Cambodian Hellhole by Stephen Mertz Read Free Book Online

prepared to track him down, raising a hue and cry against him.
    Ten yards out he found the fourth man that he sought. He was in the car, as Stone had anticipated. The glowing ember of a cigarette betrayed him, and Stone swiftly deserted the narrow driveway, fading right into the foliage of the garden, circling around to take the driver on his blind side. Under cover of night, he made good time, arriving close beside the car in something under forty seconds.
    He could see the final agent, almost smell him now, but the approach could be a problem. He could shoot the man, of course, and take him that way . . . but again he hesitated, reluctant to spill American blood if there was any way around it.
    And he decided to play the wild card, bluff it out. He could get close enough from here, no doubt about that, and from the moment he was sighted by the enemy, he would just have to play it as it came.
    As usual.
    He rose from cover, moving out onto the graveled driveway proper, raising the captured .45 until he had the driver's profile in his sights. He thumbed the hammer back, and let the C.I.A. man hear it locking into place.
    "The gun," he said. "I want to see it hit the ground. Then get your ass on out here, and make it easy."
    The driver hesitated, long enough to get a look into the bore of Mark Stone's weapon, then his revolver clattered on the gravel and his door swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. He stood beside the car, not raising his hands in surrender, but not making any threatening gestures, either.
    "Assume the position," Stone ordered.
    He waited while the agent turned to face the dark sedan and splayed his open palms across its roof. Another moment, while his feet slid back and wide apart, heels scraping on the gravel of the drive, and Stone was ready.
    Two strides closed the gap between them, and he brought the butt of his automatic crashing down onto the agent's skull, choosing his target precisely and for maximum effect. The C.I.A. man instantly went limp, his chin colliding with the doorjamb on his way to touchdown.
    Stone dragged him clear and slid behind the wheel, relaxing as he found the keys in the ignition. He was out of there and rolling in an instant, leaving the Company safe house and its occupants behind . . . but one of them was traveling with him in spirit.
    He was carrying a message from beyond the grave, and there were debts to pay.

Chapter Six
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    "I s that all of it?" Stone asked.
    Terrance Loughlin crouched down on the tailgate of the half-ton truck, consulting the checklist in his hand.
    "It's the lot," he answered finally. "Rifles, ammunition, C-4, and grenades . . ."
    Stone listened through the list and nodded when the Britisher had finished. He raised the tailgate, leaving Loughlin back there with the crated arms and rations that would see them through their penetration of the Cambodian interior.
    When Loughlin had the tailgate latched, Stone turned to face An Khom. The old man had been watching from the streetside loading dock of his riverfront warehouse, personally supervising the transfer of equipment as he often did. It paid, in his illegal business, to be well aware of what was going on at every moment.
    But there was more to it than that, Stone knew. Their friendship had compelled the old man to attend this loading; nothing could have kept him from it. Stone was going into danger, there was every chance they would not meet again in this life, and An Khom was not a man to let his friends depart for hell without a sendoff.
    "Guess we're ready," Stone said needlessly. He wondered why An Ling had not come down to see them off, and at the same time he was thankful she had not. A warrior did not need entanglements of that kind on the eve of combat
    "May fortune smile on your endeavor," An Khom said, the stiff formality of his words softened by his tone and the expression on his weathered face.
    "And on your house," Stone answered, completing the little ritual, accepting the hand