Jungle Firestorm by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Jinnah International Airport, Karachi

BHARAT DESHPANDE HAD the Gippsland GA8 Airvan fueled and ready when they reached the airport. His associate from Customs made another pass, doubling his daily bribe quota, and left them with delighted handshakes all around. Once they were airborne, Bolan’s pilot spilled the details he’d arranged since answering the Executioner’s last phone call.

They were headed for Shyamji Krishna Verma Airport at Bhuj, in the Kutch District of Gujarat, the farthest-western state adjoining Pakistan. The town, more than seven hundred years old, was famous for its native handicrafts, its several wildlife sanctuaries and as a filming location for Bollywood movies. With 290,000 year-round residents, two more just passing through should not excite much comment—even less, once they had greased more customs agents at the airport.

For their travel overland, Deshpande had called ahead and arranged for a ride. Upon arrival, they should find a “slightly used” Mahindra Scorpio waiting to take them north for their rendezvous with Geelani’s drug convoy. Bolan, personally, didn’t care how old the SUV was, as long as it got them to their contact point and back again. Bharat Deshpande, once again, would wait a reasonable time to take them back to Mumbai’s Juhu Aerodrome.

Back to the main front in their war against G-troop.

Bolan could tell that Sharma was uneasy, following his final conversation with his captain in Mumbai. There seemed to be a level of respect between them, possibly a friendship spanning ranks, and Sharma doubtless wondered if the other man had laid a trap for them—or if, in fact, he still remained alive. The price tag of their war was rising hourly, and it was Bolan’s job to make sure that the enemy finally came out in the red.

Red ink. Red blood.

Red faces when Geelani had to tell his troops—and those who bankrolled him from Pakistan—why he couldn’t eliminate two men inside his territory. Bolan knew his adversary had to be feeling heat from every side by now, with no relief in sight. Losing the convoy just might tip him over—or, at least, prepare his dwindling private army for a knockout blow.

But first, they had to find the convoy, knock it out, and make their way back to Mumbai. If Sharma’s captain was a ringer, they might find themselves out in the mangroves, facing enemies more dangerous than cobras and man-eating tigers. Soldiers, maybe—or the CBI itself, a law enforcement agency that put its members on the no-hit list, as far as Bolan was concerned.

Would cops roll out to guard a drug shipment? Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time.

On the other hand, had Sharma’s captain dreamed up the whole thing as bait to nail his renegade sergeant and spare himself from heat at headquarters?

Another possibility.

Bolan was ready for whatever happened next, whether it led to victory or prison—and, thereby, inevitably to his death. His war had started with the long view fixed in mind, a realization that no one got out of life alive. Escape from his selected destiny had never been an option.

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