Save the Children by Don Pendleton Page B

giving him time to pitch the grenade.
    It hit the water a little aft of the speedboat, disappearing into the foamy wake before detonating a split second later, the explosion kicking up a plume of water.
    Bolan heard a scream above the roar of the boat's engine.
    As the spray thrown up by the grenade's blast hissed back down like a miniature rain shower, he spotted the speedboat banking away from the yacht, the subguns silent.
    One of the gunners writhed in his seat, hands covering the bloody mask that had been his face before the shrapnel shredded it.
    The other killer appeared to have lost his weapon when the explosion rocked their craft.
    Bolan held the AutoMag at full arm extension and lined its barrel on the torso of the boat's pilot. He squeezed the trigger.
    The boat bounced on the water, causing Bolan's bullet to miss.
    He triggered the .44 again, with the same result.
    Much as Bolan wanted to search this yacht, he wanted those killers even more, wanted one of them alive.
    They were a direct link to Parelli.
    A sure thing rather than a gamble and a hope.
    He dashed to the other side of the yacht, reaching down to snag the discarded coveralls. He grabbed two more grenades and a combat knife out of the pockets.
    One of his booted feet pushed off the gunwale as he vaulted it. He landed running on the dock.
    The Executioner spotted some people moving around now on the other boats moored nearby, staring at him curiously.
    The speedboat moored next to the
Lady Denise
was a four-seater, much like the one the assassins were using.
    Bolan leaped into the pilot's seat.
    There were no keys in the ignition. He reached under the dash, found the right wires and twisted them together.
    The engine turned over, missed a few times, then suddenly caught with a throaty rumble.
    "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"
    Bolan looked over his shoulder. A man came running down the dock toward him, waving his arms, gesticulating angrily.
    Bolan leaned back in the seat, knife in hand, and slashed the mooring line. He returned the blade to its sheath, ignoring the shouts. He started working the controls.
    The prow of the boat was pointed toward the middle of the lake, so all Bolan had to do was feed power to the throttle.
    The speedboat shot forward across the choppy surface of Lake Michigan.
    The wind was rising, making the water even rougher now.
    Bolan spun the wheel with the heel of his hand, sending the craft into a tight turn. He planted his feet firmly to maintain his balance as the little boat skimmed the waves.
    Ahead of him, he could see the killer craft.
    It cut through the water at a frantic clip, moving away from him.
    It looked to Bolan as if the hit mission was forgotten and all those guys wanted now was to get away from the Executioner.
    The mouth of the Chicago River opened to the left.
    The boat with the Mafia punks headed that way, and a moment later they vanished around a headland.
    Bolan fed more juice to his own craft.
    It skirted the promontory and he whipped into another turn.
    The killer boat came back into sight.
    The engine of Bolan's craft hummed smoothly. The icy night air lanced his exposed flesh like tiny needles. He sensed his vessel had more power than the other, as he slowly closed the gap.
    The Lakeshore Drive bridge flashed by overhead.
    The water was calmer here than in the lake, the river wide, flat and dirty.
    Both boats gunned up the long straightaway toward the Michigan Avenue bridge.
    Bolan mentally reviewed the geography of the area, picking out the right place for what he felt certain was an imminent confrontation.
    On the other side of the downtown area, the river split into two winding channels that flowed north and south.
    If the boat up ahead reached that split, chances were good that it would give Bolan the slip.
    That meant he had to take them now.
    He poured on more power.
    The engine of his craft began to labor, but the distance between the two vessels was narrowing. Not more than fifty yards