Point of Betrayal by Don Pendleton

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

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Grimaldi heard his opponent before he saw him. The hard guy protecting the perimeter stood less than six feet tall and was whipcord-thin. The guy held a Colt Commando by its pistol grip, canting it at a forty-five-degree angle as he trudged through the jungle, silent other than the occasional snapping of a plant stalk or twig. In surroundings as full of life as these, though, the noise didn’t sound any more out of place than the trill of exotic birds.

Ever since their arrival in Paraguay, the pilot had trailed Bolan at a distance, planting tracers on Archer’s vehicles while Bolan worked the barroom in hopes of gathering some useful intel. Grimaldi also had made a couple other modifications that he hoped to put into play—after he determined Bolan’s status.

Grimaldi raised his Beretta 92, outfitted with its custom sound suppressor, and drew down on the guard. As his finger tightened on the trigger, the man’s walkie-talkie crackled. The ace pilot froze, straining to hear the radio traffic.

Dipping his head to one side, the guy reached up, keyed his shoulder microphone.

“Go ahead,” the guard said.

“We’ve got a visitor on the grounds. Break.”

“Acknowledge. Go ahead.”

“Not sure if he’s traveling alone. Switching to two-minute radio checks. Also, expect Protocol Orange.”

“You’re clear.”

Grimaldi checked his wrist chronometer, pegged the time of the last check-in. As he did, the guy switched his rifle to a two-handed grip and started forward. Sighting down the Beretta’s barrel, Grimaldi squeezed the trigger. The weapon sighed, spit a 9 mm round that punched into the back of the man’s skull. The guard pitched forward, hit the ground in a boneless heap. Grimaldi rose to his feet but stayed low. A moment later the pilot knelt next to the corpse, stripped it of radio gear. He added the gear to his own equipment.

With fast, precise movements, Grimaldi dragged the corpse from the trail, hid it behind the trunk of a fallen tree.

Holstering his Beretta, the Stony Man pilot fisted an Ingram submachine gun. Decked out in camou fatigues, his face stripped green and brown with recently applied combat cosmetics, Grimaldi tried to keep his movements as silent as possible. A second Ingram SMG hung from a strap, bouncing against his hip with every footfall. A second Beretta rode in his shoulder holster.

In his backpack, he carried a pair of holstered Israeli-made Desert Eagle handguns that he planned to pass to Bolan as soon as he found the guy.

Looking at his chronometer, Grimaldi saw that a minute had passed since the guard’s last check-in. The way he figured it, if these guys were on high alert, a failure to reach someone probably would set off the alarm bells sooner than Grimaldi wanted. Stepping off the trail, he moved out of plain sight and headed toward Stone’s house.

His eyes and weapon moving as a single unit, he swept the area ahead of him, but he saw no threats. Despite his load of weapons and equipment, Grimaldi moved fast, covering ground with long, reaching steps.

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