wall.
Tanya sat on a large tree stump that served as a stool near the fireplace. Rudi leaned his three-hundred-plus against the front door like a thick slab of iron. Bolan went over to the canteen on the wooden table, unscrewed the cap, wiped the opening, took a long tug of water. Then he screwed the cap back on and said to Thomas. "Hope you don't mind?"
Thomas shook his head.
It was uncanny how much Tanya and Thomas looked alike. Sure, they had the same black hair that came to a dagger's point over their forehead.
But there was more to it than that. They moved alike, with the same graceful yet deadly intent, as if they were always sneaking up on something. But there were differences too, particularly in the eyes. Tanya's were calm and cold, with only a minimal sign of emotion.
She intellectualized everything, categorized it, dealt with it purely logically. Not so Thomas.
Though his eyes were the same pale blue as his sister's, the whites were different. Little thin veins like jagged red lightning bolts shot from the corners of them toward the pupils. Bloodshot, like an alcoholic's. Although he seemed to maintain a cool exterior, something ominous was bubbling beneath his surface: and just barely beneath.
"So let's quit doing the goosestep and get down to business," Bolan suggested.
Thomas Morganslicht smiled, without humor in his eyes. "The point, Sergeant Grendal, is that my friends and I had a tightly knit organization until you came along and disposed of Klaus."
Rudi's lips curled into a snarl.
"Oh, don't mind Rudi here," said Thomas. "Hi and Klaus were friends and Rudi does not make friends easily."
"He doesn't look like he could make his bed easily."
"I'm afraid Rudi does not much like you," advised Tanya.
"I'm crushed."
"You might be," Tanya added, "if Rudi ever got his hands on you."
"Look," Bolan said, "I'd like to help you guys out. I could use the business. So give me a thousand marks for that H and K that I brought here and I'll be on my way. A ride would be appreciated."
Thomas held up his hand. "Tanya also tells me you are an expert with weapons."
"I know my business."
Thomas pulled out his Luger and pointed it at Bolan. "What do you know about this?"
"Just three things. It's a 9mm Luger. It's one of the newer versions that the Mauser Jagdwafig factory began producing in 1971. And I'm getting real tired of looking down its barrel."
Bolan turned for the door. Things were clearly not going well. He still did not know why they had kidnapped the athletes. Rudi leered unpleasantly as Bolan approached him.
Suddenly Bolan asked: "How much?"
Tanya looked up surprised. "How much what?"
"How much is my percentage if I arrange for all of the weapons you want?"
"I thought you..."
"I have a source, okay? It's not a straight buy, you're going to have to take them, but they're the best you can get. Galil SAR short automatic rifles, effective up to five hundred meters with caliber five point five-six millimeters NATO. The Israelis make them with wire cutters in the bipods and bottle openers on the butt. They also have a new shipment of nine millimeter Parabellum Mini Uzis with twelvefifty rpms."
Thomas sat up off the cot. "How many?" he said coolly.
"Enough to outfit this little group."
"Where are they?" he said. "Who do we take them from?"
"Well, now," Bolan said with a grin.
"That's the part you aren't going to like."
No, they were not going to like it one bit.
But the Executioner was counting on their need. If he counted wrong, then there was no hope for the hostages.
"You must be insane!" Bolan smiled. "That depends on how badly you want those weapons."
"You're suggesting we steal them from our own people."
"Black Sunday is not your own people. Even Arafat has disassociated himself from them. In fact, word is that the faction of Black Sunday headed by Abu Sata is out to overthrow Arafat."
Bolan sat confidently on the edge of the wooden table, hunched slightly, taking another swig from the
Tanya sat on a large tree stump that served as a stool near the fireplace. Rudi leaned his three-hundred-plus against the front door like a thick slab of iron. Bolan went over to the canteen on the wooden table, unscrewed the cap, wiped the opening, took a long tug of water. Then he screwed the cap back on and said to Thomas. "Hope you don't mind?"
Thomas shook his head.
It was uncanny how much Tanya and Thomas looked alike. Sure, they had the same black hair that came to a dagger's point over their forehead.
But there was more to it than that. They moved alike, with the same graceful yet deadly intent, as if they were always sneaking up on something. But there were differences too, particularly in the eyes. Tanya's were calm and cold, with only a minimal sign of emotion.
She intellectualized everything, categorized it, dealt with it purely logically. Not so Thomas.
Though his eyes were the same pale blue as his sister's, the whites were different. Little thin veins like jagged red lightning bolts shot from the corners of them toward the pupils. Bloodshot, like an alcoholic's. Although he seemed to maintain a cool exterior, something ominous was bubbling beneath his surface: and just barely beneath.
"So let's quit doing the goosestep and get down to business," Bolan suggested.
Thomas Morganslicht smiled, without humor in his eyes. "The point, Sergeant Grendal, is that my friends and I had a tightly knit organization until you came along and disposed of Klaus."
Rudi's lips curled into a snarl.
"Oh, don't mind Rudi here," said Thomas. "Hi and Klaus were friends and Rudi does not make friends easily."
"He doesn't look like he could make his bed easily."
"I'm afraid Rudi does not much like you," advised Tanya.
"I'm crushed."
"You might be," Tanya added, "if Rudi ever got his hands on you."
"Look," Bolan said, "I'd like to help you guys out. I could use the business. So give me a thousand marks for that H and K that I brought here and I'll be on my way. A ride would be appreciated."
Thomas held up his hand. "Tanya also tells me you are an expert with weapons."
"I know my business."
Thomas pulled out his Luger and pointed it at Bolan. "What do you know about this?"
"Just three things. It's a 9mm Luger. It's one of the newer versions that the Mauser Jagdwafig factory began producing in 1971. And I'm getting real tired of looking down its barrel."
Bolan turned for the door. Things were clearly not going well. He still did not know why they had kidnapped the athletes. Rudi leered unpleasantly as Bolan approached him.
Suddenly Bolan asked: "How much?"
Tanya looked up surprised. "How much what?"
"How much is my percentage if I arrange for all of the weapons you want?"
"I thought you..."
"I have a source, okay? It's not a straight buy, you're going to have to take them, but they're the best you can get. Galil SAR short automatic rifles, effective up to five hundred meters with caliber five point five-six millimeters NATO. The Israelis make them with wire cutters in the bipods and bottle openers on the butt. They also have a new shipment of nine millimeter Parabellum Mini Uzis with twelvefifty rpms."
Thomas sat up off the cot. "How many?" he said coolly.
"Enough to outfit this little group."
"Where are they?" he said. "Who do we take them from?"
"Well, now," Bolan said with a grin.
"That's the part you aren't going to like."
No, they were not going to like it one bit.
But the Executioner was counting on their need. If he counted wrong, then there was no hope for the hostages.
"You must be insane!" Bolan smiled. "That depends on how badly you want those weapons."
"You're suggesting we steal them from our own people."
"Black Sunday is not your own people. Even Arafat has disassociated himself from them. In fact, word is that the faction of Black Sunday headed by Abu Sata is out to overthrow Arafat."
Bolan sat confidently on the edge of the wooden table, hunched slightly, taking another swig from the
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