Primary Directive
“See them?” he called to Grimaldi.
The pilot put the chopper into a dizzying tailspin as he looked in the direction Manning gestured. He nodded, then straightened his path and darted toward James and Hawkins’s position. Manning felt his chest lock against the harness as the nose of the Sikorsky dipped forward from Grimaldi’s rapid braking maneuver. The pressure subsided when the pilot got into hovering position, gun-side smartly faced toward the rear of the police station.
Manning disengaged the safety straps so he could reach the winch. He double-checked the quick-connects and then flipped the power switch on the machine and engaged the release. The equipment descended on a steel cable at a quick but steady speed. Manning watched as from beneath the canopy of green his two friends emerged to receive the goods like ancient Greeks standing with arms outstretched in a drenching shower of much-needed rain from the gods.
Manning waited until they signaled all-clear, then began to retract the winch. The job was half-done when he heard a tink from something striking the fuselage of the aircraft. Then another. Manning looked in the direction of the police station and spotted the muzzle-flash of a pistol. A gunman stood at the back door and triggered his pistol several times.
Manning called to Grimaldi to hold her steady, then got to business on the M-60. He leaned into the weapon, took aim and squeezed the trigger. A high-velocity storm of 7.62 mm rounds chewed up large holes in the mud-brick exterior of the station near the gunner. It took only two bursts before Manning got his range, and with the third he caught the terrorist with a volley that ripped open the man’s chest and knocked him off his feet.
Manning ordered Grimaldi to get them over the area where the police cars were. “And get us as low as you can, Jack. I’m going to drop the gear to them.” It would save time.
The pilot swung another perfect arc and came into a hover almost directly above McCarter and Encizo. Manning swung the equipment boxes into position and kicked them out as he kept the barrel of the M-60 trained on the front of the station house. The machine guns there opened up almost immediately, and Manning returned the fire with equal ferocity. Windows shattered and dust rose in thick clouds as Manning poured on a maelstrom of lead at 600 rounds per minute. Hot lead pounded the building as the barrel started to redden with Manning’s sustained fire. He swept the weapon in a corkscrew pattern across the two-hundred-some-foot width of the windows, cautious to keep the majority of the firepower on the probable location of the emplacements.
The weapon finally expended its ammo and Manning ordered Grimaldi to get clear. “We need to find a place to land, Jack.”
“Already got it,” the pilot replied.
Two minutes later he was touched down in a clearing about a hundred yards from ground zero. Manning quickly disengaged the M-60 and then tossed a salute of thanks to Grimaldi before rushing from the chopper.
The big Canadian broke through the brush and found himself on a direct path to McCarter and Encizo’s position. He slowed to a steady jog and made contact with his friends unmolested.
“Greetings, guys,” he said. “Mind if I join the party?”
Encizo grinned as he slid into a flak vest he’d pulled from the gray strongbox. “Only if you have your invitation.”
Manning patted the M-60. “Right here.”
“That was Johnny-spot-on with the air cover, chum,” McCarter said with a slap to Manning’s shoulder. “I owe you one.”
“Great. Maybe I can use you as a business reference.” Manning risked a glance at the front of the station to inspect his handiwork. “What’s our situation?”
“They’ve been quiet since you laid out those no uncertain terms for them,” Encizo replied.
“We may have neutralized them in front, but Jack and I damn near got our asses shot off in the rear. They’ve moved at least one of those machine-gun emplacements to the back of the building.”
“All right,” McCarter said as he handed a headset to Manning and then clicked on the receiver of his own. “Red Leader to Red Team Baker. You copy?”
“Red Team Baker copies,” James confirmed through their headsets.
“Sitrep.”
“In position, side three.”
“You geared up?”
“Roger that, Red Leader.”
“Good. What do you make?”
A pause, then, “One, say again, one HPMG on point and three minis. No probes, no touch-offs.”
“Acknowledged,” McCarter said. “Stand by.”
Okay, so they faced one heavy-purpose machine gun supported by three personnel armed with at least pistols. They hadn’t traded fire with the enemy to verify actual position or strength, and getting inside would prove to be very difficult unless they could find a way to neutralize the terrorist defenses. Manning shook his head in disgust and blew out a ragged breath, then exchanged looks with Encizo and McCarter. “Doesn’t sound like their situation’s improved any to ours.”
“Sounds like it’s worse,” McCarter replied.
“You think a frontal assault is too risky?” Encizo asked the Phoenix Force leader.
McCarter nodded. “I don’t relish getting my team shot up because my arse got itchy, mate. We have to think this through.”
“Maybe I can provide us a distraction,” Manning suggested.
“What kind?”
Manning flashed him a wicked grin. “The kind that goes boom.”
CHAPTER SIX
The plan as they presented it to Calvin James and T. J. Hawkins sounded decent enough, and if anyone could pull it off James knew Manning could.
“How long do you think this little distraction of Gary’s will give us?” Hawkins asked James as they lay behind a decorative hedge no more than twenty yards from the station house.
“Maybe ten seconds.”
Hawkins turned to study the facade of the building. “That should be enough to cross that gap and make entry.”
James nodded. “Just in case, though, I’d suggest only one of us make a try for it. If that machine gunner’s alert, the diversion may not even buy us that much time, and it wouldn’t hurt to have some covering fire on the trip.”
“Agreed. Which one of us do you think can get the most out of that trip?”
“Probably you. You’re younger and smaller.”
James checked his watch. “We’ve got forty seconds to H-hour.”
Hawkins nodded and James could see from the intensity on his friend’s face he was mentally preparing himself for the sprint. McCarter had radioed the plan in very cryptic terms. Manning planned to rig a satchel charge to blow a large hole at the front southwest corner of the building, the reception and seating area. Phoenix Force hoped it would make the terrorists think they were trying to breach the building and force them to re-focus their defensive posture on that area. They couldn’t be sure it would make them redirect their firepower to the front, but McCarter had indicated he thought it might just divert enough attention to buy James and Hawkins what they needed to get up close on the station house. Heavy-purpose machine guns weren’t much good in close-quarters battle.
The explosion came right as James called “mark” in his mental countdown. He slapped Hawkins after a three-count, and the Phoenix Force warrior burst from cover. James steadied his M-16 and let loose a sustained volley of 5.56 mm rounds. The weapon chattered, muzzle spitting flame, as James laid on a firestorm that blew out glass and chewed through the facade. Hawkins had nearly reached the wall before the machine gun started up, but by that time the terrorists were too late—they couldn’t possibly hit him at that angle.
Hawkins made the wall, turned and crouched with his back to it. The machine gun stopped firing as he yanked an AN-M14 TH3 incendiary hand grenade from his harness, pulled the pin and tossed the bomb through the shattered window from which the smoking barrel of the machine gun protruded. James could hear the shouts of surprise. A moment later those shouts became screams of agony as the grenade exploded and distributed 4,000-degree molten iron capable of burning through armor up to a half-inch thick. That heat would melt that machine gun to slag and neutralize any enemy within immediate reach.
James ceased firing, jumped to his feet and sprinted to his teammate. He took a similar position, back to the wall, and grinned. “Nice job, pal.”
Hawkins nodded in reply, apparently still too winded to speak.
Shouts of shock and pain still emanated from the window near the machine-gun emplacement as James and Hawkins made their entry through the rear door by shooting out the lock. They crossed the threshold, stepped over the body of a terrorist and were greeted by a horrific scene. The TH3 had done its job. The smell of cooked flesh nearly overwhelmed the pair.
James pumped a pair of mercy rounds into each of the terrorists, then said, “Let’s see if we can find our prisoner.”
T HE EXPLOSION FROM M ANNING’S diversion signaled a time for action to McCarter and Encizo.
The pair left the cover of the police vehicle and split off to storm the station house from two directions. McCarter suspected at least one of the machine-gun emplacements had been destroyed by Manning’s onslaught from the chopper, which left only one machine gunner to contend with. As they got close to the front door of the station, the machine gun began to sound off.
But only one.
Encizo intended to take care of the other one. The Cuban rolled behind a large, decorative boulder positioned on the front lawn of the building. Rounds from the machine gun zinged off the rock or chewed up the ground around the boulder.
Encizo nodded at McCarter, who had secured cover behind the single, large tree directly opposite the boulder. The warrior dropped to a knee, leveled his HK33E carbine in the general direction of the enemy emplacement and squeezed the trigger. The muzzle of McCarter’s assault rifle spit flame as it delivered its 5.56 mm rounds at a cyclic rate of about 700 per minute.
Encizo primed a pair of M-67 fragmentation grenades, stood and tossed them one after the other through the run of windows. He and McCarter ducked behind the boulder. Moments later the grenades exploded, seconds apart. The Phoenix Force duo charged the front door. They waited on either side, backs to the wall, until Manning showed up with his M-60 and then made entry. Encizo went right, Manning left and McCarter straight up the middle.
Two terrorists popped up from behind the reception desk and leveled their SMGs at Manning. McCarter realized his teammate couldn’t respond in time with his bulky weapon and provided a solution to the problem. The Briton eased back on the trigger of the HK33E carbine and caught the first terrorist with a flesh-shredding burst to the chest. The man dropped from sight behind the counter. The second terrorist lost his head with McCarter’s follow-up shot as a pair of high-velocity rounds split his skull down the center, splattering blood and brain matter in all directions. The terrorist staggered blindly while what was left of his brain told the rest of his body he was dead. Then he crumpled to the floor.
“Hold position,” McCarter ordered Encizo.
The Cuban turned so his back faced the hallway and then tracked the room with the G-11 while McCarter and Manning sprinted down the hallway to the jail. McCarter demanded a sitrep from James and Hawkins as Manning filled the bolt lock of the door leading into the cell block with C-4 plastique.
“All clear,” James replied.
McCarter acknowledged him and peered through the square, bulletproof glass window of the heavy metal door. He looked to see Manning use a pencil to form a hole in the center of the plastique packed into the lock. The Canadian explosives expert then inserted a blasting cap with a small electronic receiver on the end of it.
“Let’s go,” Manning said, and the two backed a respectful distance and turned away their heads.
The big Canadian made a show of raising the small detonator box and flipping a switch. The powerful plastique made short work of the lock with an explosion that was deafening in the confines of the hallway. The pair rushed the door and Manning kicked it aside. He and McCarter nodded to each other, then burst into the cell block.
Manning spotted a terrorist exit a cell at the far end, the one where they were holding the prisoner. He shouted a warning to McCarter as the hardman sprayed the narrow walkway with a firestorm of lead. Manning and the Phoenix Force leader went prone and opened with an equally violent reply. Dozens of high-velocity slugs perforated the terrorist, opening bright red splotches in his belly and chest. The impact slammed the enemy gunman against the concrete wall and he slumped to the ground.
The Phoenix Force warriors got to their feet and rushed to the cell. The sight wasn’t pretty. Their prisoner sat partially upright on the metal bunk that folded out from the wall, his head cocked at an odd angle and his tongue hanging free from his gaping mouth. Blood and bits of flesh were splattered across the back wall in a grisly mosaic. More blood ran freely from the numerous bullet holes in his upper torso. Many were so close together and in such number that parts of the man’s intestines and other internal organs were visible.
“They executed him,” McCarter said. “Just in case he talked.”
“W HATEVER INTELLIGENCE our prisoner might have had,” David McCarter announced to Price and Brognola, “al Qaeda definitely wanted to make sure we didn’t get our hands on it.”
“We agree,” Brognola replied. “I can’t see them going to that great a risk unless the man was somehow critical to their operations.”
“Well, obviously they know we’re onto them now,” Price added. “They’ll be even more careful.”
“Right,” McCarter said. “Which is going to make it bloody hard to pick up their trail.”
“Can’t your Panamanian contact with the government assist with that?”
“Who? Nativida?” McCarter asked. He directed a pointed look in Manning’s direction.
Manning didn’t take his eyes from McCarter’s as he replied, “Well, there might be a bit of a problem with that. I’m afraid he’s feeling a bit uncooperative with us at the moment, as is probably Herndon.”
“Who?” Brognola asked.
“Kelly Herndon,” McCarter said. “Our CIA contact.”
A moment of silence followed, and Phoenix Force knew that Brognola and Price had gone to side conference.
“I’ve asked Barb to look into him for us,” Brognola said. “Offhand, though, his name doesn’t ring any bells with me.”
“I don’t think he’s had much of a notable career,” Encizo replied.
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say that I don’t think they’ll be getting in Gary’s face again anytime soon,” McCarter stated.
“All right,” Brognola replied, his voice saying he wasn’t totally satisfied with the answer but neither did he feel like pushing it. “Let’s just not shake up these people too much. They’re a valuable source of information, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to alienate them.”
“What about their orders to cooperate fully with us?” Hawkins asked.
“Nativida’s and Herndon’s interference might have cost the rest of us our lives, Hal,” McCarter added. “I’m not bloody well keen on someone risking my teammates on what amounts to little more than territorial politics. That’s to say nothing of the fact that delay might have contributed to our losing the only decent lead we had to al Qaeda’s plans.”
“I understand,” Brognola replied, “and I’m not saying you didn’t do right on this. Just asking you to keep the more sensitive issues in mind for the future.”
“Got it.”
“I just finished talking to Aaron,” Price’s voice cut in, “and he’ll be sending down Herndon’s info as soon as possible.”
“Thanks,” Manning replied.
Price continued. “We also have an update for you on Able Team. They found the bodies of the two Mexican nationals who were shot to death in New Mexico. They think al Qaeda definitely has something going in the immediate area, and Gadgets is working on modifying the End Zone system to track them down. We’ve also confirmed that a few months ago a man named Bari entered the country. He’s a top-level strategist for bin Laden and his presence in the country only confirms what we’ve been suspecting for some time.
“Bari sits on the ten-most-wanted lists of at least a dozen free nations. He’s as dangerous as they come, and I’m sure he’s probably the mastermind of this entire operation. Able Team has already provided us with some pretty damning evidence of his potential involvement.”
“And with Bari at the helm,” Brognola added, “you can bet things are only going to get worse.”
“Okay, thanks for the intel,” McCarter said. “I’m going to talk this over with the team and we’ll let you know what our next move is as soon as we’ve settled on it.”
“Acknowledged,” Brognola replied.
“Good luck,” Price said. “And be careful.”
They disconnected the call.
“T HOUGHTS ?” M C C ARTER ASKED his teammates.
“Let’s look at what we know,” James said immediately. “We have an al Qaeda brainchild in the U.S., obviously sent by bin Laden to plan and coordinate some type of major attack.”
“And to do that, he needs bodies,” Manning concluded.
Encizo nodded. “There’s no question the guy they killed in that jail cell had information critical to their operations, otherwise they wouldn’t have risked a half dozen personnel to kill him when they already have a potential shortage.”
“Right,” McCarter said. “This means they must have something up their sleeve they’re going to have to act on real soon.”
“Maybe they’re planning to move the personnel,” Hawkins offered.
“What do you mean?”
The Southerner waved his arm for emphasis. “They have an operation they have to get off the ground soon. Something big and bold, maybe something nobody would even think about. We’ve all agreed they obviously need a certain capacity of bodies to complete this mission, otherwise they wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to start with. Keep in mind they’ve probably been funneling personnel into the U.S. for months. But if they’re smuggling them in through Panama, they have to get them from one point to the next.”
“He’s right,” James said, picking up Hawkins’s train of thought. “And the only way to do that is to utilize a network already established.”
“Of course,” Encizo said. “It all makes sense now. We know they used the immigration problem to get their people into the United States, so why not funnel personnel through the Central American drug corridor.” He looked at McCarter and added, “Drug dealers are more than happy to enter into any transactions that help fund their operations, and they aren’t too particular about who they work with as long as the other side’s paying cash.”
“So you think they’re running this human pipeline up through Central America via the powder trail,” McCarter said.
All of the men nodded their agreement and the Phoenix Force leader had to admit they were onto something. Their theory didn’t explain everything, but it did happen to fill a lot of the holes. Maybe their prisoner had this information, maybe he just knew the route. Whatever the case, it was their first and best place to start.
“Okay,” McCarter said. “If there are no other suggestions, we go with this and see where it leads us.”
“Great,” Hawkins chimed in. “But where do we start?”
A rap came at their apartment door and Encizo opened it to admit Robert Nativida. The interior secretary greeted each of them with a somber expression. Obviously he’d been in touch with his superiors, and they weren’t happy with the incident that had occurred earlier in the day.
Nativida cleared his throat and walked straight to Manning. As he extended his hand, he said, “I am obliged to apologize for my…indiscretion, sir. I hope you will excuse the behavior.”
Manning looked at the others in surprise and then shook Nativida’s hand. “No hard feelings.”
Nativida nodded, then turned to McCarter. “My government wishes to extend its thanks for your assistance today. We have confirmed only the terrorists suffered casualties. All our people are safely accounted for and as such you are to be commended. I have been instructed to cooperate fully with you and to satisfy any request you may have.”
McCarter smiled and then rose to stand in front of Nativida. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll pass on the medals. But there is something I think you can help us with.”
“And what might that be?”
“Tell us about your drug-running problem.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The first thing Able Team decided to do was to gather the scientists and other key personnel involved with End Zone into a secure location. The al Qaeda terrorists would consider the best chance of success lay in their ability to kill the designers and builders of the system. That meant Able Team had to act quickly to ensure their safety, and getting them out of Albuquerque and ensconced in a controlled, inconspicuous location.
Government officials tried to discourage Able Team from taking the scientists away from the labs, citing their security as some of the best of the country.
“I have no doubt about your security capabilities,” Lyons said. “But this isn’t a matter of keeping out your average bad guys. We’re talking about terrorists, and unless your people took some kind of intensive training I don’t know about, you’re not equipped to keep out al Qaeda operatives who are bent on killing these people.”
Ultimately they were forced to acquiesce when a call from the Oval Office made it clear they were to cooperate fully.
Two unmarked sedans with a detail of U.S. marshals took point and rear positions, with Able Team’s SUV and one with the scientists wedged between them. Stony Man had arranged for a safe house for the scientists at Elephant Butte—a reservoir fed by the Rio Grande tributary—just north of the tourist town of Truth or Consequences. The safe house, actually a cabin surrounded by woods, would provide a quiet place where the scientists could continue their work but provide an adequate defense posture.
The biggest concern on Lyons’s mind was the transit time. He would have preferred someplace closer but ultimately they decided the transfer was worth the risk, and it wasn’t likely the terrorists would know about the move.
Midway between Socorro and Truth or Consequences Lyons noticed the large semitruck as it merged onto Interstate 25 from Highway 107. The truck driver had seen the sedan as it passed to his right. The marshal at the wheel got smart and signaled a lane change, the SUV driver following his lead.
The semitruck driver either didn’t see the SUV filled with scientists or he didn’t care, because he swung onto the highway and immediately matched their speed as he cut into the far-left lane. The driver had to jam on his brakes to avoid being sideswiped.
“This is it!” Lyons announced. The Able Team leader watched as the SUV driver did the natural thing and slowed, then swerved into the right-hand lane and onto the shoulder. “Tell him to keep going!”
Blancanales got on the shortwave and gave the driver the instructions while Lyons waved at him to get alongside the semitruck. They passed the accelerating SUV on its left, then swung into the right-hand lane and closed on the rear tail of the semitrailer. Up ahead, Lyons saw smoke from tires locked up against pavement as the driver slammed his tractor-trailer into the rear of the point vehicle. By what could only be good training, the U.S. marshal at the wheel got his sedan under control by executing a power slide that took him off the road and onto the right shoulder, his nose now facing oncoming traffic.
Without hesitation Lyons rolled down his window and took aim at the rearmost wheels, triggering his Atchisson autoshotgun twice. The pellets easily penetrated the tires and produced an instant blowout from which the truck driver would never quite recover. The guy overcorrected in his steering and with a pop from the Jake-brake, the semitruck jackknifed and left the roadway with a screech of rubber on pavement.