Don Pendleton: Maelstrom

MCCARTER AND JAMES went prone about the same time they’d warned Encizo and Manning to grab cover. The Phoenix Force leader watched helplessly as a 40 mm grenade sailed over the demo field in a lazy arc and came to land about thirty meters on the backside of where they had set up the new prototype weapons. Less than a minute passed before there was a loud crack and a second grenade landed in the bleachers, although it appeared Hawkins and Kornsby had already cleared the spectators.

McCarter also noticed that Kissinger had managed to gather the weapons operators and engineers away from the hot zone. With innocents out of the way, it would make it easier for Phoenix Force to do its job.

McCarter keyed the transceiver. “Blue team.”

“Go,” came Encizo’s voice.

“We’ve lost sight of you, mate. Are you clear?”

“We’re in the range building.”

McCarter scanned the grounds and quickly found the location. The range building was, in fact, a small wooden structure dug into the earth, its roof and about two feet of uprights actually aboveground. McCarter had seen many like it. It was designed for range cadre to mark distances during live-fire exercises and call back the data to weapons operators. McCarter had familiarized himself with the process long before, when competing in pistol matches all over the world. But that had been a lifetime ago, when he was still with the SAS. Now the enemy seemed to have the advantage.

McCarter meant to change that.

“Red team, what’s your status?”

“We’re inside the observation building,” Hawkins replied.

“Do you have a clear line of fire?”

“We did…until they blew up the damned bleachers. Now there’s too much smoke.”

“Hang tight, mates,” McCarter said, hearing the tension in his teammate’s voice. “We’re coming for you.”

McCarter and James got to their feet and continued charging toward the demonstration grounds. The group of ATV riders was now inside the fence line and headed straight for the prototypes. The Briton got within what he deemed was a reasonable distance, then knelt and steadied his MP-5K. He delivered another sustained burst, with James following suit. Another rider’s body flipped sideways off the ATV and his machine caromed off that of one of his partners before rolling onto its side and stopping, one handlebar leaving a gouge in the soft dirt-sand mix of the demo grounds.

James entered the fray, capping one of the several hardmen in a group that had reached the prototypes. Rounds from the MP-5K slammed into the rider’s back as the man dismounted from his ride, and he pitched forward violently and landed face-first.

McCarter could now see the winking of muzzles from the open slit in the range building. It looked as if Manning and Encizo had them in a cross fire. The Briton grinned. That pair was performing admirably, despite the overwhelming odds. Phoenix Force was neither heavily armed nor prepared for this kind of an assault. They weren’t packing any spare clips, heavy weapons or explosives of any kind. The enemy had every advantage here.

As if in response to the thought, McCarter heard the unmistakable sounds of two grenade launchers being fired. He yelled at James to get clear as he got to his feet and sprinted toward a large boulder. The natural terrain here was rocky, comprised of heavy dirt and sand. There were plenty of boulders like this around, especially in their area, which is why McCarter had chosen it as strategic for observation. That decision was probably going to prove to be one that saved his life and the life of his colleagues.

When the grenades struck, he’d managed to get far enough away. The only consequence was the shower of dirt and rocks—the direct result of his proximity to the explosions. As the last of the debris settled, McCarter risked exposure by glancing at the area over the boulder. His heart sank into his stomach when he saw the motionless form of Calvin James lying close to the smoldering impressions left by the twin blasts.

“I’ve got one down,” McCarter said into the microphone of his transceiver.

Then he left his cover and rushed for his friend.

IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING McCarter’s transmission, Hawkins made it a point to find Kissinger so they could discuss their options.

“This isn’t good,” Hawkins said.

“That’s an understatement,” Kissinger replied. “You’re the pro here. What do you want to do?”

“Our first mission is to protect these people,” Hawkins said in a hushed tone. “I can’t very well leave you alone with them, and if I try to get to David, I’ll get my ass shot off.”

“I can stay here with them.”

“And do what?” Hawkins asked with disbelief. “You’re not packing. I’ve got the only weapon, and it’s just a pistol. And if we don’t get out of here very soon, Kornsby’s going to bleed to death.”

“Yeah, we really got caught with our pants down on this one,” Kissinger replied. “But I think we’ll be okay without you. I think whoever the hell that is out there is after the prototypes, and nothing else.”

“Maybe,” Hawkins replied, gritting his teeth. “But I just can’t take that chance.”

ENCIZO AND MANNING could barely see through the haze and smoke left in the wake of additional grenade explosions. This didn’t account for the smoke that was filling up their position. It stung their eyes, causing them to choke, and it wasn’t dark or thick, which told the pair that they were the victims of CS gas. The enemy was stealing the prototypes and there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do about it.

Encizo couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this helpless.

As Manning wiped tears from his face, he said, “I hope Cal is all right.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Encizo said, one muscle twitching in his cheek. “If he’s dead, I’ll hunt down every one of those bastards and kill them barehanded.”

“Let’s not jump the gun, Rafe,” Manning said quietly. He cleared his lungs with a fit of coughing and then continued. “We don’t know if he’s dead or not dead. David just said he had one down. We don’t know what that means.”

Encizo’s eyes were as haunting as his expression. “I know what it means.”

Manning decided not to argue with his teammate; partly because he didn’t see any point and partly because he knew it didn’t much matter. The roar of the ATV engines and subsequent fading as they moved away from the demo grounds told the whole story. Their enemy had escaped with their booty and Phoenix Force had been unable to stop them. The reasons no longer mattered, that was just the way the chips had fallen.

One thing was certain in Manning’s mind. This wasn’t over. Not even close.

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

The unlit cigar nearly fell from Harold Brognola’s mouth as he sat forward in his chair.

“Say that again, please?”

Barbara Price, the Farm’s mission controller, had just walked into the big Fed’s office and set a cup of coffee in front of the man. She took a seat in front of his desk. Price immediately observed the knuckles of Brognola’s hand turning white. He was clutching the phone and furrows were forming above his eyebrows. That wasn’t a good sign. It meant the Stony Man chief was stressing, his anxiety building to a point that would one day either cause him a stroke, heart attack or some other fatal ailment. He already suffered from digestive problems.

“Okay, I’m sure we’ll hear from our people shortly. Thank you for calling, sir. I’ll keep you informed.”

Brognola dropped the phone into the receiver.

“Hal, what is it?” Price asked.

“That was the President,” he said, looking her in the eye with a granite expression. “The Secretary of State just notified him that there was what the Australian government described as an ‘incident’ at the conference.”