Save the Children by Don Pendleton Page A

who that is and be right with you."
    "Sure," said Bolan, nodding.
    He waited until both of them disappeared onto the deck, then catfooted back up the stairs after them.
    He heard Jake say, "What the hell are those clowns doing?"
    Bolan stopped at the head of the companionway, spotting Jake and Hughie standing by the rail, watching a speedboat cutting fancy capers in the cold gray water close by.
    There were three men in the boat but they were too far away for Bolan to identify.
    The speedboat raced in closer.
    Bolan stepped up onto the deck.
    Jake glared over his shoulder.
    "Thought I told you to go below."
    Then Jake's eyes widened as the mechanic ripped open his coveralls to reveal the tight-fitting blacksuit beneath.
    Bolan's right hand darted under the coveralls to snatch the Beretta from shoulder leather.
    Jake yelled, "Hughie!" then started to grab for his own gun.
    Bolan had not had Jake and Hughie in mind when he grabbed for his hardware. He had discerned the two passengers in the approaching speedboat raising automatic weapons into firing position.
    The small craft surged forward with even more speed, veering straight toward the yacht.
    Suddenly orange tips of flame lanced from the subguns as the men in the speedboat opened fire.
    Jake and Hughie had turned their backs on the speedboat to concentrate on Bolan, perceiving him to be the greater threat. They started to spin toward the speedboat at the first sounds of autofire.
    Too late.
    The incoming rounds chewed splinters from the gunwale of the yacht, then lined up on target.
    Slugs stitched up Hughie's back, slicing bright red seams into his jacket before bursting out his front, taking most of his insides with them. The lethal hailstorm punched the hood forward, making the deck slick with blood.
    Jake realized his mistake about the same time the bullets from the gunners caught him in the side, tumbling him into the railing. But he was not fatally hit yet. He straightened and tried to turn around, still clutching his pistol. He lifted it, managed to trigger off one round before another subgun burst slammed into him, pitching his body off the side.
    Bolan hit the deck.
    Hundreds of slugs razored through the air above him.
    He twisted out of the coveralls and tossed them aside. He rammed the Beretta back into its harness, then unleathered Big Thunder.
    Bolan's combat senses were on full alert.
    Jake and Hughie had stood at the rail for several seconds while the speedboat had approached, yet the gunners had not opened up until Bolan appeared from the companionway.
    The two thugs were just unlucky to have been in the way.
    This was a planned hit, Bolan realized, and he was the target.
    That told him something about the caliber of enemy he was up against.
    It was a trap!
    Parelli had expected Bolan to search that house, that bedroom. The Mafia savage had expected Bolan to discover the telephone number purposely left on that note pad.
    The speedboat full of gunners had been cruising offshore with the
Lady Denise
under surveillance, waiting for Bolan to walk into this setup.
    Gunfire continued to riddle the yacht. Bolan reached into the discarded coveralls and came out with one of the surprises he had stored in its roomy pockets.
    He yanked the pin from the grenade. Holding it in his left hand, he came up in a crouch that let him see over the gunwale.
    The boat veered away, this time to keep from smashing into the yacht, the graceful curve of the turn putting it roughly parallel to the bigger craft.
    The gunners continued blasting nonstop, gun flashes lighting up the night, reflecting from the water like strobe lights.
    Bolan showed himself several feet away from where the men concentrated their fire. He fired twice, Big Thunder bucking hard in his grip, before they could adjust their aim.
    Both .44-caliber projectiles missed the moving speedboat, but served their purpose anyway. For a few seconds, the gunners became more interested in seeking cover than in killing Bolan,