State Of War. Don Pendleton

      “Knew about it, but I appreciate the guided tour, and the sitrep from a veteran on the ground.” Bolan checked his watch. “They should be coming soon.”

      “And that’s another thing. What do you think is going to happen when the Zetas, Gulf and MS-13 all roll up on this little slice of heaven at the same time?”

      “Tension, apprehension and dissension?” Bolan suggested.

      Kaino was so upset he forgot he was holding revolvers in both hands as he waved his arms up and down in outrage. “It’ll be fucking World War III! And you started it!”

      “It’ll be Armageddon, but a focused Armageddon.”

      “Oh, and how are you going to focus three rival gangs?”

      “We’re going to make them focus on us.”

      Kaino simply stared. Bolan’s phone rang. “Hold on, I need to take this.” He checked the caller icon and answered. “What’ve we got, Bear?”

      Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman’s voice came across the line from the Computer Room at Stony Man Farm in Virginia. “We have multiple vehicles converging on the filling station from all directions.”

      “Give me visual.”

      A mile up in space a National Security Agency satellite peered down at Kaino’s corner of Florida and sent its feed to Bolan’s phone. The soldier saw the grid of streets that framed the neighborhood in greens and grays. Well over a dozen automobiles were converging on the station. He held out the phone so Kaino could see. “They’re coming.”

      Kaino blinked. “You have a helicopter watching us?”

      “Satellite.”

      “You have a satellite.”

      Bolan grinned. “Cool, isn’t it?”

      * * *

      T HE E XECUTIONER unzipped his bag and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of assault rifles on steroids.

      “Jesus!”

      “AA-12 semiautomatic shotgun.” Bolan slapped in a massive drum magazine and racked the action. “I know, you’ve never fired one before. So a buddy of mine installed a laser sight.” He squeezed the grip and a red dot appeared on the closest stall.

      “So we’re just going to hose down Zetas, Gulfs and the MS-13 boys in a premeditated and, may I say, arranged act of mass murder?”

      “Your weapon holds twenty-four rounds. That drum is loaded with tear gas.” Bolan pulled out a gas mask with night-vision goggles and an armored vest in the master sergeant’s size. He pulled out a second drum. “This one is loaded with rubber buckshot. Keep your shots low.”

      Kaino stared at the weapon as if Bolan had handed him a two-headed baby.

      “Come on,” Bolan cajoled. “You used to be Neta, tell me you’re not down with laying a little less-than-lethal hurt on these vato interlopers.”

      A slow smile spread across Kaino’s face. “You know, this is almost like a wet dream, but I like my job. Plus, can I tell you something, just between you and me?”

      “Shoot.”

      “I don’t like lifting weights or having sex with men, and that’s all there is to do in prison.”

      “Sorry, almost forgot,” Bolan pulled a business card from his shirt pocket. “Here.”

      Kaino’s face went slack. Bolan geared up. The cop slowly shook his head. “That is the Seal of the President of the United States.”

      Bolan slapped the Velcro tabs on his armor shut. “Yeah.”

      “So you like, carry around presidential pardons in your pocket?”

      “No, but I will take full responsibility for anything that happens here tonight, you were never here, and if for any reason someone disputes that, that is the phone number they can call and complain to.”

      “Dude, who are you?”

      “Gear up or scoot. Clock is ticking.”

      Kaino geared up. “Well, seeing as how you are a guest of the Miami-Dade Police Department I would be derelict in my duty if I abandoned you to your folly.”

      “I like your attitude, Kaino. You’ve used night vision before?”

      “Nothing as cool as this, and never fitted to a gas mask.”

      Bolan adjusted the mask to Kaino’s face and locked the night-vision in place. The soldier assembled his own unit. Kurtzman’s voice spoke on speaker. “Hostiles arriving on site.”

      “Copy that, Bear.” Bolan pulled his mask down over his face. “On my mark.”

      “Copy that, Striker. On your mark.”

      Bolan heard vehicles screeching up to the gas station. Angry voices called back and forth in Spanish as more gangsters arrived by the second. Bolan walked out and strode around the station. Low-riders, SUVs, vans and pickups filled the parking lot. Gangsters shouted, swore and pointed angry fingers. The name El Hombre flew back and forth. Kaino was right, these weren’t upper echelon cartel men, they were gangbangers, and they were strangely reluctant to start shooting here at the one place they all respected.

      “Kill the lights,” Bolan ordered.

      “Denying your area power grid access...now.”

      Gangsters of various stripes shouted in alarm as the street went dark. Bolan clapped the master sergeant on the shoulder. “Lay down the law, Kaino.”

      The cop began to fire.

      The gas rounds thudded from the barrel of the big 12-gauge in slow, methodical fire. They didn’t have a huge payload but Kaino had a lot of them. Bolan poured fire in on top of his partner’s, arcing high for a two-tiered barrage.

      “Shoot and scoot, Kaino. They can’t see you but they can see your muzzle-blast.”

      Pistols popped in answer from among the cars. Bolan and Kaino moved and dropped gas into the milling gangsters without mercy. The return fire came ever more sporadically. Bolan popped his drum, slipped in a specific 5-round clip and stalked toward the gas cloud.

      “Cover me, Kaino.”

      Kaino slapped in a fresh drum as Bolan strode up to an SUV and fired.

      The Dragon’s Tongue ammo sent a one-hundred-foot jet of flame playing over the vehicle. The effect lasted less than a second. Any exposed person in the path of the flame would be badly burned. Gangsters choking on tear gas screamed at the effect. The driver slammed his vehicle into Reverse and rammed the vehicle behind him. Bolan hosed down two more vehicles and sent tongues of fire into the lanes between the clusters of gangs. Gangsters ran in all directions.

      Kaino’s mask smothered the sound of his laughter to the general public, but Bolan heard it loud and clear as the master sergeant sent out clouds of rubber buckshot at calf level and swept his former opponents from back in the day off their feet. Bolan reloaded and flamed another five vehicles.

      The rout was total.

      Rubber screamed on asphalt as smoking rides peeled to get out of the gas and flamethrower effect. Bolan took the loudspeaker out of his bag and connected it to the mike in his mask.

      Bolan’s voice boomed like God on High. “I am El Hombre! The gas station is mine! Miami-Dade is mine! I’m coming for all of you!”

      He watched with mild satisfaction as the remaining gangsters ran, limped or crawled out of the war zone.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Miami-Dade Safehouse

      “Did you have fun?” Aaron Kurtzman asked.

      Bolan glanced