Sunscream Read Online Free PDF

tracks.
    He was almost at an ornamental terrace when another guy, a bruiser whose height dwarfed Bolan’s own six foot three, stepped out from behind a bank of oleanders and barred his way.
    The confrontation, as sudden as it was unexpected, astonished both men equally. The guard, who was wearing a black turtleneck sweater over jeans, was holding a Heckler & Koch 9-6 automatic. Seeing the dark, helmeted figure of the Executioner, squarely in front of him, wet suit still gleaming in the reflected light, he brought up the gun instinctively.
    There was no time for Bolan to unfasten the neoprene satchel and whip out the Beretta. Hand-to-hand combat was unthinkable with the gorilla’s finger already curling around the trigger. Bolan was carrying the spear gun at port. He had no time to sight the weapon. At arm’s length he canted up the long, thin launch tube and fired.
    A heartbeat before the gunman’s finger squeezed tight, the steel-barbed tip of the harpoon took him in the throat.
    Arrowing in with terrible force, the razor-sharp head sliced through the jugular vein, flattened the ridges of the trachea and severed the carotid artery. The barb forced an exit to one side of the topmost cervical vertebra and left the shaft stuck in the gorilla’s savaged neck. He fell, clawing at his throat, and died.
    Bolan dragged the body away to the cliff top and dropped it, together with the spear gun, into a crevice.
    He turned the corner of the house, the Beretta now in his right hand. He was facing a sunken rock garden. Behind it, light escaped from windows under an arched colonnade. Through the windows he could see women in evening gowns walking back and forth. Apart from a white-coated waiter with a tray of drinks, no men were visible.
    Hugging the shadows, Bolan crossed the garden, skirted a wing of the building and found himself on an open balustraded terrace that overlooked an Olympic-size pool. He was halfway across the terrace, threading his way between glass topped tables and lounging chairs, when he heard footsteps crunch on gravel.
    He looked swiftly around. No place to hide here. He vaulted the balustrade, crossed a strip of flagstones and lowered himself silently into the shallow end of the pool.
    He kept his head just above the surface and now he heard footsteps approaching, halt too near the corner of the pool where he was half submerged.
    “Frank?” the guard called in a low voice. “You there?”
    There was no reply.
    The man shouted again, louder this time.
    Bolan’s thoughts were racing. This guard must have a rendezvous... with the gorilla he had harpooned.
    Bolan no longer had any compunction. This was no honest millionaire’s summer party. The first guard’s readiness to kill proved that. Bolan rose and reached for the guard’s ankle.
    Hearing the swirl of water, the guy swung around. Before his eyes could register in the dark, Bolan’s steely fingers closed around flesh and bone. He heaved. Caught off balance, the guard staggered, almost fell.
    Bolan jerked again, harder. The man flew over his head and belly flopped into the pool.
    Bolan was on him before he had time to turn onto his back or surface. The guard struggled desperately.
    The pool became a maelstrom of foam and thrashing limbs. Bolan had the advantage of surprise and superior strength. The guard was holding a gun, but right now his overriding desire was for self-preservation... his need for air, to feed his bursting lungs.
    Bolan found his wrist, applied a nerve grip, forcing him to drop the weapon. Remorselessly he forged through the water, shoving the drowning guard toward the deep end.
    Finally Bolan maneuvered the hardman to the side, where a ladder led back up to the flagstone patio. He hooked his arms over the top of the ladder while he thrust down with his feet to keep his victim submerged until at last the frantic struggles weakened and then ceased.
    Bolan left the body floating facedown in the pool, recovered the Beretta from where he