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  Vasquez could see the big guy in black charging out of there with a gun in each hand and running straight for them.

  Matti had the door on his side open and the chopper already spitting flame as he struggled to the outside.

  Vasquez kicked his door open and tumbled to the ground, dragging the sawed-off shotgun with him.

  Okay, he was thinking, you wanted him, Buck. So goddammit take him, what’re you waiting for?

  He heard the boom of a big handgun as Matti’s Thompson began drawing return fire, then another and another—and Vasquez actually heard the bullet that connected with the crewchief. The Thompson crashed across the hood of the car and tumbled to the ground. Matti toppled over the other way, holding his belly and shrieking something in a voice which was fast losing steam.

  The big handgun was raising hell in rapid fire now, and bullets like cannonballs were thudding into the vehicle.

  Wild Bill Stewart came staggering out of the rear door on the wheelman’s side, fighting to get his Thompson into the battle while taking cover behind the vehicle.

  Buckholzer stepped out of the other side with blood spurting from his neck, not even a gun showing.

  Vasquez raised to a knee, and across the few feet of hell-ground the two “elite” hitmen locked gazes for a frozen moment, then another sizzling projectile crunched into Buck’s skull and it went to pieces in a spraying shower, some of it splattering across the car and onto the wheelman.

  Vasquez suddenly felt very sick, and he crawled away from there as the stuttering reports of Wild Bill’s automatic were interspersed with the continuing big booms of the silver handgun. Then the stuttering stopped.

  He threw one last look across his shoulder as he got to his feet and ran out of hell, and the scene back there was one which would remain with him forever.

  The big guy in black—Bolan, for damned sure—just standing there with those two guns filling his hands. The shattered crew wagon. Buck and Wild Bill and Gung-ho Matti reduced to unmoving lumps of elite nothingness. The lighted dome of the Capitol backdropping and adding to the macabre quality of the thing. Capitol cops erupting and spilling down the steps.

  And Bandalero Vasquez felt no guilt whatever at quitting that place on the run.

  The guy, Bolan, was as big as his reputation, that was for sure. And now he was in Washington.

  The important thing now was to get the word to Lupo. And that might not be the easiest task in the world to accomplish. The guy was harder to find than Whistler’s father, what with all the security razzmatazz.

  He for damn sure had to be told, one way or another. Bolan had a way of turning everything upside down, of spitting in the face of odds and coming through smelling like a rose.

  So, sure … the important thing now was to get to Lupo and tell him. The game had changed. The Wolf had to be told that the Tiger had come to town.

  Despite himself, Vasquez had to smile in grudging admiration of the bastard. What a hit—what a hell of a hit that had been.

  But the guy had gone too far, now. He had endorsed his own death certificate. That much was certain.

  Nobody had ever taken on Lupo and lived to brag about it.

  Neither would Mack Bolan.

  The son of a bitch was as good as dead.

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  About the Author

  Don Pendleton (1927–1995) was born in Little Rock, Arkansas. He served in the US Navy during World War II and the Korean War. His first short story was published in 1957, but it was not until 1967, at the age of forty, that he left his career as an aerospace engineer and turned to writing full time. After producing a number of science fiction and mystery novels, in 1969 Pendleton launched his first book in the Executioner saga: War Against the Mafia. The series, starring Vietnam veteran Mack Bolan, was so successful that it inspired a new American literary genre, and Pendleton became known as the father of action-adventure.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1972 by Pinnacle Books

  Cover design by Mauricio Diaz

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-8565-9

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

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