Colony Of Evil

Colony Of Evil
Don Pendleton

Claiming one hundred square miles of mountainous terrain inside Colombia–ideal for the coca crop that supplies its revenue–Colonia Victoria is a sanctuary for humanity's most dedicated fanatics.Organized by one of Hitler's minions still deeply devoted to the eradication of those considered threats to the "master race," this Nazi Neverland is now a deadly global threat. And it's spearheading a new wave of terror–with a little help from drug money, corrupt offi cials and a partnership with Islamic fanatics.Mack Bolan's hunting party includes a Mossad agent and a local guide, as tracking Hans Gunter Dietrich becomes a violent trek deep into the jungle, where Bolan intends to dissolve an unholy alliance in blood.

Each mission held surprises

Few, if any, ran exactly as the plans were drawn—in quiet moments, prior to contact with the enemy. Whether you called it chaos theory or the human element, it all came down to the same thing: variables that could never be anticipated.

Mack Bolan had stayed alive this long because he planned ahead and still retained the flexibility required to change his plans, adapt to any given situation that arose. Some day, he knew, the switch would be too fast for him, his enemy too deadly accurate, and that would be the end.

But hopefully, it wouldn’t be this night.

He understood that there was too much riding on his mission to Colombia, too many lives at risk if he should fail. His own fate was of less concern to Bolan than the job at hand, but he could hardly carry out that job if he was dead.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Colony of Evil

Mack Bolan

Don Pendleton

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Mike Newton for his contribution to this work.

At least two-thirds of our miseries spring from human stupidity, human malice and those great motivators and justifiers of malice and stupidity, idealism, dogmatism and proselytizing zeal on behalf of religious or political idols.

—Aldous Huxley,

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Fanatics never learn. They never change. Defeat in argument or battle doesn’t faze them. Time has no impact on their beliefs or tactics. When they go too far, the only thing that works is cleansing fire.

—Mack Bolan

To Senator James Webb, for courage under fire in

Vietnam and Washington, D.C.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Park Avenue, New York City

The man had proved untouchable; his wife was not. The man—the real target—employed security devices and armed guards, remained inside his consulate whenever possible, and generally lived as if his life was constantly at risk.

In that belief, he was correct.

The trackers had considered sniper rifles, car bombs, even rocket launchers, but they ultimately realized that an assault against the consulate itself would likely guarantee their own deaths, while their target had a good chance of emerging from the blitz unscathed. They found that prospect unacceptable, and so adjusted their approach.

The target’s wife was reasonably pretty, undeniably vivacious, and would not allow herself to be penned up inside drab walls simply because her husband was afraid. She had been hoping, even praying, for the diplomatic posting to New York, and she was not about to waste a moment of her golden opportunity. There were too many stores, boutiques, salons, spas, theaters, cafés—the list was endless, and she meant to try them all before they were recalled to Tel Aviv.

That afternoon she needed jewelry, and she refused to have samples delivered to the consulate. Why suffer a parade of fawning salesmen when she could go out and visit them, have lunch, enjoy herself in the heart of Manhattan?

The trackers watched and waited, mingling with the sidewalk crowd. They were dressed down to fit the setting, pass for tourists, and the woman’s driver didn’t seem to notice them.

Her single bodyguard was first to leave the jeweler’s shop, scanning the street before he beckoned to his charge. The woman followed, carrying a small black satin bag and chatting, distracting her protector when he should have been alert.

The trackers moved together, one drawing a pistol, firing at the bodyguard from point-blank range, then spinning toward the black Mercedes at the curb and bouncing three rounds off its windshield. If the driver chose to save himself, he had to stay inside the car.