182 Lethal Agent by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

BRIGHT MORNING SUNLIGHT woke Bolan. He felt stiff and achy from having slept on the floor of the stilt house. He was naked under the light covering.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he sat up and looked for the woman. She was gone. Her bed had been carefully made. He shifted his weight and started to get up. The sudden explosion of pain reminded him of why he was there.

He glanced at his shoulder and the sterile white bandage. His other hand found the butt of the Beretta under the loose covering and tucked it next to his thigh so the contact with the cool metal was constant.

His stomach growled hungrily. For the first time he realized the dulled throbbing of the fever had gone. He let his vision clear as he concentrated on the sounds coming from outside.

The village had come alive with the break of day. Voices, young and old and of both sexes, called out to one another constantly. Animals cried out for attention with the same urgency as young children. The smell of cooking food wafted in through the loosely covered windows.

The warrior forced himself to his feet. He picked up a nearby towel, shook it out, draped it over his lean hips and knotted it so it would stay in place. With his bead bowed away from the low roof, he walked to one of the windows and held the makeshift blinds open with his fingers.

The middle of the village was filled with people. A group of men to the north felled trees while others dragged the fallen trees away and added them to a burning pile. The slash-and-burn technique of agriculture was practiced by a large number of the roving tribes of Burma who lived in the tropical rain-forest sections of the country. The technique was effective, but it left the land overworked and almost barren.

The door opened abruptly and Kai entered. She carried a woven purse basket that seemed to be filled with bright fruit and long leaves. She glanced at him in surprise. "You awakened too early."

"I slept too long," Bolan replied. He glanced at his watch and saw it was almost ten o'clock. "I should have been gone before morning."

"You were in no shape for travel." The woman sat cross-legged near the cookstove and unpacked the purse basket. "You still aren't in shape for travel. You should try to sleep more."

"The men who were searching for me won't give up. Morning has only presented them another chance to find me." He rubbed his hip, felt the bruise from the penicillin shot already starting to form deep in the muscle.

She tossed him an orange and he caught it. "You mean the Russians."

"There will be time enough for that when you are able. Sit. Eat."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Being washed."

Bolan glanced at the packed duffel against the wall near where he'd been sleeping. A headache seemed to be seeping in through his eyes. He peeled the orange, setting the peel carefully to one side at her direction.

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