Don Pendleton - Final Coup

“In Cameroon there are very few secrets,” Antangana said. “Although Menye’s location is one of them.”

“Get to the point,” Bolan said as he finished shrugging into his jacket and sat back against the chair.

“I have an informant of my own who saw suspicious men entering through the alley door of an old abandoned warehouse,” the prime minister said. “He recognized one of Menye’s personal bodyguards who had disappeared when Menye took off.” He frowned a moment. “I believe you Americans call it ‘going away with sheep?’”

Lareby suppressed a laugh. “Close. It’s called ‘going on the lamb.’”

Bolan looked across the room, through the window, and saw that dusk was falling over Yaounde. “Yeah,” he said. “It means he’s running.”

“Where does it come from?” Antangana asked, frowning. “I know of no lambs that—”

The Executioner was growing impatient with this man who was obviously easily sidetracked. “I don’t know where it comes from and it doesn’t matter. You have an address for this warehouse location?”

“I do,” Antangana said. “But it is in the most dangerous slum in Yaounde. Murders occur every night.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bolan rose from his chair. He had relied on his Desert Eagle during the gun battle back at the airport, and was down to one full magazine and one partially loaded with five shots. Until his supplies arrived, he would have to make do with what he had. He patted the Beretta beneath his jacket. It was still filled with 9 mm fragmentation rounds, and he had two extra magazines under his right arm opposite the pistol in his shoulder holster.

It might be enough. Or it might not. In any case, he would be sure to pick up the weapons of his enemies as he went.

Looking quickly across the room, he saw Lareby checking his own weapon. “How are you fixed?” Bolan asked.

“Full gun, one extra mag,” the CIA man said.

Bolan knew the small double action .380 held eight rounds, with one in the chamber. The other magazine would give Lareby an additional seven. “Better make them count then,” he said.

The CIA counterterrorist expert nodded.

The soldier took another glance outside and saw that darkness was replacing the twilight he had seen a few moments earlier. Antangana had held the closed Okapi folding knife in his fist ever since Bolan tossed it back to him, but now he watched the man drop it back into the same pocket where it had been found during the search.

“Let’s go,” Antangana said simply, then led the men out the door, into the elevator and out of the hotel into the night.

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