Bolanâs thoughts turned to CLODOâs leader
He was the brains behind a number of attacks on computer manufacturers and related businesses during the past several months, and much more than computers had been destroyed.
Bombs, stray bullets and other collateral damage were always the result of warfare. But with terrorists, it became the objective rather than an unfortunate by-product. Since its reorganization, CLODOâs bombings, machine-gunning and other terrorist strikes had claimed hundreds of lives.
The Executionerâs jaw tightened as the bloody sight before him generated anger. He wasnât responsible for the death and destruction at this CLODO safehouse.
Pierre Rouillan was responsible for the deaths of his men.
Paris, France
Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, glanced up at the sliver of moon in the otherwise darkened sky. Then, dropping his line of vision, he took another quick survey of the one-story suburban house in front of him and his black-clad companion. This house looked little different than the other homes lining both sides of the street in this upper middle-class Parisian residential neighborhood, but it was different.
This dwelling housed terrorists.
The Executioner pointed Russian Intelligence agent Marynka Platinov toward the side of the house, then tapped his wristwatch with the same hand. âThirty seconds,â he whispered.
The beautiful blond-haired Russian agent glanced at her own watch, nodded, then took off in a jog around the corner.
Bolan couldnât help but let his eyes fall to her hips as the well-developed muscles in her buttocks tightened. Platinovâoften shortened simply to âPlatâ when Bolan spoke to herâwore the same stretchy black battle coveralls, known as âblacksuits,â as him.
She and the Executioner had worked together several times in the pastâfirst when sheâd been a new KGB officer and later, when sheâd emerged from the ashes of the Soviet Union to rise in the ranks of the newly formed Russian Intelligence Bureauâand Bolan was one of only a handful of people who knew her whole story. He and the beautiful Russian woman had developed a solid working relationship.
The Executioner glanced at the weapons and other equipment that hung from Platinovâs blacksuit. A double shoulder rig with a matching pair of Colt Gold Cup .45s was stretched across her back, and a 1911 Government Model .45 rode on a curvaceous hip.
The Executioner glanced at his watch as his partner turned the corner. Twenty seconds remained. He pulled back the bolt of the Heckler & Koch MP-5 submachine gun hanging from his shoulder on a sling, chambered the first round and flipped the selector switch from the safety position to 3-round-burst mode. As he methodically readied the weapon, his thoughts turned on Platinov and the only real area of disagreement that always stood between them.
The Russian woman was as loyal to her country as Bolan was to the U.S. And on rare occasionsâeven when their end objective was the sameâthose two loyalties conflicted. When that happened, problems arose. The Executioner didnât foresee any such problems on the horizon for this op, however. The leader of CLODOâComputer Liquidation and Hijack Committeeâand the rest of his newly vivified terrorist organization that they sought, were an equal threat to both countries. Yet, Bolan reminded himself, he would have to keep one eye on the enemy and the other on Platinov.
Bolan started up the concrete steps to the front porch of the CLODO safe house, taking them two at a time. At precisely the thirty-second mark, he slammed his right boot into the door just to one side of the dead-bolt lock. Wood cracked then splintered as the framework around the door exploded like a hand grenade filled with wooden shrapnel. A fraction of a second later, he heard a similar noise at the rear of the house and knew Platinov had entered the back entrance.
The front door swung open, crashing into the wall and rebounding back toward the Executioner as he raised the submachine gun to waist level. He pushed the door back again with his left hand. As the noise died down, the house went eerily silent for a second.
During that lull, the Executioner had time to quickly assess the interior of the house. He found himself standing on a ragged carpet in the living room. A soccer game was playing on a large-screen HDTV in the far corner, and set into the wall next to it was a fireplace.