Close Quarters
Hawkins cleared out and rounded the corner of the shuttle bus. He immediately flattened to the ground, avoiding a volley of high-velocity rounds that burned the air just above him. Hawkins had the leaf sight up and in position. He estimated his distance at sixty yards max, settled the stock of the M-4 A1 tight against his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The pop and kick from the grenade launcher mimicked that of about a 12-gauge shotgun but the results were much more spectacular. The high-explosive blew on impact, blowing the machine gun position and its owner apart in a fifteen-foot tower of flame.
Hawkins pressed the attack by following with a second grenade before charging the position and triggering short bursts on the run. He looked to his flanks and saw McCarter, James and Manning leave their own positions to provide covering fire. Hawkins produced a rebel war cry as he continued to advance on the
enemy’s position—or what was left it—his M-4 A1 spitting 5.56 mm rounds at anything that appeared to move. The four warriors converged on the tree line simultaneously with weapons blazing, more intent on keeping heads down and shocking the enemy into panic or retreat than on taking viable targets. Hawkins had expended his first magazine by the time they breached the position, and rammed the second one home as he knelt and gestured for the others to continue forward while he provided cover.
The other three Phoenix Force warriors crashed through the trees, careful to circumvent the immediate area seared by superheated gases and what was left in the wake of the twin grenades. They expanded their search and found three bodies. McCarter was certain one of them was the one he’d shot, while the other two were close to one another just behind the smoking, broken shell of a machine gun wedged in the mud.
“The gunner and his spotter, more than likely,” Manning said.
“You think this was it?” Hawkins asked.
“No bloody way to tell, mate. But I’m guessing if there were any others they’re moving away from here as fast as possible.”
James stared into the darkened jungle and said, “That’s okay. We’ll catch up with them later.”
“Bet on it,” McCarter agreed.
The four men retreated to the vehicle and James immediately began to work his magic on Encizo, performing a full assessment and breaking out smelling salts and water. Hawkins and Manning provided a loose
perimeter while Russell helped McCarter salvage whatever equipment and weapons they could find. McCarter only had to look at the body of the driver for a moment to know the guy was long gone.
Yeah, they would catch up to whoever had done this.
And there’ll be bloody hell to pay when we do, David McCarter thought.
Miami, Florida
THE WINDOW AIR-CONDITIONING unit produced a drone as it blasted ice-cold air into the hotel room. Able Team hadn’t picked the choicest place in town to stay but it was large, clean and comfortable. They’d immediately changed their plans with Harland including switching vehicles, accommodations and wardrobe. They now sat ranged around the small coffee table of the suite.
Schwarz sat back on the couch and propped his feet on the table. “Ah, now this is more like a vacation.”
Blancanales had just returned from the kitchen and handed a bottle of water to Harland before cracking the top on his own. As he plopped next to Schwarz on the couch, his friend asked, “Where’s mine?”
“In the fridge,” Blancanales said as he took a long pull and smacked his lips. “Ah, very refreshing.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t get me one.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“Shape it up, you two,” Lyons said, rubbing vigorously at his blond hair, wet from the shower. “We have weapons to clean and decisions to make.”
The cell phone at Lyons’s belt signaled for attention with the theme from Mission Impossible.
“Really?” Schwarz said. “Really, Ironman?”
Lyons’s waggled his eyebrows before he answered, “It’s your nickel.”
He turned and left after listening a moment, retreating to the bedroom and closing the door behind him.
“Must be a new girlfriend,” Blancanales said, although he knew otherwise.
“He’s been so mysterious lately,” Schwarz quipped.
The pair sat and watched television with Harland for about five minutes before Lyons emerged from the bedroom. His face had colored a dark hue. Blancanales and Schwarz realized he hadn’t liked whatever he’d heard, a fact that became even more evident when Lyons stormed across the living area, grabbed Harland by the shirt and hauled the young man out of the overstuffed chair. Lyons dragged Harland into the center of the room, yanked his arm behind his back and shoved him to his knees.
“Ironman, what the hell—” Blancanales began.
“Stay out of this!” Lyons exclaimed with a new flush to his face. He leaned close to Harland’s ear before continuing. “Now listen to me and listen good, you little son of a bitch. I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing but whatever it is you’ve got about five seconds to come clean or I swear I’ll snap your arm in two.”
“What is happening here?” Schwarz said.
Lyons looked at him and replied, “You want to know what’s happening? Our friends down in Paraguay just got hit by Hezbollah terrorists and nearly all of them bought the farm. One of them was injured.”
Lyons turned his attention back to Harland, who could barely talk fast enough, his voice little more than a high-pitched squeal of outrage mixed with pain. “Let…me…go!”
“I’ll let you go,” Lyons said. “I’ll let you go right out that window if you don’t talk and talk now!”
“Hezbollah?” Blancanales inquired.
“Yeah. And there’s a lot more to the story, but I’ll fill you in on the rest of it later. For now our orders are to turn two-face here over to the U.S. Marshals as soon as they arrive. But they weren’t very specific about what condition he has to be in. Only that he’s still breathing.” Lyons directed the last statement to Harland. “And if he doesn’t fess up here in the next few seconds he’s going to be breathing through a straw.”
“Okay! Let me go— You’re breaking my arm!” Harland wailed, and then began sobbing. “Please…”
Lyons released his hold, got Harland to his feet and tossed him into the chair he’d occupied a minute earlier. He then folded his arms. “We’re listening. Spill it, shithead.”
“Yeah, Harland,” Schwarz said. “What’s this all about?”
“I swear I didn’t want to do it!” Harland said, rubbing his arm as he stared daggers at Lyons. The ice-cold blue eyes staring back caused Harland to look at the floor. “They told me if I didn’t play along they’d kill me.”
“Who told you that?” Blancanales asked.
“Those…those bastards,” Harland confessed. He looked at Lyons. “You’re right, they are terrorists. They didn’t tell me which group they were with. The guy who talked to me spoke English but he had an accent. I couldn’t figure it out at first but after talking to him awhile I deduced he had to be Arab, Muslim or something. Somewhere from the Middle East, I was pretty sure of that.”
“How could you tell?” Lyons demanded.
“I hold a Masters Degree in liberal arts. I’ve been to many countries. I know Middle Easterners when I see them.”
“And this story you gave the Embassy about you being blindfolded,” Schwarz said. “About not seeing anything other than the camp and the two men who captured you. Was all of that just bullshit?”
“It was a lie. Part of the story they told me to tell.”
“Oh, Christopher,” Blancanales said in a voice heavy with disappointment. He shook his head. “You should’ve told us the truth from the beginning. This has only made things much more complicated.”
“They said if I didn’t cooperate they’d kill my friends!”
“Your friends may already be dead, genius,” Lyons replied. “Did you ever think about that? Terrorists aren’t typically interested in taking hostages unless it’s distinctly advantageous to their goals.”
“So you’re being tracked?” Schwarz asked.
Harland kept his eyes to the floor as he nodded slowly.
“How?”
Harland reached slowly to the watch on his wrist and removed it. He handed it to Blancanales, who then passed it immediately to Schwarz after a cursory glance. Schwarz reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a small leather case. He flipped open the soft lid and after a moment carefully selected a miniature flat-tip screwdriver. He carefully pried the lid off the back and inspected the contents. After a minute and a grunt of satisfaction, Schwarz replaced the screwdriver, withdrew another implement and began working at the innards. He soon came away with a small chip held between the tiny three-pronged extractor.
“Very interesting,” Schwarz said, staring at the chip.
“What is it?” Blancanales asked.
“Microtransmitter, I’d guess. Hard to tell for certain without the proper testing equipment here, but I’d say it probably has about a ten-mile range if it transmits low-band. More likely it’s GPS-enabled, in which case it has an almost limitless range.”
“So they know where we’re at?” Lyons asked.
“Hard to tell,” Schwarz replied. “But I can tell you this is advanced electronics. High-grade stuff, amigo, not something you can get just anywhere.”
“Grand,” Lyons replied.
“What else do you know?” Blancanales asked. “You need to tell us everything you heard and saw. There are other men risking their lives to help your friends. You owe them that much.”
Harland nodded and began to spill it all to them. He told them about how they first encountered the terrorists, described the leader’s mode of dress and the other things he saw. He included every nuance of the conversation he had with the leader and some of the foreign words he’d heard used between the leader and his men. He also gave them the details of the story they had forced him to memorize several times over. When he’d finished, he sat back in the chair with utter exhaustion, the tears streaming down his cheeks unabated.
While Blancanales rose to get Harland a rag for his face, Lyons considered the information. He would wait until they’d dumped Harland on the U.S. Marshals Service before he told them of their new mission parameters.
Lyons had cringed when Price and Brognola informed him Able Team would be taking a trip out of the country. He’d listened with rising anger as they’d relayed the story of how a man named Hemmati had contacted the CIA with an incredible tale of a possible coup at the highest levels of Iranian government. He could remember the anger reaching the boiling point when they’d revealed McCarter and the rest had been ambushed while meeting their NSA contact, and how Rafael Encizo had been injured—although Lyons understood the tough Cuban would be okay.
“I’d normally send Phoenix Force on this,” Brognola had said, “but with what they’re juggling down there, I don’t think it’s tactically sound.”
“I get it,” Lyons had said. “I may not like it but we’re the better choice for this kind of mission. We’re also smaller and better suited for the urban environment.”
Price had directed, “You’ll take a civilian hop to the city of Sulaimaniyah, near the Iran-Iraq border. From there, you’ll have a CIA contact who’ll arrange for a HALO jump into the Elburz Mountains. There’s a deep-cover ops team that will pick you up there and get you into the city.”
“Once you reach Tehran you’ll coordinate with Hemmati,” Brognola’d told him. “He’ll be your guide and sole contact outside of the two Company men. Your job is to take custody, help Hemmati’s people and then get your collective asses out of there with Hemmati in one piece.”
“You know what?” Lyons had replied. “Pol and Gadgets were right. Florida’s looking better all the time.”
CHAPTER SIX
Asunción, Paraguay
Rafael Encizo sat surrounded by his friends at the medical facility attached to the U.S. Embassy. The staff physician had given him a clean bill of health, save for a mild concussion. He’d agreed to waive the standard twenty-four-hour observation window with McCarter’s solemn promise Encizo wouldn’t engage in any “excitement or strenuous physical activity” for the next three days. McCarter hated to be short a team member but it was a promise he intended to keep.
“I feel fine,” Encizo protested after the doctor left the group to arrange for the Cuban’s release.
“You’re grounded, mate,” McCarter said. “Simple as that and we’re not going to argue about it. I can’t bloody well have you suddenly go down in the middle of a hot zone, then we got two more that have to carry you out. It’s too dangerous.”
“I suppose it’s pointless trying to get you to change your mind.”
“It is.”
“Fine, we’ll do it your way,” Encizo said with a frown. “But I don’t know what I can bring to the table sitting around the hotel room.”
“I’m sure Russell could use your help,” Hawkins offered.
“Yeah,” Encizo said. “Great.”
“Cheer up, Rafe,” Manning said. “It could’ve been much worse.”
“Like how?”
“Like we could be standing here around your dead body for one thing,” McCarter replied. “But that’s enough of the chitchat. The subject’s closed. Let’s get out of here so he can get dressed.”
The Phoenix Force warriors vacated the room and five minutes later Encizo emerged attired in a fresh change of clothes. The five men left the Embassy and headed straight to the garage where Russell had managed to acquire a staff van that would transport them to their original quarters outside the city. Every man remained vigilant during their twenty-minute commute, their eyes roving every street corner and building top for potential trouble. Each of them had resolved to be on high alert until they could figure out how the op had gotten blown so soon after they arrived.
As they climbed from the van at their destination, Hawkins whistled at the sweeping courtyard that doubled as entryway into the resort. “Nice digs!”
“It would appear they spared no expense this time,” James added.
The men proceeded inside, each toting the equipment bags salvaged from the shuttle bus. They practically had the place to themselves, true to Russell’s word. Encizo and Russell shared one suite, which they declared to be their makeshift operations center given Russell could set up the high-tech equipment there, while McCarter and James shared a second and Manning and Hawkins the last. Their suites adjoined the ops center on either side.
They would have liked to take a dip in the pool but this wasn’t a vacation and McCarter ordered them to get cleaned up. He did arrange to have dinner catered to the ops center; at least they could share a meal together while they discussed strategy. It was a feast to behold with garlic-roasted prime rib, boiled potatoes and salad. They also enjoyed bowls filled with a variety of tropical fruits, cinnamon pudding, coffee and a well-stocked bar compliments of the management.
When they finished, McCarter said, “All right, chums, we’ve got a lot to talk about. The first thing we should discuss is the latest news from the Farm. You already know about Ironman, the friends and their new mission. Apparently this Christopher Harland bloke confessed that the terrorists had coerced him into duping Russell here with that cockamamie story.”
“I hope they’re planning to lock that piece of crap behind bars,” Russell interjected.
“They’ll do whatever’s in the best interests of the U.S.,” Manning replied. “And it’s good protocol not to interrupt the team leader during the briefing.”
Russell tendered the expression of a puppy who’d just been chided, but he clammed up. Nobody could fault the guy. He’d operated with almost pure autonomy while working the embassy in Paraguay and wasn’t used to being on a team. According to the dossier Price had run down for McCarter, Russell had pretty much kept to himself. That type of introversion wasn’t unusual in people with high IQ levels and technical skills—Kurtzman being an exception to the rule—so McCarter couldn’t fault Russell too much for not observing Phoenix Force protocols.
“No worries, Russell,” McCarter said. “So now we’re certain that the terrorists operating here are probably Hezbollah. We’re also pretty sure that they’re being trained by a contingent of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps. What we don’t know is where, and that’s going to be our primary objective. Questions?”
Russell raised his hand and McCarter acknowledged him with a nod.
“I’m happy to help set up a technical station here for you, that we can easily tie into our B-Sat signal intelligence system, as well as allowing you to coordinate with whomever you work for,” Russell said. “But do we have any more intelligence we might be able to use to actually pinpoint these guys? I mean, I’m good, but I’m not clairvoyant.”
“That’s a valid question,” James added.
McCarter scratched his chin and considered it. “I think our first and best option is to get you tied into our systems first. Our man back in the States can guide you on that. Once we have that uplink established, he may be able to send us something you can use.”
“At least Harland’s betrayal explains how we were compromised so soon after being in country,” Encizo said.
“I’m not entirely sure that it does,” Manning countered.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we know they were tracking Harland but that doesn’t explain how they knew we were coming here. Harland didn’t even know that and I’m sure our counterparts in the States didn’t tell him.”
“Or if they did, they wouldn’t have given any specifics,” James observed.
“That’s a good point,” Encizo replied.
“Yeah, it’s obvious there’s a leak somewhere within the Embassy or among one of their contacts,” McCarter said. He looked at Russell and asked, “How many people knew the details of our mission here?”
“Three,” Russell replied. “The ambassador, his first assistant and me. We’re also the only ones who knew the details of Christopher Harland’s encounter with the local IRGC leadership.”
“Any of that end up in your computer systems?”
Harland shook his head. “Absolutely not. We have a pretty solid security system in place, but it would be insane to have put that kind of sensitive information into computers not hardened against intrusion by NSA standards.”
“Emails or phone calls from the others?” Hawkins asked.
“Nope.” Russell shook his head emphatically. “At least not to my knowledge. I personally monitor all electronic traffic in or out of there to make sure that any information that must be encrypted is encrypted. I didn’t note any references in the content to Harland or his transfer.”
“If he was being tracked electronically,” Manning said, “maybe they somehow used that to get their information.”
“Maybe, but that still doesn’t explain how they knew we were here, which is the real question at hand,” McCarter said. “How about the guy who drove us?”
Russell frowned. “I don’t think that’s feasible. He didn’t know the details of our route until after we’d left the Embassy. I can’t see how he would have had an opportunity to inform them far enough in advance to coordinate such an elaborate ambush. I mean, road bombs? That takes some real planning.”
“He makes an awfully good point,” Hawkins said.
“Well, we’re not going to find out sitting around here on our bloody arses chewing the fat about it,” McCarter said. “Mr. Gold will help you get your electronic systems into place as quickly as possible.”
Encizo and Russell looked at each other with mutual nods.
“The rest of us need to do a little recon.”
“Where?” Manning asked with a furrowed brow.
“The Peace Corps west of here,” McCarter replied. “Bring your waterproof bags and mosquito repellent, blokes. We’re taking a trip up the Rio Negro.”
* * *
IT WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN anybody’s first choice to navigate the winding, narrow road that snaked along the Rio Negro in the dead of night, but Phoenix Force had never been known for taking the easy route.
It bothered David McCarter being one man short but he understood all too well the importance of giving the body time to rest after trauma. Besides, Encizo wouldn’t lack things to do back at the hotel if things continued on the course they had to this point.
This mission could’ve been classified as anything but easy, and yet McCarter could only think about the challenges facing Phoenix Force. McCarter had told the Farm in no uncertain terms that he thought sending Able Team into the heart of Iran wasn’t the hottest idea. After all, this was the CIA’s screwup. Why couldn’t they clean up their own messes? Still, he knew orders were orders; they went where they had to and did what they had to. It was this kind of professional ethic that had guided the field teams of Stony Man all of these years, and McCarter wouldn’t have changed it for anything.
It took nearly two hours to reach the destination of the destroyed Peace Corps camp. As Phoenix Force bailed from the SUV—a loaner from the American Embassy—McCarter ordered them to scout the perimeter. It wouldn’t do to get ambushed again. Until they could figure out how the Hezbollah trainees had managed to track their movements, McCarter had told them to assume their every step remained under observation. Manning had also ensured they weren’t followed and during their entire trip to the site he could have counted on one hand the number of vehicles they encountered traveling in the opposite direction.
Once they cleared the perimeter, they began to search the scorched remains of the encampment. Manning and Hawkins teamed up and took one half of the camp while McCarter and James scoured the other side.
As they moved through what remained of the camp mess, the beams from their flashlights sweeping the interior, James said, “So you never really told us what we’re looking for.”
“That’s because I’m not sure myself, mate,” McCarter replied. “I just have a gut instinct that something here could help us.”
“I suppose it’s possible.” James squinted as he searched the gloom and said, “I don’t mind saying, though, this place gives me the creeps. It smells like…death.”
That forced a chuckle from McCarter. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”
“Nah, that doesn’t bother me,” James said. “Besides, it’s always the white chick who—”
Something caught James’s eye as it glinted in the flashlight beam. James peered at it for a bit, cocked his head and said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
McCarter stopped searching and turned toward the direction of his friend. “What is it?”
“Come look for yourself.”
McCarter advanced on James’s position and shortly the pair stood directly over a small, tubular object several inches in diameter and a half foot tall. At first it looked like a miniature coffee urn but on closer inspection they could see the remains of what appeared to be an advanced electronic gauge set into its face. The most telling thing about the object was that despite the fire the majority of it had appeared to survive the blaze. One thing was certain, it wasn’t any sort of equipment that would be in possession of a Peace Corps contingent and it sure as hell looked out of place in this environment.
McCarter keyed his radio and ordered the others to join them in the wrecked building. Manning and Hawkins arrived less than a minute later.
“What’d you find?” Hawkins asked. “Buried treasure?”
McCarter pointed at the odd-looking device. “Ever see anything like this before?”
Hawkins gave it a cursory glance and shrugged, but Manning knelt to gain a more detailed appraisal. A few times they heard him grunt to himself as he brushed gently as the soot and ash around the electronic inset. He then looked around the area with his flashlight. After a time, he rose and dusted his hands off.
“It’s not an explosive device—I’m sure of that much,” he told his compatriots.
Hawkins appeared to let off a sigh of relief.
“You think it’s some kind of food processor or something?” James asked.