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Maximum Chaos
Don Pendleton
LIFE SENTENCEDesperate to escape conviction, the head of a powerful crime family orders the kidnapping of a federal prosecutor's young daughter. If the mobster isn't freed by the end of the week–if anyone contacts the authorities–the girl will be killed. Backed into a corner, her father must rely on the one man who can help: Mack Bolan.Finding the girl won't be easy; the mob has tight security and their network is vast. Plus, with an innocent life at stake, going in guns blazing is a risk Bolan can't afford to take. His only choice is to create a distraction by pitting the crime syndicate against their rivals. The mob is about to get a visit from the Executioner. And this time he's handing out death penalties.
LIFE SENTENCE
Desperate to escape conviction, the head of a powerful crime family orders the kidnapping of a federal prosecutor’s young daughter. If the mobster isn’t freed by the end of the week—if anyone contacts the authorities—the girl will be killed. Backed into a corner, her father must rely on the one man who can help: Mack Bolan.
Finding the girl won’t be easy; the mob has tight security and their network is vast. Plus, with an innocent life at stake, going in guns blazing is a risk Bolan can’t afford to take. His only choice is to create a distraction by pitting the crime syndicate against their rivals. The mob is about to get a visit from the Executioner. And this time he’s handing out death penalties.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving a going-away gift for your boss.” Bolan held up the thermite grenades so the mobster could see. “It’s about to get hot in there.”
“You can’t destroy everything! You know how much that merchandise is worth?”
“More than pocket change, but you’re going out of business, so it won’t make much difference.”
Bolan went back inside the warehouse. He planted the thermite grenades in among the stacked cartons, pulled the pins and made a quick exit. As the Executioner stepped outside, he heard the hiss of the grenades activating. Stark light filled the warehouse as the thermite compound began to burn. By the time the process was completed there wouldn’t be much left.
Bolan opened the car door and tossed a cell phone onto the mobster’s lap.
“Now you can call home. Tell Tsvetanov we win round one.”
Maximum Chaos
Don Pendleton
The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemy’s.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
The forces of chaos cannot be controlled, not by any man. But chaos can be fought, and I will continue to fight as long as innocent lives are on the line.
—Mack Bolan
The MACK BOLAN Legend (#ulink_56fc5efa-632b-5747-9b59-8b0341edfdd6)
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.
Contents
Cover (#u93b112ad-fbf4-5902-bbff-fa75de629eac)
Back Cover Text (#ud7a19a36-9d8c-5bb2-9aaa-0d8282d98555)
Introduction (#ucf84ea5b-13d4-50d1-a9c0-bc22840fc4dd)
Title Page (#u9e7eec04-b55c-5eec-8db9-6cc1fd7cc7c4)
Quotes (#ub62ead90-bda4-5d5f-8df6-09c311997c1f)
The Mack Bolan Legend (#u383d6e58-f6e6-5442-94b9-ed21259fc42a)
Chapter 1 (#u48501f47-786d-5b80-9a2e-e42d3103f027)
Chapter 2 (#u14bdc28d-c3c6-57d0-91c8-4c165b192306)
Chapter 3 (#u1ba81155-32a3-5a46-92ab-642cf592cd41)
Chapter 4 (#u6412f90e-476b-5197-8e61-e77948d25f33)
Chapter 5 (#u2ab39854-88dd-521f-b7a7-b52de2815748)
Chapter 6 (#u9c53c02a-f0b9-5891-a2e2-724ccd2897dd)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_b97a5145-48e6-56d8-b982-a2cb522830fe)
The man’s voice had been electronically altered, giving it a harsh metallic sound.
“Listen without interruption, Mr. Mason. By now you will realize your daughter has been taken. At this moment in time, she is unharmed. Whether she stays that way is entirely up to you. To ensure the safe return of young Abigail, you must negotiate the release of Leopold Marchinski. You have one week to carry out this request. If Marchinski is not a free man at midnight on the final day, your daughter will die. You may speak now. Do you have questions?”
Mason’s throat had all but seized up. He fought back the utter panic that threatened to render him dumb and forced himself to take control of his emotions and deal with the caller by asserting a degree of calm.
“You took my child, damn you. Wasn’t that enough? Why kill Nancy?”
“Yes, the fair Miss Cleland. She put up such a struggle defending your daughter. As to her death...it demonstrates that we are in earnest. If you fail to have Marchinski released on the due date, your daughter dies. Imagine little Abby being killed in a similar manner to Nancy Cleland. Our people, though crude, are effective. Bear that in mind.”
“Tell me my daughter is...”
“I hope you were not about to say safe. Abigail is not in a safe environment. That is the whole reason for this call.”
Mason gathered his thoughts before he spoke.
“For all I know, she may already be dead. Unless you prove she’s alive I have no reason to carry on this conversation. Show me proof before we go any further.”
“I can see why you are a successful negotiator, Mason.”
“Then negotiate this,” Mason snapped, feeling sweat pop out across his face as he pushed the boundaries. “Abby is all you have to bargain with. So prove to me she’s still alive or I put this phone down now. If you expect me to play your sick game I’ll need real-time proof, regularly, that she’s alive.”
“And if I refuse? What then?”
“Then Marchinski takes whatever comes to him and I lose my daughter. Simple enough for you to understand.”
“A bluff.”
“You think so? Try me. I’m in a corner. I have to do whatever it takes.”
The silence hurt. Mason wondered whether he had overplayed his hand. But he had no choice.
“Contact will be made, so keep your cell handy. Just remember we have the girl. Two hours from now, you’ll have your proof.”
“Wait,” Mason said, “how do you expect me to free Marchinski? He’s in confinement. On twenty-four-hour watch. I can’t simply walk in and lead him out by the hand.”
“You’re a man of great influence in the justice system. Make it happen.”
“It’s impossible.”
“Then your daughter will die in one week. The math is simple. No Marchinski—no Abigail.” A pause, then, “And please don’t involve the authorities. No police. No FBI. No one. Believe me when I say we have connections. Any attempt to involve assistance will mean Abigail suffers. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and make a call. Abigail will die before anyone gets near us. Please do not make the mistake of treating me like a fool. You saw what happened to Nancy. Keep that image in your mind. Think about your daughter.”
“How can I—”
“Make contact? You can’t, but I can call you at any time. Your cell. Your house phone. We can listen to any call you make.”
Mason wasn’t sure that was a genuine threat. On the other hand, he couldn’t afford to take the chance.
“I need time.”
“I can hear your mind working, Mason. How can I get around this? How do I beat it? A word of advice—do not even try. Concentrate on freeing Marchinski. That is the most important thing in your life right now. That and keeping your daughter alive. Seven days, Mason.”
The call ended.
A simple click, and Mason was left holding a silent phone.
* * *
HE SAT WITH the dead phone in his hand, staring out the living-room window, seeing nothing as he replayed the conversation over and over.
The man was not fooling. When Mason had driven to the lodge and walked inside, he’d found the butchered body of the young woman he employed to look after Abby.
Nancy Cleland had been 25 years old, a raven-haired British woman who’d worked for Mason for three years. Her body had been reduced to a bloody mass of torn and slashed flesh. Every finger on her hands had been broken and twisted out of shape. Someone had killed her in a terrible way—something Mason could never have imagined in his worst nightmare. The plastic sheet she lay on was pooled with blood.
Mason couldn’t remember how long he’d stood there—his back against the door, his gaze fixed on the dead woman. When the spell broke, he went from room to room, calling out Abby’s name. He searched the entire lodge. Abby was not there. Tears ran down his face as he went to call the police. That was when he saw an envelope taped to the phone.
Inside the envelope were two items.
The first was a Polaroid photo of his daughter, taken in the same room where Nancy’s body now lay. In the picture, Abby was sitting in one of the chairs, staring at the camera. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide with shock.
The second item was a folded sheet of paper. When Mason unfolded it, he read the handwritten note—
We have Abby. If you tell anyone, she will die. Secure the lodge, go home and wait for a call. Now.
Mason had never felt this helpless. He was a federal prosecutor with the power of the legal machine at his fingertips. Now he was on his own. As much as he needed his daughter back alive and well, he understood his responsibility to the law.
Leopold Marchinski was the head of a criminal organization. He sentenced men to death as easily as ordering a pizza. His criminal empire, spread across the eastern seaboard, was involved in countless illegal enterprises. Nothing was too depraved if it brought in money.
Marchinski had the best legal protection available. He was an old-time hoodlum writ large, reveling in his status as an untouchable. The man seemed to have everyone in his pocket—from lowly street cops to members of the judiciary.
