Don Pendleton - Primary Directive

“What are we going to do?” Rajiya asked.

“What else can we do? We must destroy this technology and those who created it before it becomes fully operational. All else depends upon it!”

“I T’S KNOWN AS LANTIRN,” Aaron Kurtzman announced to Brognola and Price.

They were gathered in the Annex Computer Room and viewing a complex schematic of an electronic device projected on the massive LCD screen in front of them.

“That stands for Low-Altitude Navigation and Targeting Infrared System for Night. The Air Force originally used it on their F-15 and F-16 fighter craft, but it always had the ability to be retrofitted to any system with a military-grade digital multiplexer.

“The radar system inside of it operates at an altitudinal range of ten to one thousand feet, so fauna won’t give it any problems but it will track anything above that. Since the wall’s twelve feet in height, it’s easily capable of tracking any object that comes over. Additionally, it uses laser-range finder technology to create 3-D models of the terrain. Any deviation above a certain nominal limit will trigger the system into remapping. This will automatically tell the monitoring system what deviation has been detected and the most likely cause of the deviation, be it human, animal or otherwise.”

Brognola nodded. “Impressive.”

“Not as much as this next part,” Kurtzman said with a wicked grin. He tapped the keyboard to display a picture of an oval-shaped device mounted to a section of border wall. “We got this photograph courtesy of Gadgets.”

“Looks like one of those giant golf balls you see on the top of some pro shops,” Price noted.

“It may not look that impressive, but believe me when I say it’s quite the little gadget. What you’re seeing here is merely the outer shell. It’s originally based on the MPQ-54 Forward Area Alerting Radar first put in production back in the early 1970s. Although it’s had a number of impressive modifications through the years, including a brand-new computerized interface, the core technology is still the same. It’s been enhanced with the Firefinder family of ground radar systems, originally used to locate mortars and other ground-based artillery emplacements. A favorite of military tankers and engineering units.”

“How does it work?” Brognola asked.

“It’s pretty similar to its predecessors but again, lots of neat mods. It uses pulse-Doppler range gates to paint a three-dimensional picture of some given area, in this case a section of the border wall. The beam is translated via servomotors capable of scanning a 120-degree sector ten times per second. When combined with the other systems, the radar network it provides becomes virtually foolproof.”

Price raised her eyebrows. “Virtually?”

Kurtzman shrugged with a sheepish grin. “No system is perfect, Barb. Not even the one I created for Stony Man.”

“It’s close enough,” Brognola said. “So how are we thinking about using the system to help Able Team?”

“That’s where we get to the cool part,” Kurtzman said. “We already have a link to interface Gadgets’s laptop back here. The nice thing about this system is that it just so happens to have portable modules. Gadgets thinks he can modify the technology to work on his system. They’ll then transmit their data back here where our processing power can go to work on it. With a little bit of time and a lot of number-crunching, we may be able to pinpoint where the terrorists are operating. Able Team figures they’re operating close to the Columbus port of entry in New Mexico, and I’d have to agree.”

“Once you have the data, how long will it take to narrow the possibilities?”

“Well, that’s the trick. We don’t really know yet. Much of it depends on how long it takes our processors here to sort through the data. We’re talking about very complex mathematical operations here. But I can guarantee you we’ll ultimately get pinpoint accuracy in the results, and we’ll be able to do it much faster than with anything the boys have on-site there.”

Price waited a moment to make sure Kurtzman was finished, then turned in her chair to face Brognola. “In the meantime, Hal, Carl informs me they’ll have plenty to do.”

“How so?”

“Well, Able Team’s concerned about the people who created End Zone. It’s very likely if al Qaeda discovers we’re onto them, they might target the project’s scientists or military personnel to delay the system from going live.”

Brognola considered this point. Al Qaeda might just try something like that if it thought it would benefit. The President wanted to make sure there were no incidents, and this one would definitely add fuel to the fire. They wouldn’t be able to keep it out of the papers, of that much he was sure. They could suppress the footage of the cameras, but they still had two dead Mexican nationals on their hands. The Oval Office would have a bit of explaining to do not only to America but to Mexican officials, who would want the full details.

“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.”

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.