291 Blood Trade by Don Pendleton

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

MACK BOLAN'S ENTOURAGE learned Tranh's full name, Choi Tranh, and that she had been sold by her parents to the soldiers of the San United Army when she was only nine years old.

Now she slept, cradled in the reassuring, gentle arms of Michelle Lam. The American crusader herself was emotionally worn-out from taking a look at the underbelly of her ancestral homeland, seeing and hearing things, learning about atrocities that made her blood run cold.

Tranh slept fitfully, but comforted by the warmth of a compassionate human being. She'd been through that hell for the past seven years. For her first three years, after the SUA had purchased her from her starving family, she'd been put to slave labor in the poppy fields of the Chang Mai province, where the sun burned her skin dark, and now, her shoulders were freckled and scarred with pockmarks from removed melanoma.

But it was Tranh's description of the past four years as a toy for the wealthy elite and morally depraved that made the Executioner's belly burn.

Bolan checked his watch. He'd only gotten three hours of sleep, but he knew that to close his eyes now, his attempts at rest would only supply him with more dreams that even his years of facing atrocities couldn't hold from his conscious memory.

This mission had crept under Bolan's skin, and was turned into a fractured nightmare in his subconscious mind.

Choi Tranh didn't deserve this, nor did the thirty other youths whom he'd freed from the Sathorn Current.

Nor did an entire nation of young people, whose only crime was being too undefended, too beautiful, considered not valuable enough to be protected from sexual predators. A good man back in Washington, D.C. had asked the Executioner for his aid, and was risking death, battling political enemies in the employ of the wealthy flesh peddlers, and Bolan was here to give as good as he always gave.

Jack Grimaldi limped into the room. "Couldn't sleep?"

Bolan looked up at his friend. "You shouldn't be walking on that."

Grimaldi simply shrugged. "It only hurts when I tap-dance

Bolan simply didn't have the energy to chuckle, and the Stony Man pilot plopped into a seat next to the soldier's chair. "How's the tour going?"

"Michelle hates us for having mined her dreams of a beautiful Thailand," Grimaldi stated. "But I keep reminding her that there is beauty still in this land."

"We're just here specifically to wallow in its ugliness," Bolan agreed.

Grimaldi nodded. "While I've been out, I've been catching some hairy eyeballs. They know what we look like."

"That could be a problem."

"Not really. I'm tempting bait, Sarge."

"Yeah, but a lot of the time, bait gets swallowed."

Grimaldi shrugged. "Who lives forever, big guy? Here. I came in with this."

Bolan accepted a fax sheet. He saw a grainy, transferred video image, himself in blackface, and an all-points bulletin. "Two hundred thousand baht?"

"The rough equivalent of forty-thousand U.S. dollars. Depends on the exchange rate."

Bolan put down the sheet.

"Chances are, you're higher priced on the street."

"So everyone on both sides of the law with anything more than a peashooter is going to be gunning for me," Bolan stated.

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