Lethal Payload by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

12

“Not much on the outside.” Aretos stared out the rain-spattered windshield at the corrugated iron wall with a single door. “They say the inside is a veritable pleasure dome.” The French agent’s face grew ugly as he thought of his boss. “They say the cellars below are a tomb of horrors.”

Bolan had seen many such places. Far too many. “What does Naga look like?”

“Short, fat, head like a bullet. Scars under and over his left eye, gold teeth, tattoos. If you see someone who looks like a cartoon character of an Asian gangster, it is Naga.”

Bolan had seen far too many of that type, as well. “Let’s do it.”

Aretos turned to Hubudin and unlocked his handcuffs. “Okay, you’re going to go knock on the door. We’re going to be right here across the street.” He patted the ancient Thompson between his knees. “You screw up, the three of us cut you in two. After we move in, you are allowed to run for your life, and keep running. All the way back to Suriname. Understand?”

The man glanced warily at Bolan. He had met the Executioner’s gaze for only a moment, and what he had seen there had left his insides like ice water. He gazed out unhappily at the rain and nodded.

“Good boy.” Aretos prodded him with the muzzle of the Thompson. “Now, go.”

Hubudin stepped out of the SUV and walked through the rain like a man going to his own funeral. Bolan flicked off the safety of his Thompson and kept the muzzle trained on Hubudin’s back. The gangster went up to the door and pressed the button on the intercom. He spoke into it. The rain lashed down against the windshield as they waited.

The door cracked open.

Aretos stomped the accelerator to the floor. The vehicle’s tires screamed for traction on the wet cobblestones and then bit down. The SUV tore around in a tight arc and forward for the front door. Hubudin turned and had but a split second to widen his eyes in betrayal and horror as his flesh and bone crumpled under the impact of the grille. The windshield cracked as he went flying over the hood.

Dr. Poulain shouted in alarm as the windshield cracked. The SUV kept going forward. The man who answered the door was smashed back as the frame ripped out of the doorway. Corrugated iron ripped and tore all around the SUV.

The interior of the warehouse was done up like a pasha’s palace. Opulent batik prints stretched across the cavernous interior from the ceiling to the floor. The floors were covered with expensive Persian rugs. Carvings of gold, ebony, ivory and jade were everywhere. Potted trees rose to the skylights amid fountains. Bolan had no time to admire the decor. Roland stepped on the brakes. Bolan bolted out of the SUV with his Thompson leveled.

Two Javanese men reclined on cushions smoking a hookah. Half-naked Asian women sat at their feet. The stems of the gangsters’ water pipes dangled in their hands. Too late, they reached for the AK-74 rifles by their knees.

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