Don Pendleton - Terminal Guidance

Another man, tall and thin, with long dark hair that reached his shoulders, came into view. When he joined the others he stood listening to the conversation. James took more photos.

The three talked for a few minutes before wandering off along the dock. They gathered again alongside a container ship being loaded.

“I’ll send these to Stony Man,” James said.

He opened the slide cover and took out the camera’s memory chip. Picking up his digital sat phone, he inserted the chip into the access port and let it load. Once the contents of the chip were in place James used the coded number that gave him a satellite link to the Farm.

“Hey, Barb,” he said when his call was picked up. “I’m sending some images for Bear to check out. Get him to run facial scans on the men. We pretty well know who they are, but it does no harm to double-check.”

“Will do. How are things in merry England?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as we do.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, boss, I think we might have been spotted,” Hawkins said.

McCarter watched as the three men they had been checking out all turned to stare in the direction of the Phoenix Force car.

“What do you want to do?” James asked. He slipped the camera and sat phone out of sight beneath his seat.

McCarter opened his door and stepped out of the SUV. Leaning against the vehicle, he casually took out his pack of Player’s cigarettes and lit one.

“Man, he loves doing this,” James said. “It’s like a game of chicken, but without the cars.” He slid his hand inside his coat to ease his shoulder-holstered Beretta.

Hawkins noticed the move and said, “This going to turn into a shooting match?”

“I hope not, but with Commander I-love-taking-a-risk McCarter it’s safer to stay cautious.”

Samman Prem walked back along the dock and headed in their direction. He was not a tall man, but carried himself with an arrogant bearing that told the world he was important and not to be trifled with. He wore his thick black hair long, almost to his shoulders. Under the jacket of his expensive suit he wore a thin-striped shirt and matching tie. The heavy watch on his wrist gleamed dull gold.

“Who are you people?” he demanded. “What are you doing on this dock? Do you realize who I am?”

“We’re just doing our job, Mr. Prem,” McCarter said.

“How do you know my name?”

“I told you we’re doing our job, and knowing who you are is part of it.” McCarter examined the glowing end of his cigarette. “You know, I’m sure they don’t make these as thick as they used to.”

Prem’s face flushed with righteous anger. “I demand to know who you are and how you got into this facility.”

“That’s easy,” McCarter said. He took out his ID card and showed it to Prem, keeping it just beyond the man’s reach. “No need to touch,” he said. “It’s official. All you need to know. Gives me and my team the right to check out security on this dock.”

“You have no right to…”

“To what?” McCarter asked pleasantly, but with just enough of a suggestion in his tone to needle the businessman. “I hope you have nothing to hide, Mr. Prem. I’d hate to have to send for help. The backup team gets a little testy if they get called out this late in the day.”

“I will take this up with—”

McCarter eased his long form away from the side of the car, leaning forward a little so he could look Prem in the eye.

“Now you go ahead, mate. Take it up with whoever you want. Your local MP. Lawyer. Anyone in your old boys’ club. But bear in mind that we know a lot about you and your friends. What you’ve been up to and what you have planned. Think on what I’ve said and watch your back.”

As McCarter straightened up, he saw that the other two men had appeared behind Prem. The Briton nodded in their direction. “Mr. Prem will bring you up to date, gents. When you see him next time, give my regards to Colonel Rahman. You are familiar with the name I’m sure.”

McCarter turned and opened the door of the BMW, then climbed in. After starting the engine, he swung the SUV around and drove to the security gate. George the gateman opened up for him.

“You’re doing a nice job, George,” he said. “Sorry we can’t stay for that tea. You know how it is when duty calls. Just keep your eye on the rough element they seem to be letting onto this dock. “

George grinned. “I’ll do that,” he said.

McCarter drove away and picked up the main road leading back to the city.

“Where I come from,” Hawkins said, “that would be known as baiting the bull.”

“Poking a stick in a hornets” nest,” James said.

McCarter smiled. “Lads, it helps to stir the pot sometimes. Bloody hell, I’d give anything to be a fly on Mr. Prem’s office wall right now.”

“Never mind Prem,” Hawkins said from the rear seat. “We’ve got our own problem. It’s black, has three guys in it and has a Citroën badge on the hood. It just rolled in behind us. I saw it exit the dock gate when you turned onto the main road. Fellers, we have a tail.”

Samman Prem summoned three of his waiting soldiers and gave them instructions. Without questions they left the warehouse, commandeered one of the parked vehicles and drove off the dock.

Prem made his way back to Hussein’s office, slammed the door and crossed to the desk. His face was taut with anger.

“He mentioned Colonel Rahman,” he said angrily. “Who are these people? What do they know? This could be a threat to us all.”

“Why?” Hussein said. He had witnessed only the tail end of Prem’s confrontation with the tall Englishman. “The Barracuda is out of the country. It could already be in Rahman’s hands. What can one policeman do to us now?”

“I wish it was a simple thing to dismiss this whole matter,” Prem said. “We know the British authorities have been looking at our business. If there is a possibility these people are getting close to us they could harm our whole U.K. setup. Don’t you realize the extent of our organization here? Our people like Qazi.” He indicated the third man in the office. “A brilliant recruiter. A teacher. It was Qazi who found Anwar Fazeel and coached him in the ways of Allah. Fazeel is now in Pakistan and, using his computer and electronic skills, he will be the one to control and guide the Barracuda. There are others like Qazi who are spreading our message and bringing new followers.

“If the U.K. authorities destroy us, our organization will have been for nothing,” Prem continued. “Over the years we have created cells of followers ready to do our bidding. There are safe houses. Stores of supplies and weapons. People who will assist. Money from our al Qaeda brothers.”

“So what do we do? Why not let the British fumble around, trying to investigate us?”

“Because there is too much to lose. If the brothers who are following those three fail to stop them, I must prepare to use our main asset.”

Qazi sat down. “Winch?”

“Yes. A turncoat who has a terrible greed for money. An English antiterrorist agent who has worked for me a long time. Admittedly, he is a dog on two legs. A betrayer of his own, but one who has been extremely useful to us.”

“Is he the one who directed our brothers in Peshawar? Who gave up the CIA agents?”

“The very one. He has many contacts within the security department of the U.K. and contact with the Americans through his position as a liaison officer for the European task force on terrorism.”

“Was he responsible for the Washington and London kills, too?” Hussein asked.

“Yes. Winch has access to mercenary units who were contracted to provide men. Many of them are ex-military. His knowledge of these people has proved very useful.”