Border Offensive

by Don Pendleton

  In a shallow gully, two figures struggled. Bolan drew his pistol and fired into the air, hoping to separate them.

  Digger whirled, the moonlight turning his features into a nightmare mask of blood and bruises. He bared his teeth and snapped like a wolf. Bolan recognized the knife in the big man’s hand and he felt a flare of rage. It was his knife. A cold fury filled him as he contemplated just what purposes it might have been put to while in the hands of a maniac like Digger.

  “Stay back!” Digger roared, jerking Tanzir up by her hair. She clawed ineffectually at his thick wrist. “Stay back or I’ll kill her!”

  “You’ll kill her anyway,” Bolan said, circling the brute. “If that knife even dips toward her, I’ll put one between your eyes.”

  Digger’s lips writhed, as if there was a logjam of words fighting to escape his mouth. “No!” he finally spat. “I have to see the black bird! Django promised and I’ve got to see it!”

  “Django is dead,” Bolan said.

  Digger blinked. “What?” he said, his disbelief evident.

  “He’s dead. I killed him. But I don’t have to kill you,” Bolan said. “Give up, let the girl go, and we’ll head back to town.”

  “No,” Digger said, shaking his head. “I’d know if Django was dead. I’d know!”

  “Believe me, he’s dead,” Bolan said bluntly. “Buzzard meat,” he added. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dim, dark shapes trot through the underbrush. Bushy tails wagged and tongues lolled. Coyotes. A dozen or more. They barked softly as they moved around, waiting. Bolan’s skin crawled with a primitive dread as the animals looked at him, much as the jaguar had earlier. He’d been on the other end of the food chain more than once, and this night wouldn’t be the last, but he didn’t like it.

  “Then he’s dead,” Digger said finally, the edge of Bolan’s KA-BAR pressed to Tanzir’s throat. “But I can still see the black bird. I can still see it if you let me!” he almost shrieked, the pitch of his voice startling the closest of the coyotes. The animals shifted, whining quietly.

  Bolan’s eyes flicked down, meeting those of the Interpol agent. She nodded slightly. Bolan fired high a second later, his bullet peeling a layer of skin off Digger’s arm. The big man rocked back on his heels and Tanzir rose, jabbing her elbow into his gut. He bent double with a whoop and she climbed out of the gully as quickly as her bruised limbs could carry her. Bolan hurried toward her even as Digger made a grab for her. He fired again with the Desert Eagle, but missed. A second later, the big man had shoved past his former hostage and his arms circled Bolan like the coils of an anaconda.

  Bolan was jerked from his feet and Digger squeezed. Bolan thrashed, trying to free his trapped gun hand. Digger pulled him close and his forehead cracked against Bolan’s. With a cry, he tossed the Executioner to the ground and tried to stomp on him. Bolan rolled aside, his pistol lost. He pushed himself up onto all fours. Digger grabbed the ragged remains of his harness and hauled him up and slammed him down in a manner more befitting an ape or bear than a man.

  All the air exploded out of Bolan’s lungs in a rush and stars danced in front of his eyes. He was pulled up again a moment later and tossed bodily into the gully. “Do you see it yet?” Digger screamed, his voice a high-pitched animal screech. “Do you see the black bird? Tell me!”

  Bolan shook his head, trying to clear it. A big foot caught him in the ribs, sending him tumbling. Another foot smashed down on his hand, and Bolan felt his knuckles pop. His hand went numb. He pushed himself up with his good hand and ducked under a wild punch. Coiling his legs beneath him he launched himself at Digger, tackling him onto his back.

  Digger roared wordlessly and flung Bolan off him with berserk ease. The Executioner hit the ground hard and lay stunned for a moment, trying to figure out how he was going to beat a man who didn’t seem to feel pain. With agonizing slowness, his myriad hurts beginning to catch up to him, he pushed himself to his feet just in time to meet Digger’s rush. Bolan’s good hand blocked a punch, and his bad one was battered aside in an explosion of pain. He kicked out and was rewarded with the pop of a kneecap shattering. Digger sank down, his fingers finding Bolan’s throat even as his leg gave out.

  “Tell me when you see it,” the big man hissed, staring into Bolan’s eyes. “Tell me!”

  In reply, Bolan sank his fingers into Digger’s face. The brute shook himself, trying to break Bolan’s grip without losing his own. Bolan hooked the flesh around the other man’s mouth and yanked as hard as he could. Digger screamed and reared away, clutching his mutilated face. Bolan rose and his fist caught Digger on the skull, knocking him flat. The big man rolled away limply, making no sound. Bolan stood and shook his hand. It ached abominably. It had been like punching granite. Only very rarely in his lifetime had the Executioner met an opponent so physically tough. He wondered what it would take to put the monster down permanently.

  He felt eyes on him and looked up, expecting to see Tanzir. Coyotes met his surprised gaze with their own considering ones. There were more than he had first thought. Two dozen at least. What had Watts said back in Tapowo? That they could run in packs of up to fifty? This one wasn’t that large, but it was big enough that Bolan felt naked without a weapon of some kind.

  One of the animals whined. Another licked its lips. Bolan saw his Desert Eagle lying not far away. He bent, his eyes never leaving the gathered animals, and picked it up. The coyotes scattered abruptly, obviously recognizing the weapon. He breathed a quiet sigh. He hated the thought of having to shoot the creatures for merely doing what they needed to do to survive.

  Behind him, rocks shifted. Bolan turned, swinging the pistol around and firing. Digger crashed into him like a bull elephant, driving Bolan against the hard-packed earth of the gully bank. His hands fastened on Bolan’s skull and began to squeeze. Blind, Bolan fired again and again. Digger didn’t release him, though his body bucked with every bullet.

  Bolan dropped his gun and clawed at Digger’s viselike grip. He had to get free, or he was dead, no ifs, ands or buts. Every sinew and ligament in Bolan’s arms and shoulders thrummed like a piano string as he slowly, agonizingly, pried the man’s fingers off his scalp.

  Digger’s face was flushed and sopping with blood and his eyes bounced in his sockets like chilies on a hot plate. His teeth champed, flinging spittle into Bolan’s face. Bolan pulled Digger’s arms away and held them taut, straining against the other man, muscle against muscle, strength against strength.

  Then, abruptly, Digger’s face assumed a confused expression. He let go of Bolan and reached back, as if to scratch an itch. Behind him, Bolan saw Tanzir step back. Digger fell onto his hands and knees, the KA-BAR rising like a gruesome fin from his back. He looked at Bolan with the dumb eyes of a dying animal. “I just wanted to see the black bird,” he said almost sadly.

  “I’ll help,” Bolan said, shooting him in the head. The big man collapsed, dead at last. Tanzir, limping, caught Bolan as he stumbled.

  “What was that he said? Something about a bird?” she said.

  “Nothing important,” Bolan replied. “Thanks for the save.”

  “Simply repaying the favor, Agent Cooper,” she said. “One police to another, yes?” Then, more seriously, “Can you walk?”

  “If not, you have my permission to leave me. I promised someone I’d get you out of here safely. That includes not letting you get eaten by coyotes,” Bolan said, leaning on her slightly. As he’d noticed in the saloon, she was surprisingly strong for a woman of her size. No wonder she’d been able to hold off Digger for as long as she had. Bolan wasn’t easily impressed, but Tanzir made the list. She and James both, in fact.

  “Promised...Eugene?” she said, looking slightly surprised.

  “If by Eugene you mean a certain Agent Chantecoq, then yes,” Bolan said, smiling tiredly. “He was concerned about you.”

  “Was he?”
she said, as if savoring that prospect. Then, “You were right. I should have waited for help,” she said as they helped one another climb out of the gully.

  “I think you did okay, all things considered,” Bolan said.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “Was he dead?” she asked a moment later. “Tuerto, I mean.”

  “As a doornail,” Bolan said. “Digger took care of him pretty thoroughly, I’m afraid.”

  “Good,” she said. “In his own way, he was just as much a monster as that one, though not so obvious about it.”

  “Most dangerous kind of monster, in my experience,” Bolan said.

  She was silent for a minute. Then she looked at him. “How is Agent James?”

  “He’ll live,” Bolan said.

  “I’m glad,” she said.

  “I thought you might be,” Bolan said. He looked up at the moon and then at the expanse of the desert around them. “It really is beautiful country, isn’t it?”

  Behind them, the coyotes began to gather around Digger’s body. Bolan and Tanzir left them to it. Bolan didn’t bother to look back. Nature cleaned up after its monsters when it could. And sometimes, it needed a bit of help.

  Help that men like the Executioner were more than happy to provide.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN: 9781459245174

  Copyright © 2012 by Worldwide Library

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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