Don Pendleton - Drawpoint

The Briton waited for Gopalan to climb into the back seat of the truck between James and Encizo. Hawkins managed to squeeze in, too, while the larger Manning took the passenger seat. As he walked around the rear of the Range Rover, he spoke quietly, knowing his words were being transmitted over the earbuds.

“Right then, listen up. Jignesh has gone squirrelly and says we’re headed for a trap. Keep a close eye on Gopalan. We’ve other targets to try, but I’m betting the most likely is also the deadfall. We’ll trip their trap and take the battle straight down their throats.”

He threw open his door and climbed into the vehicle. Manning was glaring at him, expressing what McCarter imagined was concern regarding knowingly charging a trap. He would get over it. He had before. He couldn’t argue, either, not with Gopalan there to hear. That was almost amusing. McCarter glanced at the others. James looked cool and collected, as usual. Encizo was unreadable, while Hawkins looked like he might be waiting to take a nap. Nodding to himself and knowing that his team was more than ready, McCarter fired up the Range Rover. The engine caught easily and the British-made four-wheel-drive—surely that was a good sign—lurched from its parking spot.

McCarter drove, following Gopalan’s directions to the outskirts of town, where the cement factory was located.

“There is parking near the supervisory shed,” Gopalan said.

“Familiar with the plant, are you?” McCarter looked up at the Indian in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, yes, it is my job to meet with the local businesses,” Gopalan said smoothly. “Encouraging trade and industry is the deputy commissioner’s highest priority.”

“I imagine it would be,” McCarter said insincerely. He stopped the truck well short of the main cluster of buildings, stopping to turn it around so it was nose-outward in the middle of the access road.

“What are you doing?” Gopalan asked mildly.

“Parking,” McCarter said. He motioned for Phoenix Force to exit the Range Rover. As they climbed out, Gopalan pointed up the road.

“You are blocking access to the factory,” he said. McCarter couldn’t be sure, but he thought the Indian was starting to look worried.

“Only for a moment,” McCarter said, smiling.

His grin suddenly vanished and his tone turned hard. “Gary,” he said. “Do it.”

Manning, his face stern, produced his .357 Magnum Desert Eagle. He cocked the hammer and shoved the massive triangular snout of the hand cannon under Gopalan’s chin, grabbing the Indian by the back of the head to hold him in place.

“What are you doing?” Gopalan squealed. “I am a representative of—”

“Terrorists and murderers,” McCarter finished for him. “Now, mate, you’ve got what I see as two choices. You can tell us what the ambush is all about, who put you wise to it, and who you’re working for, or you can stand there quietly and my friend here will splash your brains all over this beautiful countryside. How about it?”

“You cannot…I…This cannot…” Gopalan sputtered. Finally he started cursing in his native language.

“Gary,” McCarter said, “shoot him.”

“No!” Gopalan shrieked. “I will tell you! I will tell you!”

McCarter smirked. “That’s more like it.” He shook a cigarette from his pack and lit it, feigning boredom as he took a long drag.

“Now—” he deliberately blew smoke into Gopalan’s face as he turned to the man, “—get with it. He nodded to the other members of Phoenix Force. “Gear up.” Encizo threw open the rear door of the Range Rover and began tossing gear bags to James and Encizo.

“I was told to watch for any searching for the uranium,” Gopalan admitted. His words came out in a rush. “I monitored conversations with the deputy commissioner. I listened in when our government gave him his instructions to cooperate with the American advisers who were coming.” He gave the Briton a meaningful look. Obviously he was smart enough to grasp that Phoenix Force was something other than what the Indian government had been told to expect.

“How did you know we would come here?”

“We didn’t,” Gopalan said. “But it was a likely spot. I was given a list of locations the authorities or the military might choose to investigate. I was to give warning as soon as I knew the destination, so that we could prepare.”

“Who is ‘we’?” McCarter asked. When Gopalan did not immediately answer, the Briton nodded to Manning, who pressed the Desert Eagle more tightly under Gopalan’s chin.

“The Proletarian Party of East Bengal,” Gopalan said.

“The bloody Purba Banglars.” McCarter snarled. “What’s their involvement?”

“We have the uranium,” Gopalan said. “More I cannot tell you. I do not know where it is. I do not know what is to be done with it.”

“How’d you know to hit the plant in the first place?” Calvin James said, walking up next to McCarter with his Tavor assault rifle in hand.

“I do not know,” Gopalan shook his head, mindful of the Desert Eagle pressing against his throat.

“And the deputy commissioner?” McCarter demanded. “He in on this?”

“We have his family,” Gopalan said.

“Bloody hell,” McCarter whispered. “All right, then. He—” the Briton nodded to Gopalan “—has talked, and I want to see what shakes loose. We take the cement plant.”

“What about him?” Manning nodded to the Indian.

“Oh, him,” McCarter said. “Calvin, let me see your rifle a moment.” He took the Tavor, unloaded it, and ejected the chambered round, handing both round and magazine to James. “One second, mate.” Then he walked around behind Gopalan. “Let go, Gary.” When Manning did so, McCarter buttstroked Gopalan in the back of the head with the Tavor. The Indian fell, unconscious.

“A bit light,” McCarter said, handing the rifle back to James. “But at least it did the trick.” James winked coolly and reloaded the weapon.

“Now what?” Encizo asked evenly.

“That hill,” McCarter nodded to a facing hill that overlooked the road leading to the cement plant. “A decent vantage. Gary, take the M-24 and get up there. Rafe and Calvin, you take the flanks. Skirt the plant and come at it from the rear quarters. T.J., you’re with me.”

“Y’all aren’t going to do what I think you’re going to do, are you?”

“Bloody well right,” McCarter grinned, smoking his cigarette down to the filter and letting it fall to the dirt road. He ground it under the heel of his combat boot, picked it up and pocketed it. “We’re going in the front.”

The Phoenix Force leader helped Manning drag Gopalan into the Range Rover, where Manning secured his wrists and ankles with plastic riot cuffs. The burly Canadian took the M-24 and sprinted away. Meanwhile, McCarter saw to his own gear bag and prepared his rifle. It felt good to have the political games out of the way, however temporarily. Now it was time to see to business.

At a nod from McCarter, James and Encizo made their way left and right, moving quietly but quickly. Hawkins watched them go and then nodded up the dirt road, where the main cluster of buildings waited in the distance. “We walkin’?” he asked.

“We’re walking,” McCarter nodded. “Can you keep up?”

“I reckon I’ll manage, hoss.” Hawkins exaggerated his Southern drawl.

“Commo check,” McCarter said, testing the earbud link.

“In position,” Manning said. He wasn’t even breathing heavily despite his fast climb.

“Moving,” James reported.

“Also moving,” Encizo called in.

“As are we, gents,” McCarter said. He jerked his chin in the direction of the plant. He and Hawkins readied their rifles and started to march, keeping well apart from each other, using the road to maintain the distance between them.