Don Pendleton - Maelstrom

“Thirty seconds,” Davidia announced as he stored the binoculars. The terrorist leader then checked the action on the mini-Uzi, putting the weapon in battery before letting it dangle at his side by its strap. Davidia then swung one leg over his seat and positioned himself comfortably on the seat of the four-wheel ATV.

The sound of ATV engines being started echoed loudly inside the confines of the semi-trailer. There were twelve ATVs in all, each one manned by the very best of Davidia’s soldiers. These were the cream of the crop, the most experienced members of the RDL’s strike teams. Davidia had handpicked the crew for this mission, given its importance. The success of their action now would set the stage for the rest of his plans and he couldn’t afford to let anything go wrong. These men were his first, best insurance policy against any eventualities. They would succeed—God was with them.

Davidia nodded to Rasham, who would stay behind with the truck and prepare for the return of the men and their spoils. The man grabbed the door release and heaved. The sunlight nearly blinded them as the door rolled upward and Rasham kicked out the ramp. The ramp dropped to the ground with a clang that was drowned by the roar of the first ATV engine as its rider rolled out with a pop of the clutch.

Davidia revved the engine of the ATV and anxiously waited his turn to exit the trailer. It was time to make history.

His name was David McCarter, and he was team leader to some of the most dangerous men on earth.

The fox-faced Briton turned to study the profile of one of those men now. Just the way the man held his tall and lanky form betrayed his readiness, and his sharp, brown eyes intently searched their field of fire. In all the years McCarter had known this man, he’d come to respect his professionalism and integrity, not to mention his skills in the heat of action. This guy could hold it together in the toughest situation. He was a first-rate soldier.

Calvin James cast a sideways glance at first notice that McCarter was watching him, then turned his head fully and grinned at the Phoenix Force leader. “What?”

“Just thinking,” McCarter replied, turning his attention back to their assigned watch.

“Well, if you like what you see, I’m free Saturday night,” James cracked.

“You’re not my type, mate,” McCarter said, grinning. Then the smile disappeared. “Actually, I was just wondering when Hal sent us out on this bloody mission if you might have been thinking the same thing I was.”

James shrugged and scratched his chin. “What, that this is a waste of resources? Much as I hate to admit it, any decent security team could have handled this. We should be out chasing down bad guys, not baby-sitting a bunch of tight-assed military contractors.”

McCarter chuckled and said, “You got to start saying how you really feel about stuff, Cal. You hold back too much.”

“Well, I can’t believe you disagree. Say it isn’t so.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But remember that Hal sent us here to get a feel for these new weapons systems. Kissinger has him convinced they’ll be useful in the field for future operations.”

James nodded toward the field. “Yeah, and Cowboy’s down there right now in the firing area with a ringside seat to this circus. We should be down there with him instead of standing on the sidelines and feeding peanuts to the elephants.”

John “Cowboy” Kissinger was the top weapons smith for Stony Man Farm, America’s premier counterterrorist organization, and one of her best-kept and most effective secrets. It was Kissinger who had convinced Harold Brognola, chief of the Stony Man operation, to let the members of Phoenix Force accompany him to Australia for their first look at the weapons of the future. Naturally, Phoenix Force was on call at a moment’s notice at all times, ready to be dropped into anything, at anytime and in any place. Nonetheless, all of its men were consummate professionals who had taken the job without complaint, and McCarter couldn’t have asked for more. Still, James was right—this was a waste of talent.

McCarter chuckled. “You’re beginning to sound as cynical as Carl.”

Before James could reply, McCarter keyed up the wireless transceiver attached to his belt, which was no larger than a standard pager. Phoenix Force had recently decided to go with one of Akira Tokaido’s latest inventions—a communications system for the team to use during sensitive or covert operations that might require distance between them, thus splitting up one of the world’s most effective counterterrorist units. This system was quite different from the one they’d used in the past, since these transceivers sent microwave signals. Under normal circumstances, such transmissions would have required line-of-sight, but with a satellite linkup there was no such limitation. A programming algorithm designed by Tokaido to control the burst-rate provided the security. This system had a range comparable to Los Angeles County, and all of those factors made it much more effective and reliable for the team.

“All units check in,” McCarter said.

“Red team’s clear,” came the voice of Gary Manning, indicating he and Rafael Encizo, positioned at the other end of the field, had things well under control. McCarter detected the boredom in Manning’s voice, but he didn’t let that bother him. Both the men in red team were as dedicated to their jobs and Phoenix Force as James.

“Blue team’s clear,” echoed T. J. Hawkins, who had partnered with the liaison of the parade ground security chief.

Leaving the youngest and newest member of Stony Man on his own with a much less experienced man hadn’t been McCarter’s first choice. After one look, the Briton could tell that the security chief was nowhere close to being as experienced or seasoned as Hawkins. Still, McCarter knew Hawkins was the best choice, since blue team was working the bleachers where the military observers were seated and the younger guy was “best fit” to act as an active Army soldier. Hawkins, a former member of a Delta Force team, had immediately taken to the role since it allowed him to put on the uniform once more.

McCarter nodded with satisfaction and was about to kill the transceiver when Hawkins added, “Gold team, check that last comm. Looks like trouble in grid six.”

McCarter checked that direction. It was a large open space comprised of mostly tall, dry grass, scattered trees and the occasional boulder that separated the demo field from a busy uptown street. However, it was a fairly open space and it didn’t make a whole lot of sense that someone would launch an attack from that direction. It wasn’t until he saw the dozen or so ATVs racing toward the demo field that McCarter changed his mind.

McCarter keyed the transceiver. “Red team, move to defensive posture. Blue team, stand post and watch for alternates in case this is a diversion. First to targets calls the ball.”

As both teams acknowledged his transmission, McCarter and James burst from their position and sprinted down the slight grassy knoll bound for the center of the demo field. It was long odds they could make it in time to implement a fully effective defense, but what had the Briton more concerned were the intentions of these new arrivals. It was possible they were just a group of crazies who wanted to stir the pot, but McCarter didn’t buy it. They were attired in desert camouflage uniforms and the Phoenix Force warrior was certain he’d seen light reflecting off gunmetal. Kids weren’t so brazen and showy, and they certainly didn’t congregate in those kinds of numbers. McCarter smelled nothing but bloody trouble.

And he didn’t like it one damn bit.