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
Prologue
Darice Pahlavi wondered if this would be the last day of her life. She’d spoken of it with the others, when she’d offered to complete the task that no one else within their circle could perform. The rest were all sincere enough, but none of them had access to the data that was needed.
Only she was inside.
She recognized the irony. A generation earlier, no woman of her nationality or faith would have been educated adequately, much less trusted to participate in such events.
But things had changed. In that respect, at least.
Some things, she feared, would never change. The lust for power that consumed some individuals was as powerful as ever. The egomania that warped their view of life and everything around them, made them believe that only they were fit to make the life-or-death decisions that affected thousands, even millions.
Perhaps Pahlavi herself had shared a measure of that guilt, she thought. But she had woken up in time to save herself. To save her soul.
The question burning in her mind was whether she could save her nation, and perhaps the world at large, from a horrendous nightmare in the making.
It could mean death if she failed, but she felt compelled to try.
Concealing the material had not been difficult. The two computer CD-ROMs were slim enough to hide beneath her clothing. She had taped them to her inner thighs, which were slim enough that she did not produce a plastic scraping sound with every step she took. The tape was uncomfortable, but it would hold its grip.
She’d delayed the taping until she was nearly finished for the day. It would’ve been a dicey proposition, working all day in the lab, with two disks plastered to her thighs, but she could easily endure an hour of discomfort, walking to the bus outside and riding to her home. Once she was there, and safe from prying eyes…
She caught herself relaxing prematurely and cut short her reverie. She wasn’t home yet, wasn’t even close. A hundred things could still go wrong.
Anxiety overwhelmed her, made her wish that she could run back to the washroom, but she couldn’t go again so soon. It might provoke an inquiry. Was something wrong? Was she unwell? Did she require examination by the lab’s standby physician? Had she been contaminated in some way?
Once Dr. Mehran started asking questions, Pahlavi knew she’d be finished. It would mean a physical examination, which would instantly reveal the contraband beneath her skirt.
