Promise To Defend. Don Pendleton
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he closed in on the pair, each step intensifying the squeezing sensation on his heart. In an instant he recognized the woman from her brown eyes and full, coral-colored lips, to the fiery temper that seemed to emanate from every pore.
It was Donna Ling, a woman from his distant past. And they had a history.
WITH GRAVITY TUGGING at his feet and the punishing wind of the rotor blades smacking into him, Schwarz knew he had only one chance for survival.
He raised the Uzi and fired the weapon at Hakim, dragging it across the man’s exposed knees. Hakim’s eyes widened in shock and the pistol fell from his fingers as 9 mm slugs tore through flesh and bone. He stumbled forward. At the same moment the pilot gave the chopper a hard jerk, an apparent attempt to knock Schwarz from the landing gear. The sudden motion caused Hakim to pitch out the door, his face instantly morphing from shock to fear as he went forward.
Schwarz looked down, saw the distance between himself and the roof. He guessed a good twenty feet already separated him.
Hell.
Letting go of the landing gear, he watched as the rooftop rushed up to meet him.
THE PRESENCE of someone approaching from behind had caused Lyons, his face red with anger and exertion, to glance over his shoulder. When he saw Blancanales, he rolled his eyes, but his teammate barely noticed. In the same instant, Blancanales’s gaze intersected with Ling’s and they stared at each other. He watched as the anger and fear fueling her struggle drained away to be quickly replaced by shock, the same emotion roiling inside him.
“Let her go, Carl,” Blancanales said.
“What?” Lyons shouted. “Are you crazy?”
The woman stopped struggling, whipped her head toward Blancanales. “Pol?” Ling said.
“I can explain,” Blancanales said to Lyons.
“This ought to be good,” Lyons fired back.
More gunfire crackled outside, followed by the sickening thud of something heavy hitting the roof. Almost immediately, the chopper’s whine grew louder and the sound of the aircraft’s engine more distant.
Gadgets!
Blancanales was sprinting for the door. Lyons was on his feet and following, the Colt Python gripped in his right hand.
The Able Team warriors burst through the door. Blancanales swept his gaze over the rooftop. He saw a man, Hakim, writhing on the ground, his pant legs stained dark with blood, his flesh rent by bullets. Schwarz stepped into view, his Beretta held in front of him, muzzle aimed at Hakim as he closed in on the Arab. He was shouting for the man to stay down.
The thrumming of the chopper’s engine grew louder. Peering up, he saw the craft circling and coming back for another pass, its side door pulled open. A hardman cut loose with a burst from the AK-47. The volley of rounds slammed into Hakim, causing him to convulse wildly. A half-dozen geysers of blood erupted from his torso.
Schwarz dropped into a crouch and fired upward. A trio of bullets sailed through the aircraft’s door, driving the man inside. The chopper grabbed altitude almost immediately and left.
“Damn!” Lyons yelled.
Able Team converged at Hakim’s body. Schwarz already had moved to the terrorist’s side and was examining him for a pulse. He looked up at the two men and shook his head.
“Need a séance to interrogate this guy,” he said.
“Wonderful,” Lyons commented. “I guess we’re back at square one.”
Blancanales looked over at Ling. “Maybe not.”
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