Bolan did not want to use the shark gun's bullets to stop the creature. He would need the underwater rounds when he confronted the terrorist frogmen below.

He triggered the gun's electrical mode when the great white was a half meter off, its long, ugly head homing in on Bolan's midsection.

The high-voltage charge stunned the massive beast. It became twenty-eight feet of senseless meat.

Bolan moved in and finished the job with his knife.

This man-eater could not be left around to recover and screw up the mission later on. And the shark's corpse would distract others of the species who could be infesting the vicinity.

Hoping like hell that he had seen the last of deep-sea predators, the Executioner flicked off his helmet light and resumed his descent, moving toward the activity below.

Bolan was gaining on the movement of busy lights when he came across the first ring of the terrorists' defense. Two sentries in full scuba gear, armed with weapons that looked similar to Bolan's shark gun, were drifting slowly. He saw divers stationed as sentries in either direction, barely discernible in the distance.

The leader had established a classic perimeter: evenly spaced teams of divers around the salvage operation. These divers would be in radio contact.

Suddenly Bolan's headset crackled with voices conversing in Spanish. He grinned.

Grimaldi had homed in on the terrorists' frequency and patched it to Bolan.

Bolan's rudimentary grasp of the language told him that either the sentries had no idea of his presence or they were laying a very skillful trap for him.

He took out the two-man team closest to him, swimming up behind one guard and severing the jugular with one knife swipe.

Bolan released the corpse.

The man's body floated upward, trailing the inky cloud spreading into the darkness overhead.