Don Pendleton: Syrian Rescue

CRITICAL EVACUATION

A secret meeting with antigovernment leaders ready to negotiate peace in Syria backfires when the plane carrying UN diplomats to the war-torn country is shot down. Tasked with finding—and extracting—the diplomats before word of their disappearance gets out, Mack Bolan drops into the Syrian desert.

But Bolan isn’t the only one looking for the crash site. The rebels and the Syrian military each have their own agendas, and UN officials would make valuable hostages for either side of the conflict. With the plane’s tracking device mysteriously disabled and hundreds of miles of desert to search, Bolan is in a deadly race against fighters who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for their cause. The Executioner won’t stop until he leaves his enemies in the dust of their own destruction.

Bolan leaped from the Niva carrying the RPG-7.

Behind him, he heard Sabah Azmeh jump out and make a run for it, as instructed. Not that it would help, if the advancing chopper’s searchlight fell on either one of them.

Whether it was a Hind or Hoplite helicopter, neither could shrug off a direct hit from one of Bolan’s 93 mm rocket-propelled HEAT warheads. He could bring down whichever helicopter it turned out to be—if he hit it.

He’d have to do this right the first time. He hadn’t grabbed a second rocket from the Niva’s backseat, and he likely wouldn’t have time to reload the launcher anyway, if his first warhead missed its mark.

The searchlight found his ride, swept to the pilot’s right and froze on Bolan.

He recognized the stutter of a heavy machine gun and saw its muzzle flashes winking at him from the helicopter’s chin. That meant he had a Hind to deal with and would have to make a clean hit with his HEAT round when he let it fly.

First, though, Bolan had to dodge the storm of bullets streaming toward him. He hit the ground and rolled, took a beating on his shoulder from the launcher’s tube, and came up in a crouch, squinting through its sight into the searchlight’s blinding glare.

Civil war? What does that mean? Is there any foreign war? Is not every war between men, war between brothers?

—Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Borders will not keep me from hunting down those who kill their brothers and sisters for personal gain. Willing or not, those criminals are at war with The Executioner.

—Mack Bolan

THE The Mack Bolan Legend Dedication Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Epilogue Copyright

MACK BOLAN The Mack Bolan Legend Dedication Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Epilogue Copyright

LEGEND The Mack Bolan Legend Dedication Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Epilogue Copyright

Nothing less than a war could have fashioned the destiny of the man called Mack Bolan. Bolan earned the Executioner title in the jungle hell of Vietnam.

But this soldier also wore another name—Sergeant Mercy. He was so tagged because of the compassion he showed to wounded comrades-in-arms and Vietnamese civilians.

Mack Bolan’s second tour of duty ended prematurely when he was given emergency leave to return home and bury his family, victims of the Mob. Then he declared a one-man war against the Mafia.

He confronted the Families head-on from coast to coast, and soon a hope of victory began to appear. But Bolan had broken society’s every rule. That same society started gunning for this elusive warrior—to no avail.

So Bolan was offered amnesty to work within the system against terrorism. This time, as an employee of Uncle Sam, Bolan became Colonel John Phoenix. With a command center at Stony Man Farm in Virginia, he and his new allies—Able Team and Phoenix Force—waged relentless war on a new adversary: the KGB.

But when his one true love, April Rose, died at the hands of the Soviet terror machine, Bolan severed all ties with Establishment authority.

Now, after a lengthy lone-wolf struggle and much soul-searching, the Executioner has agreed to enter an “arm’s-length” alliance with his government once more, reserving the right to pursue personal missions in his Everlasting War.

For Staff Sergeant Melvin Morris

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text CRITICAL EVACUATION A secret meeting with antigovernment leaders ready to negotiate peace in Syria backfires when the plane carrying UN diplomats to the war-torn country is shot down. Tasked with finding—and extracting—the diplomats before word of their disappearance gets out, Mack Bolan drops into the Syrian desert. But Bolan isn’t the only one looking for the crash site. The rebels and the Syrian military each have their own agendas, and UN officials would make valuable hostages for either side of the conflict. With the plane’s tracking device mysteriously disabled and hundreds of miles of desert to search, Bolan is in a deadly race against fighters who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for their cause. The Executioner won’t stop until he leaves his enemies in the dust of their own destruction.

Introduction Bolan leaped from the Niva carrying the RPG-7. Behind him, he heard Sabah Azmeh jump out and make a run for it, as instructed. Not that it would help, if the advancing chopper’s searchlight fell on either one of them. Whether it was a Hind or Hoplite helicopter, neither could shrug off a direct hit from one of Bolan’s 93 mm rocket-propelled HEAT warheads. He could bring down whichever helicopter it turned out to be—if he hit it. He’d have to do this right the first time. He hadn’t grabbed a second rocket from the Niva’s backseat, and he likely wouldn’t have time to reload the launcher anyway, if his first warhead missed its mark. The searchlight found his ride, swept to the pilot’s right and froze on Bolan. He recognized the stutter of a heavy machine gun and saw its muzzle flashes winking at him from the helicopter’s chin. That meant he had a Hind to deal with and would have to make a clean hit with his HEAT round when he let it fly. First, though, Bolan had to dodge the storm of bullets streaming toward him. He hit the ground and rolled, took a beating on his shoulder from the launcher’s tube, and came up in a crouch, squinting through its sight into the searchlight’s blinding glare.

Title Page The Executioner: Syrian Rescue Don Pendleton’s

Quotes Civil war? What does that mean? Is there any foreign war? Is not every war between men, war between brothers? —Victor Hugo, Les Misérables Borders will not keep me from hunting down those who kill their brothers and sisters for personal gain. Willing or not, those criminals are at war with The Executioner. —Mack Bolan

The Mack Bolan Legend

Dedication

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Copyright

Deir ez-Zor Governorate, Syria

Yaser Jenyat was sick of waiting. It was miserably hot and the dry earth underneath his buttocks was scorching. When he checked his Rolex replica, it seemed the hands were frozen. Had they moved at all since he had checked them last?

“They’ve changed plans, or itineraries,” he suggested. “Maybe someone warned them.”

“Who?” Ziad Dalila asked him.

“How should I know?” Jenyat answered. “Someone.”

“We have orders,” said Malek Hakim.

“We have obeyed them,” Jenyat shot back. “We came, we waited. No one said we have to take up residence.”