Blind Justice

by Don Pendleton

  Bolan nodded. “They’re set on silencing Ray and getting the information he has. They will do anything to achieve that. The only way to stop them is to…”

  “Is to do it to them first. I might not have agreed a short time back,” she said, “but I see your point.”

  Bolan indicated the Colt she still held in her left hand. The gun was hanging loose at her side.

  “Can you shoot with that?”

  “I’m proficient,” she said. “Only at targets, though. Never shot at a human being.”

  “Difference is a man moves and, more importantly, he can shoot back,” Bolan said. “If it comes to the crunch don’t hesitate. You won’t get a second shot. Aim for the body. Biggest target.”

  “I understand. Mr....Matt…where do we go?”

  “Until Ray’s evidence is handed in you’re all under threat. My priority is to get you out of here and to a safe place.”

  “I thought we were safe here,” Rachel said. “No one was supposed to know where we were. Only Marty. He wouldn’t tell anyone where we were. Not even Ray. We decided if Ray didn’t know…” She stopped then, her gaze fixed on Bolan. He knew what was coming even before she sensed his awareness. “God, no. Not Marty. Tell me, Cooper. Did they get to Marty and make him talk?”

  Bolan saw that Tommy was staring at him, as well. The boy’s eyes were wide, filled with anticipation of bad news.

  “Did they hurt Uncle Marty?” he asked. “Did they?”

  “Sorry, son.” Bolan took a step forward. “He was a brave man. But they made him tell.”

  Tommy raised his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “Is he dead?”

  The words threatened to choke in Bolan’s throat. “Yes, Tommy” was all he could say.

  The boy clung to his mother’s side, turning his face to her. Rachel, fighting back her own grief, looked at Bolan. She understood his reluctance at having to tell it as it was, but the news of Keegan’s death was not something Bolan could have denied either of them.

  “Now you understand the kind of people we’re up against,” Bolan said as gently as he could. “Which is why we can’t give in to them. For Marty’s sake and for Ray.”

  Rachel cleared her throat, head up. She said, “That’s something we won’t do, Matt. Believe me. We won’t.”

  “Do you have everything you need?” Bolan asked.

  Rachel pulled on a faded denim jacket and tucked her Colt into her jeans. “That’s it. We’re ready.”

  “I take it you know the area?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “My vehicle is parked at the store. If they have more men in the vicinity, we can’t go directly to it. We need to circle round. Come in from a different direction so I can check the situation.”

  Rachel nodded, understanding. “We can take the high ground and cut back through the valley that runs parallel to where we are. Be a good distance to cover and it’ll be dark before we get back to the store.”

  “We can make the night work for us. Okay, Rachel you cut the trail. I’ll bring up the rear. We move fast but don’t take any chances. Last thing we need are any injuries that might slow us down. Just one more thing. If I tell you and Tommy to do something…”

  “I know. Don’t question why, just do it.” Rachel grinned. “I understand the situation. This isn’t a fun trek. It’s serious.”

  Bolan opened the cabin door. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Chapter 14

  Bolan was standing in the open doorway when he picked up the rising sound. It was one he was familiar with—an incoming helicopter. He moved to the door and scanned the treetops, spotting the blue-and-white configuration of the chopper as it came into sight.

  “There a back door?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said, and they all moved to the rear of the cabin.

  The thwack of the chopper’s rotors told Bolan their time was almost up. They had to get out before Kendal’s crew reached them and blocked any escape.

  “Stay close to your mother, Tommy. When we get outside, you start running, and just keep it that way. Watch where you run, not around you. Don’t take your eyes off the way ahead. Understand?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Just stay ahead of me,” Bolan said to Rachel. “I’ll watch your back. You’ll be covered.”

  They reached the back door and Bolan pulled it open. There was a cleared area at the rear of the cabin, starting to grow back. Bolan figured it had been a fire break originally. Beyond it the trees grew close and heavy.

  “Head for the trees,” Bolan said. “They’ll give cover but keep moving because once they see we’re gone they’ll come after us.”

  The rotor sound was getting louder.

  “What about the evidence?” Rachel asked.

  “Later. Right now I want you and Tommy clear and safe. Let me worry about the evidence. Now go.”

  Rachel and Tommy cleared the stoop and broke into a headlong run. Rachel had one of his hands in hers, but she needn’t have worried. The boy’s long-legged pace kept him up with her.

  Bolan followed seconds later, his MP-5 in his hands, his eyes searching constantly.

  The sound of the helicopter swelled and he knew, without looking back, that it was over the cabin. He turned around and saw it dropping on the far side. Disembarking some of its passengers. If they had any foresight they would circle the cabin and check the rear. If their skills were along the lines of the three Bolan had dealt with earlier, he suspected they might not follow through. It would give Bolan and Rachel a little more breathing space and allow them to push deeper into the timber.

  If only.

  Maybe.

  Bolan wasn’t going to let himself become complacent. They were being pursued by a larger force who had the chopper for additional backup. Bolan had no idea how large the ground team was. There was no easy way to get themselves clear away from pursuit, so Bolan was going to have to rely on his own combat experience to keep them ahead of their enemies. Clear in Bolan’s mind was the fact that Rachel and Tommy were the prime targets of the ground force. They might not want them dead at this stage, but in the finale of any scenario, once Kendal had what he wanted, the woman and the boy would be superfluous to his requirements. Kendal was playing for high stakes, Bolan was sure. High enough for murder to be an acceptable act. The shooting of Ray Logan and the savage death of Marty Keegan proved that. Bolan wouldn’t allow it to happen to Logan’s wife and son.

  Kendal and his crew had set the standard. Bolan would make certain they would have the same visited on them.

  Ahead Rachel and the boy moved into the trees, the shadows pulling in around them.

  Bolan heard a shout behind him and then the crackle of auto fire. Felt slugs slap the ground around him.

  Game on.

  He kept moving, increasing his pace, knowing that as long as he was in the open he presented a clear target. More auto fire. Slugs zipped into the grass, a couple even closer than the first volley.

  And then he was surrounded by trees, the blessed trunks and low branches shielding him. Bolan heard shots slam into the timber, chewing bark and ripping at the foliage. He pulled up short, taking cover behind a thick tree trunk, and raised his SMG, waiting for the opposition to get in range. His move led them to believe he was still moving ahead. Bolan let them believe.

  Overhead, the dark bulk of the hovering helicopter appeared, the rotor wash and the spinning blades dominating the scene. The men on the ground were waving it away, but the pilot, and whoever commanded the team from the cabin, ignored their pleas.

  Bolan shouldered the MP-5, tracked the ground team and gave them a couple of short bursts—two went down, three others scattered. One of the downed men was clutching a torn shoulder, the ef
fects of the 9 mm slugs taking away his desire to fight on. The other guy was on his stomach, motionless.

  The chopper swung in toward the treeline, unable to get in too close. Bolan edged around to the far side of the tree, leaning against the trunk to steady his aim. He let go with a long burst, concentrating on the chopper’s engine housing. The range was close enough for his slugs to have a damaging effect on the craft. The 9 mm rounds hammered at the aluminum panels, punching ragged holes in the metal. Bolan held his finger on the trigger and cleared the MP-5’s magazine. The chopper’s power faltered, the smooth beat becoming ragged. The pilot, realizing he had sustained damage, hauled back on the controls and the machine moved away from the treeline, starting to come down on the open ground behind the cabin.

  Bolan ejected the empty mag, plucking a fresh one from his harness, working the slide to put a fresh round into the breech and swung the SMG back in the direction of the ground team. The first guy to respond came bulling in like he had a death wish, his own FN P90 crackling as he fired on the move. He had a fair fix on where Bolan was concealed and the slugs from his weapon chewed timber and shredded leaves only feet away from the soldier. Bolan admired his initiative, but it did nothing to lessen his response. The Executioner fired a steady burst that ripped into the advancing figure, cutting a bloody swathe of hurt to his midsection. The guy yelled, his SMG’s muzzle drooping and his final volley pounding the ground at his feet. As he slumped to his knees Bolan put him down with a final burst to his upper chest.

  Briefly held back by the sight of their buddy going down, the remaining two allowed Bolan to turn and move deeper into the forest. Bolan picked up the pace. In the middle distance he could see the figures of Rachel and Tommy. They had heeded his advice and were still moving fast, having ignored the rattle of gunfire. The advantage was still theirs, and they had to maintain it. But Bolan was aware it might not last. There were still the two survivors of the ground team, plus however many men had been in the helicopter. An unknown figure at the moment—but Bolan had a feeling it wouldn’t be for long.

  Chapter 15

  The chopper landed hard, the pilot immediately cutting all power, shutting off fuel lines. He was cursing nonstop, bemoaning the fact his helicopter had taken damage and threatening all kinds of recriminations if he was not reimbursed for what had happened. His chopper was how he earned his living, and even though he had few scruples as to the nature of any business, his devotion to his beloved aircraft was total. As he stepped from the cockpit he raised his arms in a futile gesture when he saw smoke curling from the engine compartment.

  “That’s all I need,” he said. “My fuckin’ chopper totaled.”

  Ralphie Sprague, put in charge of the chopper team by Stone, waited until the final three shooters emerged from the helicopter. He instructed them to go check on the casualties, then turned on the pilot.

  “What is your problem?” he asked.

  The pilot jerked a hand in the direction of the chopper where more smoke was showing.

  “That’s my problem. That bird is liable to go up in flames any minute. You know how much one of those things costs? I could be out of fuckin’ business in the next hour. Plus, I’ve been shot at. Nobody said anything about that. All I was told was I had to ferry a few guys up into the back country. No mention of getting shot at.”

  Sprague stared at the man as if he had grown a second head. His mind was full of what had happened to his team, the last thing he needed was some sky jockey whining about his damn helicopter.

  “Stan? Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right now, Stan, if you make one more remark about your flea-bitten fuckin’ chopper I am going to shoot you where you stand.” His words were delivered with enough venom that even Stan understood. He took one look at Sprague’s livid face and backed off.

  “We good, Ralphie?” It was one of his hitters.

  Sprague glanced at the speaker. He nodded. “Let’s move,” he said. “We don’t catch that woman and kid and that fuckin’ loose cannon, Stan’s chopper isn’t going to be the only thing shot down today. Understand? And keep your comsets tuned. Anyone sees those three call it in. I don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.”

  As the team spread and moved into the forest Sprague glanced back at the lone figure of Stan, the pilot. The guy was sitting on a tree stump, staring at the still-smoking helicopter.

  Lucky mother, Sprague thought. All he has to worry about is that damn aluminum can. Me, I got Vigo Stone all over my ass. Christ, Stan, who has the better deal?

  Chapter 16

  Bolan didn’t question Rachel’s chosen way. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. Her moves were decisive. There was no hesitation in them. She had set a steady pace that was not going to exhaust them.

  They were moving higher all the time, making a wide curve through dense forest, and Bolan worked out that she was taking them in the very direction she had outlined earlier.

  Bolan heard a distant shout from their back trail—the Kendal crew was still behind them. Still coming on.

  Tommy stayed close behind his mother, never once flagging. Bolan was impressed by the boy’s stamina.

  They reached the top of a rise, Rachel turning to pull Tommy the last couple of feet. Bolan saw the shock register on her face as she looked beyond his shoulder.

  “Cooper,” she yelled in warning.

  Bolan brought the MP-5 on line, turning himself to check behind. He saw a teamed pair of the ground crew breaking out of the foliage, weapons up and ready to fire.

  “Keep going,” he called and saw Rachel and the boy vanish over the lip of the rise. He spun around to face the oncoming shooters, the MP-5 rising and snapping off a burst that caught the closest shooter in the chest. The guy spun away, a trail of misty red erupting from his back as 9 mm slugs blew out between his shoulders. The shooter’s partner came at Bolan in a fevered rush, moving fast as he pounded across the open slope. He had discarded his own SMG and was dragging a SIG Sauer from his side holster. Bolan didn’t give him time to use it. He leveled the H&K and hit the guy head-on with a long burst. The man seemed to go down in a ponderous fall, his jaw hitting the ground first, bone shattering as it slammed against the hard earth. The rest of his body struck the ground, slithering forward, arms flailing in a loose manner.

  Bolan followed where Rachel and Tommy had dropped out of sight beyond the lip, seeing them ahead of him, still moving. They were doing exactly what he had told them to—keep running and not look back.

  He used the brief clear window to reload his SMG, pushing the empty mag into a holder on his combat harness, then extracting a fresh one. As he worked it into place and cocked the weapon Bolan was doing a quick calculation. He had a full mag in the weapon and two in reserve. Three for the Beretta, plus what remained in the one in place. Bolan still didn’t know the full number of men chasing them, even after just reducing the figure by two. He was up against an adversary—Senator Kendal—who had vast resources at his disposal. Kendal could bring in additional guns at will. Money was no object and the kind of men he hired would do anything if the price was accommodating.

  Given that Ray Logan’s evidence had the potential to tear down everything Kendal had built, one could safely assume that the man would go to extreme lengths to protect himself and the people involved in his schemes.

  And if it meant eliminating Logan, his wife and his son, then that was how it would have to be.

  Senator Tyrone Kendal, Bolan had learned in the short time he had been involved, was a man who never let anything, or anyone, stand in his way.

  Marty Keegan had died violently.

  Logan himself, severely wounded, was under threat.

  And so were Rachel and Tommy Logan—caught up in the brutal need of one man to hide his secrets and protect the corruption and dece
it that accompanied his lifestyle.

  Bolan was right in the middle of it all. He had put himself in the firing line because he had allied himself to Logan. Placing himself in danger didn’t bother Bolan. It was an almost daily occurrence for the Executioner. It was how he operated: taking on other people’s struggles when they were unable to do so themselves. He saw injustice and he reacted. If that meant he attracted opposition, he accepted that. It was simply a matter of drawing a line in the sand and standing firm. Giving in to evil only encouraged it. Cutting it down was Bolan’s answer. Removing it once and for all was the practical approach.

  Beyond the top of the slope the forest thinned out for a distance, exposing an uneven stretch of grassy earth. Twenty yards ahead the forest grew thick and green again, with dense undergrowth. Bolan headed for it, having spotted where Rachel and Tommy had breached the outer growth, snapping twigs and leafy tendrils. Rachel’s forestry training would normally have allowed her to pass that way without disturbing too much foliage. This time she was running for her life, and the life of her son, so woodcraft stayed low on her list of priorities.

  Bolan moved in among the trees, noticing the sudden silence. He should have heard Rachel and Tommy’s movement ahead of him. The quiet warned him. Something was wrong.

  He came to a stop, then eased off to the side, away from the trail Rachel had been moving along. Bolan began a wide circling move that would eventually bring him on a parallel track, some twenty feet to the right.

  He moved without sound, and long-instilled skills came into play, skills that had served Bolan well in scenarios like this on many occasions. He would have required the fingers of both hands to list the global spots where he had acquired this particular trait.

  No more than four minutes had passed when Bolan spotted the tight group.