Free Council of Kings by Don Pendleton

into the brush.
    The flash had appeared ahead to the left, but the man would not have lingered. Bolan moved to the two-foot log that bordered the parking lot.
    The crew wagon was to his right, the Thunderbird to the left. But where was the gunner?
    Hurried footsteps sounded on the pavement. They moved to the right. Two 3-round bursts from Bolan's silenced Beretta produced no results. He eased to his feet and worked toward the Caddy. Had the gunman turned tail, or was he retreating to a better position?
    Bolan fingered the two fraggers he carried on his webbing. If the target came near enough to the Cadillac, Bolan could decimate man and machine with one grenade. But that was wishful thinking.
    Another booming round zapped through space, hitting a dozen feet away.
    Bolan's machine pistol punched out nine shots this time, aimed on both sides of the muzzle-flash. But again no hits.
    His target was back in the brush now, moving deeper into the woods.
    The Executioner heard a clunk on the pavement and expected the worst. He dived over the two-foot log edging the parking lot as the rain-filled sky was split open by the ripping, tearing blast of a fragger. But none of the shrapnel found Bolan.
    He uttered a stream of agonized screams, which became groans, then died.
    The Executioner lay behind the log, the Uzi charged and ready for the man to come gloat over his kill.
    Bolan crouched behind the log for five minutes, waiting for the Mafia hit man. He did not come. The ruse had failed.
    He rolled silently toward the brush, came to his feet by two sheltering trees and looked toward the parking lot.
    The enemy crew wagon was still there. There was no sign of the other man but Bolan knew he was out there somewhere, a skilled, patient guerrilla fighter. The consequences of their meeting would be deadly.
    The Executioner leaned around a tree and aimed the Uzi across the lot.
    He fired a 3-round burst into the crew wagon, then scattered six rounds where he figured the enemy might be hiding. There was no return fire. As soon as he fired, Bolan darted to another large fir ten feet away. Bolan pondered his next move. There was only one thing to do: flush out the gunner.
    The Executioner moved through the woods silently, working away from where his enemy must be and toward the Thunderbird. There was no sign of his opponent near the car. There had been no time or opportunity for his enemy to booby-trap the vehicle.
    Crouching, he ran to the rig, jumped in the passenger door and slid across to the driver's seat.
    The little light inside the car had lit and darkened.
    Bolan watched the lot and saw a tiny light flash in the Caddy.
    Someone had seen and done likewise.
    The Thunderbird charged across the wet pavement toward the other car. As it neared, the Caddy came to life, snarled across the lot, slithered out the exit and roared onto the highway along the Columbia River, moving eastward. The Thunderbird followed.
    The highway was deserted. Bolan sent two rounds from the Beretta toward the fleeing crew wagon, and saw an answering muzzle-flash.
    He tried to remember what was along the river.
    A few small towns. He was trying to second-guess the man in the Caddy, but his mind was drawing a blank.
    The cars rocked along the freeway at sixty-five miles per hour, then accelerated to seventy-five. After a few minutes, the lead car slowed and took an off ramp toward the Oregon side of the huge Bonneville Dam, which spans the Columbia.
    There was a parking lot beside the project, and a guard station, both locked.
    Bolan spun the Thunderbird around to block the road to the parking lot.
    There was no way the crew wagon could pass.
    A figure sprang from the Caddy and ran toward the gate leading into the complex. The Executioner followed with the loaded Uzi and Big Thunder ready on his hip.
    Evidently there was no exterior guard at night. The man went over the first low gate, and as Bolan pursued he saw the man climb a fence that, according to a sign, led