Don Pendleton: Oblivion Pact

HELL ON EARTH

When a firefight breaks out in Mexico, the blitz leaves countless dead and Apache gunships in the hands of an Australian self-made millionaire and the soldiers of his white supremacist group. This in turn puts Mack Bolan in grim pursuit. Hijacking the ordnance turns out to be the first move in a campaign of terror that arms the enemy with an arsenal of NASA experimental limpet mines. The killing sweep then strikes the Cayman Islands, with the object of stealing a supercomputer to control the limpets. And a deadly demonstration off the coast of Brazil leaves no doubt that World War III is the millionaire’s ultimate goal.

Now all things from satellites to rockets are hands-on weapons of terror to cripple global defenses. Cities around the world will burn unless Bolan—using everything he’s got—can dispatch the enemy into eternal darkness.

The entire island seemed to be shaking

Momentarily losing control of the jetpacks, the men struggled to stay away from the walls as the tunnel started to break apart, wide cracks lancing along the interior making countless bricks fall free.

Desperately dodging out of the way, Cinco flew too low and scraped a boot heel across the floor, then Bolan went sideways to carom off the shuddering wall, sparks spraying off the housing as it rubbed the shattering bricks.

Suddenly a bright light filled the tunnel, and Bolan saw a monstrous fireball billowing toward them like the exhaust charge of a firing cannon.

“Fly or die!” he yelled, twisting the controls to the max.

Other titles available in this series:

War Load

Sworn Enemies

Dark Truth

Breakaway

Blood and Sand

Caged

Sleepers

Strike and Retrieve

Age of War

Line of Control

Breached

Retaliation

Pressure Point

Silent Running

Stolen Arrows

Zero Option

Predator Paradise

Circle of Deception

Devil’s Bargain

False Front

Lethal Tribute

Season of Slaughter

Point of Betrayal

Ballistic Force

Renegade

Survival Reflex

Path to War

Blood Dynasty

Ultimate Stakes

State of Evil

Force Lines

Contagion Option

Hellfire Code

War Drums

Ripple Effect

Devil’s Playground

The Killing Rule

Patriot Play

Appointment in Baghdad

Havana Five

The Judas Project

Plains of Fire

Colony of Evil

Hard Passage

Interception

Cold War Reprise

Mission: Apocalypse

Altered State

Killing Game

Diplomacy Directive

Betrayed

Sabotage

Conflict Zone

Blood Play

Desert Fallout

Extraordinary Rendition

Devil’s Mark

Savage Rule

Infiltration

Resurgence

Kill Shot

Stealth Sweep

Grave Mercy

Treason Play

Assassin’s Code

Shadow Strike

Decision Point

Road of Bones

Radical Edge

Fireburst

Oblivion Pact

Don Pendleton

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Our single most important challenge is to help establish a social order in which the freedom of the individual will truly mean the freedom of the individual. We must construct that people-centred society of freedom in such a manner that it guarantees the political liberties and the human rights of all our citizens.

—Nelson Mandela

May 25, 1994

We all face challenges, sometimes just to survive. Unfortunately it seems there is always someone, some group, who thinks they have the right to take what is ours. Over my dead body.

—Mack Bolan

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Nick Pollotta for his contribution to this work.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Cancun, Mexico

Death watched from high above.

It was a scorching tropical night, the heat unforgiving in spite of a cool breeze coming off the ocean. A thumping techno beat filled the air with a palpable presence, the lyrics indistinct over the laughter of the drunken college students cavorting on the white sandy beach.

Standing on the balcony of his penthouse suite, Dalton Greene looked down on the raucous party with the impersonal gaze of a surgeon preparing to cut a tumor from the body of a patient.

“Enjoy yourselves while it lasts,” Greene whispered, checking the load of the 10 mm Falcon pistol before tucking the weapon into its shoulder holster.

Neither handsome nor ugly, Greene was simply plain with an ordinary, easily forgettable face and nondescript features. Except for one. The man was huge, not fat, although he would have disagreed on that point, but genuinely enormous, well over seven feet tall and as broad as a gorilla.

Most people the billionaire did business with called him The Jolly Greene Giant, but never to his face. The one person who had been foolish enough to do that disappeared the next day, and was found a year later. From what the New York coroner could ascertain, the man had been tortured, then allowed to heal, and tortured again, over and over, for weeks, until his head was smashed.

Whether the horrid story was true or not, the billionaire had done his best to circulate it worldwide, and the tale certainly fitted Dalton Greene’s profile. He never got angry or upset, only even, and somehow he always managed to make a profit. Even from death.

“They call it spring break, right?” Greene asked over a shoulder, dispassionately watching the dozens of campfires blazing along the beach.

Hundreds of college students reveled in drunken celebration, singing to the techno beat, the combination creating a low growl.

“Yes, sir, spring break,” Samantha LoMonaco answered, carefully loading a 12-gauge Neostead shotgun.

The lights were off in the palatial suite, making it easier for them to discreetly observe the party below. A dozen other people were in the suite, all of them checking a weapon, or adjusting the straps on military body armor.

“Ridiculous. A break from what?” Greene demanded. “The strenuous task of sitting in a comfortable chair in an air-conditioned room reading books?”

Working the pump-action on the Neostead, LoMonaco shrugged. “Americans are a ridiculous people, sir.”

Easing a clip into an F88 assault rifle, a bearded man scowled. “I thought you came from America, Ms. LoMonaco?” he asked in a thick accent.

“I’m Australian now,” LoMonaco stated with an air of pride. “Just like the rest of you.”

A diminutive brunette with a full luscious figure, Samantha “The Hammer” LoMonaco was a stunningly beautiful woman with lovely dark eyes and a smile so sweet that she often managed to talk her way out of traffic tickets and past security checkpoints.

Her long hair was tied in a ponytail to keep it from her face, and more importantly out of the breech of her weapon. Her nails were cut short, almost to the quick, to make it easier to reload her weapon.

She was also covered with tattoos. Although born in America, she had been raised in the slums of west Canberra, and at a very early age had started getting a tattoo for each confirmed kill.

The first killing had been done in the dark alley behind a bar where a drunken man was trying to assault her friend. LoMonaco grabbed a loose brick and pounded him to death. The next day her friend took LoMonaco to a tattoo parlor and paid for both of them to get matching stars on their wrists so they could always remember that night. As news of the incident spread, LoMonaco was quickly dubbed with the nickname The Hammer because of her assault with the brick.