Desperate Cargo by Don Pendleton; Don Pendleton's

Author:Don Pendleton; Don Pendleton's
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2009-12-31T15:00:00+00:00

There was one man lingering near the barn door. He was leaning against the frame as he spoke into a cell phone, his head nodding as he talked. He wore a long dark coat and a baseball cap.

Bolan edged along the wall of the barn, his eyes fixed on the man. The downpour muffled any sound he might have made and Bolan was standing directly behind the man by the time he completed his call and pushed his phone into a pocket. The webbing sling flipped over the man’s head and Bolan twisted it, pulling it tight against flesh. He pulled the man back and down, jamming a knee into the spine as the squirming, panicked man struggled to reach for his gun. The powerful muscles in Bolan’s arms were taut under the pressure he was applying. The frantic struggles weakened; the boot heels drumming against the concrete slowed, jerked into stillness. Bolan held his position for a few more seconds, then loosened his grip and drew the webbing strap over the man’s head, dislodging the cap. He lowered the man to the wet concrete, caught hold of his collar and slid him away from the access door to the base of the barn wall.

With his MP-5 set for triple bursts Bolan edged around the access door, sparing a few seconds to assimilate the image.

The steel construction he had partially glimpsed through the broken barn slats was a twenty-foot-square lockbox, the front wall facing him, constructed of close-spaced bars with an inset door. Inside the box Bolan saw the group of young women from the container, some standing in listless poses, others sitting on the low cots that were bunched together at the far end of the box. Bolan’s fingers tightened around the MP-5 as the image of the captive females registered. Herded into the steel box like so much cattle. Trapped, without hope, awaiting the next stage of their forced captivity.

On the far side of the barn were stored metal canisters and crates, some standing five high. There were also racks of wooden pallets and filled sacks.

In front of the stored goods were the men who currently dominated the frightening world the women had been forced into. The traffickers. Bolan had nothing but contempt for them as they talked and laughed, clustered around one of a number of desks holding a computer, the large monitor displaying pornographic images. Bolan counted five of them. They were intent on studying the screen images, oblivious to the Executioner’s presence until one of them straightened to light a cigarette. He moved back from the main group, touching his lighter flame to the cigarette, casually glancing across the barn.

He saw Bolan.

His reaction was fast but not enough to allow himself and his partners clear space. The man shouted a warning, snatching at the handgun tucked behind his belt. He was still yelling when Bolan hit him with a 3-round burst that thudded into his chest, shoving him back against the edge of the desk.

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