by David Robbins



Disturbing clues that a member of the Force presumed dead might still be living led Blade to Los Angeles. There, what should have been a simple inquiry turned into a bloodbath. For hidden forces had covered up the truth about the lost warrior, killing anyone who dared to investigate. But the people behind the conspiracy had never confronted an opponent like Blade-and they wouldn't live to battle another.


Marlin had his survival knife free. The rifle lay at his feet. He grinned and wagged the knife. "Mick wants you alive, bastard. And I aim to deliver." He deftly swiped the keen blade from side to side, moving forward as he did.

The Warrior gave ground slowly, his eyes never leaving the gleaming survival knife while his right hand streaked to his side, reached under the leather vest, and drew his Bowie.

Suddenly Marlin halted, taken aback by the size of the ginat's knife. "Whoa! You play for keeps."

Blade had no time for idle conversation. He lanced the right Bowie at his adversary, making Marlin give way and skip to the left, and the moment the Pagan moved, Blade has his left hand on his other Bowie and the knife flashed out and around and in, straight into Marlin's chest, sinking all the way to the hilt.