War Tides

CHAPTER SIX

A gathering of onlookers along a sidewalk in the shopping district near their hotel drew McCarter’s curiosity as the remaining members of Phoenix Force rode into Lüderitz. He couldn’t see what the crowd was staring at so he shook it off. None of their concern—he had other things to worry about, like pulling the team back together and locating the missing medical team.

Under other circumstances, the United States didn’t commit their sensitive operations groups or paramilitary units to domestic events in sovereign countries. Most of that work was clandestine and best left to the CIA or military intelligence. Whenever nuclear materials were involved, though, that rightly got the brass nervous and always prompted the President to make it Stony Man’s business.

“Rafe, stop.”

Encizo’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, where he caught the surprised expression in Manning’s profile. Without another word, he pumped the brakes and brought the SUV to the curb.

“What’s up?” McCarter asked.

“I just saw Calvin,” Manning said. “Or at least I think I just saw him.”

T. J. Hawkins, who was seated in the rear seat next to Manning, said, “Well, which is it, partner? You saw him or you didn’t see him.”

“There.”

Manning pointed to a place where the crowd had parted and watched as James proceeded down the sidewalk with a fistful of an unknown, young male held by his jacket in one hand and in the other hand his pistol held in a discreet fashion at his side. Being on the passenger side of the vehicle, Manning and McCarter immediately bailed from the SUV and rushed to assist.

James nodded at the pair when they were close enough to recognize. “About time you guys get here.”

McCarter noticed the blood-soaked sleeve of James’s jacket. “You hit?”

“Graze. I’ll be okay.”

“Who’s your new friend?” Manning asked as he jerked a thumb at James’s prisoner.

The sudden wail of an approaching siren reached their ears.

“No time for chitchat, boys,” McCarter said. “Let’s get going before the law arrives. Last thing we need is a firefight with the bobbies.”

As they made for the SUV, James said, “They have bobbies here?”

“I don’t think so,” Manning said.

McCarter made no reply.

IT TOOK JUSTUS MATOMBO more than an hour of interviews and several phone calls to the capital city before he could dispel any further inquiries from local police constables. Whatever he’d said, Matombo somehow managed to protect the five members of Phoenix Force from being questioned, so McCarter had cause to rejoice about that. The team didn’t need that kind of attention right now. Matombo had even arranged for a room to replace the one with shattered glass and bullet-riddled walls.

Sometimes the backing of the Oval Office had its advantages.

Matombo stepped into the hotel room, closed the door and sauntered over to the prisoner Phoenix Force had bound to a chair. To everyone’s surprise, he hauled off and slugged the Arab male in the chin, snapping his top and bottom teeth against each other and damn near knocking him out cold. James and Manning rushed forward to haul Matombo out of reach even as the doctor was winding up for a second shot.

“You bastard!” Matombo’s face had taken on a visibly reddened hue even given his dark skin. “Were it not a violation of my oath, I would kill you.”

“Yo, yo…easy there, Doc,” Hawkins said as he inserted himself between Matombo and the prisoner. “We need this one alive to talk to us.”

As James and Manning released Matombo after making sure he wasn’t going to try again, the physician straightened his rumpled clothes from the tussle and reverted to his more dignified persona before speaking. “That animal is responsible for the disappearance of my people. I am sure of it. For that, he must pay.”

“And he will—you can count on it, guv,” McCarter said. “But right now you need to get hold of yourself and let us do our jobs.”

Matombo appeared to think that over and then in one final gesture of defiance told the prisoner, “I will make it my personal mission to see that my government hangs you for your crimes.”

The Arab male stared hatefully at Matombo but remained silent.

McCarter, who had been seated with his arms draped over the back of a chair, kicked himself to his feet and rapped a knuckle against the side of the prisoner’s head. “Listen up, junior. We know you and your friends are up to no good in this country and we expect you to talk. So let’s not be making it difficult on us.”

Encizo nodded. “Yes. Otherwise we might have to make it difficult on you.”

“You work for the Revenge of Allah,” McCarter said.

The prisoner sat stony-faced and quiet.

McCarter rapped him again. “I’m sorry, but you bloody well are going to have to speak up because I couldn’t hear you. Now, are you working for the Revenge of Allah?”

Still nothing.

McCarter stepped back, folded his arms and scratched his chin with a sigh. Finally he looked at James with a nod. The medic took his cue and went to the bed where he’d stored his medical bag. In addition to the combat medical equipment contained within it, enough to treat any of them for even serious injuries, James always carried several doses of a variety of barbiturates designed to reduce the inhibitions of resolute prisoners and get their tongues wagging. While the concept of “truth serums” belonged in books and movies, many studies had proved beyond any doubt that certain combinations of these drugs were sufficient to the task when coupled with effective interrogation techniques.

McCarter never liked to resort to this sort of thing except in special circumstances and, as head of Phoenix Force, he had sole approval or veto authority for the use of such methods. Of course, he also absorbed responsibility if it resulted in the death of a prisoner. To his recollection, a subject had never died in the care of Phoenix Force when such methods were employed, and he meant to keep it that way.

Within twenty minutes they had broken the prisoner’s will and had the guy chatting away amiably, in almost flawless English, no less, about their plans in the country and the whereabouts of the missing medical team. As soon as the interrogation finished, McCarter ordered James to give the prisoner a sedative that would keep him docile and under wraps long enough for a military detachment to arrive from Windhoek and take custody of him. He then went into an adjoining room for privacy and contacted Stony Man Farm.

When Price and Brognola got on the line, McCarter briefed them on the events of the past few hours.

“At least you managed to get Matombo’s cooperation,” Price said when McCarter had finished.

“That bloke’s been a real godsend, for sure,” McCarter replied.

“What did you have in mind for your next move?”

“Well, naturally we’ll have to mount a rescue operation for the medical team. We can’t be effective going against the IUA presence here until we’re certain all innocent parties are accounted for and not going to get in our line of fire.”

“That should make things go over better in the international-relations department,” Brognola said. “Then what?”

“It looks like we were right about another source being discovered near the two yellow-cake mines, although we aren’t really sure of the exact location. The prisoner we questioned told us the IUA has sent a detachment of miners smuggled in through Lüderitz to perform the extraction, get it back here and transport it out. They weren’t taking very good precautions and so when they got sick it just happened to be the dumb luck of medical staff that they discovered it when they did.”

“It makes sense,” Price said. “Lüderitz is really the picture-postcard version of a small German folk town since that’s its roots. Since it’s off-season for tourists, they could probably get the U-92 out of there without anyone noticing.”

“Except somebody did notice,” Brognola pointed out. “So you plan to rescue the medical team, which is being held at an old diamond mine just outside of town, and then go after the mining operation itself.”

“That’s the plan,” McCarter said. “We’ll still have to pinpoint the exact location of the yellow-cake mine. We’re hoping someone on the medical team can tell us more. We think it’s probably somewhere south of Langerheinz. The terrorists have the medical crew holed up in a place called the Kohlmanskop Ghost Town. It’s about fourteen klicks outside of the city. As Barb’s already pointed out, nobody’s been there recently while tourism is down so the place is perfect since it’s virtually deserted year-round.”

“That means you should be able to confine casualties to our terrorist friends, too.”

“That’s how we figured it. Looks like the luck of the draw was with us this time, Hal.”

“All right, sounds like you have things well in hand. Contact us again when you have more to report. There’s a call coming in now from Able Team so I’m sure I’ll have something more to tell you about their progress on this end.”

“Right,” McCarter said. “Out here.”

BARBARA PRICE FROWNED as she stared at the conference phone receiver in the center of the table. She signaled Brognola—still on the phone with McCarter—through the glass enclosure of the massive briefing room in the Annex that he should join her as soon as he wrapped it up.

“You want to say that again?”

“I said the IUA totaled our van,” Lyons replied. “And nearly totaled Gadgets with it. But we did manage to take two prisoners, which are proving to be most cooperative.”

“How did you get them to talk?”

“You really want to know, Barb?”

“No…not really,” Price said.

Although the spunky and beautiful mission controller for Stony Man didn’t micromanage, Price still expected the teams to operate with some semblance of military decorum. It didn’t mean she called every shot, though. Sometimes it was best to leave certain details to the team leaders and not get too cozy with the minute-by-minute operations. Occasionally Lyons or McCarter pulled a doozy of a stunt, and in those times she had no trouble coming down hard on them. But those times were so few and far between that Price usually tried to look the other way. Give them too much and they’d take advantage; don’t give them enough, though, and they would become ineffective. And that latter one could easily get every member of the team killed during an operation.

Price never wanted that on her conscience. Beside the fact, Brognola did enough worrying about that for both of them, and at least one of the two had to remain clear and levelheaded at all times.

“What did you find out?” Price asked.

“Well, we recovered the plans to the FACOS prototype,” Lyons said. “But I don’t think we’re out of the woods.”

“Ironman, I just got off the horn with McCarter,” Brognola interjected. He took a seat across from Price at the table. “He says they’re close to rescuing the hostages, but that they also discovered the IUA is running some kind of rogue mining operation for U-92. And apparently they’re hell-bent on protecting their assets because the team’s already been ambushed twice. What’s happening there?”

Lyons recounted the events of their assault on the warehouse, as well as their encounter with the terrorists along the highway.

“It sounds like you’ve achieved the mission objectives,” Brognola said. “What makes you think there may still be a threat?”

“The two prisoners we took here have told us their superiors set up some kind of secret construction facility in Charleston.”

“South Carolina?” Price asked.

“That’s the one,” Lyons said.

“What in the devil could the IUA be cooking up there?”

“A project to build these submarines and a bunch of them,” Lyons said. “Neither of these turkeys admits they know exactly where it’s located, only that it exists.”

“And you believe them?” Brognola asked.

“Yep.”

“But if they never had the plans, how could they possibly build the prototypes?” Price said.

This time, it was Rosario Blancanales who answered. “Apparently, the design specifications for this sub were leaked long ago, Barb. The terrorists have been ongoing in their construction efforts for months. There are at least four prototype submarines ready, and another two that should be completed in short-order.

“You see, they only needed the plans in order to figure out how the nuclear reaction chamber was constructed, since that serves as the primary means of shipwide power. Everything else is apparently active and they are only waiting for the raw materials.”

“Well, I just got off the horn with David,” Brognola said. “Phoenix Force has their hands full in Namibia, but I have his assurances they’ll put this one to bed in less than twelve hours. There is a possibility, however, that the terrorists managed to get at least one shipment of ore out of the country.”

“If they have and that U-92 ore reaches American shores, it’s a good bet the terrorists could still get these submarines active,” Lyons said.

“Even without the plans?”

“Well, not from the sense of nuclear propulsion,” Blancanales answered, “but Gadgets has a theory about that. Hold on, I’ll put him on because there are only two extensions here at the motel.”

A moment passed and then Schwarz’s voice came on the line. “Hey, gang.”

“Politician says you have a theory about these terrorist subs,” Brognola said.

“You betcha,” Schwarz replied. “Our canaries here told us in the event this didn’t go off, the head honcho of their outfit had a contingency plan.”

“Which was?” Price said.

“Apparently they arranged to have a buyer procure about half a dozen specialized diesel motors from a local firm in Charleston. These motors are unique in that they’re used by diving outfits and underwater salvage companies to power equipment and the like. I’m betting the terrorists plan to drop these in as substitutes if they can’t get their hands on the original design specifications for the nuclear power plants.”

“So you think they could still make these things active?” Brognola asked.

“Well, at least enough to put out to sea and launch a series of nuclear warheads at specified targets, yeah.”

“I can’t understand how this would’ve gotten past our initial screenings,” Price said, looking directly at Brognola. “We thoroughly questioned everyone with a security access to this program from the Oval Office to the Pentagon. They all swore that if any information had been leaked it would have to be by Dr. Stout.”

Brognola nodded and directed his voice toward the speaker. “That’s true. Stout was the only one to possess the technical knowledge to create this sub. And he was under constant watch.”

“What about information and data security on his equipment? Could it have been compromised?” Schwarz asked.

“Members of our own team assisted the NSA with security and counterbreach implementations.”

“In fact, nearly line for line of the security programs was written by Akira himself,” Price added.

That spoke volumes. Aaron Kurtzman oversaw the team of cyber wizards that included Carmen Delahunt, Akira Tokaido and Huntington Wethers. Schwarz’s experience in electronic surveillance and counterintelligence paled in comparison to the combined efforts of that brilliant crew, and he said as much. “Well, Akira’s kung fu is strong. If our own people were working on it, it’s highly unlikely the IUA would have acquired the resources necessary to penetrate Stout’s systems.”