Recovery Force. Don Pendleton

he could have a very long wait and that wouldn’t do, considering the sweat that soaked his body and had on more than one occasion run into his eyes.

      The double wooden doors of the club swung outward again, their ornate carvings painted bright hues of red and black, the enamel shimmering under the streetlights. The three VIPs Bolan awaited stepped into the muggy air. All of them were gaudily dressed and accompanied by about a half-dozen bodyguards wearing slacks, silk shirts and black jackets. Each of the VIPs also had a woman on each arm.

      At last, Bolan’s opportunity had presented itself.

      He recognized one of those faces as he lined it up in the blue-green shorthairs of the 6 × 42 scope. A brainchild of Heckler & Koch, the Präzisionsschorfschützengewehr-1 sniper rifle dispatched the 7.62 × 51 mm NATO round at a muzzle velocity exceeding 2800 feet per second. With Bolan less than two hundred feet from the guy, he couldn't miss and a first-shot, first-kill probability was imminent.

      Even as the first report thundered inside the confines of the truck bed, Bolan had confirmed the hit to the first target and was already working the silent bolt as he swept into acquisition of the next in line. No more than two seconds elapsed before Bolan had taken out the second target with a kill shot that struck the guy in the chest and caused his heart to burst. The bodyguards reacted with incredible enthusiasm—too bad their reactions were so utterly ineffective.

      As the bodyguards fanned out and drew their weapons, Bolan was easing back the 3-pound trigger on the third and final target. The round struck the guy in the top of the head and blew his skull and most of his brain out the other side. However, the round struck at just such an angle that the impact sent the hood spinning and he twirled several times with all the grace of a drunken ballerina before collapsing to the pavement.

      Bolan withdrew the rifle and pawed at the back of the pickup to lower the tailgate. He coiled his body before launching off the bed and rushing to the driver's side. Bolan hopped into the massive F-350, started the engine and rocketed down the street. He checked his rearview mirror as he did and felt some satisfaction as he saw four of the six gunners rush for a sedan.

      Bolan made a hard left at the first street, proceeded two blocks and then made another hard left. He continued on until he passed the first street that would move beyond the club, and then the second, then made one more left. The last thing in the world the Los Negros thugs would think he would do is return to the scene. Not to mention they would have their own hands full in about a minute when a passel of Phoenix P.D. squad cars suddenly converged on them from every direction.

      Bolan rounded the corner and found the two remaining gunmen seated on the curb, pistols dangling from their hands, neither of them completely recovered from what had transpired. Bolan bore down on their position and brought the truck to a screaming halt at the last second so that he was in a direct line of sight. He aimed out the window with the MP-5 that he'd left on the seat and triggered a sustained burst while sweeping the muzzle in a rising, corkscrew fashion.

      Neither of the Los Negros gunners knew what happened. The first caught a volley that ripped him open from crotch to sternum and the second was nearly decapitated by two rounds that blew his head open. Not to mention the half-dozen or so rounds that stitched him across the chest.

      The quintet of young women were still seated on the sidewalk or hiding behind whatever solid object they'd been able to find when the shooting started. Bolan collected them quickly and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the truck.

      “Get in back,” he commanded them.

      “No way, mister!” one of the young, frightened girls screamed and she began to sputter a flurry of curses. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

      The others, who had started to comply, now hesitated and Bolan knew he had to act quickly. He lowered the MP-5 and raised one hand. “Look, I’m not here to hurt any of you. I’m here to bring you where it’s safe. I’m here to take you home.”

      “I ain’t got no home!” the girl said in a shaky tone.

      “Okay,” Bolan said. “Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go, wherever you feel safe. But you can’t tell me that’s here. These men have abused you. All of you. And those days are over for you.”

      “Oh, yeah?” one of the other girls said. “And what’re you expecting in return?”

      Bolan kept his voice low. “Nothing. I just want to get you out of here. These are bad men and eventually bad things would have happened to you. I’m giving you a second chance. You can trust me or you can take the risk you’ll be right back in a situation like this. Or worse, when their friends come looking for witnesses.”

      That seemed to convince all but one of them and Bolan made one last, desperate plea, but the girl chose to turn and run. He noted it odd how fast she could run with heels on but then pressed his lips together, shook his head and went to assist the girls into the cab. Once everyone was in, he got behind the wheel and drove away.

      “THAT’S YOUR IDEA OF gathering intelligence?”

      Bolan shifted the pay-phone receiver to his other ear. “I told you it could get ugly, Hall.”

      “Is that what you’re calling it? Ugly?” Hall sighed. “I’ve got a whole mess of bodies on my hands and very few answers. I told you before, Cooper, the politicos are breathing down my neck from the special ops chief up to the mayor. You know a representative from the governor’s office showed up here this morning, for crissakes? I thought we had an agreement.”

      “We did,” Bolan replied. “And I’m sticking to it.”

      “How so?”

      “I noticed you mentioned the dead bodies but not the four live ones sitting in your jail cell.”

      “You mean those four who lawyered up? What good are they going to be?”

      Bolan clucked his tongue. “I can’t control what happens inside your house, Hall. So far I’ve delivered just what I promised—don’t try to back out.”

      For a long time Hall didn’t say anything to that. Bolan hated having to bottom-line the cop but he didn’t have time for games. The fact remained he’d held up his end of the bargain and he was going to need Hall’s support.

      “You realize what you’re asking me to do? You want me to look the other way while you start a war right here.”

      “I’m trying to prevent a war, not start one,” Bolan reminded him. “The Los Negros aren’t going to just roll over any more than Los Zetas did in Nuevo Laredo. And you can bet Hector Casco’s burning up the phone lines right now trying to figure out what happened. That kind of traffic is sure to give you more leads. I know you have at least a few of their operating locations under surveillance.”

      Hall chuckled. “Well I’ll be…”

      “What?”

      “I’d sure like to know where you get your information,” Hall said. “You obviously knew almost as much about our ops as I did. And you’re such an enigmatic bastard you don’t have any record. It’s like you don’t exist, Cooper. No fingerprints, no driver’s license and no financial records.”

      “You checked on me.”

      “Can you blame me?”

      “No, I would have done the same.”

      “So what do you have up your sleeve next? Run a tank through the Sinaloa cartel’s headquarters?”

      “Nothing quite so dramatic,” Bolan replied. “As I said, I figure Casco will be making inquiries and he’ll probably be working up some sort of retaliation.”

      “You want him to assume that Los Zetas did the hit.”

      “Exactly. That’s why I took the girls off the streets, too.”

      “What about the one that got away?”

      “I’m hoping she’ll go underground,”