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“Uh-uh.” The Hawaiian shook his head. “You want the knife, you have to take it.” Then the giant whipped the kukri underhanded right at the Executioner’s face.
Bolan ducked. The kukri slammed into the wall behind him, handle-first, leaving a dent in the drywall. The Hawaiian was already on the run again, slamming into the fire door fronting the stairwell. Bolan grabbed the kukri and dropped it into his canvas messenger bag, hurrying after the escaping native.
.....
Bolan knew he didn’t have time for a proper interrogation. He slammed the butt of the Beretta across Wu’s head again, putting the man out, then gagged him with his own tie and cuffed his arms and legs. Finally, he rolled the man over onto the couch, where it would look at least at first glance as if he was still stealing a nap. Checking the hallway, Bolan emerged and circled around to get a view of the opposite corridor.
A single Asian man sat on a metal folding chair outside the conference room. The door had a window in it, but this was covered from inside in what appeared to be newspaper taped to the glass. Shadows of movement played across the newspaper, which did not conceal the light from within the room. The guard in the chair was reading a dog-eared paperback novel. Next to the conference room door was another, this one unmarked and bearing no window. If Han was inside, the guard outside the conference room was there to keep an eye on the Justice operative as much as to mind whoever was meeting in the room behind him.
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