Читать книгу Blood Rites - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

How many left?

One man from the first car, at least three from the third, if he’d taken out its driver. Bolan still had work to do, and he was running out of time before some passing driver heard the sounds of battle and called the cops.

The one thing Bolan would not do, regardless of the circumstances, was initiate a firefight with police. He’d made a vow that he would never drop the hammer on a cop. Law enforcement officers, in Bolan’s mind, were “soldiers of the same side.” He’d evade them by any means, but would always stop short of lethal force.

Which meant he had to mop up his remaining enemies and get out of there before the police arrived.

Tick-tock.

He was about to go after the shooters from the third car when a flash of light alerted him to trouble. It was the Marauder’s dome light, coming on because one of its doors had opened. The woman bolting out of panic at the gunfire? Or had someone found her?

Either way, he had to check it out, but he couldn’t leave enemies behind while his back was turned.

Mouthing a curse, the Executioner moved out.