Mack Bolan
Stony Man #28 Blood Star
PROLOGUE
Moscow
A drizzling rain had fallen on the city for the past three
hours, !eeching warmth from those pedestrians unfor-
tunate enough to be abroad on such a night. Rain made
the streets and sidewalks glisten, but no long-term res-
ident of Russia's capital would be deceived by the
illusion. It was still the same drab, heartless city un-
derneath the temporary sheen.
Lieutenant Leonid Gromylko lit another cigarette--
American, thank God; rank had its privileges--and
stared out through the rain-streaked windshield of his
black sedan. Beside him, wedged behind the steering
wheel, his partner of eleven years was eating chestnuts
from a paper bag and glaring at the night.
"He's late," Alexei Churbanov remarked.
There was no need to check the cheap watch on his
hairy wrist. Their quarry had been due an hour earlier,
and Sergeant Churbanov had been remarking on the
subject's tardiness at fifteen-minute intervals, since
nine o'clock.
"He'll be here," said Gromylko. "Everybody else
is here. He wouldn't stand them up."
Stony Man # 35
Message to America
Mack Bolan
Stony Man #33 Punitive Measures
PROLOGUE
Ulysses Freeman never went by his real name. In
fact, very few people knew what it was. To his
fellow Crips, and anyone else on the streets, Free-
man was "Jimmy Two Blades." He had acquired
the appellation due to his habit of carrying a
matching set of daggers with eight-inch blades.
The knives were looped through his belt and
tucked into the back pockets of his faded, ragged
blue jeans--one for his right hand, the other for
his left. The pockets were always covered, either
by a sweatshirt, a jacket or a loose-fitting T-shirt.
This night, Jimmy Two Blades had his two
blades, but he also had something else.
Jimmy stepped back a little deeper into the
shadows of the doorway. He could still see up and
down the street from where he stood, and he
watched the few people brave enough to walk
along the sidewalk outside Los Angeles's Mc-
Caurther Park. A hooker strutted by in high heels,
fishnet nylons and a garter belt extending beneath
Mack Bolan
Stony Man #36: Stranglehold
PROLOGUE
The closest William "Bobcat" Buchanan had been
able to come to describing the contradictory atmo-
sphere in the editorial offices of the Retained Warrior
magazine was straight out of Dickens. "'It was the
best of times,'" he finally said out loud, "'and it
was the worst of times.'" In the dim glow of the
reading light on the desk, he watched Colonel Sam-
uel K. White nod silently.
For a moment, neither man spoke. Buchanan
turned away to the wall, pondering the joy and sor-
row that seemed to fill his heart simultaneously. The
joy, he knew, came from the fact that he was about
to embark on a mission. The sorrow was the result
of what had happened to the last man who had un-
dertaken that mission, a man who had been a friend
to both Buchanan and White.
Buchanan crossed his legs and looked back at the
gray-haired man behind the desk. Colonel White
opened a drawer, produced a large Jamaican cigar,
struck a kitchen match and rolled the flame over the
tip. Buchanan studied his face in the light from the
match. Colonel Samuel L. White, ex-Marine, looked
Mack Bolan
Stony man #37 Triple Strike
Mack Bolan
Stony Man #30 Virtual Peril
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