Bolan and the woman reached the dock, their shifting position still not pinpointed by the majority of hoods who were looking around wildly, searching for targets. Shouts punctuated the cacophony of terror, carnage and confusion that reigned in the compound.

Bolan left the ground in a leap, vaulting to the loading dock without bothering with the steps at the side. His momentum carried him forward, and he fell, the maneuver saving his life as an automatic pistol sprayed bullets through the air where he had been a split second before.

His silenced Ingram spit dirty orange flame, and ejected shell casings glinted in the conflagration. The Executioner returned fire from the ground and his slug sent a geyser of red out the guy's back.

Bolan propelled himself sideways as more rounds chewed into the concrete floor to his right.

Lana appeared at the top of the steps. She knelt and opened fire on the two men who had been concentrating their fire on Bolan.

The pair of hardguys had no time to swing their weapons toward her; they had expected the Executioner to be on his own, and the 9 mm bullets from the lady's Beretta sent both hoods toppling over each other. One of the men was only wounded. He started screaming.

Bolan finished the job with a tight burst from the Ingram and the screaming stopped. He fed his smoking weapon a fresh magazine.

Lana came over to join him.

For a moment, the man and woman stood back to back, each scanning for human targets and finding none.

Bolan saw two guys running toward the loading dock from the direction of the burning rigs. He triggered a burst that sent both hoods into tumbling falls from which they did not rise.

Then he heard the children crying.

Lana heard it, too. She lowered the Beretta and turned toward the truck.

The children were all inside, huddled as far forward as they could get, away from the sounds of hell.

Some of the kids were calm, almost too calm; many of the others were crying, shivering, some were screaming pitifully.

Lana ran into the truck, her steps echoing hollowly in the metal confines of the trailer.

Some of the children cringed away from her, but she fell to her knees and threw her arms around as many of them as she could reach, doing her best to bring some order and adult reassurance.

"It's all right, kids," she told them in a choked voice, tears running down her face. "It's okay now."

Bolan stood at the rear of the truck, the Ingram ready, waiting for the next wave of violence to come at them. He felt eyes watching him and glanced over.

One of the kids, a little boy no more than six or seven, was staring up at him, seeing a tall, grim-faced giant in black, weapon ready, features grimy from powder smoke. Bolan tossed a wink at him and the little boy's face broke into the widest gap-toothed smile Bolan had ever seen.

A bullet slapped past Bolan's head and made him spin around. The Ingram chattered and two more of the enemy were punched back down the steps before they could make it halfway up.

Lana started to stand and join Bolan.

"Stay there!" Bolan rapped, motioning her back. "Stay with the kids. Are they all there?"

Lana looked around and got several nods in answer to the question.

"I think so!" she breathed.

Bolan loosed the Ingram, returning it beneath his right arm. Then he drew Big Thunder.

"Everyone hug the floor and stay toward the front," he instructed.

Lana's eyes widened as she realized what he was going to do.

They had to get out of there. The truck's metal trailer was good cover, but the heat from the fires was intensifying and it wouldn't be long before the gas tank of the vehicle exploded. It made sense to take the kids and the truck out together.

Bolan leaped down from the dock and ran toward the front of the tractor trailer truck.

The heat from the flames, together with the diminishing ranks and the lack of enthusiasm of the Mafia soldiers now that their boss was dead, had caused the remaining force to withdraw toward the fence surrounding the trucking company. But now they spotted Bolan and opened fire.

Projectiles ricocheted harmlessly from the cab and body of the truck.

A burst of autofire caught the windshield and shattered it into myriad cubes, the broken glass covering the interior of the cab.

The driver's door was open.

Bolan stretched his arm and gripped the window, hoisting himself up behind the steering wheel, feeling the door shiver under his hand as a bullet thudded into the metal.

The truck's engine was still idling.

Bolan booted the clutch and the gas together and upshifted the big rig away from the loading dock with a tremendous surge of horsepower.

He hauled the wheel around, steadily increasing his speed. The roar of the diesel engine filled the cab, and cold wind whipped through the blown-out windshield as Bolan put the pedal to the metal and pointed the truck's radiator toward the closed mesh gates in the front fence.

Several of the dispersing Parelli hardforce were gathered in front of the gates where they had been about to withdraw.

When they saw the truck barreling at them, some of the men scattered and two of the dumber ones held their ground and opened fire, pouring lead at the oncoming truck.

Bullets whistled all around Bolan and he hoped none of them found their way through to the back of the truck where Lana and the kids huddled.

He steered with his left hand and unlimbered Big Thunder with his right. He opened fire through the blown-away windshield, the AutoMag thundering as he sent high-caliber fire toward the gunners who tried to dive aside at the last second.

They were not fast enough, and the big semitrailer truck slammed into them, their screams lost to Bolan beneath the truck's engine roar and the sounds of tearing metal as the truck smashed through the front gates.

The two barriers were hurled into the air as the tractor trailer barreled on through and away from the flaming chaos behind it. The big rig's diesel engine roared like the battle cry of some prehistoric beast... right into a swarm of flashing red and blue lights that seemed to be racing toward the Parelli property from every direction, as if following some sort of cue to block any escape route for the truck.

He hit the brakes, hearing the hiss of air blending with the whining sirens everywhere.

Slowly, the truck rumbled to a stop.

Police cars surrounded it while other official vehicles swerved around it and headed toward the fires.

Bolan heard heavier sirens bringing up the rear.

Fire-fighting equipment and ambulances.

Orchestrated, yeah.

He cut the truck's engine and opened the door. He swung down from the cab and strode to the back of the vehicle. He looked in on the frightened but safe kids.

Sitting on the dirty floor of the trailer with them was Lana Garner, her face wreathed in one of the happiest smiles Bolan had ever seen.

"You see," she said to the rescued kids, "I told you it would be all right."

Her eyes met Bolan's.

Whatever happened from here on out, these children were safe.

He heard the distinctive sound of pistols being cocked and looked carefully over his shoulder.

"I figured it was you, Bolan." Detective Lester Griff and another plainclothes officer had their service revolvers drawing a bead on him from less than ten feet away. "It's time we had another talk. You're under arrest. Drop your weapons."