Supple movements and swiftness combined to create the impression of a large predatory cat walking on its hind paws. Bolan caught a glimpse of the movement. But he was too late. The stalker found new cover.
Bolan was now vulnerable. If he moved to the right, he'd be exposed to fire from his own side. If he moved to the left, he'd be an easy target for the enemy. Quickly he searched the immediate area looking for something anything, to tip the odds back in his favor.
Overhead, the conduits seemed to extend to heaven.
Steel beanstalks, he thought. He could climb them to the giant's castle, if he dared. But he didn't have to climb that high. A little more than fifteen feet up, a yard-diameter conduit met the column he was hiding behind. The right-angle intersection led to a point directly over, and eventually behind the remaining terrorists. If he could mount the pipe without being seen, he'd have a chance to end the fight immediately. And in transit he'd be a sitting duck. He'd have to attain his position without being seen. If they spotted him, it was all over. He couldn't carry the Ingram with him, so Bolan laid the SMG carefully on the floor.
Standing on tiptoe, he could just reach the first flanged joint in the vertical length of the conduit.
It was wide enough to afford him a grip. He pulled himself up far enough to reach the next joint. Painfully he hauled himself aloft. At the intersection, he paused to catch his breath. Beneath him, the firing continued sporadically, but it seemed distant and ancient. It was as if it were another fight, one he had left behind long ago.
As he gathered himself for the perilous crawl out over the gunners' positions, he saw Eli Cohen place a new clip in his SMG. At the same time, Malcolm Parsons slammed a new magazine into his Kalashnikov. Suddenly there was a piercing whistle. Both men began firing.
There was a spurt of shadow off to one side. For a moment, he couldn't place it. Then it hit him. It was Rachel. She was trying the same thing he was, but she kept to the floor to do it. She darted in and out among the shadows, swinging off to one side, trying to slide in behind the attackers. She was holding her fire, hoping for an edge.
Quickly Bolan made his decision. If he could get into position on the opposite side, they could squeeze Glinkov like a walnut. Cross fire wouldn't be a problem, because they were on two different levels. It was a three-dimensional assault.
Bolan slid forward on his belly, clinging to the broad, round surface of the pipe. He had to lift himself over each joint without losing his grip. His progress was slower than Rachel's but she had farther to go. If it worked, they'd reach their goals at the same moment. So far the stalking figure below had remained motionless. Either he hadn't noticed Bolan's ascent or he was biding his time. Rachel nipped in beside a broad stone column that supported the building above. Bolan was directly opposite her position, but five yards higher.
He unzipped the anticontamination suit and unholstered Big Thunder. The .44 AutoMag felt cold in his hands. Its familiar weight was comforting after the feel of the MAC-10. One by one, he sought the positions of his opponents. Straining to peer into the darkness, he checked their locations relative to himself, to Rachel, to Eli and Parsons, and to one another. When he pulled the trigger the first time, he wanted to know where he was going with his second shot. And his third. Rachel had settled on a risky firing position. Unless she nailed two men immediately, either of them would be in a position to fire back. Bolan made his target priority dependent on Rachel. She didn't seem to realize the second of the two men was there. She sighted in on the first guy, who was hunkered down out of the stray fire coming from Eli and Parsons. Bolan drew a bead on the second man. With a little luck, no one below would even realize he was there and firing.
And it was getting late. He was due for some luck.
More than a little.
Rachel opened up, and Big Thunder bucked in Bolan's hands almost simultaneously. His shot plowed into the crouching target, striking him in the forehead just below the hairline. The impact of the heavy slug drove him down and backward. The AutoMag's roar was lost in the cavernous, echoing firefight raging below him.
The stalker had moved again, this time placing a pillar between himself and Bolan. The man seemed intent on something other than the firefight. And Bolan was the only one who had seen him. He moved once, then again. It seemed as if he were more interested in escaping than in engaging in combat.
He moved farther still. And finally Parsons saw him. The old man gave a start. He thought at first they had been encircled, but a nervous scan showed that no one else had moved. He called to Eli, but Cohen didn't hear him. Eli was moving forward now, pressing Rachel's advantage.
Bolan moved another five yards along the conduit. He reached the point where it penetrated the stone wall, then swung down to the concrete, landing on the balls of his feet at the base of the wall.
Ahead of him, the remains of Glinkov's attack force was firing frantically. Bolan sighted in on his first target. A squeeze, and the AutoMag moved on. Another squeeze, and two were down.
One of the terrorists realized Bolan was there.
Turning, the man sprayed Kalashnikov fire in a jagged line that swept the wall just behind the Executioner's diving form. Bolan squeezed off another round, but the gunner ducked away from Eli's fire. The Stony Man warrior's slug slammed into the column a scant three inches above the gunner's head.
Four terrorists formed a line and pressed forward.
Their heavy fire drove Eli backward.
Parsons seemed to have disappeared. As the charge advanced, Bolan realized it had to be halted at once. If they drove Eli back far enough, two of them could turn back toward Rachel, cutting her off and pinning her against the wall with minimal cover.
Eli would have his hands full. He wouldn't be able to help her.
But they didn't realize the Executioner was also behind them. The diving gunner was a problem that had to be solved first. Bolan moved in, deliberately exposing himself to the hidden man's position the guy took the bait. He raised himself carefully, sighting in with deliberation. A look of celebration slipped over his heavy features. It was premature.
Bolan drilled him just above the left eye. The explosive force of the AutoMag's 240-grain projectile ruptured the gunner's cranium as if it were a ripe pumpkin. The splattered gore on the stone behind him was as dark as death. And just as silent.
Now for the four horsemen, Bolan thought.
Eli was holding his ground. Occasionally he searched the area to his right, looking for Parsons. But there was no sign of the old man. There was no time to look for him now. The men were making a push, although none of the four seemed aware of the deadly presence behind them. They were alternating their fire, two shooting and two advancing, then switching. Suddenly the four of them surged forward in unison. Their deadly fire poured in, and Cohen had no choice but to run.
Pinned down, the advance pressing him too hotly for escape, Eli sprayed fire without looking. His SMG chattered and then went silent. It was too soon for a new clip, Bolan thought. He heard Eli tug on the empty magazine, but it wouldn't budge. A stray slug had struck the weapon. It was jammed. Bolan was pressing in now. He fired twice, taking one of the four just above the left shoulder blade. The gunner fell like a sack of wet cement. His three buddies pushed on. They were in the open and had no choice. Bolan moved forward, pressing his advantage. When the goons realized Eli wasn't firing back, two of them turned to the threat from their rear. The third continued in Eli's direction.
Rachel rushed forward, calling out to her brother.
She reached an opening just as the onrushing gunner flanked Eli's position. She closed her eyes and sprayed .45 caliber poison in a broad figure-eight pattern. The hellish spray nailed her target from head to hip. Blood spurted from his neck, and he fell forward heavily.