Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, continued to floor the accelerator of the civilian-market Hummer. It was not the kind of vehicle he'd expected to find waiting for him when he'd arrived in Guyman, Oklahoma, earlier that morning.

With its bright yellow paint job, the only advantage it might have was that it stood out so much that no one in his right mind would believe any police agency would have the audacity to use it as an undercover vehicle.

But Bolan knew that would be a short-lived advantage. The bright Hummer might work fine for inner-city surveillance, but as soon as any action started, that advantage would disappear in a cloud of smoke.

Gun smoke.

Then again, Bolan had learned to work within the limitations of the equipment he had on hand, and he did not intend to quit doing so now.

The stakes in this game were simply too high to fold now.

Ever since Jessup's informant indicated that a large cocaine deal was about to go down in the Oklahoma panhandle, Bolan had dressed and played the part of a wealthy Southwestern businessman. Both he and Agent Jessup wore exotic-skinned boots—Jessup's were ostrich, Bolan's anteater—carefully pressed blue jeans and colorful Western shirts with bolo ties of silver and turquoise.

Bolan continued to press the Hummer to its maximum speed while Jessup studied the hand-drawn map he had made while talking to his informant over the phone. "I think it's the next turn," he told the Executioner. "Yeah, there's the motel my gu