had the strength to shove such things aside or to flatten himself like putty and slip between the gaps. Hell, at this point, he would have been happy just to be able to see anything
Come on, Baxter, you’re a rocket scientist. Use your goddamn brain.
The trapped man ran his fingers along the flat surface, testing and touching it. He reached up, following the face of what seemed to be a wall. Fingertips jammed into the corner and Baxter winced as he pulled his hand back across the slope, feeling his knuckles scoured and abraded by whatever was there. However he could tell that there was at least a few inches more room in that gap. There was a section of rebar exposed on the ground, so he clamped both fists around it, pulling himself out of the crevice holding him tightly.
Tugging himself out was arduous and he could feel his slacks tugged, snagged. His back and shoulders, his stomach and chest, all felt the snarled hooks, the poking and gripping talons of what must have been a million little nails gouging at his naked skin. Finally he was loose. He slumped into the rut next to the flat slab.
It must have been a column. If it were wall, he’d have felt the seams between the cinder blocks.
If something could knock down a column that thick, then whatever had struck the building must have been incredibly powerful. He started pulling himself farther along. His legs were still in the crack behind him. Baxter had turned enough that his shoulders could get to their full breadth, his back pressed against the flat, smooth concrete behind him. He had to get his feet loose, and the snarls and splinters that bedeviled his chest and back were now ripping his slacks. One shoe was already gone and the other now popped off, snagged on some outcropping.
Baxter folded his knees to his chest, feet finally freed from the sandwiching weight he’d slithered away from. He let his legs extend beneath him, enjoying the relative roominess of his new prison. Here, he was able to breathe; he could reach down and up. The space ahead seemed to tilt slightly higher, broadening, giving him more than sufficient room to begin crawling anew, but Baxter wanted to wait, to catch his breath.
However