Read Save the Children for Free Online

the guard clearly thanks to the NVD goggles, and when the sentry moved abreast of him, the Executioner stepped up behind the punk and brought down a stiff-edged palm at the base of the guy's skull. The guard grunted and his knees buckled as if his legs were made of rubber.
    Bolan caught the man's body before it hit the ground. The Executioner dragged the unconscious sentry behind some bushes against the house. He knew the yardman would be out of it far longer than the time required for Bolan to complete his soft probe.
    The nightsuited figure let himself quietly into the house, letting the MAC-10 hang loose from its ready position beneath his right arm. He unholstered the Beretta and had a look around.
    He was in the kitchen.
    Nothing stirred in the house.
    With the Beretta pointing the way, he began a room-by-room search of the ground floor, his first impression confirmed. No lights. All of the first floor of the house was dark.
    The NVD goggles did their job as he prowled without having to flick on any of the lights, but he found little of interest to slow him down: the usual layout of kitchen, living room, den, dining room.
    In a study that had to be Parelli's, he did come across a personal desktop phone directory, a small plastic-covered notebook.
    He took the directory, slipping it inside his black-suit.
    A sweeping, curved staircase led him upstairs.
    He paused at the balustraded top landing, eyeing the closed door nearest to him on his left, which opened off an unlighted hallway that stretched from the landing to both ends of the house.
    A sliver of light from the room within spilled out from beneath the closed door; the room was the same one whose lighted window Bolan had spotted on his way to the house.
    The other portals lining this hallway were shut and no light shone from beneath any of them.
    He discerned the faint murmur of voices...
    one male, the other, female...
    from behind the wooden panel, but he could not make out what they were saying to each other, or the mood or tone of the conversation.
    Whoever they were, and already Bolan had his guesses about the identity of at least one of them, they were pitching their voices low.
    He opted to complete his search of the house before investigating the lighted room.
    The second floor proved far more informative than the first.
    He found a master bedroom with closets full of expensive men's clothing.
    Next to the bed was a nightstand with a small notation pad, the top page of the pad blank.
    Bolan played a hunch. He picked up a pencil alongside the pad and brushed the lead back and forth across the blank sheet of paper.
    A phone number materialized; the impression from what had been jotted on the preceding page, which Parelli must have torn off and taken with him.
    He sat on the bed and lifted the receiver of the bedside phone. Hearing the tone, he dialed the number.
    The connection rang at the other end several times before a woman's voice answered.
    "Harbor Yacht Club."
    Bolan hung up the phone and continued with his search.
    There was an alcove with a giant-screen TV set, atop which were stacked a pile of videotapes that he at first assumed would be standard commercial brands. Then he reconsidered and checked out their penned labels one by one. The small labels identified the tapes by single names.
    Bobby.
    Lisa.
    Alison.
    Something told Bolan to switch on the VCR and pop one of the tapes in.
    He did.
    And almost threw up.
    He punched off the set, restraining an impulse to send a couple of bullets into the machine, so powerful and hot was the sudden rage that swept through him.
    Two vacant-eyed children, the innocence of their nakedness made obscene by the presence of an adult male...
    Bolan recognized the man in the four or five seconds he had glanced at the screen.
    David Parelli...
    Voices rising in anger at each other from behind the closed door down the hall snapped Bolan from the shock and repulsion coursing through him after his glimpse of the unspeakable