Sunscream (16 page)

She had fallen between two advancing tongues of lava.

Bolan felt her pulse. She groaned feebly and stirred. There was an ugly bruise on her forehead but the skin was not broken. Fortunately the boulder had no sharp edges and she had merely knocked herself out.

He looked hastily around them. For the moment they were shielded by the outcrop on which Delacroix’s body lay. But they had to move fast, and as soon as they did it would be open season for hunters.

To cross the flow that still glowed with inner fire was out of the question. The other tongue had supported Bolan on his own and running. But he doubted that the crust would hold up if he moved slowly, with the extra weight of the girl in his arms. That left two alternatives: advance toward the enemy, or make it up the valley wall, where they would be sitting ducks.

Before Bolan could make a decision a violent blow between the shoulders sent him crashing to the ground.

One of the mobsters had jumped him from a higher shelf of rock behind.

The guy would have done better to have risked a shot.

The impact sent the Detonics spinning from the Executioner’s grip, but the attacker also lost his hold on the Kalashnikov assault rifle he was toting. That left them even: the element of surprise was in the hood’s favor, experience on Bolan’s side.

It was no contest. The mobster grabbed for Bolan’s windpipe, kneeing him in the lumbar region. But the warrior twisted onto his back, slashing upward with the edge of his hand to break the choking grip. He planted the hot soles of his boots in the guy’s belly and flexed his knees.

The attacker was Smiler — his features twisted into a mask of hate, the red light of the volcano reflected in his maniac eyes.

For a timeless moment they stared at each other. Then Bolan kicked with a savage thrust, and Smiler flew over his head beyond the rock, to land on his back in the center of the solidifying flow Bolan had crossed.

Even then the mobster might have gotten away with it... if he had lain still or tried rolling slowly to the side of the flow. But he panicked and sat up, struggling to push himself upright, and put all his weight on one foot.

The foot broke through the crust.

Smiler sank to his knee in red-hot liquid magma.

Before the animal shriek had burst from his lips, a sheet of flame shot up the whole length of his body, consuming his clothes and setting fire to his hair. He thrashed, wildly waving arms already ablaze. And then pitched forward into the seething hellhole he had made in the flow.

Bolan closed his ears to the dreadful sucking gurgle as the lava closed over his jerking body and carried him slowly away.

Still sprawled on the rock, Bolan turned... to see Raoul standing, revolver in hand, on the shelf where Delacroix lay.

“Too bad for Smiler,” Bolan shouted, playing for time as he felt desperately around him for the fallen Detonics.

Raoul raised the revolver.

Ten feet away Mack Bolan stared up at the small, round, black hole of death.

“This is where you get yours, smartass,” Raoul snarled.

The shot was deafening.

Raoul leaned slowly forward and fell face down, his arms and legs spread, into the hotter of the two tongues of lava. Flaming, he sank without trace, leaving a whiff of roasting meat to spice the odor of sulfur in the overheated air.

Bolan shook his head to chase the ringing from his ears. Immediately behind him, Coralie laughed shakily as she leaned against the boulder with the smoking Combat Master in her hand.

There was no more shooting after that. Like so many crooked bosses, Zefarelli was only brave when he held the upper hand, using the guts of his forward troops instead of his own.

Bolan had seized the Kalashnikov and sprung to his feet, but as soon as he saw he no longer had a numerical advantage, the Sicilian fled. It was only five minutes later that he became visible — with his remaining soldier, supporting a wounded man between them, moving as fast as he could up the far side of the depression, heading for the pathway and home and safety.

Bolan looked at the rifle. It was an early model AK-47. There were three shells in the magazine.

He bit his lip. Retreating troops? From behind? What the hell, in his position the gorillas would have shown no mercy. And wasn’t he, after all, committed to the elimination of the Mafia? If none of them were left, they couldn’t reopen negotiations with the KGB...

He raised the gun to his shoulder and fired three times.

At last he swung around to face Coralie. “Let’s get out of here now,” he said.

Two hours later they stood on the edge of a low bluff above the ocean, looking down on a crescent of black volcanic ash on which two small fishing boats were drawn up.

The wind had died. Above and behind them, Stromboli still growled and spat fire. Out across the dark swell of sea, the faintest of lights showed on the horizon.

“Tropea,” Coralie told him. “It’s about thirty miles. On the bleakest part of the Calabrian coast. You’ll be safe landing there: it’s so far off the map that the Mafia have never even heard of it!” She glanced at the beach. “The smaller boat, the blue one, has enough gasoline to get you there.”

Bolan had an arm around her slender shoulders. “It’s a long ride,” he said. “I might need company. How does the idea of a long, cool drink in a bar on the Tropea waterfront grab you?”

She smiled, reaching up to touch his face, gazing for an instant at the rakish, hawklike profile. Finally she sighed and shook her head. “Some other time,” she said softly. “In Rome. In Paris. In Marseilles. Who knows? Right now I have to make it back to my father: he’s going to need all the help and comfort he can get in the next few days.”

Bolan nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take a rain check.”

He ran down to the beach, pushed out the boat, climbed on board and waved once at the small, solitary figure on the bluff. Then he started the motor and settled himself in the stern with the tiller under one arm, setting a course for that distant light on the mainland.

And the next battle.

Document ID: 8cbad117-2de5-4cc3-8608-9dea296b5063

Document version: 1

Document creation date: 2005-09-15

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