Don Pendleton - Exit Code

Bolan was yanked to his feet and the tension in his throat and lower back made it obvious that his attacker was big, muscular and very strong. The Executioner tried to twist away from the headlock but his opponent’s muscle mass quickly cancelled the idea. Bolan had managed to hold on to his FNC, so he let his feet come off the ground as he rammed the stock between his legs. The grunt of pain was accompanied by a sudden loosening of the hold.

Bolan twisted inward and drove the stock into his opponent’s knee a second time. The blow caused the attacker to let go entirely. The Executioner didn’t wait to size up his assailant, instead swinging the weapon upward against the man’s chin.

Bolan produced the Desert Eagle in one fluid motion, and squeezed the trigger.

The Executioner

#245 Virtual Destruction

#246 Blood of the Earth

#247 Black Dawn Rising

#248 Rolling Death

#249 Shadow Target

#250 Warning Shot

#251 Kill Radius

#252 Death Line

#253 Risk Factor

#254 Chill Effect

#255 War Bird

#256 Point of Impact

#257 Precision Play

#258 Target Lock

#259 Nightfire

#260 Dayhunt

#261 Dawnkill

#262 Trigger Point

#263 Skysniper

#264 Iron Fist

#265 Freedom Force

#266 Ultimate Price

#267 Invisible Invader

#268 Shattered Trust

#269 Shifting Shadows

#270 Judgment Day

#271 Cyberhunt

#272 Stealth Striker

#273 UForce

#274 Rogue Target

#275 Crossed Borders

#276 Leviathan

#277 Dirty Mission

#278 Triple Reverse

#279 Fire Wind

#280 Fear Rally

#281 Blood Stone

#282 Jungle Conflict

#283 Ring of Retaliation

#284 Devil’s Army

#285 Final Strike

#286 Armageddon Exit

#287 Rogue Warrior

#288 Arctic Blast

#289 Vendetta Force

#290 Pursued

#291 Blood Trade

#292 Savage Game

#293 Death Merchants

#294 Scorpion Rising

#295 Hostile Alliance

#296 Nuclear Game

#297 Deadly Pursuit

#298 Final Play

#299 Dangerous Encounter

#300 Warrior’s Requiem

#301 Blast Radius

#302 Shadow Search

#303 Sea of Terror

#304 Soviet Specter

#305 Point Position

#306 Mercy Mission

#307 Hard Pursuit

#308 Into the Fire

#309 Flames of Fury

#310 Killing Heat

#311 Night of the Knives

#312 Death Gamble

#313 Lockdown

#314 Lethal Payload

#315 Agent of Peril

#316 Poison Justice

#317 Hour of Judgment

#318 Code of Resistance

#319 Entry Point

#320 Exit Code

Exit Code

Don Pendleton

We can lose the world, one parcel of real estate after another, while we wait for a shot that may never be fired.

—Admiral Arthur W. Radford

1896–1973

There is nothing wrong with technology when used for the good of all. It is when terrorists pervert that technology to oppress the innocent that I will destroy those who abuse it.

—Mack Bolan

To all personnel everywhere in the armed forces of the United States of America—may God protect you as you protect us.

Prologue

Prologue

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Afghanistan

Colonel Umar Abdalrahman stood at the top of a rise and stared at the smoldering ruins of his main operations center nestled in the mountains bordering the Khyber Pass.

His crack team of commandos—handpicked from an elite group among Abdalrahman’s various allies throughout the Arab inner circle—had not yet found the remains of his nephew, Sadiq Rhatib. Abdalrahman silently thanked Allah for that. It meant there stood a chance that Rhatib was still alive; if that was true, then he would find his nephew. His men hadn’t been able to gain access to the interior of what had once been their main encampment. Whoever had launched the assault against them had used explosives to blast apart the front wooden facade, and this had collapsed the inner structure. The cavernous remains would not be easy to clear, and Abdalrahman wasn’t sure he even wished to disturb what was certain to have become a tomb for many of his comrades.

The former mujiahideen warrior turned and studied his surroundings. Bodies were strewed across the neighboring hillside. Abdalrahman stood upon what had served as a helipad. The small attack helicopter they had left there was gone, and there were brass shell casings scattered everywhere. The bodies along the hillside had been stripped of their equipment.

It looked a lot like the handiwork of nomadic members from radical mujiahideen tribes, but Abdalrahman considered this move a bit too bold. His countrymen were not quite so confrontational; at least, not by their own choosing. They would not have planned such an attack against a numerically and technologically superior force without support.

Abdalrahman thought he knew exactly who had given them that support: the American named Cooper. What concerned Abdalrahman most was that if his nephew were not buried deeper within the confines of the rubble, then he had managed to escape and had gone into hiding, he had fallen into enemy hands. In either case, Abdalrahman wanted to know—he had to know. Everything in their plan depended on the safety of his nephew. If Sadiq was dead, it would be significantly detrimental to their plans.

One of Abdalrahman’s men approached—his second in command—and reported, “I do not know how much farther we can go without heavy equipment, Colonel.”

“Keep digging,” Abdalrahman replied with a wave of his hand. “I have neither the time nor the patience to await the arrival of heavy equipment. There were not a lot of explosives used. There has to be a gap somewhere.”

The man bowed slightly and walked down the hill to pass on the orders to his men. Abdalrahman looked around him one more time with disgust, and his heart was saddened by the sight. His men had died bravely; he wouldn’t have expected anything less. The New Islamic Front would not be scattered to the four winds as other groups had in the past. His men were different; different kinds of soldiers fighting a different kind of war.

Abdalrahman was a practical man, and his mentors and trainers had always touted him as a gifted soldier. He had a leadership ability that was exceeded only by his uncanny skill as a tactician. He hadn’t learned to fight the same way as conventional soldiers during his time battling the Soviet invasion of his homeland, neither had he taught his men to fight that way. Abdalrahman believed that the only way to gain victory against your enemy was to fight in a fashion they had never before encountered. Throughout military history—which he’d studied carefully at an underground university in Baghdad during the height of the Gulf War—armies had lost any battle or war where the tactics of the enemy were unlike any ever encountered by that army. The Crusaders had learned this about the Turks, the English about the Indians, and the Americans about the North Vietnamese.

And now, the Westerners were about to learn this about the New Islamic Front. Abdalrahman meant to teach that same lesson to the man named Cooper. And he would do it in such a way that it would never be forgotten. He would write it in the blood of the American people, as it ran into the gutters and streets of some of their greatest cities.