War Everlasting (Superbolan) Read online

  It was the signal he knew they’d been waiting for, the one that told them he’d beaten the enemy into submission, and they could bring in the cavalry to mop up. Above the noise and heat he could hear the approach of dozens of amphibious assault craft. He couldn’t see much from that position, but he didn’t doubt the resolve of those aboard the boats. The second Sikorsky had joined the action, and with Grimaldi they were pounding the enemy emplacements with heavy machine-gun fire, just in case a few enemy gunners had stayed behind. Bolan knew there was little more he could do at this point, and the remnants of RBN were beaten, exhausted and low on ammunition trying to hit something they couldn’t see.

  Bolan got to his feet and reached his hand down to help Trask up. They kept low, ensuring that a lurking enemy didn’t try to take them down. Trask led Bolan up the incline until they reached the entrance to the cavern. Once inside, the Executioner was immediately blasted with a wall of heat that made a furnace seem downright tepid.

  It didn’t take them long to find Ducati, who was unconscious and being carried by four men. Another officer rushed to Bolan and saluted, which the Executioner returned subconsciously. If they wanted to think he was military, there was no reason to argue the point. It wouldn’t have served any purpose.

  “Name’s Rastogi, sir. Acting first officer. You’re a damn sight for sore eyes, I have to admit.”

  “Good to see you and your people alive,” Bolan said. “Ensign Trask here gave me the information about your crew and its condition. I understand your captain’s in serious condition?”

  Rastogi nodded. “Commander Ducati, sir. He’s a good man but he’s in very bad shape. Those bastards beat the hell out of him for no reason.”

  “They won’t be any more problem to you,” Bolan said. “To anyone. They’ve been dealt with. And help’s on the way. It’s over.”

  EPILOGUE

  Denver, Colorado

  As FBI Special Agent Justina Marquez put the key in the lock of her high-rise condominium, she sensed the presence of someone at the end of the hallway. She let her left hand drop and turned her body slightly as her right hand dipped into her coat and rested on the cold butt of the Glock 21 pistol nestled there. But then something stayed her hand, something about the outline of that form in the shadows. It wasn’t the outline so much as the presence. A deep, heavy, commanding presence—a familiar essence in which she’d only come into contact a few times but had never forgotten.

  “I know you’re there,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  The Executioner stepped from the shadows with a half smile. “It’s me.”

  Marquez relaxed the grip on her pistol and turned to face him. She folded her arms and shook her head. “I almost killed you.”

  “Doubtful,” Bolan replied.

  “Care to come inside? I’ve got some wine.”

  “Inside, yes. I’ll pass on the wine.”

  “Then, how about an ice-cold beer.”

  “That’s more my speed.”

  “Come on,” she said and gestured toward the door with her head.

  Bolan followed Marquez through the front door and secured it behind him. She looked great, as usual. Dark hair and eyes, with a trim and shapely body. In the few years that had passed since Bolan had last seen her, the young FBI agent hadn’t really changed all that much.

  Still spunky and still beautiful, and yet still completely unattached. That was something the Executioner could understand. Marquez had become as devoted to the security of her nation as Bolan was. They were kindred spirits in that respect. It wasn’t about anything romantic—they were from different worlds and content to live their lives separately.

  Bolan had news that he thought he should deliver in person. He owed Marquez at least that much for the role she’d played in helping to bring Godunov and his thugs to justice.

  Marquez poured a glass of wine and brought it into the spacious living area. Her decor was modern and stark. She noticed Bolan’s appraisal and handed him his beer before kicking off her shoes and dropping on to the couch. She tucked her legs beneath her, and Bolan took a seat in a chair opposite.

  “What do you think of my new place?” she asked. “You like it?”

  “Some might think it’s a little sparsely decorated. Too modern. But, yeah. I like it.”

  “It suits me and it’s home.” She raised her glass in a sort of toast, and Bolan reciprocated. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “What do you think?” Bolan asked with a grin.

  “I’d say it’s business. You never struck me as the kind of guy to pay a girl a social call.”

  “At least not to the type of the girl sitting across from me,” Bolan quipped.

  “All right. Spill.”

  “You’ve heard about the business in Alaska by now, I’m sure.”

  She nodded. “I got the official party line, but I could read through some of the bullshit in the field reports. I take it that was your handiwork?”

  “Well, I can’t take any responsibility for the volcano,” Bolan said. “But, yeah, I’ll admit to having a hand in it.”

  “Let me guess. The RBN was at it again.”

  Bolan was impressed. “How did you know?”

  “I can’t think of anything else that would bring you all the way from whatever hellhole you might have been spending your time in unless it had something to do with that. Do you need my help?”

  “Not now,” he said. “I could’ve used you up there, though.”

  “So what made you come here?”

  “I worked with a lady cop up there. She was top shelf.” Bolan took another drink of his beer and smiled. “She reminded me of you in a lot of ways.”

  “Really? I’m not sure how to take that,” Marquez replied. She took a drink from her glass, but her eyes smiled at him over the rim.

  “Their operation was headed by Vladimir Moscovich. You heard of him?”

  “A bit here, a bit there. Nothing solid, although he’s been flagged as an up-and-coming in the organization.”

  “You can consider him scratched. And a good number of the crew he was working with. My next stop is St. Petersburg. I’m going to chop off the head of this thing, if I can.”

  “Didn’t you once tell me that these people were part of a Hydra? That you cut off one head and a new one just grows back? That what you really had on your hands was, how did you put it, a ‘war everlasting?’”

  Bolan nodded. “Yeah. I said that once.”

  “And yet you don’t give up. You don’t quit, no matter how hard it gets. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Everlasting means just that. Without end. If I quit now, the world’s a less safe place. But if I stick it out, maybe someone benefits. I see it as my duty.”

  “Some might call that a crusader complex.”

  “They’d be wrong.”

  “They would.”

  “And what do you call it?” Mack Bolan asked.

  “Oh, me?” She smiled. “I call it heroism.”

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9781460385531

  Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Guenther for his contribution to this work.

  War Everlasting

  Copyright © 2015 by Worldwide Library

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