Читать книгу Extreme Justice - Don Pendleton - Страница 2

Blanca Herrera advised Bolan, as if she thought he might be unaware of the pursuit.

“I see them,” he replied. “Hang on.”

Almost before she could react to his warning, they cleared the alley and he cranked the Ford into the sharpest left-hand turn he could manage, startling a pair of jaywalkers who squealed and ran for safety on the sidewalk. Gunfire echoed from the alley at his back, even before the first chase car emerged. The pedestrians went prone.

Bolan was making all the haste he dared on residential streets, watching the sidelines where his own headlights and those closing behind him cast distorted, moving shadows. Any one of them might mask another late-night rambler, possibly a child, and Bolan had to balance that thought with the threat of death that rode his bumper. At the same time, if he drove too fast and lost control, smashed up the Ford, he and his passengers were facing sudden death, and the failure of his mission.

“Could you distract them for me?” he asked Herrera.

“How?”

“Shoot back!” the Executioner said.