Читать книгу: «Primary Directive», страница 3

“I understand,” Brognola said. “Tell Carl I said he can do whatever he has to do. A protection detail is going to spread them pretty thin, but I don’t see as we have many other choices right now.”

“I’ll let them know,” she replied.

“The best we can hope for now is that Phoenix Force comes up with some answers down in Panama,” the big Fed said. “The trail has to start there somewhere. If they can choke off the pipeline, hit al Qaeda’s Central American network at the source, that might just buy us enough time to locate their operations on the receiving end and neutralize them before they can execute whatever operation they have in mind.”

“Well, we did recently come upon some information that might help us nail down who’s behind this,” Price said.

She accessed a nearby computer terminal, then flipped the screen so Brognola could see it. It displayed the picture of a dark-skinned man, middle-aged, with close-cropped hair and black eyes. He wore a long, traditional beard in the style of a Muslim cleric.

“This picture was taken a couple of months ago in D.C. during the Islamic Freedom Movement march on the White House. It was run through facial-recognition software by one of my SIG-INT contacts at the NSA, and she immediately called me to tell me about it. The man you’re seeing here is Fadil Bari. He’s a known member of al Qaeda, and according to the CIA, one of bin Laden’s chief operational strategists.”

“How come he wasn’t picked up immediately?”

“By the time the NSA realized it, the march was long over. It took nearly two weeks for this to surface. It might have been missed altogether except for the fact my friend just happened to return from an intelligence brief that contained, among other things, a complete dossier on Bari.”

Brognola shook his head. “When is Homeland Security going to learn they can’t sit on these things? They should have had an army of observers there.”

“Well, we think al Qaeda slipped Bari into the country during the influx of Arab Americans. You’ll remember the nightmare it created, the airports and train systems flooded with every size and color.”

“Not much point in racial profiling there,” Kurtzman quipped.

“It’s still no excuse,” Brognola said.

“Either way, this is too much to be a coincidence. If there is a new plot under way by al Qaeda to implement another terrorist attack here in America, you can bet your sweet bippy that Bari’s at the core of it.”

Brognola nodded. “Okay, make sure you get this to the boys right away. One way or another, I suspect they’re about to need all the help we can muster.”

CHAPTER FIVE

A battery of machine guns positioned inside the Gamboa police station fired on the Phoenix Force team as it approached. Bullets zinged and whined off the street and others buzzed past their ears. Two officers had taken position behind their older-model SUV while another pair used the palm trees that lined the street for cover. Every time someone moved, the guns would open up again and make the place sound like a war zone.

“Bloody hell!” McCarter said as he sidled up next to the police captain behind their SUV. “What happened?”

The flush on the captain’s face told it all. He obviously hadn’t dealt with anything like this before, Gamboa being mostly a quiet tourist town, and the stress lines made it evident he wasn’t coping too well with their present situation.

“We got call,” he replied in broken English. “Man and woman fighting at hotel, but when we get to call nobody there. We come back and they start shoot at us.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. The terrorists had obviously lured the police away from here with a bogus call of a domestic and then sent a heavily armed crew into the station to get their man out.

McCarter turned to shout at James, who had taken up a cover position with one of the officers behind a tree. He held up two fingers and then made a circular motion to indicate James to choose a partner and try to find a way to flank the building. Phoenix Force had left the apartments in such haste that they hadn’t bothered to bring their communications gear. To make matters worse, they were only armed with the sidearms they had donned during the chopper ride from Panama City to Gamboa.

A fresh volley of autofire raked the street on Encizo’s heels as the Cuban rushed to McCarter’s position. “We’re going to get our asses shot off if we don’t equal the odds quick here.”

McCarter nodded. “I bloody well can’t argue with that, mate. Ideas?”

“Gary’s on his way back to the chopper to coordinate some air support from Jack, and of course you’ve just tasked Cal and T.J. to find a possible back way in.”

The incessant volleys of machine-gun fire died out.

“Finally,” McCarter grumbled. He jerked a thumb at the police captain. “His English isn’t that great. You want to rap with him and see if he can draw us a layout of the interior of that station? I want to know every exit in there. Every nook and cranny. Got it?”

Encizo nodded and immediately began to speak with the captain. Although the Spanish dialect was slightly different, Encizo had enough training that he was fluent in most of its variants and nuances, a great tool in this instance over McCarter’s limited knowledge of the language. For the moment, the terrorists had stopped firing, but Phoenix Force couldn’t count on things to remain that way for long. They would need to act fast if they planned to salvage any part of this mission.

Manning’s idea to go for air support had been a good one—McCarter wished for a moment he’d though of it first. While the converted Chickasaw H-19 didn’t have any exterior weapons they could use, turning rockets on the building was out of the question anyway since there were civilians and other innocents inside. McCarter had noticed during their trip that the machine-gun mounts were still intact. Fortunately, he had elected to bring an M-60 E-4 machine gun fitted with a short, heavy barrel designed for sustained fire from Stony Man’s armory. It now looked like they would be able to put it to good use, not to mention the fact that the chopper also contained the remainder of their heavy equipment.

McCarter drew his 9 mm Browning Hi-Power from shoulder leather and jacked the slide to the rear. All they needed to do now was buy enough time for the cavalry to arrive.

G ARY M ANNING WHIPPED the Jeepney around a sharp curve in the road with such force that he almost tossed both his passengers out the side. Herndon kept his silence through most of the trip, but Nativida had squealed like a stuck pig through the entire trip to the heliport, and now he was really starting to grind on Manning’s nerves. Thankfully, the big Canadian would soon be out of the Jeepney and airborne with one of the finest pilots in the world at the stick.

Manning shouted for the men to brace themselves as he jammed on the brake pedal and brought the vehicle to a skidding halt. He bounded from the vehicle and raced around the tail. Jack Grimaldi, ace pilot for Stony Man and longtime friend of Mack Bolan, sat on the main cabin deck of the Sikorsky H-19, cigar in his mouth and some kind of electronic flight book in his hands.

He looked up in surprise at Manning’s stormy arrival. Around a mouthful of the stogie he said, “What’s up, Gar’?”

“Get her spinning, Jack,” Manning said. “We’ve got trouble.”

Grimaldi didn’t bother to inquire further. If Manning or any other member of the team passed on bantering, the pilot knew they were hot, and it wasn’t time to play twenty questions. He spun into the chopper from his perch and climbed into the elevated flight deck. Manning entered the main cabin after him and reached for one of the large cases stored in the cargo area. He flipped open the lid and removed the three major pieces of the M-60 E-4—stock, forward receiver, short-heavy barrel—he would need to assemble the weapon.

Nativida finally managed to climb down from the Jeepney and stagger over to Manning, leaving Herndon seated in back talking animatedly into his cell phone with someone. “Mr. Brown, this is not good. You cannot simply flit around our airspace and shoot up our buildings.”

“Beg your pardon, Mr. Secretary,” Manning countered without taking his attention from his task, “but that’s exactly what we can do. Your police force got you into this situation, and now you’re going to need to let us get you out.”

“Not at the risk of innocent lives!”

Manning stopped and pinned Nativida with a hard stare. “There are already innocent lives at risk here. You have support staff in that building, not to mention the officer left guarding the prisoner. Now maybe the other prisoners you have in there aren’t angels, but I’m sure none of them have done anything to deserve to die. In all likelihood we’re dealing with al Qaeda terrorists. We can’t afford a standoff and my country’s government, just like yours, does not negotiate with terrorists.”

“I’m afraid in this case you’re going to have to,” Herndon said as he walked up and stood next to Nativida. “I just got off the phone with the deputy director. He’s advised me we are not to get involved until the proper channels have had time to consult with the Panamanian government about this.”

“I don’t work for you or the deputy director,” Manning replied flatly. As the rotor engines began to wind up, he added, “Now step off the pad. I wouldn’t want you to get your head chopped off.”

“I don’t think you understand, pal,” Herndon said, taking a step closer to Manning. “You are not auth—”

Manning drew his Colt Model 1911A1 in a single, easy motion and leveled it in Herndon’s face. “I think you don’t understand. If you’re not part of the solution, then you’re part of the problem. Now…step back.”

The two men complied and Manning holstered his pistol once they’d moved to a safe distance. He looked up to the cockpit and saw Grimaldi smile and shake his head. Manning shrugged and then gave the pilot a thumbs-up that said he was clear to go. The vibrations increased, the thrum and whine of the chopper’s turbine power plant increasing until they had reached sufficient air resistance to take off, and then Manning watched the ground move away from his feet. The big Canadian completed his assembly of the M-60 E-4 and then mounted it. Next, he donned a headset and gave Grimaldi the approximate direction of the police station as he hooked up the winch he’d use to lower their equipment to his teammates.

“They’re probably spread out,” he told Grimaldi, “so we might have to hover in different locations.”

“You know the position of the emplacements inside?” Grimaldi asked.

“Sounded like three separate guns going when we first arrived, all of them at the front. I’d recommend you make a couple passes, though, so we can get an approximate idea of where our people are positioned.”

Grimaldi waved to indicate he got the picture, and Manning went about the task of donning a harness and safety straps to keep him inside the cabin. Grimaldi would approach very hot and his turns would be steep. It wouldn’t do for Manning to be caught unawares and get tossed out inadvertently. The rest of Phoenix Force would be relying on him, and Manning had never let his friends down before.

He sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

Manning took position behind the M-60 as they approached the police station from the southeast and drew back the charging handle as Grimaldi began a steep turn on descent. He locked his shoulder against the butt of the weapon and kept all senses attuned to action on the ground below. It took two passes before he spotted the police vehicles parked on the road. He could see McCarter and Encizo using the lead one as cover. He marked each location of the officers and then searched in vain for James and Hawkins.

Where in the hell were they?

Manning was about to have Grimaldi make a third pass when he glimpsed James and Hawkins beelining from beneath treetop cover straight for the rear of the building. Manning considered his options and decided James and Hawkins would be priority, since not only did they have the tactical advantage but their location didn’t pose as much exposure risk.

“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.”