Читать книгу System Corruption - Don Pendleton - Страница 13

The Sunbird Motor Court sat alongside the highway, next to a long diner and adjacent to a gas station, ten miles from the camp. An oasis in the scrubland. To the side of the gas station was a flattened patch of land that served as the parking lot for the big rigs and cars that traversed the highway. It was a dusty setup, not helped by the semipermanent, arid breeze that was as much part of the landscape as the brittle grass and spiky scrub.

Bolan’s cabin overlooked the highway and the terrain beyond. It would never win any prizes for the most pleasing aspect from a motel window, but that wasn’t Bolan’s reason for the occasional glance through the dusty glass.

He had a feeling his visit to Camp Macklin had generated enough unrest to warrant a response. Bolan couldn’t prove out his feeling. It was just a natural response to the situation. Standing at the cabin’s window, cup of coffee in his hand, he turned to look at the Beretta 93-R and the Desert Eagle lying side by side on the bed.