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Blind Justice
Don Pendleton
An undercover Seattle cop is in hot water after discovering that a U.S. senator and a Russian mob boss are in business together. But with his fellow officers on the senator's payroll, the detective has no one to trust and nowhere to hide–until he runs into Mack Bolan.While fleeing dirty cops who want to silence him, the police officer is nearly hit by Bolan's SUV. The desperate detective is shot and collapses. Bolan rescues the injured man and takes up his fight. But the killers are relentless and the warrior may be too late to save the two people who can tell him where the evidence has been hidden: the officer's wife and young son. Fired on at each turn and with the body count growing, the Executioner knows he must stop the corruption at the source–before more innocent lives are lost.
Off the grid
An undercover Seattle cop is in hot water after discovering that a U.S. senator and a Russian mob boss are in business together. But with his fellow officers on the senator’s payroll, the detective has no one to trust and nowhere to hide—until he runs into Mack Bolan.
While fleeing dirty cops who want to silence him, the police officer is nearly hit by Bolan’s SUV. The desperate detective is shot and collapses. Bolan rescues the injured man and takes up his fight. But the killers are relentless and the warrior may be too late to save the two people who can tell him where the evidence has been hidden: the officer’s wife and young son. Fired on at each turn and with the body count growing, the Executioner knows he must stop the corruption at the source—before more innocent lives are lost.
Slugs slapped the ground around Bolan
He kept moving, increasing his pace. Bullets zipped into the grass behind him, a couple even closer than the first volley—and then he was surrounded by trees. The trunks and low branches shielded him as shots slammed into the timber, chewing bark and ripping at the foliage.
Overhead, the dark bulk of the hovering helicopter appeared. The men on the ground were waving it away, but the pilot ignored their pleas.
Bolan shouldered the MP-5, tracked the ground team and gave them a couple of short bursts—two went down, three others scattered.
As the chopper swung in toward the edge of the forest, Bolan edged around a tree, steadied his aim and let go with a long burst, concentrating on the helicopter’s engine. The rounds hammered at the aluminum panels, punching ragged holes in the metal, as the Executioner held his finger on the trigger and cleared the magazine.
The chopper’s power faltered, the smooth beating becoming ragged.
Bolan turned and ran deeper into the forest. The advantage was his, but he knew it wouldn’t last. There were still the surviving members of the ground team, plus however many had been in the helicopter—an unknown figure at the moment.
The Executioner had a feeling that wouldn’t remain a mystery for long.
Game on.
Blind Justice
Don Pendleton
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice.
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
1929–1968
Without justice, this world would be lost. And when law and order is unable to establish it, I will be there to fight for those who have been wronged. Injustice will never go unpunished on my watch.
—Mack Bolan
The Mack Bolan Legend
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 command 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.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Mike Linaker for his contribution to this work.
Contents
Chapter 1 (#uafdcc585-9081-50d8-acec-1fd8ff0f148d)
Chapter 2 (#u179550ce-fea6-55b8-a336-cfdec803183a)
Chapter 3 (#u28d1f792-d7a9-5495-97d8-c318f71b8cb4)
Chapter 4 (#udebdd993-8b47-5043-a821-1653a0fdaa6c)
Chapter 5 (#u5721bdc9-bd4c-5f95-baf6-6e6f5a532275)
Chapter 6 (#uc05c77fd-2179-5789-91ed-46aa23cd1d31)
Chapter 7 (#u0859a195-7549-5a8e-b650-663d45201b72)
Chapter 8 (#ue89c7abf-c71e-52bb-8bc6-5d7a0061219d)
Chapter 9 (#u44ed5f4b-4e45-562a-ae4d-5548e0468364)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1
Seattle, Washington
“Okay, I know we can’t kill him,” Ken Brenner said. “Doesn’t mean we can’t make the bastard suffer. Put a bullet in him to slow him down. He’s got something the senator wants and Kendal is a mean son of a bitch to say no to.”
“Yeah? You know what pisses me off? That hard-faced mother he keeps at his side all the time. Stone.” Steve Dunn hawked and spat with deliberate force. “Follows Kendal around like a fuckin’ guard dog.”
“Well, that’s what he is. Senator Kendal’s pet rottweiler.”
Dunn folded his arms across his chest, hunching his shoulders against the chill rain sweeping in across the city. He was cold and he was wet, despite the supposed all-weather coat he was wearing. They had been waiting for almost an hour, watching the seedy hotel where their quarry was said to be staying. Brenner’s informants had come up with the location earlier that afternoon, so he and Dunn had staked out the place and were waiting for their man to show.
“Jesus, Ken,” Dunn complained, “why couldn’t we have waited in the car?”
“We’ve been through this. If Logan sees our wheels parked on this street he’s just liable to turn around and leave. He’s a cop, Steve. A fucking good cop. He’d spot a car like ours with his eyes shut. Wrong vehicle for a deadbeat street like this.”
“Yeah. Well, if I get a chill from this rain I’ll send Kendal a bill for my medicine.”
Brenner chuckled. “Good luck with that,” he said.
“Hey, Ken, isn’t that Logan?”
A man was walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Brenner recognized him instantly. He watched Ray Logan as the cop headed for the hotel entrance. He tapped his partner and they crossed the street, coming up behind Logan.
The cop must have sensed them behind him. He turned, fixing his gaze on them. Brenner was shocked at Logan’s appearance. His unshaven face was pale, cheeks sunken, his hair in need of a trim.
“Hey, Ray, where you been hiding?” Brenner asked. “You never call. You don’t write.”
“What the hell do you want, Brenner?”
“Isn’t so much what we want, Ray,” Brenner said. “It’s Kendal who wants to have a talk with you.”
The moment he heard the senator’s name, Ray Logan threw himself at Brenner and Dunn. His move caught them off guard. They had expected him to run, not attack. His left shoulder rammed into Brenner’s chest, taking his breath and knocking him off balance. Logan’s right foot lashed out, catching Dunn in the groin, drawing a howl of agony from the man. As Dunn clutched at himself, Logan drove his fist into his face, drawing blood from Dunn’s mouth.
“Get that bastard,” Dunn said.
Logan had turned and now broke away from them, cutting across the street and making it to the dark mouth of an alley.
“Let’s go,” Brenner yelled, taking off after Logan, yanking his handgun from its holster.
Dunn followed, pawing at the blood oozing from his torn lip. He pounded after his partner, splashing through standing pools of water.
“Don’t you fucking lose him,” he called.
Up ahead he could see the dark outline of Logan, framed at the far end of the alley. There was a moment when it looked as if he had stopped running, half turning to look back at his pursuers.
Then he broke into motion, plunging out of the alley and into the street beyond.
THE MAN CAME OUT of the alley, cutting directly across the rain-swept street and was caught in the glare of the SUV’s headlights. Tires squealed as the heavy vehicle violently braked, the forward motion arrested briefly as the rear end cycled around, the driver working the wheel with strong hands. It came to a rocking halt, the driver’s-side window level with the fleeing man. There was a frozen millisecond where the two men held face-to-face.
The sharp crack of an auto pistol was followed by a blinking muzzle flash, a second shot was fired, and the fleeing man was slammed against the SUV’s door. He tumbled away, going to his knees as the driver shoved open the door and exited the vehicle. He stood over the fallen man, a weapon filling his hands, and he returned fire in the direction of the two shadowed figures at the mouth of the alley. Whatever they might have expected, someone shooting back at them was not it. The shooter’s slug slammed into the brickwork at the mouth of the ally, splinters peppering them, and without continuing the attack the men fell back into the dark maw of the gap between buildings.
Wind gusted in the deserted street, driving the rain forward in chilled sheets. It was close to 1:00 a.m. and the backstreet area of the city, never heavily congested even in daylight, was devoid of pedestrians in the early hours.
The SUV’s driver leaned over and helped the wounded man to his feet. He opened the rear door and eased him inside the vehicle. He climbed back behind the wheel, dropped the lever into Drive and took the SUV away from the alley, making a fast turn, and headed for the city center.
“You okay back there?”
The wounded man had pulled himself to a sitting position. Pain from his wounds was starting to make itself known and it took him a moment to speak.
“Been better,” he said.
His rescuer glanced into the rearview mirror. He saw a gaunt face, eyes deep-set and dark-ringed. The hair plastered to the skull. Whatever had happened to the man had started well before the shooting. The problem was of long-standing.
“You need a hospital?”
“No hospital.”
“You’ve got a couple of bullets in you,” the driver said.
“Can’t risk a hospital. They have to report gunshot wounds and details go on computers.”
“You wanted by the police?”
