Don Pendleton - Terminal Guidance

“With the chance these idiots are serious about setting off nuclear devices, are we supposed to walk around on bloody tiptoe?” McCarter retorted. “Step back from doing anything to upset them? Hal, you presented us with this threat. Why all the pussyfooting? We should go with whatever we have, and nail these bastards. Squash them into the ground and put a stop to their harebrained scheme.”

“Son of a bitch,” Carl Lyons said. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“He stole the boss’s line,” Hermann Schwarz, the third member of Able Team, whispered.

Blancanales gave a melodramatic gasp. “I’m shocked.”

“Should we duck and cover?”

“Nah, I want to see the fight.”

For once Lyons failed to bite. He sat back, a thin smirk on his face because he had beaten Blancanales and Schwarz at their own game.

“Now that isn’t fair,” Blancanales said. “No reaction means no fun.”

Schwarz nodded. “He’s doing it on purpose. Let’s not talk to him for the rest of the briefing.”

“Now the children have put their toys back in the box,” Brognola said, wiping the grin off his own face, “we can get down to business.”

The short break had given them all a breather from the tension of the moment. Hal Brognola knew his people well. Horseplay was to be expected from the teams. It was part of who they were. They were consummate professionals, and the missions they undertook for the special operations group were life threatening. They stepped into the thick of combat, taking on savage opposition without a flicker of regret. Brognola sent them out on missions that stretched the limits of their skills, pitting them against truly dangerous enemies. He understood that, shouldered the responsibility, knowing his people—and he considered them to be his people—would give their utmost.

“In the field, guys, you make your own decisions. I’ll back whatever you do. However you achieve it. What the hell, you’re the experts. If eggs need to be broken, that’s it. Look, I’m just the administrator here. Let’s get it right.”

Barbara Price stood up and began to circle the table, dropping thick mission folders in front of each man.

“Everything we have is in these files. Backgrounds on participants. Photographs. Contacts. Locations. Let me know if there’s anything else required. Once you’ve studied the files we can discuss individual needs.”

“I don’t see my luncheon vouchers,” McCarter said. “You’re always expecting us to do it on the cheap.”

“Okay,” Price said sternly, “listen up. We can arrange transport to get you to wherever you want. Paperwork, too, as per usual. Depending on location there might be problems with weapons, so we’ll have to find local suppliers. With the current tensions, some regimes are very hot on loose weapons, so be careful. You’ll have to use any local contacts you have yourselves. I’ll let you have anything we might find on file.”

“Work out your dispersal plans as fast as you can,” Brognola said. “We want you fully organized, but time is not on our side here. We need you moving ASAP. Once you have things pinned down, let Barb know so she can make the arrangements.”

A subdued murmur filled the room as the teams went over their mission parameters. They worked in unhurried discussions, each member putting forward suggestions. Brognola left them to it, withdrawing from the table to pour himself a mug of coffee from one of the thermos jugs supplied. As he stood there, Kurtzman spun his wheelchair around and powered it to where the big Fed stood.

“Never fails to impress me, watching them figure out a battle plan,” he said. He was refilling his mug from the infamous pot of his special brew. It was said Kurtzman’s coffee had the same strength as industrial paint stripper, and no one at Stony Man would ever deny that statement. “They’re a unique crew.”

“Damn right there, Aaron. It’s a shame when you think how many times they’ve pulled this country back from the brink, and no one apart from the SOG will ever know it.”

“The President knows. So did his predecessors.” Kurtzman paused, then added, “And I guess he knows that truth, as well. He can’t say anything, because Stony Man doesn’t officially exist, so if he spills the beans he’s just as guilty by default.”

Brognola chuckled softly. “Hell of a way to make a living.”

An hour later decisions had been made. Both teams had their objectives. In-depth discussions had been completed. Barbara Price had left and was already elsewhere, making travel arrangements and handing out assignments to her teams. The support staff at the Farm were responsible for travel and documentation, arranging equipment and weapons Phoenix Force and Able Team might need.

Once they were on their own, the Stony Man teams would, as usual, rely on skill and determination to get them through whatever came up.

MCCARTER GAVE Phoenix Force their orders.

“Gary, you and Rafe take Pakistan. Go scope out the situation. The rest of us will head to London. We can dig into the U.K. mob and see what we can find. Once we reach a conclusion we’ll head out to join you. Barb will arrange transport. Gary and Rafe need to cross over from Afghanistan unannounced. We can work out a cover story for them so they can snoop around Peshawar. Maybe something to do with the New Relief charity?”

Price nodded. “There’s a contact we can use in the city. A guy working undercover for British security. He’s been in place for a while. Knows Peshawar. He could ease the way in.”

“Okay. The rest of us need a ride to the U.K. Usual arrangements via the Air Force would be handy. Ferry us to a base near London.”

“I can sort that. We’ll organize documents for Gary and Rafe. Passports and visas all stamped with current dates. I’ll get that set up for them.”

“Ordnance,” Encizo said. “Pakistan cops might not look too favorably on foreigners supposed to be working for a charity who are walking around loaded for bear.”

“Make up a pack and hide it once you’re across the border, before you go into the city,” McCarter said. “Something to fall back on if things get hot.”

“And knowing our luck, that’s likely to happen,” James said.

“Bloody bloke is such a party pooper,” McCarter said.

“You guys need anything special for London?” Price asked.

“Pocket translator?” T. J. Hawkins said, grinning. “Way those Brits talk it might as well be Cantonese.”

“Coming from you that’s rich,” McCarter said. “Barb, just fix us up with a decent hotel, love. We might not be there long, but let’s be comfortable while we are.”

BOSTON WAS ABLE TEAM’S destination. Khalil Amir was their target of interest. The man’s connection to Jabir Rahman and Samman Prem brought him into the spotlight for the Able Team trio.

Once destinations had been settled the Stony Man support departments swung into action, leaving the teams to spend the next few hours reviewing their mission files, discussing how they were going to handle the operations.

Weapons were talked over, with visits to the armory in the lower section of the building, where they could test and check the ordnance chosen.

Barbara Price handed each man his personal folder holding passports, cash and credit cards. Later that evening the passports for Manning and Encizo were delivered, along with all the documentation they would need in Pakistan if they were asked to produce it. Dates and stamps had been added, and Price was able to say with confidence that no one would be able to spot they were forgeries.

The communication section provided the teams with current high spec satellite phones with global capabilities. Each phone had a built-in GPS system and, more importantly, a direct speed dial to the Farm.