Armed Response by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460352212
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2014-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Penniless!” Douglas imitated Gullon’s accent as the two men exited the building. “I am penniless! Sacre bleu! Who is he trying to kid? Did you see the suit he was wearing? That would cost me six months’ salary! I bet you that he has been cooking the books. Running off with the company money. And that chick! I bet that she is in on it, as well.”

“Not our problem. I don’t look into financial theft. If it makes you feel better, you can always fire an email off to someone you know in the government. This address, where is it?” Bolan handed Douglas the yellow slip of paper. Douglas studied it, thinking before pulling a face.

“South of here. It was once a reasonably good neighborhood, now gone to seed. Nothing but the starving and the gangbangers.”

“Then let’s go. Maybe the two brothers can tell us something about Trenchard Oil. We can hire these guides ourselves. They no doubt need the money now that Saint-Verran is dead.”

The two men crossed the road, dodging the traffic that obeyed no rules. Their Hyundai sedan was still intact; nobody had paid it any interest. They headed south, threading their way between the other cars and trucks that occupied the roads. Mangy, skinny donkeys pulled carts piled high with junk that nobody wanted. The farther south they traveled, the less affable the neighborhoods became. The stares of people changed from disinterested to mildly curious to outrightly hostile at the intrusion of the white men. Houses and buildings that were once painted white were streaked with black-and-brown grime. Whole sections of paintwork and mortar had fallen away, and nobody seemed to care. Bolan stayed on alert throughout the entire journey, which was only a couple of miles but felt like a voyage to another planet. Trash lay everywhere, garbage overflowing into the streets. People waded through the mess, and malnourished children played in it. It was a sorry sight to witness.

They were forced to slow at one junction, as children were sitting in the middle of the street, listless in the scorching heat. Bolan looked around, noting the enmity from nearby adults. Everybody was staring at them. They began to move forward, lurching as if they were zombies. Douglas tooted on the horn, but the children didn’t move.

“Ambush!” Bolan said. “Lock your door quickly. Go around the kids.” The soldier reached over the back of the seat, making sure the two rear doors were still secure. Douglas cursed and banged on the horn again. Several adults, mainly men, were standing in the way, hands pressed on the hood, teeth bared, glaring at them. More people ran up and began hammering on the windows, screaming, demanding money from the two rich white men. Women pressed their emancipated children against the glass as a sign of poverty; others offered items for sale, even their sisters. Men were yelling, pulling on the door handles, trying to open them. The car was shaking from side to side. It would

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