"Дон Пендлтон. The Violent Streets ("Палач" #41) " - читать интересную книгу автораJapanese diehards had held out on isolated Pacific islands for decades after
Hiroshima, there were still outposts and pockets of resistance that had weathered or entirely escaped the Executioner's cleansing fire. And St. Paul, apparently, was one of those holdouts. Syndicate chieftains had been reduced by the long Bolan blitz to the status of feudal warlords during the Dark Ages. Stripped of the seemingly omnipotent Mafia umbrella that had sheltered them for decades in America, they were now more cautious, more isolated from one another, more interested in perpetuating their local scams than in grand delusions of national power and prestige. But that did not indicate any lessening of virulence at the local level. Hell, no. Even a dying snake was dangerous if you came within reach of its fangs. And the Mafia viper, though hacked to pieces and scattered to the four winds, was still showing grim, reflexive signs of life. At bottom, the stakes were - and always would be - basically the same for Mack Bolan. Civilized Man vs. Animal Man. The builders vs. the predators of the world. From youth, Bolan had cast his lot with the civilized, the builders. Not that he had ever had any real choice in the matter. Given his upbringing, his sense of morality and duty, there was, quite simply, no option. There had been no choice when he went to Vietnam to face Animal Man in the jungles of the delta, or when he reenlisted for a second tour of duty. And there had been, yeah, no choice at all when the deaths of his in Pittsfield, so many lifetimes ago. No choice, finally, when on the eve of victory in his Mafia wars, Bolan had been called to another front in the same war everlasting, to fight against worldwide terrorism as the reborn Colonel John Phoenix. When Pol Blancanales called, seeking Bolan's help, there had been, again, no options for the Executioner. He had come to St. Paul because he had to, and if the enemy's number and name had been changed behind the scenes, that didn't alter his duty or devotion one iota. On the contrary. Bolan would see his task through to the end, whatever that end might be, and he would strike against Animal Man with his last breath of life, if necessary. There could be - hell, would be - no turning back short of victory or death. And yeah, it looked like war everlasting all right. Mack Bolan vs. the cannibals in whatever twisted shape they might assume. The Executioner knew he couldn't have it any other way. 11 A swift conversation with Pol Blancanales netted Bolan the information that the hardmen he'd encountered earlier that morning were driving vehicles registered in the name of Twin Cities Development, Inc. And the Politician's encyclopedic mind had filled in the fact that TCD was, in reality, a dummy corporation manufactured to front for the numbers and shylock operations of |
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