Читать книгу Final Coup - Don Pendleton - Страница 2

The Executioner expected to die a violent death someday

But the civilians in the lobby had not signed up for battle pay, and if Bolan failed in the action he had to take within the next few seconds, they would surely die.

The bomber had almost reached the CIA man when the Executioner turned around.

As Bolan increased his pace to catch up with the man in the vest, the CIA agent moved smoothly into the bomber’s path and grabbed both of his wrists. Bolan drew his fixed-blade knife from behind his back and raised it high over his head. All other movement in the lobby had stopped.

The bomber screamed something in Arabic as Bolan dived through the air, the blade clenched in a reverse grip. As he collided with the man’s back, he brought the blade down with all his strength, penetrating the man’s skull.

A few gasps came from around the lobby. Then the screams of men and women filled the air. Bolan pried the blade out of the bomber’s skull and wiped it on the back of the man’s vest before turning him over.

“Murderers!” a high-pitched female voice shouted. “Call the police.”

The Executioner unzipped the bomber’s vest and a collective gasp came from the crowd when the people saw a good two-dozen sticks of dynamite strapped to the dead man’s body.

There were no more accusations of homicide.