Enemies Within. Don Pendleton

left, then right, trying to get his ride under control while smoke poured from the back. Something had happened to the rear axle as well, but the real danger now was fire.

      Finally, the driver gave it up, veered toward the highway’s grassy shoulder and bailed as soon as he’d slowed down enough to make it practical.

      “Bikers. Ten-four,” Grimaldi barked.

      The pickup detonated when they were a half block past it, already following the Harleys toward Centreville. Bolan reached under his jacket, drew the black Beretta M9 from its shoulder rig and thumbed off the safety.

      “You want to take them off the road?” Grimaldi asked.

      “Find out if we can catch them first.”

      Grimaldi nodded and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

      Betray a friend, and you’ll often find you have ruined yourself.

      —Aesop

      There are many kinds of betrayal that can rot a man from the inside out. It’s my job to keep the collateral damage in check and seek justice for the victims of treachery.

      —Mack Bolan

      Nothing less than a war could have fashioned the destiny of the man called Mack Bolan. Bolan earned the Executioner title in the jungle hell of Vietnam.

      But this soldier also wore another name—Sergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compassion he showed to wounded comrades-in-arms and Vietnamese civilians.

      Mack Bolan’s second tour of duty ended prematurely when he was given emergency leave to return home and bury his family, victims of the Mob. Then he declared a one-man war against the Mafia.

      He confronted the Families head-on from coast to coast, and soon a hope of victory began to appear. But Bolan had broken society’s every rule. That same society started gunning for this elusive warrior—to no avail.

      So Bolan was offered amnesty to work within the system against terrorism. This time, as an employee of Uncle Sam, Bolan became Colonel John Phoenix. With a com¬mand center at Stony Man Farm in Virginia, he and his new allies—Able Team and Phoenix Force—waged relentless war on a new adversary: the KGB.

      But when his one true love, April Rose, died at the hands of the Soviet terror machine, Bolan severed all ties with Establishment authority.

      Now, after a lengthy lone-wolf struggle and much soul-searching, the Executioner has agreed to enter an “arm’s-length” alliance with his government once more, reserving the right to pursue personal missions in his Everlasting War.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Introduction

       Quotes

       The Mack Bolan Legend

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Epilogue

       Prologue

      Topsail Beach, North Carolina

      Within the United States Army, there is a separate and autonomous military force that investigates serious crimes committed by active-duty service members. The special agents of the Criminal Investigation Command, or CID, are led by the Commanding General, who reports to the Chief of Staff of the Army and to the Secretary of the Army.

      At 0315 on an early summer morning, with the crack of dawn still hours distant, CID Task Force Benedict Bravo was embarked on a top-secret mission code-named Quisling. The six special agents in attendance were prepared to drop the net.

      The trail had led them, after fits and starts, to Topsail Beach, the southernmost town on Topsail Island, with a year-round population of 383. The team was focused on a summer rental home, a split-level with four bedrooms and a finished basement prone to flooding during hurricanes. The special agents watched the second hands on their jet-black Smith & Wesson military watches, synchronized before assembly at the strike point where, they hoped, the mission would be finished with no one outside the CID any the wiser.

      The mission agents were dressed identically in midnight black: knit watch caps, balaclavas covering their faces, modular tactical vests, and rip-stop trousers bloused into their combat boots. Each member of the team wore a Beretta M-9 pistol chambered in 9 mm Parabellum rounds, with