Part 1 (1/2)

The Executioner.

Blood Circle.

By: Don Pendleton.

Revenge proves its own executioner. -John Ford, 1586-1639.

a revenge is always the delight of a mean spirit, of a weak and petty mind. -Juvenal, C. 50-c. 130.

A man bent on revenge is ruled by his emotions. If he comes at me without a clear head, I'll take him down. Count on it. -Mack Bolan.

THE MACK BOLAN LEGEND.

Nothing less than a war could have fas.h.i.+oned the destiny of the man called Mack Bolan. Bolan earned the Executioner t.i.tle in the jungle h.e.l.l of Vietnam.

But this soldier also wore another namea”Sergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compa.s.sion 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 warriora”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 alliesa”Able Team and Phoenix Forcea”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.

PROLOGUE.

Bosnia.

The killer watched the Lincoln Continental wind through the streets of Sarajevo. Through the ten-power magnification of his weapon's optical sight, he could see the shadows of his targets through the car's tinted windows. He waited patiently, as the car was well within range. He had no doubt he could hit the vehicle at 1,800 meters if it was required. However, he would wait until the vehicle was well within the jaws of the trap. The Lincoln was in a convoy with two other vehicles. A four-wheel-drive Ford Explorer led the way, and another just like it followed behind as a rear guard. Each of the escort vehicles carried four armed Marine Corps emba.s.sy guards. The Lincoln carried the target, the Marine commander and three more armed Marines, as well.

The a.s.sa.s.sin watched the convoy approacha”three vehicles, with a full squad of United States Marines. It was an intriguing target. He had heard much in his career about United States Marines, but he had never had the opportunity to actually engage them in combat. He was well pleased with the opportunity. It would also give him a chance to test his confederates' mettle against something more substantial than unarmed men and unsuspecting women and children.

The killer spoke softly into his headset. ”Do you have the targets in sight?”

His two flanking teams reported back. ”Confirmed, target in sight.”

The a.s.sa.s.sin nodded to himself as he watched the convoy approach down the street. From his fourth-floor vantage his targets wouldn't see him, even after he struck, and by then they would be too busy with the flanking teams. He smiled unpleasantly and spoke into the microphone again. ”Wait for my signal.”

”Confirmed.”

The Lincoln Continental was the main target. Once it stopped, so would its escorts. The Lincoln's tires were self-sealing and bullet resistant. Its windows and body were guaranteed by the manufacturer to stop sh.e.l.l fragments and full-metal-jacket rifle bullets of up to NATO .308 caliber at point-blank range. The killer flicked off his weapon's safety lever with his thumb.

Unfortunately the car's designer had never envisioned the vehicle facing an opponent armed with a precision .50caliber rifle.

The killer focused the cross hairs of his scope on the center of the Lincoln's hood and fired.

The Barrett .50caliber semiautomatic rifle recoiled brutally against the man's shoulder. The 750-grain full-metal-jacket projectile tore through the Lincoln's hood and into its engine at over 2,900 feet per second. The engine screamed and came apart as it absorbed more than ten thousand foot-pounds of energy. The armored car fishtailed as the driver tried to retain control and take evasive action, but the engine was already dying as the second bullet hit it.

The a.s.sa.s.sin raised his sights to the tinted winds.h.i.+eld as the car halted. His cross hairs focused on a spot half a foot above the left winds.h.i.+eld wiper. He squeezed the trigger, and the winds.h.i.+eld shattered under the blow. The driver slumped forward over the wheel as the immense bullet went through him and tore through the floorboards behind his seat.

The two other Marine vehicles screeched to a halt, and soldiers armed with M-16 rifles deployed rapidly. The killer chose one and smashed him to the ground with a .50caliber bullet through the chest. He spoke calmly into his headset.

”Now.”

Automatic rifles opened up from windows facing both sides of the street. The killer smiled again. The Marines were living up to their reputations. They had swerved their cars diagonally and were using the car doors for cover as they covered a pair of their comrades who raced fearlessly for the Lincoln. The flanking teams poured fire into the escort vehicles, with more intent to disable them than to kill their crews. Still, four of the Marines were down already.

The doors of the Lincoln burst open, and Marines poured out. They linked up with the others and surrounded a tall man in an expensively tailored gray suit. The killer's eyes flared slightly as he examined the primary target. He could shoot him now, but that wasn't the plan. First they had to divest him of his Marine escort, and if he shot again he would betray his position.

The a.s.sa.s.sin nodded his approval as the Marines raced toward the shot-out building. The building's main doors had been shattered off their hinges and offered the security of darkness and solid cover. The plan was going perfectly.

They were racing straight toward him.

More of the Marines fell to the withering automatic fire of the flanking teams. The Marine commander, three of his men and the target reached the shelter of the building, then they were out of the killer's sight.

They were directly beneath him.

The killer rose from his firing position and folded his weapon's bipod. The Barrett .50caliber rifle was more than five feet long and weighed nearly thirty pounds loaded, but he handled it with the ease of a man carrying an infantry rifle. He pressed in a fresh 10-round magazine and moved to the stairs.

Below him he could hear the Marines returning fire out of the first-floor windows and one of them yelling desperately into a radio in English. The killer rounded the bottom of the stairwell and paused for a moment as he examined the scene. The three Marines had set themselves in a three-point triangle in the main lobby to give themselves interlocking lanes of fire across the entire front of the building and the street beyond. Their commander was back near the stairwell by the reception desk. He held a map in his hand and was busily giving coordinates over his radio. The target stood beside him.

The a.s.sa.s.sin brought the heavy rifle to his shoulder and came out of the stairwell firing.

The thundering report of the .50caliber weapon in the enclosed lobby was deafening. The first two Marines died before they knew what hit them as the immense projectiles tore them apart like rag dolls. The third Marine whirled to return fire, and the killer smashed him to the ground with a round through the chest. The Marines' armored vests were ineffective against the brutal power of the gigantic Barrett rifle.

The commander had dropped his map and radio. His rifle was propped by his knee against the reception desk, but he didn't bother to try to bring it to bear. He instinctively slapped leather for the .45 Colt automatic on his belt.

The killer's eyes flared as the .45 pistol barked at him, and he felt a punch against his armored vest. The ma.s.sive .50caliber rifle roared in return. The Marine commander hurtled back against the desk, then fell forward to the floor in a shattered heap.

The target's hand darted toward the Marine commander's rifle, then froze. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he took in his a.s.sa.s.sin. The target was a tall man, at least six foot one or two, but his head tilted back as he stared up in horror at his adversary's face.

The killer unslung the Barrett and moved toward his quarry, who suddenly broke for the door. The a.s.sa.s.sin reached behind his back to a wooden handle that protruded from behind his immense right shoulder. An entrenching tool came out of its nylon sheath with a rasp. The tool's short blackened shovel blade glinted in the gloom from where its edges had been honed to razor sharpness.

The entrenching tool was slightly over twenty inches long, and its blade formed a shallow wedge point. Its edges had been sharpened all around its circ.u.mference. The tool was extremely versatile and had proved itself in combat on several continents. Blows with the flat of the blade were paralyzing in riot situations. In close battle it was used as a deadly battle-ax capable of severing limbs. It was balanced for throwing, and a well-trained man could sink the blade into a car door up to twenty feet away. It was a standard joke that in an emergency the tool could even be used to dig a hole.

As the target scrambled for the door, the killer squinted one eye as he aimed and let the shovel fly in an overhand throw. it whistled through the air end over end and buried itself in the middle of the target's back. The target screamed and fell to the floor a few feet short of the door.

The a.s.sa.s.sin strode forward and yanked the weapon out of the target's back and rolled him over with the toe of his boot. The man looked up at him in agony. The members of the flanking teams began to enter the building and nodded appreciatively at what they saw. The killer wiped the shovel blade and replaced it in its sheath and surveyed the battle ground. The Marines were all dead. They had fought well, but they had never really stood a chance. He glanced down at the target.