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“If you do not cooperate, this will be the day you die!”
Santiago gestured to his men. They moved to stand one on either side of Bolan, gripping his arms and moving him across the cell to stand in front of a closed door on the far side. Santiago himself reached to free the bolts that held the door shut. He grasped the handle, ready to open it.
“In Miami you caused us a great deal of trouble. A number of our people died because you refused to back away. You made it clear you would refuse to stop searching for Maggie Connor. Congratulations, you have found her.”
Santiago pushed the door, then stepped aside so the Executioner could be shoved toward the opening.
It was another cell. A cold and hostile place.
Bolan was staring at Maggie Connor. Or what was left of her.
Dark Alliance
The Executioner®
Don Pendleton
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Mike Linaker for his contribution to this work.
Where there is no vision, the people perish.
—Proverbs 29:18
When leaders are motivated by personal gain their vision becomes clouded and the people they are meant to protect instead suffer. I will make those men see the error of their ways.
—Mack 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 name—Sergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compassion he showed to wounded comrades-in-arms and Vietnamese civilians.
Mack Bolan’s 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 society’s every rule. That same society started gunning for this elusive warrior—to 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 allies—Able Team and Phoenix Force—waged 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 “arm’s-length” alliance with his government once more, reserving the right to pursue personal missions in his Everlasting War.
Contents
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
1
Colombia
Mack Bolan heard them coming for him again. The same two men had taken him from his cell for the past two days, always at dawn. He recognized the familiar scrape of boots on the worn stone slabs.
He lay on his hard cot, counting the steps until they reached the cell door. Then came the grating of rusty bolts and the dry squeal of hinges as the door was pulled open. Pale light from the exterior passage lit the windowless cell. Each time they returned him to the room and closed the door he was plunged back into darkness.
Bolan swung his legs off the cot and stood, working the stiffness from his bruised limbs. He moved around as much as possible during the empty hours, resisting the urge to simply be still. He knew if he did that his battered body would seize up. Moving was no less painful, but he persisted, always thinking ahead to the moment when he would be offered his chance. He would be ready.
The first man to enter the cell was the one named Ricco. He was a big man, Bolan’s height, but with a poor physique. Overweight and out of condition, he wore a permanent scowl on his unshaven dark face. A mass of thick, untidy black hair hung to his rounded, soft shoulders.
“Come on, yanqui,” he ordered. His English was slow and heavily accented. “Your friend is waiting for you. Today is special, too.”
He pushed the Executioner out of the cell ahead of him.
Ricco’s partner, Noriamo, stood outside the cell. Noriamo was lean, his bony face scarred with knife marks. He wore a heavy mustache that hid his mouth. As Bolan passed him Noriamo watched with small, glittering eyes. His amusement at Bolan’s nakedness was evident as he looked the captive over. As always, Noriamo was armed with a 9 mm Uzi that dangled from his skinny neck by a braided leather sling. He was constantly touching the weapon, as if to convince himself it was still there. Noriamo displayed a heightened degree of nervousness.
They walked the length of the passage, reaching another door. Noriamo slid past Bolan and pushed the door open. Bolan knew what to expect in the interrogation room—stone walls and rough concrete floor. The room was marked with dark, dried bloodstains that announced it had been used many times. Some of that blood was his own. He expected the
