Renegade
State of TerrorMack Bolan hits the streets of Tehran, looking for a renegade former Soviet weapons expert who sold out to the terror business –a man who knows the hiding places of the toppled Iraqi dictator's arsenal of biological and chemical agents. But the stakes get higher when Bolan makes the grim connection between the deadly weapons and individuals double-dealing in death. Those paid to hide the cache are now reselling everything, from bubonic plague to sarin gas, to any terrorists with enough cash. In a world held hostage by the madness of a few, Bolan stands determined to fi ght as long as he's alive to keep the balance of power in the hands of the good… and hope it's enough to make a difference.
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Bolan studied the Iranianâs ashen face
He wasnât completely convinced that Vanaki was up to the job, and not sure he was justified in giving him such a dangerous task, even if he was.
âIâm giving you one more chance,â the Executioner said. âYou donât have to do this. No one could ever call you a coward if you decide not to.â
When Vanaki failed to answer, Bolan left him standing by the door with the Beretta in both hands. The expression on the young manâs face told Bolan all he needed to know.
Merzad Vanaki was ready to kill in the name of both his father and American freedom. Or die, if the dice rolled that way.
Other titles available in this series:
Deathâs Head
Hellground
Inferno
Ambush
Blood Strike
Killpoint
Vendetta
Stalk Line
Omega Game
Shock Tactic
Showdown
Precision Kill
Jungle Law
Dead Center
Tooth and Claw
Thermal Strike
Day of the Vulture
Flames of Wrath
High Aggression
Code of Bushido
Terror Spin
Judgment in Stone
Rage for Justice
Rebels and Hostiles
Ultimate Game
Blood Feud
Renegade Force
Retribution
Initiation
Cloud of Death
Termination Point
Hellfire Strike
Code of Conflict
Vengeance
Executive Action
Killsport
Conflagration
Storm Front
War Season
Evil Alliance
Scorched Earth
Deception
Destinyâs Hour
Power of the Lance
A Dying Evil
Deep Treachery
War Load
Sworn Enemies
Dark Truth
Breakaway
Blood and Sand
Caged
Sleepers
Strike and Retrieve
Age of War
Line of Control
Breached
Retaliation
Pressure Point
Silent Running
Stolen Arrows
Zero Option
Predator Paradise
Circle of Deception
Devilâs Bargain
False Front
Lethal Tribute
Season of Slaughter
Point of Betrayal
Ballistic Force
Renegade
MACK BOLAN®
Don Pendleton
Freedom all solace to man gives;
He lives at ease that freely lives.
âJohn Barbour,
The Bruce, c.1375
I call upon all who love freedom to stand with us now. Together we shall achieve victory.
âDwight D. Eisenhower,
Broadcast on D-Day
Itâs not enough to say that we cherish freedom. Itâs important in these trying times to put our words into action if we want to stay free.
âMack Bolan
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
Torture was unreliable. They had tried it in the past and found that the subject didnât necessarily tell the truth.
He said whatever he thought would stop the pain.
CIA Agent Wes Donaldson watched the man at the table through the one-way mirror. Shuaib Marfazda sat passively on the other side of the glass, seated in a straight-backed wooden chair. He hadnât been tied to the chair, or in any other way restrained. Yet he sat as if his arms and legs had been immobilized. The only parts of his body that moved were his fingers as they tapped out some unrecognizable drumroll on the tabletop. His eyes stared straight ahead as if theyâd been welded into place.
Donaldson glanced at his wristwatch, then looked through the glass at the door leading from the interrogation room into the hall. Marfazda assumed it was locked. It wasnât. They had long ago passed the point where it was necessary to lock him in. Or use any other physical bonds, for that matter. Marfazdaâs mind had become its own restraint.
No, Donaldson thought, Shuaib Marfazda, now lived in a CIA-created reality that was no more real than a childâs bedtime story. They had, in many ways, convinced him that down was up and up was down, red stop lights meant go and green meant stop. And it had all been accomplished without ever once touching the Hamas terrorist.
The door to the observation room opened suddenly. Donaldson turned to his side to see Jed Coffmanâs broad, six-five frame block the light from the hallway. Coffman closed the door behind him, then moved to Donaldsonâs side at the mirror. The big CIA operative frowned. âHe ready?â
âProbably.â Donaldson nodded. âHeâs showing most of the signs. If you wanted to compare his brain to spaghetti, Iâd say itâs been boiled to a point somewhere between medium and soft.â
âI think of them more as little men made out of modeling clay,â Coffman said seriously. âWe take them, smash them flat, then rebuild them the way we want them.â The tall manâs hand rose to his chin where he scratched a weekâs worth of stubble. âOf course we leave enough between their ears for them to tell us everything they know.â He turned toward Donaldson. âWhat say we give him another few more minutes? It canât hurt, and I could use a cup. Want some?â
Donaldson shook his head as Coffman crossed the room to the coffee machine. In the reflection of the glass, he saw the tall man lift the carafe and pour coffee into a cup. Peering through the reflection he continued to watch the terrorist on the other side of the one-way mirror. Again, Marfazdaâs fingers began to drum out some unknown rhythm on the table. The finger taps had begun a few hours before, but in the past ninety minutes theyâd started coming at regular five-minute intervals. Now they occurred every few seconds.
