"Дон Пендлтон. The Libya Connection ("Палач" #48) " - читать интересную книгу автора

rescue the woman as well. This doesn't have to be a suicide job for you."
A moment's hesitation from the merc.
Time had slipped away altogether. Hohlstrom could not be allowed to
stand in Bolan's way.
They had Eve.
Hohlstrom hesitated, finally nodded.
"Okay, Phoenix. If they've got the woman, we'll get her out safely. If
the thing breaks wrong... then we do it my way."
"You try to do it your way," corrected Bolan. "Me, I'll play it as it
comes."
They reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to Kennedy's office.
Hohlstrom came forward to Bolan's side.
"All right, guy. For now... you call it."
"Your people don't have any idea where we're headed?"
"None. That's why I've waited this long. I want to tear their whole
thing down."
"Then we'll tear it down together," said the Executioner.
The conversation had taken less than two minutes.
The men moved up the stairway to the sliding panel into what had been
Kennedy's office.
As the iciness of ascending combat-readiness flowed through him, Mack
Bolan reflected on the allies with whom this mission had brought him into
contact.
Fahima and Bushir. Lansdale. And now Hohlstrom.
And maybe Death.
Death was an ally when it kissed the other side.
On this mission, Death had been no ally at all. Thatcher had known of
approaching death and sold out to get money for his family. Fahima had lost
her father. Death was all around.
Mack Bolan had to find Eve Aguilar before she too was kissed by the
Reaper.
He would tear down the walls of Jericho's world, whatever the man was
hiding, to spare her from a bloody end.
That was Bolan's Something Big.
Jericho's Something Big was a nuisance factor he would eliminate en
route to his supergoal.
The Executioner was on a collision course with a whole bunch of shit
that stood in his way, and he would blast open a path for himself every inch
of that way.
A path of rescue from distress - a high path, blazed by sacred fires.

13

April Rose was at the main communications console in the
mission-control area of Stony Man Farm.
She ignored an urge to look at the time digits on the rectangular clock
beside her, as she had promised herself she would when she caught herself
glancing at it three times in one minute only a short while ago.
So far... nothing. No action pattern, no holding pattern, nothing since
Jack had parted from Bolan at the airstrip outside Tunis.