Free Council of Kings by Don Pendleton Page A

toward the fish ladders. Without hesitation, the Executioner charged after his quarry.
    Bolan could see no reason for the hit man to lead him here, but he did not want to lose him now.
    For a moment he caught a good glimpse of his enemy under a floodlight.
    He was tall and looked muscular. The man vanished around a corner. So far no one had challenged them. Probably few people trespassed there. But Bolan knew that a lot of gunfire would produce armed guards.
    The man stopped near a long, inclined concrete plane with a fence on top: the fish ladders. These devices allowed salmon to leap up a series of long ladders, or steps, to spawn; the fish literally climbed upstream around the dam.
    The hit man ran along the ladders to a narrow beam that crossed a twenty-foot gap. It was only twelve inches wide, and when he reached the center he spread his arms for balance.
    By then Bolan was close enough to use the Beretta.
    The round slammed into one outstretched arm. The man fell from the narrow walkway into the concrete fish ladders six feet below. Two feet of water flowed over them.
    The man tumbled down three of the wide steps, then came up brandishing a big cannon.
    The weapon roared, but its round missed Bolan as he peered over the concrete side. The handgun opened up again and the round whizzed over Bolan's head. The blast reverberated in the heavy concrete-lined enclosure.
    Within ten seconds lights snapped on and a spotlight moved around, searching. A voice over a loudspeaker boomed, "Put down your weapon, and surrender. You are in a restricted area of the Bonneville Power Administration. Our guards are armed and will return fire."
    Bolan slipped into the shadows. He had missed his chance to snuff the hit man. Now he had to flee before the guards closed in. He retraced his steps.
    At the last gate, a searchlight swept over him and away, and he darted into the darkness. A voice called to him from a tower on a loudspeaker, but he ran hard for the Thunderbird.
    Once inside he pulled Big Thunder from its holster and drove near the crew wagon. He rolled down the window and slammed three shots into the engine of the big car and a fourth into the gas tank. The Cadillac exploded in a fireball.
    The Thunderbird roared through the exit as a Jeep with siren wailing came through a gate from the interior of the complex.
    It was no contest. The Thunderbird rolled onto the highway, leaving the Jeep far behind. There was no chance the driver of the Jeep could identify the vehicle or get its license number.

13
    As soon as he had time, Bolan wanted to contact Nino Tattaglia, a mafioso who chose to become an informant rather than spend forty years in prison.
    Nino could find out if the Commission had put a new bloodhound on the Executioner's trail. He could find out about this new threat: his name, his home base, his training, his methods.
    It took the Executioner almost an hour to drive to the Portland address that was his destination.
    He planned to tie up the loose ends of the twin-sister killings before the night was over. Untouched so far was Jody Warren, the loan shark and pimp who had put Charlotte into the situation that had provoked her death.
    Warren's kingdom extended over an industrial section of Portland that once contained important ports and was now home to slums, factories, warehouses and abandoned buildings taken over by rats and derelicts. It was after 3:00 A.M. when Bolan found the building he wanted. It was three-stories high; most of the upper windows were covered with plywood.
    The bottom floor, now vacant, had once been filled with a miniature farmers market. There was probably a basement, Bolan figured.
    He tried a door. The knob turned easily and the door swung open on oiled hinges. Inside a night-light glowed on a small counter. A young black man sat behind it, snoring softly, his head in his arms.
    Bolan figured that since there were few blacks in the Mafia, the man was hired help, sleeping on the job. The Executioner