Читать книгу Lethal Vengeance - Don Pendleton - Страница 7

A stream of cartel soldiers burst from the building.

When one of the gunners removed a cell phone from his pocket, Bolan drilled him with a single 5.56 mm round, then ripped a series of three-round bursts along the line of gunmen limned by a streetlight.

The Executioner sent another grenade downrange, an incendiary round that blew on impact, loosing flames that spread from wall to wall, rolling through the open doorway, setting fire to bodies lying on the pavement.

He could have kept on firing, making sure that everyone within his line of sight was dead or dying, but he was literally burning up Brognola’s time now, painfully aware that the odds of finding him declined precipitately after twenty-four hours.

If he wasn’t dead already, Brognola had roughly two hours left. El Psicópata didn’t keep his prey alive for any longer than it took to butcher them. But Brognola didn’t fit the killer’s victim profile, which meant there were no rules.

All Bolan could do was put the pedal to the metal and keep rolling on, full speed ahead. And God help anyone who stood in his way…