Desperate Passage. Don Pendleton

screams coming from the interrogation room.

      Bolan moved through the doorway room in one fluid motion. He lifted the Beretta 93-R in both hands and squeezed the trigger. The pistol coughed twice and 9 mm Parabellum rounds slapped into the startled sentry. The man went down, his rifle sliding off his shoulder and his burning cigarette tumbling from limp fingers.

      Bolan spun to cover the opposite end of the hall, but saw no other targets.

      There were three doors in the short corridor. He quickly tried the handles on each. One was a broom closet, long disused. The other two opened into empty rooms.

      There was no clue as to Sukarnoputri’s whereabouts.

      5

      Mack Bolan was a shadow among shadows.

      Crouched in a small stand of bamboo, he watched the sentry patrol using his night-night vision goggles. Around him the pungent aroma of the mangrove swamp was cloying. Above his head a sliver of yellow moon cast a soft illumination too weak to penetrate the darkness of the tropical swamp.