Blood of the Lion Read online

  "You can't keep us here against our will," Martin growled.

  "Bullshit. This is ray place. You're thirty miles out of the city. I've got guards patrolling these grounds, well-armed guards."

  "You mean you'd... kill us if we tried to leave?" Atworth asked, his voice cracking with anxiety.

  "You bet I would. You got me into this. Now that we're at the eleventh hour, we might as well all just stay put until Weiss..." he pointed toward the double doors of the study "...walks through those doors."

  "And if he doesn't?" Martin questioned.

  Clarence shrugged. "If he doesn't, he doesn't. No sweat off my ass. It'll be you two who will have to face the music."

  12

  Jump-off to the Amazon jungle came the next day.

  The tall grass of the selva cushioned Bolan's drop, but still he hit the plain hard and rolled. With his hands tied, it was impossible for him to control the risers on his parachute. As soon as he stood, Bolan found Weiss's troops surrounding him. After they stripped off their own chute packs, knives sliced through the Executioner's straps. Harsh sunlight stabbed into his eyes, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He was in the hellish bowels of Anaconda's domain.

  "We were hoping you'd break a leg on that fall, tough guy."

  Keep hoping, Bolan thought. He looked at the man he had heard called Thompson. He had the same death's-head grin as his leader. It was the two mercs next to Thompson whom Bolan was concerned with. They were carrying his hardware, and he had decided he'd have to make his move on those two first. They would be the first to feel the Bolan fury.

  As he was shoved ahead toward the looming green hell of the Amazon jungle, Bolan heard the trio of assault jets shriek off into the distance. The rest of Weiss's troops had been picked up somewhere in Texas. After his talk with the Viper, Bolan had taken a much-needed sleep, knowing that right then danger wasn't imminent. As long as he was alive, Weiss could use him to collect on the bounty. Soon, though, the dice were going to roll. The Amazon battle with Anaconda was about to begin.

  "You see it anywhere, Jake?" Weiss yelled at Thompson. Uzi subgun in hand, the Viper was leading the pack toward the jungle perimeter.

  "A red flag. Yeah, right over there," Thompson answered, pointing at the flat that marked the way into the jungle.

  Minutes later, as the large drops of sweat on Bolan's forehead began burning into his eyes like battery acid and trickling down his hot flesh like ice water, the mercenary horde led the Executioner into the jungle. Machetes swished through the air, hacking at vines and creepers and twisted thornbushes. The stink of sweat and rotten leaf mold was overpowering.

  "Goddamn, Max," griped the man called Krumpf as thorns slashed at his face and drew blood, "I thought you said they were going to clear a trail for us."

  "Maybe they did," Weiss retorted. "Maybe they just stuck the flat in this spot for the hell of it."

  "Not fucking funny, Max," Thompson bitched. "We don't have all day to be tromping through the goddamn jungle."

  "Just shut up, Jake, and keep hacking."

  "Sure. Why don't you come up here and walk point for a change? These goddamn thorns are tearing us to pieces."

  "Hey, what is this? Let's quit with all this bitching. Take turns if you got a problem walking point, Jake."

  Slowly but surely the troops and their captive forged ahead into the Stygian gloom. As he listened to the screeching of parrots and wild birds, the rattling of branches above as squirrel monkeys danced through the foliage, Bolan weighed his odds. They weren't good. Somehow he would have to jump one of the two mercs who had his weapons. Whether from overconfidence or just plain carelessness, the Viper and his men had neglected to bind Bolan's feet with rope and tie his hands behind his back. With his hands in front of him, he could at least strangle one of the mercs who toted his hardware, then cut himself loose with the man's commando dagger. If he got the chance. If he was alone with one of those mercs. If, if, if. No, he told himself, he must get the chance. Weiss was intent on tackling Alchupa and his force with the guns he had. In the midst of that war, Bolan figured he could break out of captivity.

  Once he was free, he would be on his own. With a heart full of cold vengeance and grim resolve to crush Anaconda, he would take his own private war to the enemy. And the enemy was both Weiss and Alchupa. Both men had to die, and all of their muscle had to meet their judgment day, too.

  For a moment, Bolan wondered about the three assassins Alchupa had hired. Obviously the Colombian colonel had something else in mind. The assassins were to be used as some part of a search-and-destroy, a deadly game, a killhunt, with the best man lopping Bolan's head. Well, the Viper had changed the game plan. It wasn't hard for Bolan to guess how the colonel would react to this sudden change. Alchupa would load his own guns and send his soldiers after Weiss. As a prisoner, Bolan would be caught right in the middle of some cross fire hurricane. Escape was imperative, his only chance of survival. Escape would have to come soon.

  "Not saying much back there, Bolan. What's the matter, jungle got you spooked?"

  Bolan listened to the point man's goading voice. Several other mercs chuckled. They would laugh now, he thought, and pay later.

  They hacked their way a good two klicks through the jungle. Finally Bolan was led to Weiss's camp. It was in a clearing that was ringed by trees and brush. Six large tents had been erected in the clearing. Another two dozen hardmen at the camp had been waiting for the viper to show. The reinforcements looked at Weiss eagerly, obviously anxious to get on with the war.

  "Toby, get your ass over here. I got somebody I want you to meet."

  Weiss ordered Bolan to stop on the perimeter of the camp. A big man with a beer belly, dressed in green camous like the other mercs, lumbered over to the new arrivals.

  "Shit, Max, where the hell you been?" the man griped. "We gotta get this show on the road."

  "I've got the whole show right here in the palm of my hand, Toby. Say hi to the Executioner," Weiss sneered.

  Toby propped his hands on his hips and gave Bolan an appraising stare. "Well, I'll be damned! Mack Bolan.

  You did it."

  "Damn right I did. Our million-dollar bounty," Weiss said. "Only Alchupa's going to have to shell out a lot more than that if he wants our boy here."

  "How much you want from the spic?"

  "Hell, you know me. I'm not greedy. We'll ask for five million, and if he says no, then we'll demand ten million."

  Toby laughed. "The son of a bitch will throw everything he has at us."

  "You bet, Toby. That's exactly what I want. Let Alchupa come on. He's finished now that we're here. How about those boats?"

  Toby jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "It's about a mile to the river. From there, it's ten miles downstream to Alchupa's. I got an amigo downstream who made the arrangements."

  "Can he be trusted?"

  "He's got a wife and kids." Toby grinned. "So, yeah, he can be trusted, unless he wants to see their heads hanging from the door of his hut."

  "And the gunboat?"

  "Our amigo promised it would be here by tonight."

  "Goddamn it, I don't want promises," Weiss growled. "I want results. I want delivery."

  "What can I tell ya. Max? He runs a pretty good black market operation. He's come through before."

  "Oh, all right." Weiss turned to Thompson. "Jake, you and Johnny round up fifteen men. It's time for you to go bargain with the colonel. You know the deal."

  Jake Thompson patted his M-16. "Uh-huh. And if the colonel doesn't deal..."

  "Then he's dead."

  Thompson laughed. "He's dead, anyway."

  "That he is." Weiss directed his attention to Bolan. "You, my friend, sit tight, and watch the good times roll."

  The Viper grinned at Bolan.

  Weiss's troops shoved the Executioner ahead.

  * * *

  Colonel Alchupa was becoming increasingly annoyed with Marshal Pinadante, and he felt himself being pushed to the edge. Soone
r or later, he knew, his rage was bound to explode. Pinadante wanted assurances and reassurances, but Alchupa had no ready answers for the marshal. It seemed to Alchupa that Pinadante was a man always moving, always running to get somewhere, but going nowhere. He wanted everything to happen now and wasn't willing to suck it up through an unforeseen crisis. Alchupa wanted to kick the big fat man right in the ass, because at the moment Alchupa had one of those uniformed crises on his hands.

  There had been no word from the assassins or the pilots who had flown them to the United States. Hector Alchupa wasn't a particularly patient man himself, but he knew how to bite the bullet. He expected Pinadante to do the same.

  "I do not understand," Pinadante complained, sweating in his white suit beneath the broiling orange jungle sun, the wharf creaking under his enormous weight as he gestured with his hands. "The shipment was supposed to have arrived at Belém by today. I have soldiers prepared to distribute through the pipeline I have taken great trouble to arrange. I, too, have superiors to answer to in this matter. I have officials in Brasilia. I have dealers in Florida who are waiting for this shipment of yours. I cannot stand here and wonder what is to be. You know how the sun makes me irritable. You know I do not like the jungle. It's hot. It stinks. The sweat will ruin my suit."

  Try as he might, Alchupa couldn't keep Pinadante's whining tone from piercing his ears. He glanced around at his soldiers. They were all within earshot, and Alchupa knew they were listening, watching and waiting to see how he would handle the fat, pompous Pinadante. If Pinadante had not had the connections Alchupa so desperately needed, he would have ordered the fat man shot right there on the wharf and dumped into the stream for the piranha. With all the fat the marshal was packing, the killer fish could feast on him for days.

  "The gunboats are downstream now, Marshal," Alchupa said in a patronizing voice. "They are being loaded now with the shipment. I estimate they will arrive at Belém within the week."

  "No good."

  "What do you mean no good?"

  "No good means no good. I need to take a sample with me today."

  "Do you doubt the quality of my merchandise?"

  "Of course I don't. My people may have some doubt, though."

  "Then perhaps I should make other arrangements."

  "No good."

  "What do you mean no good?" Now Alchupa was getting hot. Rumor had it the marshal had a serious nose candy problem. Alchupa suspected Pinadante wanted the so-called sample for himself. The last thing Alchupa wanted was for Pinadante to start indulging himself with Anaconda's cocaine.

  "I mean this, my friend. I have offered to support and finance this operation. I have soldiers prepared to begin the revolution. But I need time and money. Time to smooth out details. Time and money to buy off more key people, if you understand. I mean this, too, my friend. Without me, you are nothing. Without me, you would be a dead man. With me, you can win. Without me..." Pinadante shrugged. "Eh... things will not be so good, yes?"

  "You are putting pressure on me, and I do not like it."

  "Pressure is a good motivator. I need a sample of your wares, and I need a definite timetable. Or else..."

  "Or else what?"

  "Or else you are on your own. And that, my friend, will not be such a good thing — for you, that is. Do we understand each other now?"

  Alchupa understood, all right. He understood that when things did get rolling, he was going to see that Pinadante ended up fish food. Hector Alchupa didn't like pressure being put on him. He didn't like conspiracies, either, and he was sure that Pinadante was conspiring against him.

  Pinadante's gaze narrowed. "I did not come all this way for nothing."

  Alchupa was about to give in about the sample, just to get Pinadante off his back and out of there, then he saw the canoes coming down the stream. Pinadante turned, following the colonel's gaze.

  "What is this?" Pinadante wondered aloud.

  Already Alchupa's soldiers had filed onto the wharf, their AK-47s pointing at the three motorized canoes.

  "Gringos," Alchupa breathed, staring at the hard faces, the mean eyes that told him these were dangerous men.

  "Were you expecting someone?" Pinadante asked.

  Alchupa ignored the marshal. He sensed trouble was arriving, and more trouble was the last thing he needed at the moment.

  The canoes slid up to the wharf.

  The mercenaries, their M-16s by their sides, didn't disembark. Thompson, Rubin and several other mercs stood in the canoes.

  "Who are you?" Alchupa growled.

  "The Viper's back, Colonel," Thompson said, ignoring Alchupa's question.

  Alchupa felt icy fingers tap down his spine. "And?"

  "And," Thompson continued, "he's got Bolan."

  Cold silence. Finally, his brown bloated face sheathed in sweat, Pinadante faced Alchupa and asked, "Who is this Bolan?"

  "A gringo who might have put a stop to the revolution before it even began. Let me handle this, Marshal." Alchupa turned his slit-eyed gaze back to Thompson. "So bring him here."

  "Not so fast. Colonel. You see, we've got a little problem."

  Enough, Alchupa decided, and nodded at his soldiers. Cocking the bolts on their AK-47s, the soldiers on the wharf trained the muzzles of the Kalashnikovs on the mercs.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Colonel!" Thompson rasped. "Not if you want Bolan, and not unless you want a full-scale war on your hands."

  "Say what you mean, hombre!"

  "The bounty on Bolan has just gone up," Thompson replied. "We want five million. We'll be waiting for your answer. I'll send a man back here tomorrow morning for your reply. If you say no, then the bounty goes up to ten million."

  Pinadante glowered at Alchupa. "Five million dollars for one man? You offered a five-million-dollar bounty for the head of one man?"

  "It was one million, Marshal. It is obvious these gringos are loco. Listen, cabrón" Alchupa snarled at Thompson, "you go back to your Viper and tell him he has four hours to deliver Bolan. He will get his money then. You do not want to mess with me on this, I can assure you."

  "Nor do you want to mess with the Viper on this, Colonel. I can tell you this much. We mean business. If you come through, you get Bolan. We won't be back until tomorrow, and then we'll want an answer."

  Alchupa spit into the water. "That is my answer, cabrón."

  "Okay, asshole, suit yourself."

  "You listen to me, cabrón!" Alchupa raged, pointing a trembling finger in the direction of the gringos. "If you do not deliver Bolan to me, I will paint the sky red with your blood."

  "Fuck you. Colonel. As a poet, you suck. You deliver... or else. That's it. No bullshit. Adiós."

  Alchupa could see that Pablo Diaz was just waiting for the word to mow the gringos down. Alchupa looked at Diaz, who was holding a giant machete in his hands, and shook his head.

  As the mercs pulled away from the wharf, Diaz walked over to the colonel. "What are we going to do?" he asked.

  "Get your men, Pablo. Follow them."

  "The gringos seem very sure of themselves and confident of their position," Diaz stated. "We do not know how many they are."

  "Then find out. Kill them all. Even kill Bolan."

  Diaz grunted. He left Alchupa and Pinadante alone, and moved on down the wharf to round up the soldiers.

  Pinadante was scowling. "It would seem, Colonel, that you have gotten yourself embroiled in quite a mess. Why you found it so necessary to capture or kill this man, Bolan, is beyond me. It is amateur stuff. I do not approve of it. I am almost prepared to end our deal."

  Alchupa had long since run out of patience with the marshal. Maybe he didn't need Pinadante after all, he thought. Maybe he could go through with his plans on his own. He could find other ways of reaching the men under Pinadante.

  "Do what you feel you must. As for me, I shall stay here and fight it out."

  "Fine. Then I leave. I will be at my jungle headquarters — you know where to reach me. If you w
ish to continue our arrangement, I suggest you send the sample with one of your men, and soon. I will await the outcome of this crisis of yours. Until then, Colonel."

  As Pinadante left, Alchupa fought to control his rage. Nothing was going according to plan. Now he had to deal with the Viper, which meant a possible delay in the shipment. With an almost certain bloodbath on his hands now, he would be short of manpower because of the bitter fighting that was just ahead. Well if he had to, he would load the goddamn shipment on the gunboats himself.

  No, he hadn't come this far to see the roof cave in on his dreams of conquest. Looking back now, he decided it was perhaps foolish to have trusted the capture of Bolan to outsiders. But part of his problem was that he always wanted to believe in the loyalty of soldiers, even the hired assassins he employed. He could see now, though, that no one could be trusted. It was a shame. The Viper could have had so much of the spoils of war in the coming revolution. The other assassins would have shared in the glory, too. Now they had all turned against him. Like vicious dogs, they had bitten the hand that feeds. And Alchupa was left with no option but to kick the dog. Square in the face.

  Mack Bolan was a vicious dog, too. A rabid dog. And now that the Executioner was there in the Amazon jungle, he, too, would have to die. Hector Alchupa only hoped he was there to witness the death of the feared Executioner. Even if Pinadante wasn't sure who Bolan was, there were plenty of people feeding the Anaconda pipeline who did know. Bolan's death would be the crowning achievement for Alchupa.

  No, his mind was made up. He had no alternative but to destroy his enemies. And, at the moment, Hector Alchupa was having difficulty distinguishing friend from foe. He had thought Pinadante would be an ally, but the man had no backbone for crisis.

  Alchupa would take care of the fat man soon. In his own way.

  Pinadante would end up as food for the piranha.

  13

  Geoffrey Godfried decided it was time he did something other than just sit around and wait for either Weiss or Alchupa to make a move. No, he corrected himself, it was time he did something for himself. He wasn't interested in dying in the Amazon jungle or getting caught up in the oncoming slaughter between the two warring factions, because he didn't owe either Alchupa or the Viper a damn thing. But, in order for him to help himself, he would have to convince the other two assassins that they were three men alone against the Viper and his horde. Alone, too, against Alchupa and his cutthroats. The odds were definitely stacked against him, but Godfried was a man who liked to play the dark horse. There was a challenge here to be met, and Godfried had always believed he was a man who could rise to any occasion.