Devil's Bargain. Don Pendleton

Had they snatched what could pass as her twin on purpose, or was it just a fluke?

      “I know who you are, cupcake,” Cramnon said. “Make it easy on yourself. Hey, I promise, Babs, I won’t let my men savage you. I’m a gentleman when it comes to the fairer sex.”

      She was torn between watching her six, Cramnon and his goons, when she heard the woman scream. A short burst of subgun fire, and Price saw the victim flung to the ground from the burst up her back.

      Oh, God, Price thought, squeezing her eyes shut for a dangerous second, sickened at the sight of cold-blooded murder, as she slumped back against her SUV cover. The sound of Cramnon’s laughter echoed through the garage, as she heard the monster warn her he still had a few more victims on tap.

      THE EXECUTIONER KNEW he couldn’t spare a second indulging anger or grief over the carnage he found inside the terminal. He discovered two of Brognola’s people were down by the lockers, blood pooling around their skulls. The killer opted for head shots, bypassing body armor.

      “Clear the building! I want a perimeter, no less than three blocks out!” Bolan shouted at the Justice agent kneeling beside the bodies of fallen comrades. “You copy?”

      The agent looked at Bolan, eyes burning with rage, nodded past him. “I heard you. The last son of a bitch went in the men’s room!”

      “Get out of here!” Bolan said, then wheeled, got his bearings as he marched for the men’s room. A quick sweep of the terminal, and he figured ten, fifteen civilians cut down. Where they weren’t surging out the nearest door, a stampede of flailing bodies, the soldier found walking wounded limping for exits, the air pierced by screams and shouts of terror and panic. The last one? he thought, then spied the heap near the westbound gates, the New York Dragons cap beside his tattered carcass with doomsday bags. Two helmeted, armored FBI agents toed the body, secured the ordnance. That left Grand Rapids Rampage, he knew.