Extreme Arsenal. Don Pendleton
Читать онлайн книгу.
was a beginning.
Not a satisfying beginning, but it would have to do.
MCCARTER LIT a cigarette, then took a pull from his can of Coca-Cola Classic. He replayed the interrogation of the armored assassin, mind reeling from the implications of the man’s answers. He tried to push aside what he’d had to do to get those answers.
Phoenix Force had a long career of capturing and interrogating prisoners. While they used mostly psychological trickery to get their answers, bad cop/good cop scenarios and such before they had acquired Calvin James’s medical expertise and the use of drugs, there had been a few times when McCarter had had to bloody his hands.
Combat against armed and capable opponents was one thing. Torture, though, was something that disgusted him. But without a trained medic to monitor heart rate and examine the prisoner for heart defects, the Phoenix Force commander had to do things the old-fashioned way.
“Torture is inefficient,” his predecessor and mentor, Yakov Katzenelenbogen, used to say. “People will say anything to stop the pain, and it’s too time-consuming a process.”
McCarter winced inwardly. He felt like he’d let the old man down, but he’d needed what answers he could get.
Not only was the mission at stake, but now that he understood what was going on, all of Central America was threatened. He closed his eyes and fought down guilt for doing horrible things to vulnerable, defenseless flesh. It was one thing to pop Reasoner’s eardrum and to smash his face into a tabletop a couple of times. A little roughhousing was needed to convince the traitorous scumbag that it was in his best interests to spill information.
The assassin, however, required work. McCarter did what had to be done. Unease bubbled and roiled inside of him as he sifted through the memories of pleading cries for mercy to get to the information about the designated mission of the assassins.
Roberto DaCosta had been assassinated by a hired crew of killers. While the assassin hadn’t known much about who had hired them, he had known that after they left the port, they were to rendezvous with a sea plane several miles offshore to return to Central America for further sweeps.
Whatever happened, someone was going to have to back up the mastermind’s play. Denied his cadre of nearly invulnerable murderers, or most of them, there would be a mad scramble to refill the ranks to continue the operation. McCarter thought about those who had escaped on the Zodiac boat. The motorized raft would have the speed and range to make the rendezvous with time to spare. There would be no way to intercept them, and they would report back to their boss that they were no longer working in secrecy.
McCarter realized that instead of flushing his targets, he might have driven them back underground, deeper into hiding.
The flight would keep him in the chase, but Phoenix Force and Able Team would be busy elsewhere, hunting down leads. He’d contacted the Farm via cell phone, and that would give them a head start. Maybe they would be able to intercept the escaping assassins, though it was doubtful.
It had been pure luck that allowed McCarter to stumble on this operation, and Barbara Price made noises that there was another emergency in the works that would occupy Able Team’s concentration. She didn’t give details over the cell phone. Even though their communications were over secure lines, operational procedure was that she didn’t share information that the Phoenix Force leader didn’t need to know. If Able Team pulled off their mission in time, maybe they could assist afterward.
Until then, Phoenix Force was on its own.
McCarter knew one thing, though.
It was better than being all by himself. While he didn’t feel helpless without his teammates, it would be good working with his friends, the four men he considered his family, once again.
Standing together, the five warriors of Phoenix were truly an irresistible force.
CHAPTER THREE
Yuma, Arizona
Hermann “Gadgets” Schwarz looked at the assembled scorched garbage strewed across the tabletop at Yuma.
“We’ve had some of our best tech experts look over this,” General Rogers told the Able Team genius as he poked at a charred circuit board. “Nothing that survived could be identified or traced to a manufacturer. At least not with the technology we have on hand.”
Schwarz shook his head slowly as he picked up the burned circuit board piece. “You’ve cataloged and photographed all the pieces, where they were placed in the remote drone?”
Rogers nodded. “Yes. Our techs are attempting to reverse engineer the design, but the missiles and explosive 20 mm shells smashed the machinery and electronics apart brutally.”
Schwarz looked at his notebook. “You have a very concise description of their sensory and stealth capabilities, however.”
“Mostly through close personal experience,” Rogers stated.
“How close?” Schwarz asked.
Rogers looked at the floor between them, then took two paces back. “About this range.”
Schwarz released a low whistle. “You like to lead from the front, sir.”
The general shrugged. “I’m responsible for my men. It didn’t hurt that I was on the run for my life, but…Son, I don’t know who you’re supposed to be, but these things attacked and killed my people, my friends. This place, for all its secrecy and military regimen, is a home for us. We’re as close to a family as we can get here. Do you know what I mean?”
Schwarz glanced toward the entrance where Rosario Blancanales and Carl Lyons stood. They conducted interviews about the Ankylosaur raid with other members of the proving ground staff. “Heart and soul, General.”
“I want to find whoever’s responsible for this and bring them to justice,” Rogers said. “If you need anything, I’ll make sure you get it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Schwarz replied. “Is it okay if I take some of the wreckage to your lab? I want to work with it.”
“No problem,” Rogers answered.
Schwarz gave the general a reassuring smile. “We’ll get these guys. They might be able to run, but they won’t hide for long. Not from us, sir.”
He picked up several pieces and set them in clear plastic bags.
Rogers and the Able Team genius crossed to the entrance of the hangar, where Lyons and Blancanales both stopped and greeted their friend with a nod. Blancanales reflexively gave the general a smart salute, which was returned.
“Another ex-military man?” Rogers asked.
Blancanales nodded. “For security, that’s about all I can say.”
“I understand,” Rogers answered.
“I’m hitting the lab to look at some of these components. I think I can pick something out of the bits and pieces,” Schwarz said. “Think the two of you can handle the recon without me?”
Lyons rolled his eyes. “No problem. I think we can track a few killer robots without you. Go nerd out and we’ll tell you about the exciting hike we took later.”
Schwarz sighed. “You’re too good to me, Ironman.”
“That’s something I thought I’d never hear.” Lyons grunted. “C’mon, Pol. Saddle up and head ’em out.”
“‘Rawhide,’” Blancanales quipped. He pointed toward the 4-wheeled ATVs and slipped on his helmet. “Able style.”
“Don’t let Cowboy hear you say that,” Lyons said, referring to John “Cowboy” Kissinger, the Stony Man Farm armorer.
“I don’t think Cowboy ever rode a horse in his life,” Blancanales answered.
Lyons