Blind Justice Read online

  Off the grid

  An undercover Seattle cop is in hot water after discovering that a U.S. senator and a Russian mob boss are in business together. But with his fellow officers on the senator’s payroll, the detective has no one to trust and nowhere to hide—until he runs into Mack Bolan.

  While fleeing dirty cops who want to silence him, the police officer is nearly hit by Bolan’s SUV. The desperate detective is shot and collapses. Bolan rescues the injured man and takes up his fight. But the killers are relentless and the warrior may be too late to save the two people who can tell him where the evidence has been hidden: the officer’s wife and young son. Fired on at each turn and with the body count growing, the Executioner knows he must stop the corruption at the source—before more innocent lives are lost.

  Slugs slapped the ground around Bolan

  He kept moving, increasing his pace. Bullets zipped into the grass behind him, a couple even closer than the first volley—and then he was surrounded by trees. The trunks and low branches shielded him as shots slammed into the timber, chewing bark and ripping at the foliage.

  Overhead, the dark bulk of the hovering helicopter appeared. The men on the ground were waving it away, but the pilot ignored their pleas.

  Bolan shouldered the MP-5, tracked the ground team and gave them a couple of short bursts—two went down, three others scattered.

  As the chopper swung in toward the edge of the forest, Bolan edged around a tree, steadied his aim and let go with a long burst, concentrating on the helicopter’s engine. The rounds hammered at the aluminum panels, punching ragged holes in the metal, as the Executioner held his finger on the trigger and cleared the magazine.

  The chopper’s power faltered, the smooth beating becoming ragged.

  Bolan turned and ran deeper into the forest. The advantage was his, but he knew it wouldn’t last. There were still the surviving members of the ground team, plus however many had been in the helicopter—an unknown figure at the moment.

  The Executioner had a feeling that wouldn’t remain a mystery for long.

  Game on.

  Mack Bolan: The Executioner

  #325 Edge of Hell

  #326 Blood Tide

  #327 Serpent’s Lair

  #328 Triangle of Terror

  #329 Hostile Crossing

  #330 Dual Action

  #331 Assault Force

  #332 Slaughter House

  #333 Aftershock

  #334 Jungle Justice

  #335 Blood Vector

  #336 Homeland Terror

  #337 Tropic Blast

  #338 Nuclear Reaction

  #339 Deadly Contact

  #340 Splinter Cell

  #341 Rebel Force

  #342 Double Play

  #343 Border War

  #344 Primal Law

  #345 Orange Alert

  #346 Vigilante Run

  #347 Dragon’s Den

  #348 Carnage Code

  #349 Firestorm

  #350 Volatile Agent

  #351 Hell Night

  #352 Killing Trade

  #353 Black Death Reprise

  #354 Ambush Force

  #355 Outback Assault

  #356 Defense Breach

  #357 Extreme Justice

  #358 Blood Toll

  #359 Desperate Passage

  #360 Mission to Burma

  #361 Final Resort

  #362 Patriot Acts

  Don Pendleton

  Blind Justice

  The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice.

  —Martin Luther King, Jr.

  1929–1968

  Without justice, this world would be lost. And when law and order is unable to establish it, I will be there to fight for those who have been wronged. Injustice will never go unpunished on my watch.

  —Mack Bolan

  The Mack Bolan Legend

  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.

  Special thanks and acknowledgment to Mike Linaker for his contribution to this work.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 1

  Seattle, Washington

  “Okay, I know we can’t kill him,” Ken Brenner said. “Doesn’t mean we can’t make the bastard suffer. Put a bullet in him to slow him down. He’s got something the senator wants and Kendal is a mean son of a bitch to say no to.”

  “Yeah? You know what pisses me off? That hard-faced mother he keeps at his side all the time. Stone.” Steve Dunn hawked and spat with deliberate force. “Follows Kendal around like a fuckin’ guard dog.”

  “Well, that’s what he is. Senator Kendal’s pet rottweiler.”

  Dunn folded his arms across his chest, hunching his shoulders against the chill rain sweeping in across the city. He was cold and he was wet, despite the supposed all-weather coat he was wearing. They had been waiting for almost an hour, watching the seedy hotel where their quarry was said to be staying. Brenner’s informants had come up with the location earlier that afternoon, so he and Dunn had staked out the place and were waiting for their man to show.

  “Jesus, Ken,” Dunn complained, “why couldn’t we have waited in the car?”

  “We’ve been through this. If Logan sees our wheels parked on this street he’s just liable to turn around and leave. He’s a cop, Steve. A fucking good cop. He’d spot a car like o
urs with his eyes shut. Wrong vehicle for a deadbeat street like this.”

  “Yeah. Well, if I get a chill from this rain I’ll send Kendal a bill for my medicine.”

  Brenner chuckled. “Good luck with that,” he said.

  “Hey, Ken, isn’t that Logan?”

  A man was walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Brenner recognized him instantly. He watched Ray Logan as the cop headed for the hotel entrance. He tapped his partner and they crossed the street, coming up behind Logan.

  The cop must have sensed them behind him. He turned, fixing his gaze on them. Brenner was shocked at Logan’s appearance. His unshaven face was pale, cheeks sunken, his hair in need of a trim.

  “Hey, Ray, where you been hiding?” Brenner asked. “You never call. You don’t write.”

  “What the hell do you want, Brenner?”

  “Isn’t so much what we want, Ray,” Brenner said. “It’s Kendal who wants to have a talk with you.”

  The moment he heard the senator’s name, Ray Logan threw himself at Brenner and Dunn. His move caught them off guard. They had expected him to run, not attack. His left shoulder rammed into Brenner’s chest, taking his breath and knocking him off balance. Logan’s right foot lashed out, catching Dunn in the groin, drawing a howl of agony from the man. As Dunn clutched at himself, Logan drove his fist into his face, drawing blood from Dunn’s mouth.

  “Get that bastard,” Dunn said.

  Logan had turned and now broke away from them, cutting across the street and making it to the dark mouth of an alley.

  “Let’s go,” Brenner yelled, taking off after Logan, yanking his handgun from its holster.

  Dunn followed, pawing at the blood oozing from his torn lip. He pounded after his partner, splashing through standing pools of water.

  “Don’t you fucking lose him,” he called.

  Up ahead he could see the dark outline of Logan, framed at the far end of the alley. There was a moment when it looked as if he had stopped running, half turning to look back at his pursuers.

  Then he broke into motion, plunging out of the alley and into the street beyond.

  THE MAN CAME OUT of the alley, cutting directly across the rain-swept street and was caught in the glare of the SUV’s headlights. Tires squealed as the heavy vehicle violently braked, the forward motion arrested briefly as the rear end cycled around, the driver working the wheel with strong hands. It came to a rocking halt, the driver’s-side window level with the fleeing man. There was a frozen millisecond where the two men held face-to-face.

  The sharp crack of an auto pistol was followed by a blinking muzzle flash, a second shot was fired, and the fleeing man was slammed against the SUV’s door. He tumbled away, going to his knees as the driver shoved open the door and exited the vehicle. He stood over the fallen man, a weapon filling his hands, and he returned fire in the direction of the two shadowed figures at the mouth of the alley. Whatever they might have expected, someone shooting back at them was not it. The shooter’s slug slammed into the brickwork at the mouth of the ally, splinters peppering them, and without continuing the attack the men fell back into the dark maw of the gap between buildings.

  Wind gusted in the deserted street, driving the rain forward in chilled sheets. It was close to 1:00 a.m. and the backstreet area of the city, never heavily congested even in daylight, was devoid of pedestrians in the early hours.

  The SUV’s driver leaned over and helped the wounded man to his feet. He opened the rear door and eased him inside the vehicle. He climbed back behind the wheel, dropped the lever into Drive and took the SUV away from the alley, making a fast turn, and headed for the city center.

  “You okay back there?”

  The wounded man had pulled himself to a sitting position. Pain from his wounds was starting to make itself known and it took him a moment to speak.

  “Been better,” he said.

  His rescuer glanced into the rearview mirror. He saw a gaunt face, eyes deep-set and dark-ringed. The hair plastered to the skull. Whatever had happened to the man had started well before the shooting. The problem was of long-standing.

  “You need a hospital?”

  “No hospital.”

  “You’ve got a couple of bullets in you,” the driver said.

  “Can’t risk a hospital. They have to report gunshot wounds and details go on computers.”

  “You wanted by the police?”

  The hoarse laugh from the rear seat held a cynical undertone. “Not in the way you might believe.”

  “How do I interpret that?”

  There was a silence as the man reached inside his rain-soaked jacket. He held an object the driver could see in the mirror.

  It was a black leather badge holder, and the streetlamps reflected off the metal of a shield that identified the Seattle Police Department.

  “I’m a cop,” the guy said. “The pair trying to bring me down were cops, too. Dunn and Brenner. I have something they want. My own squad captain, Fitch, is in on it, too. I was working undercover, on my own, and gathered one hell of a package of incriminating evidence against a guy named Kendal. Tyrone Kendal. And get this. He’s a U.S. senator. Powerful man. Ruthless bastard. All started with a few rumors I got from one of my informants. Tied in with a case I was already working. So I turned my attention to Kendal and some of the lowlifes on his payroll. Didn’t realize what I was into until I’d worked myself in deep. Spent a couple of months on it. Started to get results. Pictures. Video. Telephone voice recordings. Even managed to get into some of Kendal’s computer files. The guy is into real nasty stuff. Blackmail. Bribery. He has a number of influential people by the balls. Other politicians. Business executives. Those three cops are banking payoff money—big bucks, too. One of my informants calls and tells me to get the hell out. Said I was blown. Next day they pulled his body out of the water. He’d been cut to pieces. I put my information together and checked into a hotel. Called my wife and told her to lie low until I had things sorted. I tried to bring one of the squad heads in on what I had. He reacted weird. I got the feeling he was working me. That was Fitch. Proved out when I found I was being followed. I managed to lose the tail, then realized the son of a bitch was working for the people I’d fingered. So I went off the grid. I’m trying to stay one step ahead while I try to figure out what to do. Who to trust now. When I called Rachel she warned me to stay away from the house. It was being watched.”

  There was a soft sound as the guy passed out and slumped across the rear seat. The driver decided his next move in seconds, turning the SUV at the upcoming junction and heading across town. He had made a swift decision, knew where he had to go, even though at that moment he had no idea where his choice would take him.

  Be it by chance.

  Fate.

  A coming together of the two of them. He didn’t know. All he was aware of was the wounded man in his vehicle. The guy carried a problem on his shoulders. And by stepping in he was now involved.

  His commitment was dictated by his nature. The unspoken trait that seemed to bring him by time and place into direct contact with those in need of help.

  And no one in such circumstances would ever be ignored by the driver of the SUV.

  His name was Mack Bolan.

  In a past time, in another place, due to his actions, he had been called Sergeant Mercy.

  On that rain-swept night in Seattle that was the persona he was channeling. But within a short time the twists and turns of life would click him into his other alter ego.

  The Executioner.

  Chapter 2

  Marty Keegan felt the cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He didn’t need to check who was calling him because there was only one person who knew the number. The cell was a burn phone, purchased ten days ago when Ray Logan had tak
en himself off the grid and vanished. Keegan eased out of his seat, walking away from his desk and out of the squad room. As he reached the corridor outside he eased the phone from his pocket and keyed the button to accept the call.

  “Hey, Ray,” he said.

  Logan’s voice sounded tired. “I was ready to switch off,” he said.

  “Sorry, buddy. I had to get out of the squad room before I answered.”

  “You got anything for me?”

  “Brenner and Dunn are acting like a couple of nervous old ladies. I’d be surprised if they’re not in with Fitch. They’re just standing around in a huddle and they break off if anyone goes near them. They came into the squad room last night looking like drowned rats. Dunn had a fat lip, like someone had punched him out. Don’t know what they’d been up to.”

  “They were laying in wait for me near my hotel,” Logan said. “Damn near let them take me, too. I slugged Dunn and managed to break away and run through an alley. Thought I was clear until I almost got myself run down. One of those bastards put a couple of slugs in me and I would have been finished if the driver of the SUV I ran into hadn’t fired back at them, thrown me into his car and drove off.”

  “You hurt bad?”

  “I’ve been in better health.”

  “Where the hell are you, Ray?”

  “Not quite sure. Out of the city. I’m not being vague, buddy. I just don’t know. I passed out a few times. When I came round the last time I was in a bed, bandaged up, hurting like crazy. The guy from the SUV told me the bullets had been removed. Racked up my shoulder some and one had cracked a couple of ribs. When I asked him he told me a doctor had dealt with me. Gave me blood. Pumped painkillers into me and left instructions that I wasn’t to be moved for a few days. Said I had some kind of infection.”

  “Ray, you listen to yourself. This all sounds weird.”

  Keegan wasn’t sure how to interpret what his partner was telling him. He had known Ray Logan for a long time—enough time to understand the man was not given to flights of fancy. If he heeded Logan’s story it was because the man was straight down the line.