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Mack Bolan’s combat senses cried out

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Killing his flashlight, he hovered in the darkness for a moment and stared at the bend in the tunnel twenty feet ahead of him. Seconds later, he saw white beams of light playing over the surface and heard the roar of air bubbles expelling from regulators coming out of time with his own breathing.

His opponents had to know he was lying in wait for them. If he could hear them, it stood to reason that the reverse was also true.

Fisting his knife, he waited until the men rounded the corner, one after the other. Each was armed with a speargun and wore a light affixed to his forehead. Bolan surged forward, slicing in a downward arc and skimming along the tunnel’s bottom. As he descended, a pair of spears fired overhead, cutting through the space he occupied moments before.

Bolan didn’t give the men time to reload.

Death Gamble

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