The warrior cored one more gunner before the troops realised what was happening. Several turned in his direction, peppering the ground with a torrent of flying metal.

Bolan tried to ignore the manglers slamming all around him as he concentrated on reloading the swing-out cylinder of the Python. He could only keep his head down temporarily and count on the shallow pit he lay in to absorb the wave of death probing for him.

The guards were still trying to brazen it out, obviously poorly trained, content to hold their position and riddle the ground around Bolan's hiding place with random shots. They seemed to be ignoring the remaining prisoners for the moment.

Bullets kicked up spurts of dust in front of and beside the Executioner, clouding his vision as he sought his targets. Pretty warm work, Bolan thought, as beads of sweat crept down his forehead. Four slow shots ventilated four more guards before one of them turned to make a break for safety.

Two of the troops turned to watch him go.

An officer came from behind the wavering line of guards and stopped the fleeing man by swinging the barrel of his pistol into the running man's face. The wounded man crashed to all fours, hands clutched over his bleeding mouth, spitting remnants of his front teeth. The officer brandished his pistol at the remaining men, shouting commands.

Suddenly the gunner at the far end of the line vanished in a cloud of flame and smoke, his body catapulted into the air on the tips of a dynamite explosion.

A second guard disappeared, and small bits of burned flesh fell to the ground in a horrific rain.

Path reinforcements had arrived, flinging sticks of dynamite among the gunmen once they had crept unseen into range. Bolan's firing had distracted the security squad enough that the new arrivals had closed the distance undetected.

The shaky guardsmen gave up the fight and fled in panic toward their base, pursued by a creeping line of explosions as the Shining Path hurried them along their way.

Bolan and the rest made the best of the lull, sprinting the last few hundred yards at a pace that made their lungs ache. The Path rear guard followed, dynamite in hand.

The reduced band gathered among the trees. Many of the surviving terrorists had already left, beginning the long journey to rejoin their cells in various parts of the strifetorn country.

Two battered vans waited, large enough to hold about ten people each. The drivers didn't look any friendlier than the rest of the Shining Path terrorists.

Libertad motioned Bolan and Stone into the back of a dirty blue van. Half a dozen men climbed in with them, and they all sat silently on rough sacks as the truck bounced crazily along the poorly paved roads that led away from the prison. The first task was to clear the area before the police and army sealed the region to start an intensive search for the escapees.

Bolan had time to reconsider his strategy as the vehicle jumped over the potholed back road.

He was sorely tempted to abort the mission, to give these guys the slip and head home. This wasn't his war. He had already accomplished the main part of his mission by icing McIntyre. Why not leave the rest of the action to the people most concerned? The Peruvian government had created most of this mess by the repression and poverty of its citizens. Let it solve the problem on its own.

But the idea just wouldn't go down.

Bolan was constitutionally unable to walk away and wash his hands once he had made a decision to get involved. The Shining Path had become his problem, too. And the Executioner had determined that he was going to be part of the solution.

He hadn't been imprisoned and beaten only to turn tail and run for cover. The Shining Path and he were locked together in a death grip, and Bolan would keep squeezing until something gave.

He knew that the bad feeling existed on both sides. In spite of anything the terrorists might say to ease his distrust, he knew they would kill him without hesitation when the time was right.

The warrior had to keep on top of the situation, stay one step ahead of his adversaries if he was going to make it out of Peru alive. The first objective was to get them to guide him to their base without giving up control of the arms shipment.

The weapons were his ace, and might be the only thing that would keep him breathing long enough to wreak havoc with the Shining Path operations. Like any kind of insurance, it was most valuable if it didn't have to be used. So Bolan had to use the guns as the bait to lead the Path along the course that he had set for them until he could push them over the edge.

Bolan had a plan. He only had to make Libertad and his henchmen buy it.

After what seemed like an endless ride, the van shifted down and pulled slowly onto a secondary road, shaking brutally from side to side as the wheels climbed in and out of ruts in the dirt track. When the small truck drew to a halt the terrorist nearest the door swung it open, and everyone gratefully took the opportunity to stretch cramped and bruised limbs.

They were parked in front of a single-story house not much larger than a peasant's hut. The smoke curling from a crude chimney told him that the house was occupied. Bolan presumed that they had arrived at a rural safehouse.

Libertad was already waiting.

"Now it is time to talk again about our arrangement, Blanski. I think that you must tell us where the guns are hidden."

"You have a short memory, Libertad." Bolan was going to take a hard line. The only form of reasoning these people understood was simple power. Any concession would be assumed to be from weakness and would be followed by pressure for more and more compromises.

Bolan would make them play by his rules.

"You know that we agreed that I would lead you to the weapons when you sprung me. Only then do you get the goods, when I get my money, that is. Of course I'll give you a couple of freebies, as I promised. See what a sweet guy I am? You're lucky that I don't withdraw my offer as a reward for saving your miserable lives back at the prison."

This angered the terrorist, who snapped back, "You did us no favors back there! You were only protecting your own worthless life. Our lives belong to Gonzalo. We were of no value to him in prison and if we had died, it would have made no difference. Dead, at least we would have been martyrs, feeding the legend of the truth and justice of our righteous cause without harming our fighting strength. Our blood would come to haunt the guilty and serve to bring forth strong new fighters. So stick to your word!"

Bolan gained some valuable information from the tirade. This guy had a thin skin where his cause was concerned. A weakness to be filed away for later use. "Keep your cool, amigo. I just want to know that you'll play fair with me."

Libertad was calm again, icily so. "Gringo, why don't you just tell us where the guns are and go about your business? Peru is not a safe place for you. We will arrange for payment, and then you will leave. You will hear from us about the next order."

"Man, you must take me for some kind of fool!" Bolan laughed loudly for emphasis, maintaining his character as a money-grubbing arms merchant. "Do you really think that I'll walk and leave you the goods? I'll never see a penny that way. If you're so trusting, give me my money, and when I'm safely out of this rat hole I'll wire you the location of the arms. How about that for a deal?"

Libertad waved, and two of the terrorists grabbed Stone by his arms and powered him over beside their leader.

Libertad drew a long knife and placed the point under the older man's chin. Stone looked as if he was about to faint, and only the strong hands holding each arm prevented him from crumpling to the ground.

"Unless you tell me now where the guns are, I will slit his throat and his blood will be at your feet."