236 Vengeance Rising by Don Pendleton

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

12

The Executioner opened his eyes. Jack Grimaldi crouched at his feet and had just let go of the toe of Bolan's boot. He had shaken it, gently, once. Grimaldi had learned long ago that it wasn't wise to wake up a Special Forces operative in the field by grabbing him by the shoulder. If you woke him suddenly, he often came awake with a knife or pistol suddenly in his hand. Grimaldi grinned and waved the cup of coffee in his other hand. "Good morning, Mr. Striker, your coffee is ready."

Bolan rolled to his feet and accepted the steaming mug. "Thanks. How's--?" Bolan recoiled as he took a sip. He'd had instant coffee brewed in a canteen that had tasted better. "Jack, this is really bad."

Grimaldi pointed to the counter. There was a pair of slender cartons emblazoned with some sort of bizarre, bug-eyed infant superhero surrounded by Japanese writing. The single word Coffee was written in English and surrounded by exclamation points. Bolan glanced down at the dull brown liquid in his mug, then back at the kitchen. "Don't tell me you cooked this up in the microwave."

Grimaldi shrugged dismissingly. "It grows on you."

Bolan noticed the pilot wasn't drinking any of it himself. He checked his watch. He had been asleep for seven hours. "What's our status?"

"The CIA branch office here in Tokyo is arranging a full weapons resupply for us. We should be able to pick it up from a secure drop point within the hour. They're also maintaining twenty-four-hour surveillance on Agent Mitsuko for us. Akira's locked himself in the back room with those computer disks you liberated. I think he's in communication with the Farm at the moment."

Bolan checked himself as he almost took another sip from his mug. "How's Burdick doing?"

"He's definitely got a pair of broken ribs on his left side, and that bike ride we took through the tunnel didn't do the soft tissues in his side any good. After you taped him up, I gave him some anti-inflammatories and a beer for the pain. He was asleep in the other room last time I looked in on him." Grimaldi's face turned thoughtful. "You know, he's actually done pretty well on this one, I think."

Bolan set the mug of prefabricated coffee substitute on the counter and stepped away from it. "He's still a criminal."

The pilot nodded. "Well, now, that's true. But, you know, I myself used to be a scumbag flying for the Mafia. That is, until I was reformed by the love of Mack Bolan."

"You're a sick man, Jack. You need help."

Bolan went to the back room of the safehouse Akira Tokaido had set up on his arrival in Tokyo. The safehouse itself was a converted loft in one of the industrial areas of Tokyo near the ocean. There was very little residential housing around, and at night the area was almost completely abandoned. No other building had a direct view of the back entrance, and Bolan and his team could enter and leave without being observed.

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