Sunscream by Don Pendleton Read Free Book Online

terrace and then into a small summer house on the far side of the pool.
    “Sit on that bench,” she said, indicating a seat opposite her, “and tell me why you are eavesdropping on my father’s friends.” She switched on a pink-shaded light in the wooden roof of the building. “Why you
swam out
here to eavesdrop on my father’s friends,” she amended, seeing the wet suit and helmet Bolan wore.
    Seeing her in the half light of the gallery, he decided she was even prettier than he had thought. “Who is your father?” he countered.
    “The owner of the property, of course.” She sounded irritated. “I am Coralie Sanguinetti.”
    “Some friends,” Bolan said. He pulled off the rubber helmet. The girl took in the rakish lines of his face, the blue eyes and determined jaw.
    “I have to admit you’re better looking,” she said with the hint of a smile.
    He was unclipping the neoprene satchel from his belt. “You don’t mind,” he began.
    “Yes, I do mind.” The voice was suddenly hard. “Drop that on the floor — kick it over to me...” She broke off, picking up the satchel. “Just as I thought!”
    Keeping her eyes on the Executioner, the little gun steady in her hand, Coralie Sanguinetti unclasped the neoprene container. “A 93-R!” she said. “That’s quite a... Wait a minute!” She stared at him again. “I know that face,” she said. “I’ve seen photos. You’re J-P’s new trigger man, Sondermann. From Hamburg. Am I right?”
    “Kurt Sondermann,” Bolan said gravely. “At your service, Fraulein.”
    “You don’t sound German.” Coralie was puzzled. “You don’t have much of an accent.”
    “In my line of business, it’s best to be as inconspicuous as possible. Know what I mean?”
    She was still looking doubtful. “But if you are working for Jean-Paul, why do you have to spy on him? Why not come to the front door and say who you are?”
    Bolan had an answer ready in case he was discovered by the hoods themselves. “Put the gun away and I’ll tell you,” he said.
    She hesitated, then thumbed the automatic to safety and thrust it into the pocket of her jacket. But she didn’t return the Beretta to Bolan; it lay on the bench within easy reach of her right hand.
    Smart, he thought. “Some gorillas tried to stop me from getting here. I’d been tailed. I was set up at a gas station on the expressway. I had to shoot my way out.”
    She remained unconvinced. “So?”
    “So I heard there was some kind of a meet on this island. But I’d never heard of your father. I didn’t know Jean-Paul was a buddy of his. I figured I’d make it here secretly and find out the score. If it was the same team that tried to waste me, there’d be hell to pay. But as soon as I saw who it was, I knew I had it wrong. I was leaving when you got the drop on me.”
    “Who tried to kill you?”
    “Guys from an outfit run by someone called Scotto.”
    “Oh,” she said contemptuously. “Scotto. Anyway, he’s dead now.”
    “So they tell me. But they didn’t tell the guys trying to liquidate me; they didn’t know the boss was long gone, so I was nearly dead, too. How come Scotto was killed, anyway?”
    “My father told me that J-P and his friends were going into business with... some foreigners. And it seems Scotto and some others didn’t like the idea. They wanted to stay the way they were. They were going to get together and...” She shook her head. “I don’t really know.”
    Bolan knew. The pieces were falling into place. Those four murdered mobsters had to be the splinter group. Yeah, that figured. Scotto, Ralfini and the others had been knocked off because they refused to join the ball game. But the KGB offer was contingent on the Mafia chiefs forming a single organization. If four of them were thinking maybe of forming a rival stay-as-you-are group, the Russian offer would be withdrawn.
    That explained why the contracts had been put out in a hurry. Any signs of dissension had to be dealt