Terror Intent by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton [Pendleton, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure, Men's Adventure
ISBN: 9780373642199
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 1997-12-15T10:31:42+00:00

Bolan tried to make out the shapes moving beyond the little hole.

“What can you tell me about my husband? Please tell me he is not dead!” Ara was pleading to Fati.

“Abdul is not dead,” he replied, “but he was the only survivor of the attack—and he is hurt badly.” “Can you take me to him? I must be with him.” “I don’t know where he is. When I spoke with Kazem, he said Abdul was on his own and was suffering from loss of blood. He couldn’t risk going to a hospital. He was therefore going to get himself either to Kazem or to us.” “Is my brother nearby?” There was a pause, and Bolan wondered if she was pushing her luck.

“No. And it would be faster for Abdul to come here.

But we have no access to medical help for him, while Kazem might.” Ara said nothing for a moment. “Please,” she begged. “When can I go to my brother?” “He did not say. You will stay with us as a guest of my house until he sends for you, under the guardianship of my wife and her sister.” Again she said nothing, as if awash in sorrow and doubt for her hurt husband. “I see. My brother will be most thankful for your taking me in. I am sure I will be safe in your house, Fati. And the plans of the Holy Voice are going to continue?” “It is left to us to carry on the work of the others.” “Good.” “I will give you any news from Kazem or Abdul when I get it.” She was being firmly dismissed. Bolan heard her leaving the room.

Then he heard a squeak from below and the door on the first floor opened. The occupants of the house were arriving home and, if they were members of the Holy Voice along with their neighbors, they might very well be armed. At this stage Bolan didn’t wish to risk detection, let alone a full-scale gun battle. He had to get out in a hurry.

But there was a job to do first. He pulled the tiny plastic bug from his pack. The unit was a plastic disk as big as a nickel, with a tiny metal screen on one side over the microphone.

He depressed the tiny red button on the underside and positioned the device carefully in the hole he’d made in the wall. A large pinch of putty, from a package the agency had also supplied, packed the bug in place. Bolan smoothed out the putty, listening to a torrent of conversation from the new arrivals below—there had to be five or six people talking.

He heard the conversation of two women drawing closer. They were discussing something in an animated fashion, the Arabic flying back and forth between them so fast Bolan didn’t think he would be able to get the thread of the conversation had they been speaking Midwest American English. He scooped up a small pile of the mortar crumbs he’d dug from between the bricks and pressed them into the putty.

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