"And still cut us off before we can escape," added Danny. "But how does that mounted patrol know what's going on?"
"Just because they still ride camels doesn't mean they're not in radio contact. I'm sure they've received orders to intercept us." Bolan glanced at his watch. It was past noon. The race to the coast would be rough going. He walked around the Hog, inspecting it closely for wear and tear. "Okay, all aboard. Kevin, you better take a good look at this Uzi you may have to use it before this thing is over."
He gave the young man a quick course on the use of the submachine gun as they ran down the final incline and onto the plain. Danny stood in back, keeping watch for any sign of the police patrol. They had gone to earth in the scorching wilderness of shifting sands, mineral beds and broken rocks.
"It hardly looks like it's worth fighting over," remarked Kevin.
"They'll fight and kill for what's underneath it," said Bolan. "And even if the oil wasn't there, they'd still murder one another in the name of blind faith that and a lust for power. My guess is that the revolt's under way. I wonder how many of the armed forces and the police are going to be fighting on Hassan's side."
"A lot of the more traditionally minded ones probably think his brother has gone soft," said Danny. "Too soft for their liking. Too westernized."
"I don't know what Hassan told you, Chip, or what he pretended to be, but he's not the legitimate ruler of Khurabi. At least, not yet," said Bolan. "The first step is an armed coup to topple the rightful ruler, his elder brother, Sheikh Harun Zayoud. But he's got even bigger plans... and that's where you were to come in. Hassan's already got hold of all the bits and pieces he needs to build a nuclear bomb you were to provide the know how. Did he talk to you about that?"
"Yes... yes, he did. Well, a little bit," admitted Kevin. "Nothing specific. You've got to believe me, I didn't know anything about all this." Kevin chewed on a fingernail, wondering how he could have been so blind. Only now could he analyze step-by-step what had happened to him: the sheer relief at being rescued from the court hearing, the sheikh's generosity and friendly assurances, the adventure of living in a desert castle, the promise of unlimited equipment and all the time he wanted to play with it.
But he had never really wanted to count what all this might cost. Even now Bolan's suggestion seemed too farfetched, almost too fantastic for him to comprehend. Why were grown-ups so dishonest? Is that what Hassan had wanted all the time? Did the sheikh really expect him to build a bomb? Would he have done? Kevin had no illusions what would have happened to him if he had refused to cooperate.
He had seen Hassan's terrible temper in the way he'd treated some of the men. And since that scene this morning in the yard, Kevin knew he didn't really mean that much to Hassan not as much as a horse, at any rate.
And what of this Mack Bolan guy? Kevin kind of liked Danica, though. But could he trust either of them? He had seen the locket all right, but that could have been stolen, so how did he know they weren't snatching him for their own ends?
Kevin felt very confused.
Alone.
And afraid.
The wind was whipping up the loose sand into a choking fog as they cruised across one of the few level patches. A line of low hillocks seemed to bar the way in front of them.
Danny glanced back through the swirling dust, wondering if all the mercs were now heading for the showdown in Khurabi or if a few of them were still tracking after the Hog. If Hassan Zayoud had not recalled his dogs of war, would Bolan and his group be able to outrun their trackers? The Hog bounced over a deep rut. Danny swayed to keep her balance. It also saved her life.
A bullet clanged off the roll bar, gouging the metal as it ricocheted past her shoulder.
Bolan accelerated toward a heap of boulders at the base of the nearest rise. The next shot creased his upper arm; a dark stain began to spread along the torn cloth.
He skidded sideways up to the rocks. Kevin jumped out and ducked into the gap between the body of the Hog and the boulder. Danny vaulted over the back and squeezed in with him.
Bolan risked uprooting the M-60 and taking it down from the back. More shots sprayed dirt around the Jeep.
"Here!" Bolan balanced the gun on a smaller stone in front of Danny. The patrol held the high ground and were in a good position to keep the intruders pinned down until they had a chance to pick them off. Bolan bobbed up once more to grab a couple of items from between the front seats, and this drew more fire from the ridge above. The noise of the wind was increasing.
"I don't think you'll be able to control the gun without a mount," Bolan told Danny, "but I'm not expecting you to hit anything. Just aim it that way and fire a short burst every ten seconds or so."
"I can keep their heads down," she said.
"You keep your heads down!" Bolan ordered them.
He put on the goggles he had retrieved from the Hog, then began to wind the burnoose around to completely cover his face.
"There's a dust devil building up." His voice was muffled. "And it's going to hit us at any moment. It's the only chance we've got."
"You can't go out there!" protested Danny.
But Bolan was gone. Danny fired two short bursts to provide some initial cover for Bolan.
The heavier particles had formed a low-lying fog rippling across the desert; the lighter dust was boiling up in a twisting mist. The sun was reduced to a molten disk obscured by the thick haze.
Burning-hot granules stung Bolan's skin as he worked his way around the side of the hillock. Some of the sand had penetrated inside his face mask. He could feel it crunching in his teeth. The droning sound was rising in pitch.
He caught only a glimpse of the hilltop between the blasts of wind. Loose stones and grit were being whipped up from the ridge like storm-tossed spray from a wave.
Bolan slipped over the shoulder of the hill. There was a little respite here from the weaker gusts, but it still felt as if the hot breath of hell was blowing over him as he clawed his way through the sand-filled gloom. The revolving currents of broiling air reached a roaring crescendo. Bolan was being pelted with flying gravel, but he paid little attention. He was more concerned with finding the border-patrol detail and taking them out. He had no misgivings about what these desert police would do to the three Americans if they were found.
Bolan did not like the odds, but with the mounting sandstorm he had the element of surprise.
He would strike first.
A lumpy outline just ahead turned out to be two camels crouching, their long necks stretched low on the ground, waiting for the chaotic storm to blow over them. The small bump beyond the animals was the first KDP patrolman. He turned to try to quiet his mount, when he saw the Executioner. His cry dissolved into the shrieking fury of the twister as Bolan's blade found its mark. The second target was crouching with his back to the wind. The Executioner's knife sank deep.
The fury was abating as the devilish column of dust began to drift away. Bolan had only moments left before his cover was literally blown. The KDP captain gave away his position by shouting an order to his comrades. He had found shelter in a small dip near the top of the ridge.
Bolan slid in beside him, stabbing hard with the knife.
It must have glanced off an ammunition belt or something the man was wearing under the shroud of his cloak.
The border cop twisted around, and with a bellow of rage, rushed Bolan.
The big warrior sidestepped and stuck his leg out, tripping his adversary. The man stumbled, impaling himself on Bolan's knife before he had a chance to recover.
The sky was clearing. The twister was moving rapidly northeast. Bolan saw the other three men huddled along the hilltop. He could not hope to reach them unseen.
One of the men glanced over to where the captain had sheltered, awaiting fresh orders, and realized something was terribly wrong. He was shouting a warning to his less vigilant companions when Bolan tossed the grenade. Two men took the full force of it, their mutilated bodies being flung back across the dirt.