257 Precision Play by Don Pendleton

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

6

The stillness that had covered the Hell's Canyon night had been punctured first by the sounds of Bolan's laser-flash striking the old man on the forearm and Harsey's collapsible baton being drawn across the same man's thigh. But now that quiet was shattered as rounds of gunfire exploded from the speedboat a split second after the Executioner had seen it round the curve.

Bolan dived to the ground, returning fire with the Beretta in his left hand. His right whirled the Marlin by the lever, twirling the carbine in the air to chamber a round. He brought the weapon into firing position, wondering as he did how he and Harsey could have- failed to hear the oncoming boat. Just as quickly, he answered his own question.

The pilot would have seen the Norma anchored while his boat was still far upriver. He would have killed the jets and let the craft drift quietly along with the current.

Bolan pulled the Marlin's trigger, then twirled the carbine once more as the Beretta spit 9 mm semijacketed lead toward the boat. He heard the jets fire to life again, and the boat suddenly shot forward in the water. Gunfire from the men at the rails continued to pelt the ground around him.

To his side, the Executioner heard Harsey's .40 caliber Browning Hi-Power explode into action with a fast burst of rounds. He turned long enough to glance at the aluminum folding chair. Jesse Davis still sat where he had been most of the evening, his shocked gaping mouth the only real change.

"Get down, you old fool!" Harsey shouted above the gunfire. The Executioner turned his attention back to the boat as it continued to race forward. Levering the Marlin's action yet again, he fired another big .44 Magnum round at the craft, wondering what it had hit, if anything, in the darkness. He levered again and pulled the trigger, repeating the process until the Marlin clicked on an empty chamber.

The oncoming boat hadn't even slowed.

Bolan dropped the lever-action to the ground and drew the Desert Eagle. He bolted to his feet as he jammed the Beretta into his belt. With his free hand, he reached down and grasped Jesse Davis under the nearest arm. "Let's go!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

The man sat rigid, as if made of ice.

"Grab him!" the Executioner ordered Harsey.

The general's son yanked the old man by the other arm and together they dragged the lifeless form out of the chair. Davis seemed to find his feet and began to shuffle along as Bolan and Harsey led him away from the river and up the hill toward cover. Both men returned fire over their shoulders with their free hands, but in the confusion their rounds had little, if any, effect on the boat or the men occupying it.

Rifle rounds continued to pelt the ground around them as Bolan and Harsey half dragged Jesse Davis up the hill. Then, suddenly, the old mountain man jerked, almost folding in half backward.

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