Don Pendleton - Death Gamble

Killing his flashlight, he hovered in the darkness for a moment and stared at the bend in the tunnel twenty feet ahead of him. Seconds later, he saw white beams of light playing over the surface and heard the roar of air bubbles expelling from regulators coming out of time with his own breathing.

His opponents had to know he was lying in wait for them. If he could hear them, it stood to reason that the reverse was also true.

Fisting his knife, he waited until the men rounded the corner, one after the other. Each was armed with a speargun and wore a light affixed to his forehead. Bolan surged forward, slicing in a downward arc and skimming along the tunnel’s bottom. As he descended, a pair of spears fired overhead, cutting through the space he occupied moments before.

Bolan didn’t give the men time to reload.

The Executioner

#237 Hellfire Trigger

#238 Crimson Tide

#239 Hostile Proximity

#240 Devil’s Guard

#241 Evil Reborn

#242 Doomsday Conspiracy

#243 Assault Reflex

#244 Judas Kill

#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

Death Gamble

Don Pendleton

I cannot be intimidated from doing that which my judgment and conscience tell me is right by any earthly power.

—Andrew Jackson 1767-1845

I will show the true meaning of justice and terror to those who would hurt or kill innocents.

—Mack Bolan

To Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl (1963–2002) who died at the hands of cowards while upholding the people’s right to know. He was working for us all.

Prologue

Chapter 1

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

Nevada

Some men became killers reluctantly, accidentally. Not Talisman. He loved a good blood bath and had traveled halfway across the world to immerse himself in one. The big African soldier checked his watch and knew that in another twenty minutes he’d be rewarded for the sweet anticipation that had nagged him for days.

He checked the load on his AK-47, then stared at Trevor Dade’s campuslike home. The thirty-acre compound rose out of the desert like an ostentatious oasis—bright lights, fountains, palm trees, glittering swimming pools and hot tubs dotted the landscape. Three Mercedes convertibles were parked along the circular driveway fronting the luxurious home.

The compound’s big gates rolled open and a convoy of SUVs glided into the night, headlights slicing through the inky blackness. They would follow a series of access roads and ultimately catch Nevada’s highways, taking the afternoon shift’s guards home for the night.

The third-shift crew was inside, getting its briefing. Talisman checked his watch: 11:02 p.m. In six minutes the anal-retentive crew chief would usher the guards outside, just as he did every evening, and send them to their positions.

Talisman ran his fingers over the control board of the small device sitting on its rocky pedestal next to his right knee. A series of lights and beeps told him the device was ready to go.

The Russian had said the apparatus would knock out communication between the security team members and their home base, the Haven. Suddenly, the guards would find themselves isolated and would fall in short order. Or so the Russian said. And considering how badly he wanted Dade, Talisman was inclined to believe what the man told him.

At the same time, the Insider—Talisman didn’t even know the Russian’s name—with the help of that crazy bastard William Armstrong, planned to ignite a series of explosions miles away, creating a disturbance sure to draw the helicopter security team’s attention.

In twenty-four hours, Talisman would be back in Africa a little richer and his blood lust satiated—at least for a while. Shadows drifted in and settled around him—a group of his best soldiers and former Spetsnaz commandos—and they waited to spill blood on American soil.

It was just a taste of the carnage to come.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

The cool desert air pressed against Ethan Sharpe’s face as he stormed from the sprawling home and into the black, starless night. He slammed the oak door behind him, ground his teeth together and bit down on another curse. Hoping for a moment that the other man would let the outburst slide, he sensed a pair of eyes scrutinizing him and knew he wouldn’t be so lucky.

“What’s eating you?” Danny Bowen asked.

Sharpe jerked a thumb over his shoulder and pointed at the house behind him. The words spilled out before he could censor them.

“In there is what’s bothering me,” he said. “Dade. He may be a hot-shit scientist, but he’s a poor excuse for a man. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve the kind of protection we give him.”

“Not our job to decide that, Ethan.”

Sharpe shot his friend a withering look. He realized the guy was right, and replaced it with a grim smile and a shrug.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Hell, I shouldn’t be griping to you, anyway. I’m the damn team leader.”

Bowen punched Sharpe on the shoulder. “But I’m the voice of reason. That’s why you keep me around.”

Sharpe knew that much was true. The two men had become friends, sweating their way through Ranger school together and serving in the same overseas hot zones, even standing as best man at each other’s weddings. Sharpe was the hothead; Bowen was a master of tact and diplomacy. If Bowen thought Sharpe ought to suck it up, then by God Sharpe knew he ought to listen.

He exhaled loud and long. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, but maintained its edge. “It burns me to watch this guy snorting coke, hiring hookers, drinking himself into oblivion—all on the company dime. Every night it’s the same thing. It makes me sick.”