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  He had helped plan and set the traps with Ricke, so he knew where they all were, and as a result, he understood the layout of the park better than almost anyone in the compound. Standing there, he could see it all in his mind’s eye. He figured the intruder would take the girl back past the cinder block building where she’d been kept. That was likely how’d he’d tracked her to the temple in the first place. If Duane was right, then the man had inadvertently taken a roundabout route, which meant that people could be sent to intercept at least one avenue of escape.

  A slow, evil grin spread across Duane’s face as he realized how the intruder had managed to get into the park so easily. The fence post that had been recently reset would be a weak point. That had to be it.

  And he knew how to stop them.

  Duane changed direction and headed off toward the armory. He took a shortcut that led him beneath the old roller coaster and through the wheelhouse of another deserted ride. He skipped with assurance over the coils of rope and cable that had been left there, skirting the traps he himself had laid. He arrived at the armory just as the SMGs and rifles were being handed out to the acolytes. They still looked drugged, but they displayed the purpose and assurance their leader had instilled in them.

  Holding up a hand to stop them before they dispersed, Duane separated the acolytes into groups and barked orders. When each team had accepted their instructions and moved off, he set out again himself.

  Let’s see the bastard get out of this in one piece, Duane thought.

  * * *

  BOLAN LED ELENA along the route he had chosen. He’d heard nothing in the way of arms fire following that short burst, but the silence was anything but reassuring. There had been some other noises—vocal, incoherent. He figured the burst had come from Ricke and Duane to shock the troops, and now they were being marshaled. Based on what he’d seen around the fire, Bolan didn’t expect much from the acolytes, even if they were armed. On the other hand, he was all too aware of how psychotropic drugs were used to focus and hone the capabilities of some fighting forces. If Ricke had practiced this kind of control, they might have a problem.

  Bolan and Elena were making good time, but their route wasn’t direct, and the cult members would have a better knowledge of the park than he did.

  A burst of SMG fire chopped across the night, sending bullets ricocheting off a nearby ride. Bolan stopped short and dived for cover behind some scaffolding, pulling Elena after him.

  Ahead, cutting off his path, three figures approached. If he fired from here, he would give away Elena’s position. He whispered to her to stay put, then dropped down and crawled across the dank earth, moving diagonally so he could find more cover without coming out onto the moonlit path.

  He rose to one knee and waited for the figures to enter his sights. As they did, firing in random directions, he picked out one of them and tapped a three-shot burst. They were spread too far apart to take out with a spray, so he chose the nearest form first.

  A cry told him he had at least injured his target. Enough to take him or her out of the game, at least. Only two bursts of fire answered his shots.

  By the time the return fire rained down on Bolan’s position, he was already back with Elena, taking her by the arm and leading her away from their hiding spot.

  He was now heading off the path, trying to circle their assailants and return to ground he had already scouted. It was imperative that he stick to this as much as possible to keep the risk of traps to a minimum. But the need to move quickly and protect Elena from the marauding acolytes made this more complicated.

  He’d estimated about twenty people around the fire. Three were accounted for. If they all worked in groups this size, seven or eight teams were still out there. Not great odds, but he’d faced much worse and come through, even with a passenger.

  * * *

  DUANE HEARD THE gunfire, heard the yelp of a man down, and smiled. If the intruder had been struck, then fine. If not, it meant that his men had intercepted their line of escape. If they had a casualty, so be it. Their target would now be moving through unfamiliar terrain, giving the Seven Stars the upper hand.

  Duane liked the military. Not the thought of joining up, and the discipline that entailed, but rather the idea that he could go and fight, fuck some shit up. He loved movies about Vietnam, the thought of being thrown into chaos and thinking on your feet. The idea of stalking an enemy and running them to ground...that was cool. Which was why he was enjoying this so much, despite the pain in his head. No, in truth the broken nose was making it all the sweeter as he closed in on this bastard. The pain sharpened his sense of achievement as he lived out his fantasy.

  Duane had positioned groups along the entire route between the main encampment, the cinder block cell and the fence post. One of his men would take the bastard out, or else drive him right back to where Duane stood waiting for him.

  It was simple.

  Or so he thought.

  * * *

  BOLAN LED ELENA under the dinosaur spine of a roller coaster, across a boardwalk and behind a row of huts that had once housed concessions. He gestured to her to keep quiet, and when she nodded he could tell that the fear and adrenaline in her system were clearing the toxin and overriding its worst effects.

  Ahead of him, he spotted another small group. They were clustered together, whispering among themselves, their postures uncertain. He had little doubt they’d been given specific instructions, but each person was likely vying for the easiest option.

  Leaving Elena, he crept forward until the men were in earshot. Their arguments, slowed and dulled by the drugs still in their system, were what he’d expected. More importantly, their attention was taken.

  He shouldered the HK; he had no desire to alert anyone else to his position, and if he moved swiftly enough he could take these three down before they could raise any alarm. He slipped the TEKNA from its sheath. The three men were too preoccupied to notice him until it was too late.

  Bolan took out the man nearest him with a punch to the throat that made him fall to the ground, choking. The soldier moved toward the second man, following up his punch to the first with a stamp that crushed his nose and cheekbone. Bolan feinted with his empty hand, which his target moved to block, opening up the other side of his body. Bolan lunged and thrust upward, driving the TEKNA under the guy’s ribs. As the man fell, the soldier turned, pulling the knife out and using his free hand to push the limp body back so that it landed on the last man.

  The intention was to obstruct him, buying Bolan enough time to close the gap between them and take him out, too. It proved an unnecessary precaution, as the man had already fled, in such a panic that he dropped his gun as he sprinted blindly away.

  Bolan began to follow—he didn’t want the man to give away that something was going down—but instinct held him back. The acolyte ran past a hut and over a rumpled tarpaulin, stumbling as he did so. His foot caught a loop of wire and loosened a stake that scythed between two huts, its arc vicious and true. The point caught the man at neck level, slicing his head from his body, which continued forward for two steps before collapsing across the boardwalk. Meanwhile the head was propelled backward, flying past Bolan and hitting the ground with a wet thump.

  Dodging this gruesome projectile was not his major problem. One man’s neck had proved to be little resistance to the stake, which continued on its course. Bolan had avoided being struck, but could do nothing as the stake hit a metal strut with a resounding clang, sending splinters of thick wood flying off. Bolan winced as a chunk sliced through the material of his blacksuit and into his thigh. He cursed as he pulled it out and squeezed to remove any smaller splinters.

  He looked down at the wood in his hand and cursed again. Even in the shadows he could see that one end of the long splinter was much darker than the white wood farther down. If he was lucky, the stain was his own blo
od. If not, then he had a real problem.

  Bolan ran back to where he had left Elena, feeling a tightening in his thigh where the flesh was bruised and torn. He collected her, saying nothing, and got her running again so she wouldn’t have time to take in the headless corpse.

  If the acolytes’ plan had been to block him off and redirect him, it had failed. He was on track to get Elena over the fence and out into the open.

  The sooner the better. Bolan hoped he had taken out as much of the wood as possible, but if the dark stain had not been his blood, then he didn’t have long before whatever toxin had been painted on it began to take effect.

  He had no way of knowing what that effect might be.

  Chapter 11

  Ricke returned to his own rooms as soon as he had dispatched Duane to his task. Entering, he discarded the Uzi on the bed. Ricke hated guns, considered them brute instruments that lacked the subtlety of the mind. He would rather control people through his intellect and will. Nonetheless, he was pragmatic enough to know that there was a time and place for shooting at people. Now was one of those times.

  His wives were waiting for him. They knew that even though the rest of the cult’s orders were to search for the intruder and the missing girl, their job was to minister to Ricke’s needs. He held up his arms and allowed them to strip him of his robe so that he stood naked. One of the women had a bowl of warm water, with which she attempted to bathe him. He waved her away, irritated, and took a turquoise toweling robe from another. He studied the Uzi and thought about how incongruous and idiotic he must have looked with a purple robe and an SMG.

  It was time for his contingency plans. He accepted a drink from one of his wives, allowing the warm spirits to sting his mouth and burn in his throat before he picked up the phone and dialed. It rang several times. Ricke looked at the clock on his desk. It was late—or early, depending on your view—and he was not surprised that he had to wait. He reined in his impatience and tried not to let it come through when he finally heard a sleepy voice on the other end.

  “Good morning,” Ricke said, keeping his tone low, even, and at its most persuasive. “I wouldn’t disturb you at this hour unless it was a necessity....” He waited for a few moments while his interlocutor let out a string of profanities. “Of course, you’re entitled to feel like that,” Ricke continued. “Entitled...if you have no love for the empire you’ve built up.” He paused once more as he was rudely interrupted.

  He made a moue of distaste at the voice on the other end. “Again, I would say you’re entitled to feel like that. After all, you’ve spent no little time amassing your wealth and building your empire. Next to you, my own fiefdom is small. And yes, before you say so, it is in a sense dependent on you. But let us not forget why. If I fall, then I will not go down alone. And some of us have a lot further to fall, don’t we?”

  There was silence now on the other end of the line. Ricke allowed himself a small smile. “I thought you might see it that way. You control this town—indeed, this county—yes? So you have the power to lock down the surrounding area, with no questions asked....” He waited for the feeble protest. “No, I’m telling you this, not inquiring. I want you to mobilize the sheriff’s office and have them look out for one of my people. You can’t miss her, frankly—she’s wearing a purple robe. There’s a man with her who has taken her against her will.... Well, let’s assume that he has taken her against her will. He is extremely dangerous, and I think it would be advisable for the sheriff’s deputies to shoot on sight. For their own safety, of course.” He waited for the reply, then smiled coldly. “Quite. I think it might be better if this never officially happened. I’m sure you can arrange that.”

  Ricke heard the soft click at the other end of the phone, and realized he was sweating. This situation was getting to him more than he would care to admit. He had to make another call, and by the time he was through with it, perhaps Duane would have returned and there would be no need to follow through on plan B...perhaps.

  He dialed another number. This time he did not have to wait so long for an answer. A crisp voice asked what it was that he required.

  “Yates, it’s me,” he said, attempting but failing to keep the hesitancy from his voice. He cursed himself. This was not the time to show weakness.

  “What do you need?” Yates repeated.

  “What we were discussing. I have something that may be of some use, and I wish to liquidate the asset as soon as possible....”

  “In what form?” the arms dealer asked, his tone neutral.

  “It can be in whatever form you wish. Recorded or transcribed. Sent over a secure line, by hand, or over any other kind of secure connection....”

  “You sound desperate,” Yates murmured with an amused, sardonic edge that set Ricke’s nerves jangling.

  “Not at all,” he replied, measuring his words so he could keep his tone level. “I merely wish to present the information to you in the form you can best use to make a profit.”

  “So you expect me to pay you first, with no idea of what the content may be? Interesting...”

  “Not at all—I just want to make this a swift and easy transaction for all of us.”

  “I’m sure you do. I’ll take audio. Hard copy. I’m sure your friend can arrange for safe transportation through the county.”

  “He can. I’ll send it by midday and give you a time of arrival,” Ricke said, hoping his apprehension wasn’t audible. “The agreed sum on delivery and then a percentage, as discussed?”

  “Of course,” Yates replied. “Midday, is it? I assume the delay is because of the little issue I raised with you?”

  “That...has been raised,” Ricke said.

  “Quite. I would also assume, then, that you have the full audio already? Or perhaps you’re selling in advance?”

  “I have what you need,” Ricke answered carefully.

  “I see. Well, dear boy, if you deliver, I can deposit a payment into your private account, giving you something to fall back on. You’ll need it when you run. If you’re not being entirely honest with me, and you’re still hoping to secure the goods, then I warn you...the issue will not easily go away.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Ricke said coldly. But not as cold as the chuckle that answered him.

  “I’m sure you are. I won’t hold my breath.”

  Ricke put the phone down, his spirits sinking. Outside, he could hear the intermittent chatter of SMG fire. He hoped Yates had not heard it over the line. It was true—Ricke was treading a very thin line as he tried to secure his escape with a commodity that was still out of reach.

  Dammit, what was Duane doing out there? Why wasn’t the girl back in their custody?

  * * *

  DUANE HAD BEEN HOLDING his ground. By his reckoning, the forces he’d spread out along the route should have succeeded in cutting off the outsider’s escape, and sending him back this way. That’s if he hadn’t wandered off track and been killed by one of the traps. Duane hoped not. His face felt as if it was on fire, and he was looking forward to taking a slow revenge on that bastard. He was sure that the outsider would have to turn back. The girl was blasted on that toad crap, and there was no way he would risk her being caught by a trap, not when he had come so far to take her alive.

  Duane the military strategist—the man who had seen every Vietnam movie in the video store—was sure his plan was working. He heard another cry of pain, and a short burst of fire. That had to mean the outsider had crossed another detachment.

  He steeled himself, SMG ready. He would hit the fucker with a burst at the knees, make sure he couldn’t walk. Then, when he had taken the girl away from him, he would tap into each shoulder. That was supposed to hurt like hell, and it would cripple him permanently. Hell, what did that matter? The bastard wasn’t going to live that long...just long enough for Duane to exact some sweet rev
enge.

  He grinned, happy in his fantasy and eager to put it into action. It was only when the seconds stretched out to minutes, and there was no sign of the outsider or the girl, that Duane started to feel any uncertainty.

  Apprehensive now, he scuttled along the side of the path, keeping himself secure, while being able to sight the whole of the boardwalk. He came around to where he had detailed a three-man team. There was no sign of them, even when he hoarsely barked their names. Worse, he caught sight of a sharpened stake moving listlessly in the still night air.

  Cursing over and over, Duane closed in and stumbled over a headless body. He didn’t stop to find the head. Instead, he searched for the other two men, finding one dead and the other unconscious, barely breathing through the blood and mucous that choked his smashed nose and cheekbones.

  Duane rushed out onto the path, looking toward the rear of the park. If the intruder had taken the girl past these men, then he had an open course to the breach in the fence. And once he was out of the park, getting the girl back was going to be one hell of a task.

  Duane lifted the Uzi above his head and let out three bursts, yelling as he did so. It would bring his soldiers running. He would marshal them, send them after the outsider. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late.

  He knew Ricke would hear him, too, and the boss would realize Duane had screwed up. That was another reason he needed to put this right. He wanted to shine in the eyes of his leader. Duane needed this for himself. He could not fail.

  Growing impatient, he didn’t wait for any of the acolytes to catch up. Instead, he set off at a run. The girl was stoned and would slow the intruder. The fence would be another obstacle. Maybe, just maybe, Duane could catch them and put this right himself. Whoever had taken Elena would know Duane’s righteous wrath soon enough....

  * * *

  BOLAN HAD A HOME RUN to the fence. Elena was getting stronger with every step, which was a hell of a relief. The sooner the toxin was out of her system the better, especially since he could feel his thigh stiffening with every step. He couldn’t afford to carry a passenger, and he would need her help if he’d absorbed some kind of toxin himself.