id="ub7b4bbe6-7c79-55fe-a343-8113b20397cc">
NO MAN’S LAND
A missing U.S. nuclear scientist resurfaces as a member of a guerrilla women’s rights organization in Pakistan, raising all kinds of alarms in Washington. Armed with fissionable material—and the knowledge to use it—the scientist is soon targeted by rebel fighters determined to get their hands on the nukes at any cost.
With the stability of the entire region on the line, Mack Bolan is tasked with extracting the woman and bringing her Stateside, even if she doesn’t want to go. But as the rebels close in and the rights group realizes its combined weapons and skills can’t compare to those of trained fighters, Bolan and his allies—a handful of Pakistani soldiers and an army officer—are forced to join the battle. Their team might be small, but the Executioner has might on his side.
“He’s supposed to be on our side!” Davis yelled.
Suddenly, a burst of fire came from behind them. Bolan spun around and saw Patel charging toward them, spraying bullets.
“Take her,” Bolan said, thrusting the struggling Lasi into Davis’s hands while he carefully aimed his rifle at the charging Pakistani soldier. Whether it was a temporary flash of insanity, an indication of his hidden hostility toward the women’s rights group or just frustration at a mission gone fugazi, there was no doubt that Patel had murderous intentions. Bolan needed a clean shot to take the man temporarily out of the game.
He was still drawing a bead when a burst of fire from behind him chopped Patel down as he ran. He stumbled as the bullets exploded across his chest, and he pitched forward as his momentum carried him beyond his failing legs.
Bolan swung around, ready to return fire. Two women, poorly concealed, with their rifles in plain view. He didn’t want to take out PWLA members, but they were leaving him little choice.
Bolan took aim. He could only assume they were about to fire again. Davis’s voice cut through everything and made him stop short as his finger tensed on the trigger.
“Colonel, no—that’s Shazana Yasmin.”
Savage Deadlock
Don Pendleton
Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves.
—Abraham Lincoln,
1809–1865
Every person, man or woman, has the right to choose their path. I will join any fight to take down the oppressors of this world.
—Mack Bolan
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
The Legend
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
Shazana Yasmin looked out over the river as the evening faded into dusk. She loved coming back here to where her family had settled after the city life of Quetta had ceased to have any appeal. Her father was attached to the mountainous regions of Balochistan, Pakistan, close to the borders with Afghanistan and Iran, and had stubbornly refused to move back to civilization, even though the hilly terrain was now dangerous to pass at times, as bandits and revolutionaries prowled the land.
Despite this, she still saw it as a tranquil haven away from the city and the academic life that had enveloped her, and she liked to travel here when she could. Since her mother had passed away, her father had become more reclusive and curmudgeonly, allowing his sons to run the businesses that had bought them this palatial villa, nestled into the hills and overlooking the peacefully flowing river.
As the dusk closed, so the insects became bolder, and their buzzing grew louder in her ears. Idly, she swatted them away, her thoughts far from the peace of the countryside.
“Malaria, fever of some kind if they bite...then maybe hospitalization, which isn’t easy in the back end of beyond. I don’t know, maybe by the time they get