Don Pendleton - Primary Directive

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.

Blancanales brought the SUV to a rocking halt on the shoulder of the road, and Lyons burst from the vehicle. He reached the side of the semitrailer in less than ten seconds, approaching from the driver’s side. The Able Team leader knelt and raised the Atchisson to his shoulder. The driver’s door opened and a young, Arab-looking male dropped from the tractor-trailer with an AKSU machine pistol in his hands. He never got a chance to use it. Lyons squeezed the trigger and delivered a blast that blew off the terrorist’s lower leg at the knee. The AKSU flew from the terrorist’s fingers and skittered off the shoulder into a steep ditch.

Blancanales went EVA in time to see a terrorist drop from the passenger side just as one of the escort sedans ground to a stop in the middle of the outside lane. Four agents leaped out, pistols in the hands of three, while a fourth toted a short-barreled Remington 870 shotgun. Blancanales saw the automatic rifle in the terrorist’s hands before the marshals did, but his shouted warning came a moment too late. The terrorist leveled an Israeli-made Galil and triggered a sustained burst. The two marshals who had occupied the front seats fell immediately under the onslaught of 7.62 mm lead.

Blancanales whipped out his P-239 and drilled the terrorist with a double tap.

A torrent of autofire buzzed past his head, a few striking the SUV with a metallic clang. The Able Team warrior turned in surprise to see a panel van parked on the inside shoulder of the divided highway, half a dozen terrorists firing on him and the marshals. Blancanales turned and dived inside the SUV, crawling over the console and rolling out the passenger door in a moment of self-preservation. He looked over just in time to see Lyons jump into the cab of the tractor-trailer.

What the hell was he doing? Didn’t he realize they had come under fire? Then Blancanales heard the engine roar to life and he grinned.

C ARL L YONS SLAPPED the wheel of the semitruck in victory as the engine roared to life. He took in the shift pattern diagram at a glance, then dropped the pneumatic-assisted shift lever into Reverse and engaged the accelerator as he used the vertical steering handle to whip the wheel in the opposite direction he wanted to move the trailer. The tractor-trailer lurched into life. Lyons alternated between his rearview mirrors as he moved the trailer into position between the terrorists in the grassy divider and their SUV. Lyons mused how kind it had been of the terrorists to provide such a barricade.

As he heard the rounds begin to strike the back of the trailer another idea popped into his mind. Lyons continued spinning the wheel hard to the left until he could see the terrorist’s panel van appear in his driver-side mirror. Then he moved in the opposite direction and poured on the speed. A moment later he was rewarded with the sound of metal crunching metal as he backed the trailer down the shallow embankment of the divider and directly into the front fender of the panel van. The trailer continued backward until it rode over the hood of the van’s front pickup chassis and crashed into the A-post, effectively crushing the cab of the vehicle.

Lyons leaped from the cab and yelled at the remaining U.S. marshals to get in their vehicle and get out of there. The men complied, and Lyons then called into the lapel microphone of the radio that the team should continue to the safe house. Idiots. Instead of doing their job—protecting the scientists and seeing them safely from points A to B—they were out here with what amounted to popguns trading shots with a crew of hardened al Qaeda terrorists armed to the teeth with automatic weapons.

Lyons stood by as the pair of sedans blasted down the right lane under cover of the semitrailer while Blancanales kept heads down with a barrage of rounds from his pistol. Once they were safely clear, Lyons joined Blancanales behind the cover of the SUV, trading his Atchisson Assault 12 with an M-16/M-203 combo from the floor of the backseat. He passed an M-16 assault rifle to Blancanales.

Lyons reached into the satchel on the seat, withdrew a 40 mm high-explosive grenade and loaded the launcher. Through clenched teeth he told Blancanales, “Time for thunder.”

The Able Team leader flipped the leaf-sight into play, moved to the front of the SUV and broke cover by steadying the weapon on the hood. He acquired a point beneath the semitruck trailer where it met the panel van. The weapon kicked his shoulder, the grenade hitting ground zero and detonating a heartbeat later. Half the terrorists were unable to escape the unexpected delivery of high-explosive charges. Red-orange flames and thick, oily smoke kicked into the sky as the gasoline fumes from the panel-van engine ignited. The intense heat melted tires to pavement as well as flesh from bone.

The three terrorists who managed to escape decided that charging the fortified position of their opponents seemed like a safer strategy than waiting to be incinerated behind inadequate cover. Lyons and Blancanales dispatched the terrorists with unerring marksmanship.

The echo of reports died away and left only a thunderous silence in Lyons’s ringing ears. Neither man left his position for several minutes, although to the combat-weary pair it seemed like an hour. Finally, Lyons twirled his finger to signal his belief they were clear. The pair rose and Blancanales checked the three dead terrorists on the highway for identification while Lyons frisked the pair that had manned the semitruck.

“Nothing. No big surprise there,” Blancanales remarked.

“This also means al Qaeda has someone inside the government’s security net,” Lyons stated.

“We’d better let Hal and friends know as soon as possible.”

“And Gadgets.”

“N O , I UNDERSTAND ,” Hermann Schwarz said. “I’ll keep my eyes open. See you soon.”