Читать книгу Final Judgment - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

Claymore mines had been stashed in the stairwell

But Bolan was prepared for them. He skirted the stairs until the banister was at chest height, then hopped over the railing, well out of the effective kill zone of the explosives. The balcony was clear. A set of double doors took him to an anteroom.

The sentry stationed there was pressed against the wall, opposite the door. As the terrorist leveled his shotgun, Bolan swiveled, bringing up the M4.

The shotgun roared, the impact slamming into Bolan’s gut like a hammer blow. Air rushed from his lungs and he went down, landing on his back, hard.

Then all he could see was the barrel of the shotgun. The neo-Nazi racked the pump action. “Bye-bye, asshole.”