Don Pendleton - Close Quarters

It took nearly two hours to reach the destination of the destroyed Peace Corps camp. As Phoenix Force bailed from the SUV—a loaner from the American Embassy—McCarter ordered them to scout the perimeter. It wouldn’t do to get ambushed again. Until they could figure out how the Hezbollah trainees had managed to track their movements, McCarter had told them to assume their every step remained under observation. Manning had also ensured they weren’t followed and during their entire trip to the site he could have counted on one hand the number of vehicles they encountered traveling in the opposite direction.

Once they cleared the perimeter, they began to search the scorched remains of the encampment. Manning and Hawkins teamed up and took one half of the camp while McCarter and James scoured the other side.

As they moved through what remained of the camp mess, the beams from their flashlights sweeping the interior, James said, “So you never really told us what we’re looking for.”

“That’s because I’m not sure myself, mate,” McCarter replied. “I just have a gut instinct that something here could help us.”

“I suppose it’s possible.” James squinted as he searched the gloom and said, “I don’t mind saying, though, this place gives me the creeps. It smells like…death.”

That forced a chuckle from McCarter. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“Nah, that doesn’t bother me,” James said. “Besides, it’s always the white chick who—”

Something caught James’s eye as it glinted in the flashlight beam. James peered at it for a bit, cocked his head and said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

McCarter stopped searching and turned toward the direction of his friend. “What is it?”

“Come look for yourself.”

McCarter advanced on James’s position and shortly the pair stood directly over a small, tubular object several inches in diameter and a half foot tall. At first it looked like a miniature coffee urn but on closer inspection they could see the remains of what appeared to be an advanced electronic gauge set into its face. The most telling thing about the object was that despite the fire the majority of it had appeared to survive the blaze. One thing was certain, it wasn’t any sort of equipment that would be in possession of a Peace Corps contingent and it sure as hell looked out of place in this environment.

McCarter keyed his radio and ordered the others to join them in the wrecked building. Manning and Hawkins arrived less than a minute later.

“What’d you find?” Hawkins asked. “Buried treasure?”

McCarter pointed at the odd-looking device. “Ever see anything like this before?”

Hawkins gave it a cursory glance and shrugged, but Manning knelt to gain a more detailed appraisal. A few times they heard him grunt to himself as he brushed gently as the soot and ash around the electronic inset. He then looked around the area with his flashlight. After a time, he rose and dusted his hands off.

“It’s not an explosive device—I’m sure of that much,” he told his compatriots.

Hawkins appeared to let off a sigh of relief.

“You think it’s some kind of food processor or something?” James asked.

“Definitely not,” McCarter said. “And definitely not any sort of luxury afforded most Peace Corps volunteers. A lot of them travel with only the most basic necessities because they want to fit in with the natives, as it were.”

“So what are we looking at?” Hawkins asked.

“Well, I’m not expert but I’d say it’s some sort of homing device,” Manning said.

“Pretty odd thing for a bunch of Peace Corps volunteers to have,” James replied.

“There’s no identifying marks on its exterior, but I’m betting if we take it back to HQ for a closer inspection Russell can probably determine exactly what it is,” McCarter observed.

“And likely even who made it,” Manning said.

“Well, it’s not exactly the X-marks-the-spot you were looking for, boss, but it’s a start.”

“Indeed it is, chum,” David McCarter replied.

* * *

“WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE you were right on the money, pal,” Brad Russell told Manning. “It’s definitely a homing beacon.”

Phoenix Force had returned with the device and after a couple of tense hours, Russell and Encizo had managed to get enough of their communications system up that the NSA expert could then turn his attention to their prize. Russell made short work of it, figuring out how to disassemble the device and determining its purpose in no time flat. Whatever else Russell might have been, Price had pegged him well when she’d told McCarter that he was an electronics genius to rival some of the best in the business.

“A homing beacon inside a Peace Corps camp,” James said. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

They had Aaron Kurtzman on speakerphone and it was he who replied, “It does if you consider this in light of what we learned from Christopher Harland.”

“Meaning?” Hawkins said.

“Meaning that they didn’t stumble onto those Peace Corps blokes by accident,” McCarter replied. He scratched at the stubble already forming on his chin. “They had this whole thing planned out. They stalked them and they planned their attack.”

“And they also managed to get someone to plant that beacon inside the camp,” Russell said.

“But who?” James inquired.

“One of the locals. Had to be,” Encizo declared.

“What makes you think so?” Manning said.

“There’s little doubt in my mind now they have folks on the inside working for them. I think they have a lot of natives on the payroll, in fact.”

“Paraguayan citizens helping Hezbollah terrorists?” Russell asked in disbelief. “But why?”

“Maybe the money’s good,” Hawkins said.

“That’s one possibility,” Encizo said. “But the more likely scenario is that they’ve agreed to leave the locals alone. The economy here isn’t exactly stable and since the fact one of this country’s strongest revenue streams comes from farming, it’s not impossible that the Hezbollah might be offering security in exchange for people to look the other way.”

“I don’t know,” McCarter said. “That sounds a bit far-fetched, mate.”

“Not really if you consider the possibility,” Encizo said. “How else can you explain their ability to get this beacon inside the camp without being seen? Hezbollah terrorists couldn’t just waltz in and out unobserved, but local natives were around them constantly. That’s the people they were serving, remember? And let’s consider that the attack on this Peace Corps contingent was obviously part of a larger plan. The terrorists didn’t have to reveal themselves but they chose to risk doing so. Doesn’t that make you stop and ask yourselves why? It sure does me.”

“That’s a good point,” Hawkins said.

“I have to admit that he may be on to something,” Manning agreed.

“Ditto,” James said.

With all of the opinions voiced, McCarter had to consider that majority opinion had merit; it was possible Encizo had just cracked the mystery wide open. “Okay, so let’s just say we’re right and they have the locals helping them. How does exposing their operation help them? I mean, I don’t know about the rest of you but I don’t see how revealing the secret training operation in the middle of bloody South America helps the Hezbollah. Or the people training them, for that matter.”

“What if it’s a diversion?” Russell offered.

“Okay,” Kurtzman interjected via speakerphone, “but a diversion from what?”

“Well, didn’t you say that they found a homing beacon on Harland that had advanced electronics?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Kurtzman replied.