âWho knew about our meeting?â the Executioner asked
âYou think someone inside the CNP betrayed us.â Lieutenant Pureza didnât phrase it as a question.
âIf the bomb had been a random thing, I wouldnât ask,â Bolan replied. âBut when they follow up with shooters, itâs specific. No one tailed me from the airport, so there has to be a leak.â
âYouâre right,â Pureza said. âWhatâs your solution, then?â
âA solo op,â Bolan replied. âOr a duet, if youâre still in.â
âYou think Iâd leave you at this stage?â Pureza asked. âI must still live with myselfâthe one person I can absolutely trust. But you understand I represent the law?â she asked.
âYou walk. Weâll try to stay out of each otherâs way.â
âAnd Macario wins.â
âNo, heâs done, either way,â Bolan said.
Pureza took another moment, making up her mind, then nodded. âRight,â she said. âWhere do we start?â
For Sergeant First Class Jared Christopher Monti
3rd Squadron, 71st Calvary Gowardesh, Afghanistan June 21, 2006
How does one kill fear, I wonder? How do you shoot a spectre through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat?
âJoseph Conrad 1847â1924 Lord Jim
I canât kill fear, but I can touch the men responsible for terrorizing innocents and pay them back in kind, before they die. For now, maybe thatâs good enough.
âMack Bolan
THE MACK BOLAN LEGEND
Nothing less than a war could have fashioned the destiny of the man called Mack Bolan. Bolan earned the Executioner title in the jungle hell of Vietnam.
But this soldier also wore another nameâSergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compassion he showed to wounded comrades-in-arms and Vietnamese civilians.
Mack Bolanâs second tour of duty ended prematurely when he was given emergency leave to return home and bury his family, victims of the Mob. Then he declared a one-man war against the Mafia.
He confronted the Families head-on from coast to coast, and soon a hope of victory began to appear. But Bolan had broken societyâs every rule. That same society started gunning for this elusive warriorâto no avail.
So Bolan was offered amnesty to work within the system against terrorism. This time, as an employee of Uncle Sam, Bolan became Colonel John Phoenix. With a command center at Stony Man Farm in Virginia, he and his new alliesâAble Team and Phoenix Forceâwaged relentless war on a new adversary: the KGB.
But when his one true love, April Rose, died at the hands of the Soviet terror machine, Bolan severed all ties with Establishment authority.
Now, after a lengthy lone-wolf struggle and much soul-searching, the Executioner has agreed to enter an âarmâs-lengthâ alliance with his government once more, reserving the right to pursue personal missions in his Everlasting War.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Bogotá, Colombia
âHow are we doing on time?â Drake Webb asked his companion.
âFifteen minutes early, sir,â Otto Glass said.
Webb wore a watch, of courseâand a Rolex, at thatâbut demanding mundane information from lesser mortals was one of the perqs that came with a counselorâs rank in the U.S. Senior Foreign Service. Otto Glass, as chief of station for the Drug Enforcement Administration in Colombia, understood the rules and followed them.
Their limousine rolled northward, passing the Plaza de BolÃvar on Webbâs left, with the stately Catedral Primada on his right. Ahead, he saw the looming Palace of Justice, surrounded by uniformed guards armed with automatic weapons.
Webb hated talking drugs with the Colombians, but it consumed most of his time. Cocaine and coffee were Colombiaâs main exports to the Statesâone of those having sparked a war that never seemed to end. For the ten thousandth time, Webb wished that heâd been posted somewhere nice and quiet, where the worst problem he had to deal with was a silly touristâs missing passport.
âDo you think theyâll go for it?â he asked the DEA man seated next to him.
âYes, sir. If foreign aidâs contingent on cooperation, they donât have a lot of choice.â
âExcept the old standby,â Webb answered. âThey could tell us, âYanqui, go home.ââ
âThatâs unlikely, sir.â
âRight,â Webb agreed, and thought, Moreâs the pity.
Being shown the door would make one headache go away, but it would cause a slew of other problems, starting with the ignominious demise of Webbâs career. He hadnât waded through red tape and diplomatic crap for the better part of thirty years to simply flush it all away.
He wouldnât be the Man Who Lost Colombia, by God.
And drugs were critical to U.S. foreign policyâhad been for decades. Webb knew that, agreed with all the reasons that had been explained to him when he was rising through the ranks, watching the hypocrites in Washington get ripped at parties after blasting dealers and their customers in speeches redolent of hellfire and brimstone. He fully understood political reality.