He reached the front seat of the car and settled in, an empty car between the hunter and his prey. Ramirez was regarding him with curiosity and something else — a touch of fear, perhaps? The soldier forced a hungry smile and held his quarry's eyes until Ramirez finally glanced away. It was a hollow victory, but for the moment it was all he had.
They crossed the racing Findelnbach atop a trellis, and on the other side their tracks immediately disappeared inside a curving tunnel. Bolan waited for the darkness, primed to move as soon as visibility was slashed to zero, knuckles whitening as he clenched the MP-5 against his chest. Another moment and he would have his chance.
The darkness swallowed everything around him, and the Executioner was moving out before his eyes had time to properly adjust, acutely conscious of the fact that they might clear the tunnel's exit sooner than expected. He had no idea of its dimensions, but he could not count on an extended period of darkness. Moments, at the most.
He had traversed perhaps a quarter of the distance toward his destination when the soldier's ears alerted him to danger. Ahead, a heavy object had impacted on the floor, rolling toward him. The wobbling sounds informed him that the object was of baseball size, irregular or oval in design. Before a conscious thought had time to coalesce in Bolan's mind, he was already sprinting back along his track, ignoring flaring pain as he collided with the doorjamb in between cars two and three. Arms folded overhead to cushion any impact, Bolan launched himself into a headlong slide, intent on simultaneously gaining ground and getting down below the line of fire.
The hand grenade exploded midway down the second car, its shrapnel cracking windows, scarring wooden benches, whistling over Bolan's head as he lay prostrate in the aisle. With other windows broken now, the alpine chill was sucked along the funnel of the train's interior, raising gooseflesh on his back and arms.
And in that moment, Bolan blessed the cold. It cleared his head, his ringing ears, and swept the cordite stench of the explosion from his nostrils. Better still, it meant that he was still alive.
But he had underestimated Julio Ramirez, and it had very nearly cost the Executioner his life. It was a grave mistake, which he must not repeat if he intended to survive. If he intended to extract a lethal vengeance for Toby, for himself.
The Executioner could wait until they reached their destination.
Until the Raven made his move.
Until the quarry played into his hands.
* * *
Emerging from the Unteralp tunnel, Julio Ramirez scanned the blasted second car in search of any evidence that he had wounded his opponent. The grenade had been an inspiration, timed to catch the hunter as he moved under cover of the darkness. It could not have failed entirely... but his rapid backward scan revealed no body lying in the aisle, no spattered trail of blood to mark the dying enemy's retreat. Instead, his eyes picked out a hulking figure seated in the third car, near the back and safely out of range for any more surprises from the driver's booth.
"Bastard!"
The conductor turned to eye him curiously, and Ramirez jabbed his Browning against the old man's spine, demanding greater speed. His eyes were on the grim pursuer as they swept through Riffelalp and Riffelberg in turn, three thousand feet above Zermatt and climbing now. The trees were thinning out, giving way to alpine snow and ice on either side, but Julio Ramirez had no interest in the panorama he was missing. He had seen the jagged Gabelhorns before, the Matterhorn ahead of them, but he was looking at a specter now, his full attention focused on the possibility that he would die today at Gomergrat.
The proximity of death had never fazed Ramirez till the close encounter with destruction that had landed him in traction so many years before. Personal mortality meant more these days, and if it was not true that a potential victim's life should flash before his eyes, at least the thought of death gave rise to lightning reassessment of potential for survival.
One man had pursued him from Zermatt. Considering his reputation, it was safe to say that others would have followed, had they been available. The solitary figure was his only adversary, then, a meager challenge for the Raven, who had skillfully eluded SWAT teams, even armies, in the past. If he could not defeat a single man, then he deserved to die.
But death was not on Julio's agenda for the morning. He wished to live, to feel the alpine wind against his face and smell the evergreens as he began the long walk down the valley to Zermatt.
But only when they were finished.
Ahead of them, the summit station and their mandatory stopping point were fast approaching. He could see the Gomergrat observatory, with its gift shop still locked tight. The structure loomed above them like a stark medieval fortress. The hostage engineer was hauling backward on his throttle, slowing in the final yards of their approach, continually glancing back as if he half expected to receive a round between the shoulders for decelerating.
"Gomergrat," he almost whispered, dentures clicking in a mouth gone dry with fear.
The engine shuddered to a halt.
"Get out."
"Mein Herr?"
"Get out!" Ramirez snarled, the fingers of his free hand wrapped around the uniform lapel, dragging the conductor before the old man had a chance to follow orders. Through the folding doors and down a narrow set of steps, the frigid wind like knife blades, cutting through his clothes.
"Up there!"
He shoved the old man out in front of him along the winding path to the observatory, glancing constantly behind in the direction of the train. His hostage stumbled, nearly fell before Ramirez slipped a hand beneath one arm, supporting him, remaining close beside his human shield in case the hunter chose to open fire.
Another hundred yards and he was safe. The bastard would be forced to root him out of rocks and crannies that the Raven knew by heart. And he would die in the attempt. It was a promise that Ramirez made to himself, and pledged to honor with his life.
* * *
He let the Raven have a healthy lead before he disembarked. No point in goading him to shoot the hostage, not while any chance remained of saving something from the free-for-all. It was a meager substitute for Toby's life, but in the last analysis, it was the ibest he could do.
Ramirez had already disappeared along the winding staircase that encircled the observatory. Bolan cleared the loading platform, watching out for any ambush as he sprinted toward the shadow of the gothic structure, flattening himself against a wall of rugged, hand-hewn stone.
As he circled toward the staircase, a gunshot echoed overhead, immediately followed by another. Murderous rounds impacted on the stone a yard in front of Bolan, spraying jagged slivers out like shrapnel as he swung the MP-5 around and loosed a burst in blind response. He took the staircase in a rush, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen above nine thousand feet. Each loping stride drove daggers deep into his side, hot needles lancing through the muscles of his thighs.
The Raven surfaced out of nowhere, sighting down the Browning's slide and squeezing off another double punch. The soldier threw himself aside, colliding with a banister of solid stone, the submachine gun stuttering before he had a chance to aim. Spent cartridges were making music on the steps — and then the little stuttergun went lifeless in his hands, its load exhausted at the crucial moment.
Bolan cast the MP-5 aside, dug for the automatic at his waist, prepared for lethal impact as the Raven cut him down... but now the stairs were clear. Bolan started climbing once again, more cautiously this time. The VP-70 nosed out ahead of him.
The wide observatory platform offered no cover, but he could not huddle on the staircase while the Raven made his getaway. Prepared to die, intent on squeezing off one last, true shot before he fell, the Executioner abandoned the protection of the stairs and ventured into the open killing field.
Some fifty feet away, the Raven stood against a railing with the train's conductor clutched in front of him, the Browning autoloader pressed against the old man's throat.
"No farther," he comma
nded, halting Bolan in his tracks.
"Why don't you give it up?"
The Raven smiled. "I might ask you the same."
Mack Bolan shook his head. "It's not my choice."
Ramirez nodded understanding. "So. You know my answer, then."
Bolan gestured with the VP-70. "You don't need him."
"Ah, but I do."
"The two of us. Alone. It's why you're here."
Ramirez appeared to think about that for a moment, breath like cigarette smoke in the air before his face. At length he whispered something to the engineer, the Browning slowly lowering as he released the older man and elbowed him away. It took a moment for the engineer to realize what was happening, and then he broke for cover, boot heels flapping on the pavement with a sound like faint applause.
"Your move."
The Raven mulled it over for another moment, shrugged... and brought the Browning autoloader up instinctively, the muzzle sweeping into target acquisition as his finger tightened on the trigger. Bolan got there first, the VP-70 extended in a double-handed grip and squeezing off in double action, half a dozen of the weapon's eighteen rounds on their way before his enemy could sight and fire.
The impact lifted the Raven off his feet and pitched him into flight, punching him backward in a somersault across the railing. Bolan made the rail in time to see his corpse rebound from jagged rocks below, a spinning rag-doll figure slithering across the dusky ice field of the Gornergletscher, slipping out of sight across the lip of a crevasse.
The soldier spent a moment longer on the precipice, inhaling deeply of the alpine air and savoring the taste of life itself. A moment, and he knew that it was time to go, before police began arriving on the next train from Zermatt. His debt was paid, and yet he felt no sense of satisfaction at the kill. It had already cost too much.
He thought of Toby, and insisted to himself that it was nothing more than altitude that burned his eyes.
It was a long walk down.
Epilogue
"So, this is R&R."
Bolan grinned at Toby, reached for the champagne and topped her glass off. "This is R&R."
"Not bad so far."
"So far?"
Her smile was enigmatic as she listened to the lilting music of the orchestra. "Let's dance."
He made a rueful face and shook his head. "I haven't got the moves."
Her laugh was tinkling crystal. "Well, we'll have to work on that."
"Looking forward to it," Bolan told her honestly.
The silence stretched between them, warm and not uncomfortable.
"Nice of Hal to let you have some time," he said at last.
"I didn't give him any choice."
"I see."
"Not yet," she answered, suddenly impatient. "Are we finished here?"
"We haven't eaten yet."
"I've lost my appetite."
The soldier frowned. "If you're not feeling well..."
"I think you'd better take me back upstairs."
"They've got a doctor here at the hotel."
"Forget about it, Captain Comedy. I've got an old home remedy in mind."
"If I can help in any way..." And he was smiling now.
"I thought you'd never ask." She took him by the hand and led him away from the bustle of the restaurant, retreating toward the elevators and the sanctuary of their suite.
"I think I'm going to enjoy this R&R," the lady said.
"Me, too," the soldier answered, and he meant it. From the heart.
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