Читать книгу Combat Machines - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

“I think it fitting that you die here.”

The assassin hadn’t moved far, and Bolan seized the opportunity. Raising his smartphone, he triggered its camera, setting off the flash. The bright light blinded his adversary, and he staggered backward.

Bolan charged forward, intending to tackle him and take him down, but the man spun aside as he brought his fist down on the back of Bolan’s head, driving him to the ground, stunned.

The assassin bent and flipped Bolan over onto the tracks, staring into his face. “You will never find us. You will never stop us.” Then he took off again, racing toward an oncoming train.

Bolan tried to push himself up, tried to crawl to the narrow space next to the tracks, but his body refused to obey his commands. The train’s headlight was blinding, the thunder of its approach drowning out everything.

The Executioner’s last thought before blackness took him was that this was not how he’d expected to die...