Zavlin was on his feet, the binoculars screwed to his eyes.
Bolan shouldered his way through the dogwood, dropped to one knee and squeezed off two rounds from his S&W .357. It was a little barrel-heavy, but that heaviness allowed full development of gas pressure behind the bullet. The double-action squeeze was absorbed by the tension of the mainspring inside the grip.
The bullets shredded some leaves but otherwise missed the two fleeing assassins. Bolan hadn't really expected to hit them. They were moving too fast and with too much skill. The KGB trained its field agents as if they were Olympic athletes. Some of them were.
Shawnee appeared at Bolan's side. "One down."
"Nice shot."
"You kidding? With this thing I'd have to be blindfolded to miss."
He didn't look at her, but sensed her nervousness. Not from what was ahead, but from what she'd just done. For all her time in Vietnam, she'd never hurt anyone before. She'd been a nurse, healing wounds, cursing the weapons that did this kind of damage. Sure, lately she'd been busting down some Mafia doors and chopping the joints up. But all she'd needed to do then was point her gun, threaten.
Now she was pulling the trigger.
And a man's chest had burst out his back.
He felt her shivering next to him, trying hard to tough it out, not let him know how she felt. But he knew.
Despite the years of violence, the trail of corpses, Bolan still remembered that first body, the look of surprise on that Cong sniper's face as Bolan's bullet plowed into his skull. It took a while to get over that. But Shawnee didn't say anything. She hunkered next to the Executioner and waved for Rita and Lynn. The two women ran up and knelt next to Bolan and Shawnee. They'd been told to follow behind Bolan and Shawnee, so their path must have brought them to the dead KGB agent Shawnee had killed. Rita looked at the shotgun, then at Shawnee. Lynn, the most reserved of the women, nevertheless touched a comforting hand to Shawnee's shoulder, then withdrew it. Nothing was said among the women, but Bolan could sense a feeling of support, of unity. One he'd experienced many times in Nam and again with his men at Stony Man Farm.
"Rita, you and Lynn stay here and keep those two goons pinned down. If you hit them, fine, but our main priority is getting Dodge Reed free." Bolan checked his watch. "Give Shawnee and me five minutes to get to the van, release Reed and be on our way back to the car. Once the time is up, drop back and head for the car yourself. It'll take them a while to decide whether or not it's safe to follow us."
"Okay," Rita St. Clair said. "But with this baby..." she hefted her Krico Super Sniper "...I should be able to do a little more damage than just pin them down."
Lynn tapped her watch. "Five minutes. Go"
Bolan led Shawnee through the underbrush to the road.
Behind them Lynn and Rita were peppering the hillside with a hard rain. A few shots were being returned from the KGB agents and Shawnee stopped to make sure Lynn and Rita were okay.
"Come on," Bolan ordered. "As long as they stay under cover, they'll be fine."
Shawnee hesitated, but then ran after Bolan as they dashed for the van. Bolan reached it first. He stepped into the vehicle, climbing over the bodies of the guards and ignoring the pleading of the men begging to be set free. Kneeling on the floor, he kept watch out the window while Shawnee checked the two guards. Bolan knew what she'd find, but he also knew she needed to try.
"Dead," she finally said. "Both of them."
Bolan nodded, started searching the bodies for the keys to the handcuffs. The prisoners were yanking and jerking at their cuffs, trying to dislodge the whole seat.
"It's you," Dodge Reed said as Bolan approached him with the key.
"Yeah, kid. You're coming with me."
"What's going on here?"
Bolan gave him a cold stare. "Don't you know?"
Reed shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know what you want."
Bolan paused. What if the kid was telling the truth? Then why was Zavlin trying to kill him? Either Reed was lying, or he knew something that he didn't know was important.
It didn't matter. Reed knew something. Something the KGB was willing to kill him for. Bolan had to know what that was. He jammed one of the keys into the cuff lock and turned. Nothing. He tried another key. And another.
"Hey, Blue," one of the prisoners yelled.
"I know you, man. I seen you in Fulton. C'mon, man. Give us the keys."
"Give us the keys, Blue," another man demanded. Others chorused in their agreement.
Bolan ignored them, trying keys until he finally sprang Reed's lock. The kid seemed dazed, unable to move. He just sat on the floor in a stupor. Bolan grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet.
"Let's go!"
Reed stumbled after him.
As they headed for the front door of the van, uncuffed arms reached out and ensnared both Bolan and Reed. Bolan felt them grabbing at his arms and legs, trying to pull him down so they could get the keys. He used the eight-inch barrel of his .357 to smash fingers and hands, kicking his way free from the groping wall of arms. He pulled Reed after him, stopping to hammer the wrist of one stubborn prisoner who had hold of Reed's hair.
"They'll kill us, man!" one of the convicts whined to Bolan.
"No, they won't," Bolan assured him. "Once we're gone, their interest in you will be gone too. When you guys don't show up at the prison within the next ten minutes, they'll be sending a few squad cars after you. If you were free, they might think you had something to do with killing those guards. That would make you an accessory."
"Big fucking deal," one of them snapped. But the others, realizing that a manhunt for escaped cons involved in killing guards could result in their getting shot on sight, decided maybe it wasn't such a good idea to get out. Bolan didn't care what they thought. He shoved Reed out of the van, nudged Shawnee to follow and brought up the rear. They ran for Shawnee's Celica, hidden under brush farther down the road.
Zavlin's eyes hurt from pressing the binoculars so tightly against his face. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not while he watched his men pinned down under a barrage of fire in a vulnerable location. Not while the man in black and the athletic woman stole Dodge Reed away.
He focused on the man in black, on the long square jaw that jutted out like the prow of some battleship. And those dark, menacing eyes, glowing with concentration as he ran, guiding the woman and Reed.
Those were the eyes of a professional.
Zavlin kept the binoculars aimed at the man in black, studying him as a hunter studies a new prey, until the dark-clad figure disappeared into the brush.
Zavlin swung the binoculars back to his two men. Their position was undefendable. They were lucky that the two women didn't stalk after them, were satisfied with merely keeping them immobile. Then one of Zavlin's men, obviously frustrated, began to move. His comrade tried to stop him, but he shook off the restraining hand and crawled belly first from behind the brush. What's he doing, Zavlin wondered, running one hand through his white hair. Now the two women were beginning to move. The Oriental looked at her watch and shouted something to her tall companion with the wicked-looking sniper rifle. The tall woman nodded and the two of them started in the same direction as the man in black.
Zavlin's angry assassin was gaining some high ground, climbing up to a clump of trees, shinnying up the trunk to a thick branch and taking aim with his rifle.
A shot thunder-clapped in the valley.
Zavlin swung the binoculars around just in time to see the short Oriental woman spin around and tumble into the brush. The tall woman with the reddish hair immediately dropped to her knee, snapped the rifle to her shoulder, surveyed the hillside with her scope and triggered a round. The agent in the tree returned fire. His bullet kicked up dirt three feet to the left of the woman. But she didn't move. She methodically adjusted her scope, aimed again and squeezed the trigger. No return fire.