Stealth Sweep by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton [Pendleton, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2011-05-24T07:00:00+00:00

Canton, China

DRIVING SOUTH, Mack Bolan avoided the main roads and kept strictly to the side streets. There were always cameras at tollbooths these days, and he certainly wasn’t going to use the electronic pass clipped to the visor. That would be tantamount to suicide.

Feeling the lack of sleep, he pulled into the parking lot of a shopping mall to catch a much needed nap before continuing on to the city. His mouth was starting to taste like burned gunpowder, and there was a faint smell of sour sweat in the van that he could assume came from him. The last time he’d washed was in Hong Kong, which now seemed years ago. Two hours later he stopped at a convenience mart and used some of the money recovered from the would-be killers to purchase supplies. As there was no coffee, he got an energy drink, baby wipes, bottled water and a steaming cup of sesame noodles.

One sip from the energy drink, and Bolan almost poured the rank-tasting brew out the window. But he drank it anyway, out of necessity.

The noodles were delicious and put some strength back into his body, and the baby wipes did a fairly good job of removing the smells of blood and gunpowder from his clothing and hair.

Finishing the noodles, Bolan next took apart the Glock and washed it thoroughly with the bottled water, then lubricated it with a few drops of hot oil from the engine, using the dipstick. It wasn’t homogenized gun oil, but seemed to work fine.

Afterward, Bolan got back on the street. Retracing his route to the sports arena, he meandered into Canton and finally located the Pung-Yin cement factory.

The description of abandon had been kind. The place looked as if it had been firebombed. The decorative front gate was in pieces on the cracked pavement, and the parking lot was strewn with leaves and weeds. The main building was overgrown with ivy, the walls covered with layers of graffiti. Heavy steel chains secured the front door, and rusty grates covered every window.

Pulling to the side, Bolan parked the van behind a massive delivery truck without windows or tires. Turning off the engine, he listened to the sounds of the city traffic, and the slap of the waves of the nearby river on the rocky shoreline. If this actually was the location of a safehouse, then Ziu Li-Quin and her people had to have him under observation by now. All he had to do was wait until they showed.

With the low squeal of rusty hinges, a louvered steel door on the loading dock rolled up, revealing the dark interior of the factory.

Starting the engine again, Bolan rolled the van over the trash and broken beer bottles and straight up the concrete ramp of the dock into the darkness. Dimly, he could see a dozen other vehicles, mostly tiny Chery econo cars, and a few Great Wall trucks. Before he stopped the van, the door rolled back down, cutting off the morning sunlight.

Leaving the engine running, Bolan pulled the AutoMag and slid out of the van.

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