Free Whipsaw by Don Pendleton

stepped down from the running board, he started to back away but tripped and fell. Scrambling to his feet, he noticed the flames now beginning to lick at the huge gas tank under the truck. He stumbled back into the trees, ignoring the slender branches slashing at his face and hands.
    He found Marisa right where he'd left her, as if she had grown roots in the rich, loamy soil.
    He dropped to the ground beside her.
    Bolan reached out to pat her knee. "I'm back," he said.
    She said nothing, instead placing a finger to her lips. Thinking she must have heard something, Bolan cocked his head to one side, listening to the jungle.
    The only noise he could hear was the crackle of the flames.
    "What is it," Bolan whispered, "what do you hear?"
    As if in answer, the gas tank on the truck blew, sending a feathery plume of burning fuel high into the air. The trees between him and the truck looked black, as though they had been carved out of coal.
    Marisa flinched at the thunderous explosion.
    "Juan?" she asked. "Pablito?"
    "Dead," Bolan said. "I'm sorry."
    Marisa shook her head. "No, you're not. Don't say it to spare my feelings. They were my friends, but you didn't know them."
    Bolan marveled at the toughness that seemed as much a part of her as the flesh on her bones, the blood in her veins.
    "What happened?" she asked.
    "They didn't suffer, if that's what you want to know."
    "Thank you for that, but, no, that's not what I want to know. I want to know what happened."
    "Someone shot them both. From the right side of the road. An ambush."
    "And you saw no one?"
    "No."
    "But they are still here, the ones who murdered Juan and Pablito. They are close by."
    "How do you know?"
    "I know because I just heard them. I know because it is always the same."
    "Many?"
    "Ten or twelve, probably. That is the way it usually goes."
    "Then we have to get the hell out of here. Do you know where we are?"
    "Yes."
    "Then you have to guide me."
    "We have to follow the road. That's the only way I know to guide you."
    "We can't stay on the road. If there's a dozen men out there looking to kill us, we wouldn't stand a chance."
    "We don't have far to go."
    "How can you be sure?"
    She laughed. "I may be frightened, Mr. Belasko, but I'm not stupid. I don't mean to walk in the middle of the road. But if you look closely, you'll realize there is only one road to choose from. Since I know where we were going, I know how to get there. I don't know how far, but it shouldn't be more than three or four miles. It's too bad we don't have Pablito's pack."
    "You mean this?" Bolan placed the canvas bag in her lap.
    She brushed it with her fingertips, then smiled a sad smile. "So, Pablito will help us get there yet. This is his bag." She reached for the buckles holding the bag closed. One at a time, she undid the two straps, then slid her hand in under the canvas flap.
    When she withdrew her hand, she held a small transceiver. She brought the small black box to her lips and kissed it.
    "You see?" she asked. "We can call the others and tell them to come get us."
    "Then we'll have to stay here, near the truck. Otherwise they won't be able to find us." "S?.."
    "You know damn well what I'm talking about. You said yourself there is a dozen men out there. They're looking for us right now. We can't stay here."
    "We have no choice."
    "Maybe you don't, but I do," Bolan snapped.
    "Fine, do whatever you want. At least leave me a gun."
    "Don't do this, Marisa."
    "Do what, Mr. Belasko?"
    "Play on my sympathy."
    "I'm surprised. You don't strike me as a man who would even have sympathy. For anyone. And if you think I am not above manipulating you, you're wrong. Do as you please. But I want to warn you that you can't get out of here without our help."
    "I'll take my chances on that." Marisa held up a hand. "Quiet," she ordered.
    And this time Bolan heard it, too. Voices, too far away to be intelligible, but too dose for comfort. It sounded as if the speakers were arguing.
    "What are they saying?"