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  The Uzi barely moved. Bolan touched the trigger and loosed a burst that hit the hand holding the pistol. Bulova’s hand transformed into a bloody mess. The mobster howled in anguish, clutching his crippled hand to his chest, covering it with his left hand. He ignored the blood staining his expensive suit as he slumped back in his executive chair.

  The old Bulova emerged from the pain as he faced Bolan.

  “You will regret this...”

  “No. It’s over. Today is judgment day and the jury’s out. And you, Serge Bulova, have been found guilty.”

  Bulova uttered a ragged laugh. “You talk like a judge. Who are you to speak of guilt to me?” His eyes blazed with defiance. “You are nothing...” Without another word the mob boss lunged out of his chair.

  Bolan fired a short burst directly at Bulova’s face. The force of the bullets took off the top of his head. The mobster’s body arched in protest just before it sank to the floor.

  “Wrong,” Bolan said. “I’m your executioner.”

  He reloaded the Uzi.

  Behind him the hall was a rising maw of hungry fire as the thermite canister spit out its unquenchable contents. The carpeted stairway was alight. The room Bolan had firebombed earlier was fully involved now, the flames licking at walls and ceiling.

  The Executioner crossed the room. He let the Uzi dangle from its sling and picked up one of the chairs. He launched it at the picture window, smashing the glass from the frame. He was able to step over the low sill and out onto the driveway. He turned his Uzi on the parked SUVs, riddling the expensive bodywork and windows, reducing the tires to shredded rubber.

  “Jack, do you copy?” Bolan said into his transceiver.

  “I hear you, Sarge.”

  “You clear of the house?”

  “Coming your way as we speak.”

  When Grimaldi appeared, he was leading a quartet of subdued young women. They were wide-eyed with shock as they clustered around Grimaldi.

  “I found these young ladies at the rear of the house. In-house entertainment.”

  “As if we had any choice,” one of the women said. “Those creeps dragged us here out of their club. It was do what they said or...”

  “They won’t bother you again,” Bolan said.

  “Hey, are you guys cops? Feds?”

  “I don’t care who you are,” another woman said. “Please just get us away from here.”

  “We’ll give you a ride back to town,” Bolan stated. “Is that okay with you, ladies?”

  “As long as we can get out of this rain, it’s fine,” the first woman said. “I thought Florida had sunshine all the time.”

  “Even Florida has its off days,” Grimaldi commented.

  “I heard guns. It was like a war zone.” The woman’s tone hardened. “Did you cap that asshole Bulova? I hope you did. Tell me you did. I can still feel his creepy hands on me.”

  “Ladies, Bulova and his crew won’t be bothering anyone again,” Grimaldi said.

  There were no further confrontations with any of Bulova’s crew. Bolan decided he and Grimaldi had either forced survivors to back away or the men they had faced down had been Bulova’s entire local force.

  They walked away from the house and back through the trees to where he and Grimaldi had parked their SUV. By the time they had reached the vehicle, a heavy pall of smoke and sheets of flame were rising above Serge Bulova’s house.

  “It burns well,” one of the young women said as they crowded into the SUV. Bolan stood at the tailgate and stripped off his ordnance, pulled on his leather jacket and joined Grimaldi, taking the front passenger seat.

  Once they were on the road, Bolan took out his sat phone. After a quick word with Price he asked to be connected with Brognola. The big Fed’s weary voice came through.

  “Busy day?” Bolan asked.

  “Busy enough but most likely not as hectic as yours. Anything left standing in Florida?”

  “That could hurt if I thought you meant it,” Bolan said quietly so that the women wouldn’t be able to make out his words. “We’re done here. We took care of business.”

  “Bulova and Conte?”

  “Yeah. There’s going to be some jockeying for the thrones now. It’s time to use that information on Sherman’s flash drive. We need to make good use of it, Hal. I don’t like to think he died for nothing.”

  “Leo already has a transcript of everything on those files, and Justice is working up a task force to go after a string of names. There will be some shocks when the arrests start.”

  “The lawyers are the ones who’ll benefit once they’re hired for the defense.”

  Brognola’s laugh was short and tinged with some bitterness.

  “That’s the way of it, Striker. When these things start to roll, some people just lawyer up. Others step behind their positions and hope they can walk away. Leo almost died. Harry Sherman did. What the hell, Striker, it’s a world of compromise in the end. We get to bring some bad guys down. We lose out with others. And we have to take the knocks because we’re on the good side.”

  “Bulova and Conte aren’t walking away from it this time,” Bolan said.

  “Thanks to you,” Brognola said. “Can’t say there’ll be much in the way of tears about that.”

  “Jack and I are on our way home. Just a couple of things.” Bolan explained about the young women. He also managed to mention the fact that Bulova’s house was well on the way to being razed.

  Brognola listened in silence then said, “Leave it with me. I’ll see to it the local law is updated. I don’t see any rush to have the fire department alerted. They can sift through the ashes when the place cools down. Justice can step in and deal with any fallout. I suggest you and Jack get out of Florida once you drop off the young ladies. You got anything else to clear up?”

  “I need to see Gwen Darrow. Check on how she’s doing. I can drop in on Marshal Carson while I’m there. And I’ll have a word with Laura. They need to know Harry made good on his promise to hand over his evidence. Even posthumously.”

  “They’ll appreciate that,” Brognola said. “Be here when you get back.”

  EPILOGUE

  Harry Sherman had paid a heavy price with his defiance of Conte and Bulova’s organization. But before his untimely death he had carried through with his promise to deliver. Gwen and her daughter needed to know that despite his being dragged into a mess with the mob, Harry had not lost sight of the end game.

  Bolan stared out the rain-streaked windshield. He was feeling the weariness that flooded his veins after the unrelenting activities of the past few days. The removal of pressure did that to him. He made himself a promise to take some R&R once he wrapped up the mission. Just a little down time, a couple of days, so he could refresh his mind and body away from the hell grounds. Maybe some back-country skiing or hiking.

  He relished his brief time away from what he saw, and accepted, as his chosen world. Any free time he had would be short. There was still work to be done. Always.

  Mack Bolan would be ready to face it when it came his way.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9781488010101

  Kill Squad

  Copyright © 2016 by Worldwide Library

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