and followed him down with the blade, stabbing again and again with sewing-machine strokes.
Bolan grabbed Ruiz by the head and peeled him off, twisting and hurling him sideways. Ruiz shook it off and wheeled on the soldier, his bloody knife held before him.
“Now, you bastard,” Ruiz hissed, “now I carve off a piece of you!”
Bolan drew his SOG Pentagon knife left-handed. Ruiz narrowed his eyes as he took in the double serrated blade. The soldier crouched low, the knife reversed in his hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he told Ruiz. “That man—” he nodded to the fallen gunman “—is the shooter who killed your boss.”
“I know!” Ruiz spit. “And I have taken revenge for him!”
“You have,” Bolan said evenly. “You’ve even done me a favor.”
“And now,” Ruiz said, advancing with his blade before him, “I shall kill you and then the policeman, for luring us into this ambush.”
“I don’t know how they knew to take out Caqueta,” Bolan said, slowly circling as Ruiz rounded on him, “or who they were protecting to do it. You can help.”
“Help?” Ruiz laughed. In the distance, the first sirens wailed. “Why would I help you?”
“Your boss was going to help us find the source of the DU rounds,” Bolan told him. “He knew it was in his best interests.”
“He was wrong!” Ruiz lunged with the knife. Bolan sidestepped and slashed, scoring Ruiz lightly on the arm. The cartel killer snarled and backed off a couple of paces. “He never should have trusted the police. You see where it got him!”
Bolan could see the first uniformed officers closing on them through the park. He was running out of time. Ruiz glanced back and then to Bolan again. “They will take me,” he said, “but not before I take you!”
When the thrust came, Bolan was ready. He slapped Ruiz’s wrist with his right hand while drawing the Pentagon’s blade over the top of the man’s forearm, slicing deeply through the arm. Ruiz howled as Bolan followed up, slapping and trapping to the outside, moving to his opponent’s right outside his weapon. With a stomp he broke the killer’s ankle under the heel of his combat boot. Ruiz folded, wailing.
“Don’t move! Drop the knife!” The uniformed officers were closing in, guns drawn.
For the second time in as many days, Bolan slowly raised his hands and did as he was instructed.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
