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Devil’s Playground
Mack Bolan®
Don Pendleton’s
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
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
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Douglas P. Wojtowicz for his contribution to this work.
PROLOGUE
Even in the bright Acapulco sunlight, Rosa Asado felt invisible. Less than invisible, really. As part of Governor Brujillo’s executive protection team, she was supposed to keep to the background, ever vigilant.
While Asado was an attractive woman, she was just second-rate compared to this crowd. A slender blond American singer with a vacuous smile laughed at Anibella Brujillo’s latest witticism. The governor’s wife was a stunning woman in her late thirties, with long, black silky hair. Brujillo’s face was lean, with full lips that moved with facile ease as she spoke cultured English with a deep, husky breathlessness that sharply contrasted with the American songstress’s cackles and nasal-braying speech. It was no surprise, Asado thought. While the young blonde was popular in the United States, Anibella Brujillo had been a national heroine in her younger days, achieving international fame from Argentina to Ontario with fans of latin music. She had even achieved crossover success with several Top 10 hits in the U.S. between the time she was eighteen and twenty-nine, when Anibella finally officially retired from pop superstardom and married a young, up-and-coming politician in Guerrero’s state politics.
Brujillo’s voice could be described in one word—spellbinding.
Asado’s wide-brimmed hat, dark sunglasses and brunette curls were arranged to conceal the unobtrusive earpiece and throat microphone that kept her in touch with the rest of the executive protection team. If there was a battle, Asado wouldn’t be alone.
“We’ve got movement at the gates of the resort. Military vehicles,” a voice cut in on her concentration.
Asado’s hand rested on her thigh, not far from a pocket containing one of her twin Detonics .45 CombatMaster pistols. “I thought we had a report of a base arranging transport through the area.”
“They’re off the given path,” another one of the Mexican security team stated. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on having jeeps with machine guns passing too close to the command trailer.”
Asado’s brow furrowed and her fingertips played around the snap of her pocket. While the mobile command center was armor-plated, against a .50-caliber machine gun that protection might as well be tissue paper. “Ricky…”
She was about to give a quiet admonishment to be careful when distant thunder rumbled through the air, the earpiece shrieking through her skull as Ricardo Bonases howled in agony, shrieking something about his arm being severed.
Other members of the protection team closed in around Anibella Brujillo and Asado tore the pistol from her right pocket, thumbing down the safety lever. At the sight of armed men and women around her, the governor’s wife cut off her story in midword, green eyes scanning the area.
Asado caught Anibella’s glance toward two men at one far corner of the pool area, reinforcing her suspicions about the two men who seemed to be stalking the first lady. Veteran members of the detail had dismissed Asado’s warning about the pair, and others like them, pronounced as being harmless after background checks. Asado had been ordered to drop any inquiries about the mysterious shadows, and rumors among the rest of the security team had said those orders had come from Anibella Brujillo herself.
Right now, Asado didn’t know who exactly the pair were, but at least she felt secure that they wouldn’t make an effort to kill the governor’s wife.
An explosion rocked Asado as she closed with the first lady, the shock wave knocking her to the marble-tiled deck and pushing her into the water. Caught off guard, Asado sucked in a lungful of water. She lost the first pistol in her grasp from the concussion or from striking the marble pool deck. Either way, her reflexes took over, powerful legs kicking off the pool bottom and driving her head above the water. With a vomitous exhalation, she voided water through her mouth. Her slender but tightly muscled arms reached for the terra-cotta lip of the pool to brace herself as she took a ragged gasp of life-giving oxygen into her chest. As she surfaced, she spotted green-and brown-mottled shapes with assault rifles rushing through a cloud of smoke and debris from the explosion.
Asado tucked down, holding her breath this time as bullets pierced the pool’s surface, riding on spears of bubbles. She tore the other Detonics CombatMaster from her pocket, transferring it to her right hand and thumbing off the safety. With another kick, she broke the surface, spotting a Mexican soldier with a G3 assault rifle firing a short burst at the other end of the pool. Asado didn’t waste any time identifying the target. Instead she punched out two fat 230-grain hollow-point rounds into the camouflage-wearing gunman’s groin and lower belly. Wide-mouthed cavities scooped aside flesh and blood, hydrostatic pressure peeling back the bowl-like lips of the bullets and spreading them apart on impact, smashing out deep divots from the Mexican’s pelvic bone.
Robbed of the skeletal structure he needed to stand, the rifleman tumbled headfirst into the pool, his rifle clattering to the tile.
Asado surged for the deck, firing another shot at a second armed gunman who raked a burst of automatic fire across the governor’s wife and her party. Realizing that she heard nothing over her ear radio, Asado wondered if the water had shorted out the system when she was dunked. She would have to check on the radio, but not before
