Rebel Force by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton [Pendleton, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781460374214
Google: 5TxXAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00HAZ78BM
Barnesnoble: B00HAZ78BM
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

13

The sound of the slamming door reverberated through the house. Reaching up to his knit cap, Bolan pulled it down over his face so the balaclava obscured his features. Kubrick wasn’t the kind to give his security codes out to his cleaning woman, Bolan thought. The traitor had arrived.

Bolan swung the knapsack onto his shoulders and shrugged it into position. He crossed the room toward the door, moving fast. His mind was racing as he ticked off options.

He reached out and grabbed the handle of the office door. He twisted it slowly and then, when it unlatched, lifted up slightly as he swung it open, preventing the hinges from squeaking.

The door swung open easily. Bolan straightened, shifting his body position. When it was about halfway open, the door was suddenly kicked toward him.

Bolan was knocked back by the force of the blow. He staggered, arms windmilling to catch his balance. Kubrick burst through the entryway hard on the heels of the swinging door. He charged straight into Bolan, pressing his attack. The man was big and fast for his size. He used a shuffling sidestep while throwing haymakers and pressing his advantage.

Bolan momentarily retreated, hands up defensively. Kubrick’s big fists hammered through his guard, driving against his lowered face. Bolan rocked from the impact of the big punches, reeling under their force, staggering backward.

He came up against the desk and was bent backward under Kubrick’s onslaught. The change of position left him vulnerable but also changed his elevation, forcing Kubrick to reorient himself to continue his attack.

Kubrick turned to face Bolan fully and thrust himself up and forward, leading with a big, right-handed, hammer blow.

The expression on Kubrick’s face was oddly detached, like a man performing some slightly odious, but necessary task. It was red from his exertion but betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Shoved up this close to the man’s bulk and mammoth power, Bolan realized Kubrick was heavily muscled under a misleading layer of cosmopolitan fat.

Kubrick leaned in over the awkwardly positioned Bolan and brought his right hand down toward the Executioner’s exposed face. Bolan made no attempt to block the powerful blow. Instead, as the arm came down Bolan turned his head to the side and lifted his left shoulder toward the strike while wrapping his arms around the descending fist in a hugging maneuver.

Bolan winced as the strike hammered into his shoulder and neck hard enough to rattle his teeth before he snapped his trap closed. Bolan’s right hand captured Kubrick’s arm at the wrist while his left arm snapped up and bent back to grab the same wrist, pressing his elbow and forearm in a parallel position with Kubrick’s own grasping arm.

Joint lock in place, Bolan grasped as hard as he could and twisted like a snake around Kubrick’s grip. His legs came up and wrapped themselves around Kubrick’s upper arm, sinking in a brutally tight lock at the bigger man’s wrist and elbow. One foot pushed hard into Kubrick’s face while the second foot found position under the bigger man’s extended arm.

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