tion id="udd6d439f-176d-5ace-a157-c8484b3c8693">
HIDE-AND-SEEK
The Himalayas become a deadly hunting zone when a nuclear warhead is stolen from a black-market warehouse in Kathmandu. Knowing the incident could start World War III, the President sends Mack Bolan and a CIA operative to retrieve the weapon in the treacherous border region between Tibet and Nepal.
But the U.S. isn’t the only country in the search. Bolan and his ally are up against cunning Chinese and Russian assassins, and several local warlords are vying for the valuable nuke, as well. These competing parties are determined to reach the weapon first—no matter how many witnesses they eliminate on the way. With few alternatives and the trail of innocent blood growing longer, Bolan accepts the help of an old spy. But can he be trusted? With the harsh mountain terrain working against them, the Executioner will need to rely on his wits to win this race…because coming in second is not an option.
“Jump clear!” the pilot yelled.
“The wings are completely iced over!”
The doors opened and immediately the wind and pelting ice slashed at them. Bolan shoved the equipment container forward, trying to push it into the opening. Nischal leaned down to help, then stumbled in the gusting winds.
That was all it took for the icy air to snatch her. She rolled toward the opening away from Bolan’s outstretched hand.
“We’re going down!” the Major yelled. “Get clear! We’ll hold it as long as we can!”
Nischal continued the slide and Bolan saw her reach for and miss the chance to grab one of the support struts on the ramp. She spun around again and her chute snagged on a piece of metal sticking up from the very edge of the ramp. He couldn’t hear it over the howling wind, but he could imagine the tearing sound it made.
Her eyes met his and he knew there was nothing for it. He jumped, trying to catch her, but by then she’d torn free and begun the long fall to the ground. Bolan glimpsed the ragged remains of her parachute, still hung up on the cargo bay doors, and at the edge of the ramp, their equipment.
Then he, too, was free-falling into the storm.
Perilous Cargo
Don Pendleton
Man’s enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself.
—Lao Tzu
Anyone who makes himself an enemy of innocent people is an enemy of mine. And he doesn’t have long for this world.
—Mack Bolan
Table of Contents
Not far from the warehouse, he walked silently over the small stone footbridge that crossed the Bagmati River. Farther upstream, temples lined the banks of the waterway the Hindus and Buddhists believed was holy, but the man was not interested in the spiritual potential of the water—only the rippling, gurgling sound that helped hide his movements. The moonless sky ensured there were plenty of shadows, and the late hour left the streets empty and quiet.
Kathmandu was unlike any other city in the world. It was a city of contradictions—wealthy tourists mingled with poor-by-choice monks and hotels catering to the rich found near ancient shrines. Nepal was a strange place, and Kathmandu, a crossroads of religion, money, crime and constantly shifting political powers, was the hub. He liked it, though he was glad that this night would see him on his way home.
With no fear of being seen by late-night tourists in the remote district, he found the stone shrine he’d been seeking, reached inside to find the switch and slid the hidden panel aside. Cobwebs and dirt covered the handle, but he wiggled it back and forth, eventually pulling it free of its lock. Below the shrine, the opening for the staircase came free, revealing a steeply twisting set of stone stairs. He stepped inside and used another mechanism to close the panel behind him.
The man ignored the torch holders and slipped his night-vision monocle into place. The corridor hadn’t been used in years and he chuckled to himself. Some secrets were just forgotten, waiting to be exposed. He knew many of them, in cities and countries far and near.