Lethal Tribute. Don Pendleton

to his brain.

      The fourth man leaped into the house as Bolan tracked his weapon on him. Makhdoom’s rifle thundered within, and the man staggered backward out the door again clutching his chest. Doom’s weapon boomed a second time and the killer was smashed off his feet and sprawled in the gutter.

      Bolan scanned the street and the rooftops opposite Makhdoom’s house. People were shouting and screaming in the neighboring houses. But nothing appeared to be moving on the street.

      It was what Bolan could not see that made him wary.

      Bolan approached the Captain’s door obliquely. “Doom!”

      “I hear you!”

      “You all right?”

      “I am!” shouted back the Captain. “You?”

      “The street is clear! I’m coming in the front door!”

      “Come ahead!”

      Bolan stepped across half a dozen dead bodies as he entered the house and entered the living room. The interior of the house was littered with corpses. Most had one or two high-powered rifle bullet wounds in their chests. One lay spread-eagled further in by the foot of the stairs. A shotgun blast had left his head and shoulders in ruins.

      “Everyone all right?”

      Makhdoom came out from the hallway. “Kaukab!”

      The young man’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “We are all right, father!”

      “Stay where you are! Do not move from your post until I tell you!”

      “Yes, father!”

      Makhdoom stared around his bullet-riddled home. “Do you think the unseen ones come?”

      Bolan looked around the living room. His eyes fell upon the low table where he had set his teacup. It was also where he had left the length of strange fabric he had cut from his own throat in the warehouse in Rawalpindi.

      The fabric was gone.

      “They were here, and they’ve left. They took what they came for.”

      Makhdoom straightened in shock. “The fabric! You left it out where they could find it!”

      “I did.” Bolan nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a three-inch length he had cut from it. “But not all of it.”

      “But did they not also come for our lives?”

      “That was what the muscle was for. I remember reading in the intelligence report on the Thugs that their religion forbids them to shed blood except in certain ritual circumstances. The goons were for us. But the Thuggees came for the evidence.

      Makhdoom’s smile turned feral. “So, they think they have what they came for.”

      “Yeah, and I need to get this to my people in the United States ASAP, and without General Hussain knowing about it.”

      “That I can arrange.” Makhdoom glanced around again. The corpses piled around his house were just that, corpses. “But it appears we are without leads once more.”

      Mujhid’s voice shouted excitedly from upstairs. “Father! There is a man! Thrashing about in mother’s roses!”

      “You saved one,” smiled Doom.

      “I figured we’d give him to Hussain.” Bolan shrugged. “We have to let the General do something.”