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  The paling came within sight, and he could feel her slow up a little behind him.

  “They probably fixed it...it’ll be stronger than ever,” she muttered hesitantly.

  “That was you who brought it down before?” he asked. She nodded. “You got out?” She nodded again. He grinned. “You’ve got guts. We’re going to need them if my leg seizes up. Now, follow me....”

  He took a running leap at the fence, grabbing the top of the loose pole and letting his weight pull it down slowly, just as he had when he’d entered. Elena watched for a moment, still a little dazed, before coming forward to join him. She hauled on his good leg—a thought he appreciated—and helped him bring the post down. It loosened in its mooring, coming out of the ground. It would mark their path, but the easy escape would buy them valuable time.

  As they prepared to cross the sagging wire, Bolan heard the chatter of SMG fire and yelling.

  “They’ve worked out what’s happened. We need to move,” he snapped, ushering her up onto the fence. She was still a little unsteady on her feet as she clambered over, but he could see that her coordination was improving.

  When she reached the other side, she paused and leaned her weight against the base of the paling, keeping it as flat as possible for him. He acknowledged her gratefully as he limped over the unsteady wire screening, the wound in his leg aching.

  When they were both on the other side, Bolan stared back into the park. He couldn’t detect any movement, but the cult members wouldn’t be long in following. He gestured to the dense, overhanging trees that threatened to intrude on the compound.

  “Get in there and keep out of sight. This won’t be great, but it should give us some space....”

  As she obeyed him, Bolan removed a small, wrapped container of plastic explosive from one of his duffel bags. He placed three small charges at regular intervals along the fence and set the timer for two and a half minutes. That would give him and Elena a small window to get clear, and it was doubtful that the enemy would reach the fence before the blast. To delay them would be enough; to take some of them out would be a bonus.

  He pulled the night-vision goggles down so that he would be able to see the way a little better, and began to lead Elena through the undergrowth. He figured that the cult members would be closing in on the fence line, but he couldn’t hear anything above the sound of their own bodies moving through the foliage.

  The rustling leaves and snapping branches didn’t block out the sound of the explosions. Despite Bolan’s best efforts, they had not made so much ground that the force of the blast and the debris thrown up by it didn’t touch them. The soldier did his best to shield Elena, but they were thrown against a tree trunk and showered with mud and clods of earth and grass.

  His head cracked against the wood and he swore under his breath. He was sure he’d heard some screams mingled with the sound of the blasts, and he hoped his timing had been good enough to reduce the number of enemies behind them.

  But that wouldn’t matter if they couldn’t make better time themselves. He pulled himself upright, but swayed unsteadily as red lights flashed across his vision. He resisted the urge to shake his head and clear it, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before opening them again. Elena was looking directly at him, and he could tell from her expression that she was back to normal. That was just as well, as he was feeling shaky, and was unsure whether or not this was concussion from the blow to the head, or the beginning of some kind of drug reaction.

  “You okay?” she asked him.

  He wanted to answer, but found it difficult to form the words. He was confused by the way her question seemed to stretch out endlessly, and her voice sounded several octaves too deep. Her head flickered and distorted as though he was looking at her reflection in a pool...a pool into which someone had just tossed a pebble, the ripples spreading out....

  What the hell was happening?

  “I think we’d better get moving,” he said, feeling as if his mouth was crammed full of gauze. “Before this gets worse...”

  Chapter 12

  After talking to Yates, Ricke was certain that he needed Elena and the information she carried, both as insurance and as tender. He had faith in Duane’s cunning and savagery, but as this intruder was probably some kind of black ops mercenary, he knew his lieutenant would be out of his depth. Ricke changed quickly out of his robe into combat pants and boots, with a T-shirt straining over his gut. He was not as young as he once was, and the advantages of being cult leader allowed him an indulgence that was starting to show.

  At first glance, he seemed the least likely figure to lead a pursuit, but on reflection, the kind of iron will that had forged this community and bartered the position he had out of nothing was not something to be ignored. Physically, he wasn’t fit; mentally, he had the determination fueled by fear that could give him an edge.

  He was panting hard as he ran through the park, taking the route that had already been cleared. He rarely strayed from the inhabited section around the entrance, and in the current confusion did not trust his memory of the layout of the traps. A little caution would save more time in the long run, he realized as he thudded toward the back of the park, his Uzi pointed down but his finger still in the trigger guard.

  The sound of three explosions pulled him up short. He cursed and listened in the aftermath for anything that would give him a clue as to the effects of the blasts. He could hear some screams and moans. Ricke stepped up his pace, even though he could feel his lungs burn. His community was small, and if the blast had taken out too many of them, and Elena had escaped, then he had a bigger problem than he’d feared.

  As the scene of devastation came into view, his curses grew louder and his pace increased. One section of fence had been ripped completely from the earth, the palings thrown into the foliage at the edge of the swamplands, the wire netting twisted and torn, strands poking up at bizarre angles. Large clumps of earth and mud had been ripped up, leaving an assault course of potholes and oozing puddles that were quickly filling up from the water that ran just beneath the surface.

  Most members of the Seven Stars had reached this spot. Ricke counted sixteen in all. Five were lying on the ground in contorted positions that suggested fatality, and a closer look revealed that some were missing body parts, which brutally confirmed this suspicion. Several people sat on the ground with dazed, vacant expressions. One man was clutching his arm, the sickening angle of which betrayed a dislocation. Two others had obvious leg breaks, one with bone poking through skin and clothing. Ricke noted that Susan Winkler was tending to some of them, and he marveled at how stony and impassive her face remained even in this chaos.

  Considering how close Duane must have been to the blast area, Ricke was amazed to see the man rallying the acolytes and issuing instructions. His eyes were wide and wild, set into his scorched skin. He caught his leader’s gaze and walked over to where Ricke stood.

  “Bastard must have had a bomb. He had her over the fence before I got here, I’m sure of that.”

  “And he’s taken out some of us at the same time,” Ricke remarked, disdaining to comment on Duane’s habit of pointing out the screamingly obvious. “How many fit men do we have to go after him?”

  “We’ll leave Susan to tend to the wounded. So that’s eight including you. You will come with us, right?” Duane’s beseeching tone was pitiful. Ricke had no desire to soil his hands with this, but at the same time he felt uneasy about Duane leading the search party, considering his last act had been to lead them into a bomb blast.

  That notwithstanding, he was sure Duane was correct when he said the intruder had taken the girl out into the swamps. There would be no reason for him to plant a bomb other than to create a diversion and carve out some time for himself...time that was already ticking away.

  “Of course I’ll be coming with you,” Ricke
affirmed, feeling a lurch of nausea at his lieutenant’s grateful expression. “Gather the people around. We need to divide into groups and mark out our search areas.”

  Duane nodded. “He won’t be getting far, not before light. My guess is he’s headed toward the highway. If I was him, I’d have a car ready and waiting, maybe with back-up.”

  “That’s a reasonable deduction,” Ricke said, a patronizing edge to his voice. “He won’t get far. This county is sewn up.”

  Duane shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I was you. I know you got friends in town who keep the sheriff sweet, but let me tell you, boss, that sheriff’s department is one hell of a bunch of pussies. I figure this guy could carve through them like a knife through hot butter. I wouldn’t rely on them. We need to catch him before he gets to the highway.”

  Ricke agreed. He would have liked to believe Duane was just talking like the petty criminal he was, but his own experience of the sheriff’s office told him that his lieutenant spoke the truth. Florida had one of the highest crime rates in the USA, but in this county it was almost zero. That rate had nothing to do with a lazy, corrupt sheriff’s office, and everything to do with the iron grip the Midnight Examiner exerted on the economy of the region.

  Ricke might have a hand in that, but even he had no dominion over a mercenary on the run.

  Once the remaining cult members were gathered before him, Ricke divided them in half. He would lead one group, and Duane the other. They would head in opposite directions, fanning out and moving forward so that they could cover as much ground as possible.

  As quickly as possible, too. Ricke glanced at the sky and could see that dawn was not far from breaking. Once it was light, it would be easier to spot their enemy, but it would also make it easier for him to spot them. “I want Elena back,” Ricke emphasized. “She is one of us. It is vital she be returned to us, and unharmed.”

  Instructions issued, the Seven Stars checked their weapons and redistributed those salvaged from the dead and injured. They had the firepower to take the man down. Now all they had to do was find him.

  Maybe that was going to be easier than Ricke had thought. As they made to leave, the silence of the night was broken by a sudden, random burst of SMG fire. Three taps.

  Duane frowned and stared at Ricke. His voice was puzzled, and perhaps a little rattled as he said, “Who the hell is he firing at?”

  * * *

  BOLAN HAD PULLED himself upright, taken a sighting by the stars above, and pointed them in the right direction.

  “What’s the matter?” Elena asked urgently.

  “Some kind of toxin...a splinter from that trap in my thigh. Maybe a hallucinogen like you were given.”

  “How are you feeling now?” Her tone was laced with anxiety.

  “Lights everywhere,” he replied. He understood her insistence. She was trying to keep him focused, to make him concentrate by having to form a coherent reply. There was a lot to this girl, and another time he’d have to wonder why she had slipped into Ricke’s thrall in the first place. Not now. All he could do now was keep going.

  “Which way?” she queried.

  “Toward the highway.” Whichever direction that was. He couldn’t form the words, which worried him. At least Elena was in better shape than before...maybe in better shape than he was right now.

  They began to cut through the undergrowth. His initial approach to the park has been circumspect, to avoid drawing attention to himself. But now he had no such compunction. He had no one to hide from, had only to escape. He wanted to reach the highway and his sedan before sunup, and before the cult had a chance to catch up with them.

  Thick, waxy leaves with stems that oozed sap twined around exposed tree roots, and twisting vines and clods of grass and mud clung to their feet, making every step an effort. The soldier took the TEKNA from its sheath and hacked at the tangled greenery blocking their path. Elena followed in his wake. He was breathing heavily as they made progress, his ears always alive to any sounds that might indicate they were being followed.

  “You want me to take over?” she asked.

  Bolan turned. For a moment he felt as though he was looking right through her. When his vision cleared he saw her shiver, and he registered uncertainty in her eyes. She was alone out here with a sick man—he understood her apprehension. He doubled his resolve to get them back to civilization before the toxins overtook him.

  With each step, he found it harder to keep hold of who he was and what his intentions were. The black and purple of the night-vision goggles was tinged with reds, yellows and greens that bled across his eyes, turning the stark outlines of leaves and bushes into twisting, writhing shapes.

  He heard a voice through his earpiece. “Striker, you’re moving close to the enemy. Three o’clock. We have four men in a nest. Mounted grenade-launcher trained at our lines. You need to take them down ASAP. They’ve got our boys pinned.”

  “Roger that, Bear,” Bolan muttered. “If I know these guys, they’ll be focused ahead and think their own guys have their ass. We’ll see....”

  Through the trees, and the mist rising in stinking swirls from the swamps, he could see the enemies now to his right. Three of them were in the foxhole, one behind the mounted Russian machine gun, keeping it trained on the front line. The other two leaned against the sides of the foxhole, laughing and joking in low voices, SMGs over their shoulders. The fourth man was off to the side, taking a leak. Not the best time to answer a call of nature.

  Keeping low, Bolan circled so that he was coming up directly behind them....

  “What are you doing?”

  The soldier was thrown. That was a female voice. What was a woman doing in the Congo? There had been no women in the detail he had just left. He turned to face her. She was dressed in the same uniform as the men in the foxhole. He raised his arm, ready to strike her down with the stock of his Uzi before she could raise an alarm. But as he caught sight of his arm, he realized he was also in this uniform.

  Of course. They were both dressed this way so they could move freely on their approach. She must be American, one of his people. Her accent was unmistakable. Besides, there was something about her that was familiar, though he couldn’t quite place her.

  He let his arm drop, then noticed she was cringing away from him. He gestured for her to stay silent, and turned back toward his target. They were acting as if their position was secure. They had heard nothing.

  He moved closer, until he was almost on top of them. They had made a small clearing for themselves and he was now on the edge of it. One more step and he would be out in the open. He steeled himself and took that step, even though his vision swam and he could have sworn they disappeared before his eyes.

  The man taking a leak whirled around. His jaw dropped and he let the SMG fall from his shoulder to his hand in one fluid movement.

  Bolan did not hesitate. One tap stitched the man across his torso, and he dropped to the ground. Within the foxhole, the sound caused a flurry of activity. The two men who had been lounging tried to turn in the enclosed space, bringing their SMGs into position as they did. It was too tight for them both to turn and sight the soldier before he tapped another burst that ended their lives. Behind them, the solider manning the RPG tried to turn around. There was no way he could use the heavy, mounted gun on the enemy at his back, but he reached down and snatched at a smaller weapon. Bolan couldn’t see what it was, but he didn’t care. He had only one objective: take out the enemy before he was taken out. He tapped a third time, and saw the man flail as the rounds hit him.

  The nest was eliminated. Bolan should be pleased. But in his ear he heard a voice say, “Mission fail, Striker. Repeat, mission fail. Enemy has location and direction finder. They’re gonna get you....”

  He blinked, and when he opened his eyes he saw nothing but foliage where t
here should have been a foxhole and four corpses.

  He spun around. Elena was staring at him. She was saying something, but for a moment it was nothing more than meaningless syllables. Gradually, the sounds resolved themselves into words.

  “...do that for? They’ll know where we are now. Do we know where we are? What were you shooting at?”

  Elena’s eyes held undisguised fear. But she didn’t look threatened. What was it, then? And why wasn’t she wearing that uniform? He checked his own attire. The uniform he had been wearing was also gone, replaced by a blacksuit. He struggled to work it out, before something clicked back into place.

  “Where are we?” he snapped.

  “Griffintown County, Florida,” she said, sounding puzzled.

  “Not the Congo?”

  She shook her head. “What’s happening?” she asked nervously, though her expression betrayed what she had already guessed.

  “It’s taking effect,” he said bluntly. “I’m okay part of the time, but just then....” He was at a loss for words. “Well, I don’t know where I was.” He gazed up at the sky. The stars were starting to fade as the dawn crept closer, making it hard to take bearings from the sky alone. “I’m not even sure where we are right now,” he said softly. “Did I change direction?”

  “A few times,” she confirmed.

  Bolan cursed. He had lost track of which way he had twisted and turned while in the grip of the hallucination. Now he was in an area of swampland that didn’t look familiar. Admittedly, much of it looked the same, but he had noted some landmarks during his recon. And he could hear men in the distance, crashing through the undergrowth.

  Obviously, some of the cult members had made it past the explosion and were now searching the swamp for the two of them.