Firestorm

Firestorm
Don Pendleton

BLOWBACKMack Bolan's mission takes him to Bogot , Colombia, where an American corporation has been practicing bad business for nearly two decades. If it's a weapons contract, classified materials or soldiers for hire, the company will deal–all with the blessing of the CIA.But now, certain high-ranking individuals are playing by their own rules, stepping outside of their operating field into a whole new ball game: selling America's secrets to hostile nations. The members of a CIA investigating team are all dead, except one hostage. U.S. officials, from the Oval Office down, are anxious. The Executioner's objective is to reel in an operation spinning out of control…by any means necessary.

The Executioner

Firestorm

Don Pendleton’s

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

Special thanks and acknowledgment to

Tim Tresslar for his contribution to this work.

Contents

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

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Prologue

He was sure his heart would explode.

Javier Montesinos thrashed his way through the latticework of vines and branches that covered the jungle floor. Greens and browns rushed at him in a kaleidoscopic flurry. He sucked for air, felt it burn the insides of his overtaxed lungs. Blood thundered in his ears and his arms pumped wildly at his sides as he tried to gain distance from the monster on his trail.

The sound of an engine’s growl intermingled with the crash of branches and foliage being ripped from the ground, snapped and crushed beneath something big. Motorcycle engines whined, the insistent buzzing nearly swallowed up by the unseen vehicle’s thunder.

Montesinos wanted to stop, wanted to rest, to hide.

He could do none of these things.

He could only run. He needed to escape, to call Maria and let her know what’d gone down. That they were coming for her.

A motorcycle’s whine grew louder. The CIA agent tightened his grip on the Uzi he carried, but kept his pace steady. He’d stolen the weapon from one of the camp’s guards, snapping the man’s neck in return.

He’d covered a couple more yards when something hurtled from the brush. In a blur of black and silver, it shot past him into a large clearing that lay just ahead.

The driver whipped the motorcycle into a J-turn and brought it around 180 degrees. The biker paused, the black shield that covered his face locked on the exhausted agent. He revved the engine, but kept the bike stationary. One hand drifted from the handlebars and slid for a pistol clipped to his belt.

Montesinos jerked to a halt. His chest heaved as he sucked greedily at the exhaust-tainted air. He felt light-headed and the sudden stop caused him to stumble. He caught himself and raised the Uzi. He knew the magazine was nearly empty, depleted by his spraying his pursuers with volleys of gunfire.

The agent heard the rumbling of the big machine as it closed in from behind.

In the instant that he pulled the trigger, the motorcycle blasted forth and bore down on him. The gun chugging out a line of fire, he thrust himself sideways, narrowly escaping the bike’s onslaught. When he struck the ground, he ignored the sharp ends of branches that poked into his body. He focused on his target.