Читать книгу Jungle Hunt - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

The masked man came in low

Mack Bolan staggered backward, lining up his sights on his opponent. Before he could draw a bead, the man was on him, grabbing the pistol. Bolan hit the earth with a breath-stealing thump, his gun flying from his hands. His opponent jumped on top of him and settled on his chest, crushing the air out of his lungs.

Just as Bolan’s vision began contracting to a fuzzy gray tunnel, his hand scrabbled over the other man’s mask and found his unprotected throat. Curling his fingers, Bolan threw a short punch directly at his enemy’s Adam’s apple. Taken by surprise, the man choked. His grip slackened for a moment, and that was all Bolan needed.

Twisting his upper body, he wrenched the merc’s hands from his throat and shoved him off.

Bolan rose first.

Tackling his opponent, he slammed his interlaced fingers into the back of the man’s neck.

The merc collapsed to the ground, with the Executioner on top of him, and lay there, unmoving, as one last breath wheezed out of him.