241 Evil Reborn by Don Pendleton

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

11

Having retrieved his rental vehicle, Bolan pulled up at the front gate to Styx Security and Trucking.

The Executioner had made good time since putting behind the carnage in Central Park. Earlier he had walked right out of the park, alert for anyone, lawmen or enemy, who might blindside him. With all the confusion, Bolan simply melted into crowd. Sirens had wailed up and down Fifth Avenue and beyond. Shrinking into the moving throngs on the sidewalk, he had witnessed a swarm of uniformed policemen surging for the entrance at Central Park South.

Now the soldier was looking for a lead to pick up the trail on Calhoun. He would settle up with Sternmann, find the cache of weapons—if it was on the grounds of the warehouse—and destroy it. As far as Bolan was concerned, Sternmann was as dirty as Calhoun. Behind the facade of legitimate business, the man was moving guns, destined to fall into the hands of criminals. And it appeared Sternmann also hired out former military men as professional killers.

Once grim business was concluded here, Bolan would make his way back to the address near Times Square and find out just what Rawlins's colleagues had left behind, if anything. And if nothing else, he would be putting himself in the general vicinity of whatever Calhoun had designed for Manhattan. It was a long shot to track down any terrorists Calhoun would unleash, but Bolan intended to position himself on the front line somehow.

All he could really do was wait for the terrorists to strike.

The large sign over the front gate announced Bolan had arrived at the right place; Brognola's directions to the warehouse tucked at the edge of an industrial park in Hoboken proved accurate.

A guard sprang out of the small booth, his expression surly. Beneath the guy's jacket, Bolan spotted the bulge

of a weapon. Suspicious, the man scowled at Bolan, but

the soldier was out of the vehicle, Beretta unleathered and thrust in the man's face. If Bolan's hunch was right,

Sternmann would have a few goons on hand, packing hardware and ready to defend the merchandise on the grounds.

Bolan didn't see any cameras on the chain-link fence or on the booth. If his luck held, he could surprise the owner.

"What is this?" the guard asked.

"Where's Sternmann?"

"Who the hell are you?"

Bolan shoved the man back into the booth. The warehouse appeared every bit as large as the one he had destroyed in the Bronx. Across the lot he counted at least ten 18-wheelers parked in respective loading bays. A few workers bustled about the docks, and a forklift moved pallets heaped with crates.

"I'm getting tired of you answering questions with a question," the soldier growled. "Last chance. Where can I find your boss?"

"Far north end, down the alley. Door is marked office."

"Thanks," Bolan said, then knocked the guard unconscious with a slashing right. He took the guard's .45 Colt.

Bolan slid behind the wheel and rolled onto the grounds. Anyone brandishing a weapon was fair game. It was possible some people who worked for Sternmann were civilians, perhaps unaware of what their boss 'shipped out.

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