Free Hellfire Crusade by Don Pendleton

professional satisfaction. He paused for a moment to survey his handiwork. He reckoned Red Chandler would have been proud.
    Everything was as ready as Bolan could make it.
    He would spend the evening in town with Danny, have one last night of comfortable rest at the International, make sure that tomorrow Danny was set up "working" at the dig to cover for him and then take off under cover of darkness.
    If any vehicle could make it across the pitiless desert it would be Chandler's ugly baby. With its roll bars, shoulder harnesses, suspension that could withstand more Gs than those riding inside and its nubby tires the Sand Hog looked as if it could take on the Baja and beat the field. Bolan secured the shed doors, climbed into the special Jeep and wheeled around to the gate.
    "Here." Bolan pulled some dinars out of his pocket and handed them to Abdel. "Split this with Hamad. I want you two to keep an especially tight watch on the compound."
    The Arab sentry gave him a British-style salute. His brother simply patted his prized rifle.
    The little girl waved as Bolan drove past their home. The dog followed after the car to the crest of the trail, then veered off to chase the camel.
    Bolan gave them all a final toot on the horn as he ran down the hill to join the main road back to Khurabi.

8
    The sun was dipping low toward the jagged line of foothills that marked the Jebel Kharg; at least the air temperature was more comfortable now. Bolan had some time to concentrate on his plan for action and a host of contingencies.
    He was facing more than one enemy on this mission, and he doubted that Hassan Zayoud and his handpicked troopers were likely to be the worst. There was also Ruark with forty or more veteran mercs, as tough and dangerous a bunch of bastards as he would ever have to face. And then there was the desert, those mountains and the blistering sun. But, above all, there was the clock.
    Man and machine would have to race against time over some of the roughest real estate this side of hell to bring back Kevin Baker alive and so deny Hassan Zayoud the expertise he needed for the blueprints to Armageddon. If he pulled this off, there would be a lot of explaining to do — to the college at Westfield, to the oil company and, if he was not successful, to the ruler of Khurabi.
    Maybe Hal Brognola could be persuaded to pitch in with the PR work. There were bound to be a few ruffled feathers left behind on this one. On the other hand, if he failed, well, no one but Danny and his closest associates would be any the wiser until the rebel, Hassan, launched his Crescent Revolution on the world.
    But Bolan had no intention of failing.
    Too much was at stake.
    He checked his watch. It looked as if he was going to be late back to the hotel. He was thinking about Danny — about how quickly he'd gotten used to her smile, her vitality, her undeniable good looks — when he spotted the car coming up from the rear.
    The Dodge must have been lurking behind that fisherman's shack he passed a couple of miles back. It was the only cover along this stretch of highway.
    Bolan accelerated, but still not pushing the Hog to its limit. His pursuers kept coming on hard. There were two guys in the Charger, and they didn't look like rich kids out for a joyride. The Executioner snaked through a double bend, straightening out as the wheels drummed on the concrete bridge over a sluggish inlet. He figured there was about another ten miles of desert before they reached the outskirts of the town. The guys behind didn't want him to get that far.
    They were now close enough to nudge his tail — and that was the next move they made. Once, twice... they bumped hard into the rear end of the Hog. Bolan juggled the wheel, retaining control, waiting to make his play. A truck trundled past in the opposite direction. The way ahead was clear on both sides. Bolan snapped home the shoulder strap. He switched lanes fast and braked.
    They were still right behind him.
    This guy