âNeither of us have what we want,â Bolan said
Masozi tilted his head. âWhat do you mean?â
âMubarak had a weapons stash that he was parceling out to us,â Bolan stated. âWe want our gear.â
The Shabaab leader turned to Kamau. âDoes this sound like a good idea?â
âIâm just in this to get some payback. Those were my men murdered by the sneaky bastard.â
Bolan realized that something bigger had just replaced his mission to destroy the Shabaab militia under Masozi. Something dark and ominous threatened more than just the shipping lanes around the Horn of Africa.
The incinerated remains of jars full of ricin seed, buried in the collapsed storeroom, were the portent of an apocalyptic threatâ¦.
Asclepius, why do you weep? Egypt herself will be persuaded to deeds much wickeder than these, and she will be steeped in evils far worse. A land once holy, most loving of divinity, by reason of her reverence the only land on earth where the neteru (gods) settled, she who taught holiness and fidelity will be an example of utter [un]belief.
âHermetica,
Asclepius III: 25
No nation is immune to the tragedy of being fooled into wicked deeds. But it is for the sake of those who still believe in justice that I never rest. My fidelity to them will never waver, and I shall defend their faith.
âMack Bolan
The southern coast of Somalia
This was Africa.
That phrase popped into Mack Bolanâs mind as his lean, powerful frame sliced through the air over the hood of a rusty automobile, only moments ahead of the rattle of an AK-47 firing on full automatic. The fender and engine block stopped the swarm of rifle rounds looking to rend the Executionerâs flesh. He wouldnât have more than a momentâs respite, but he made the most of it, reloading his Beretta 93-R and closing the slide on a fresh round.
The phrase was a cynical response to the violence that stalked through the continent, a place where life was cheap, and the forces of Animal Man reigned supremely. A child, starving despite tons of food in a nearby port? This was Africa. A family chopped to pieces by machete-wielding sociopaths? This was Africa. One violent government replaced by scum just as murderous? It often happened.
Bolan didnât believe that any place in the world was more doomed than any other, that innocent people couldnât be saved from the forces of greed and misery.
The Somali gunmen who had targeted him were fast and ferocious, already flanking the automobile to get a line of fire on the big American who had infiltrated their stronghold. One of the gunmen pivoted his AK to take out Bolan, but the Beretta machine pistol snarled, ripping a line of 9 mm bullets into the man from sternum to throat. The pirate stopped as if he hit an invisible wall, and the rifleman behind him staggered wildly, tumbling as he collided with the still-standing corpse. Bolan whirled and with one smooth movement pulled a knife from its sheath on his battle harness. The wicked, double-bladed, spear-point weapon gleamed in the sunlight, the only warning that another of the Somali killers had before the six inches of merciless steel plunged through the fragile bone triangle between the eyes.
Lobotomized by the razor-sharp blade, the pirate lost his grip on the FN FAL battle rifle he carried. Bolan released the handle on his knife and caught the big gun before it could clatter on the ground.
The Somali pirates skidded to a halt, gawking now that their opponent was suddenly in possession of a full-powered automatic weapon. Bolan let the partially spent Beretta fall to the ground, his trigger finger caressing the assault rifle to life. A volley of 7.62 mm NATO thunderbolts tore into the distracted rifleman who had been stopped by a collision with his dead partner. At over 2500 feet per second, the 165-grain rounds plowed aside bone and flesh like bulldozers.
âGet back! Get back!â another rifleman shouted in warning. Bolan swung the assault rifle around and took off the gunnerâs head with a single bullet through the chin.
Retreating gunmen poured fire from their AKs into the car, but the fender and engine block proved sufficient to stop the much lighter 7.62 mm COMBLOC rounds that they fired. Knowing that their enemy was implacable and now much more heavily armed than he was when heâd whittled down their numbers with only a pistol, the Somali raiders retreated toward their compound.
Bolan gave them a few secondsâ lead, retrieving his Beretta, his knife and a bandolier of ammunition for the FN rifle heâd acquired.