Read MacK Bolan No. 62: Day of Mourning for Free Online

helicopter takeoff pad.
    The clouds over the mountains were moving in.
    A warm breeze played with loose tendrils of her shoulder-length hair and its warm gold highlights. Movie-star hair.
    The concerned look in April's eyes was that of a lover who cares about her man.
    Bolan noticed one difference about the lady since he had last seen her in the briefing room awhile ago.
    April wore a .44 Magnum with a six-inch barrel in a fast-draw holster on her shapely right hip. She was also carrying a spare gun-holster rig.
    The lady handled weapons like a carpenter handled a saw.
    But still beautiful, yeah.
    No one ever said that tough and competent could not be synonymous with feminine, thought Bolan, and the woman who gave him her heart was damn well proof of that.
    Bolan gestured to the spare rig and weapon that she carried over her shoulder.
    "For Aaron," she explained. "It looks like he and I might be doing more than sitting on the sidelines this time."
    The president could wait.
    Bolan grabbed April Rose with one arm and pulled her to him.
    She came willingly, pressing herself against the big man with a kiss that was all passion, all love and fire.
    "God speed you back to me, Colonel Thunder," she whispered fiercely in his ear when they were close.
    Another kiss.
    Then it was time to move out.
    Bolan boarded the chopper. But the urge to remain at Stony Man Farm pulled at him stronger than ever.
    Someone had breached Stony Man Farm's security.
    And there was Konzaki.
    Bolan sensed that the lives of all his Stony Man allies were already on the line.
    But Hal was right.
    You do not turn down a request from the Man.
    Bolan was airlifted from Stony Man Farm knowing that there would be no room for miscalculation or fumbling on this coming night that was about to cloak the nation's capital.
    It was a jungle out there, Washington, D.C., or no.
    And the Executioner was back in town.

6
    The familiar low skyline of D.C. was bathed in dusk as Grimaldi piloted the bubble-front Hughes helicopter with Mack Bolan aboard.
    No city in America is more drenched in history and legend than Washington.
    Bolan knew this city, and he knew something of its history.
    This land had been a blazed hellground. The British captured and sacked the city in 1814. It wasn't until the twentieth century that Washington was transformed from an unkempt village into the city of today: a hellground of another kind.
    Wonderland on the Potomac, Hal called it.
    With the reality of the ghetto only a stone's throw from the power brokers who steered the course of the nation, the city was a study in contrasts. The Washington Monument obelisk, the Lincoln Memorial and the Jefferson Memorial, shrines to the visionaries of equality, were set against some of the worst poverty Bolan had ever seen.
    Bolan wore a two-piece suit of subdued blue and a sky-blue shirt and red tie for his meeting with the president.
    On his left shoulder, under the suit jacket, the Beretta 93-R pistol nestled in a concealed shoulder speed rig.
    Bolan's Beretta had been modified with a new sound suppressor and a flash-hider for night firing. The gun was designed for fast killing. Konzaki had devised a forehand grip that folded down to provide controlled two-handed firing. The 93-R saw action on nearly every Bolan mission.
    Another debt to Konzaki.
    He also toted a black leather briefcase that contained additional items he liked to have close at hand, including Big Thunder, the impressive stainless-steel .44 AutoMag.
    The chopper began descending.
    "Coming in," called Grimaldi above the steady throbbing of the rotor.
    If Grimaldi felt exhausted, as he had to be, he wasn't showing it. Bolan at least had caught some shut-eye on the flight to Stony Man from down south.
    The eighteen acres of White House grounds were a maze of lengthening shadows on the south side of Pennsylvania Avenue. Grimaldi touched down smoothly on a grassy area in back of the executive mansion.
    The White House.
    More living history.
    The