Don Pendleton - Doom Prophecy

“David, you’re on,” Kurtzman acknowledged, once Wethers signaled that the call was clean.

“Bloody hell,” David McCarter’s voice snapped over the satellite phone. “Careful!”

“Sorry, David,” Gary Manning responded.

“What happened?” Price asked.

“Gary’s stitching my bloody shoulder shut…literally bloody,” the Phoenix Force commander answered. “Barb, someone was waiting for us to get off that ruddy jet.”

“You were attacked when you landed?” Price asked.

“They tried to make it look like the whole base was the target, but they were looking for us. What information did Stewart have about us?” McCarter asked.

“Just that you were a joint task force counterterrorism team sent over to help investigate Algul, his blood cult, and their ties to the Shining Warrior Path and AJAX,” Price responded.

“Well, they were waiting to throw us a party. RPGs, a couple of waves of AK-toting psychos, and enough ammunition to cripple the transport jet and kill five U.S. military personnel,” McCarter explained. “I thought we were supposed to be protecting people, not springing traps and getting them killed.”

“Sorry,” Price answered. “She must have Task Force Camelot’s communications all sewn up.”

Kurtzman pointed to Tokaido, who put his current work on hold to burn up the keyboard about the possible snooping.

“It makes me wonder if they weren’t planning a ‘how do you do’ for Cal and Rafe in Hong Kong,” McCarter said.

“We’ll get back to you if anything came up,” Price promised. “Don’t worry.”

“It’s my job to worry about my lads,” McCarter grunted. “Luckily, I’m the only one splashing the red vino around, though T.J. and Gary are covered with scrapes from diving to the concrete.”

“All right,” Price answered. “When Calvin and Rafael call in, we’ll let them know you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Barb,” McCarter answered. “Bear, this operation’s full of leaks. That Ka55andra witch must be nearly as good as you are.”

“If you’re trying to challenge me, it’s working,” Kurtzman replied. “I’ve got our people looking all over for her. All we can do is keep shaking trees and hoping something drops into our laps.”

“Any leads on the Cassandra mythology angle?” McCarter asked.

“No reported rape charges in the current administration, both in the White House and in the Department of Homeland Security, though we have had several officials who have been present at the destruction of small towns and villages from Hanoi to Baghdad,” Kurtzman answered.

“And all points in between,” McCarter grumbled. “Bleed-in’ wonderful.”

“It’s taking time, but we’ll come up with something,” Kurtzman promised.

“In the meantime, we’ll knock up this chap Algul and see what he has to say about things,” McCarter replied.

“Be careful, David,” Price requested.

“I always take care of business, Barb. Don’t drink the coffee.” McCarter signed off.

Price looked at the mug in her hands, one she’d prepared during McCarter’s report, and wrinkled her nose at the black ugly sludge. She shrugged and took a sip anyway, screwing up her face at the bitter foulness of it.

“He asked you not to drink the coffee,” Kurtzman noted.

Price looked at him and shrugged. “That’s okay. I know David. He’s not going to be careful, either.”

Kurtzman winked and returned to conferencing with Carmen Delahunt.

It was going to be a long week.

T.J. HAWKINS HANDED over McCarter’s M-486 carbine and gave his commander a mock salute. “All cleaned up and accounted for.”

The ex-SAS commando checked his rifle, just to be sure, and nodded to the former Ranger. “Thanks, mate.”

“You think Rafe and Cal stumbled into a trap?” Hawkins asked.

“I bloody well know it,” McCarter responded. “But, I know those two. If anyone can scurry out of the fryer, it’s them.”

Manning applied the last bandage to the Briton’s shoulder and gave him a light tap on the back. “It’s the best I could do. Calvin could have done a better job with his eyes closed.”

“If Calvin was fixing my hide, he’d better keep his bloomin’ orbs peeled for the job,” McCarter rumbled.

“Cranky that you didn’t get your bottle today?” Manning chided gently.

“Having my Coke is the least of it, Gary,” McCarter snapped back. “T.J., did Stewart give you any intelligence on the blokes that hit us?”

“As far as we can tell, they’re the reason why Kenya let in a contingent of multinationals,” Hawkins answered. “Shining Warrior Path. I took a look at the bodies we recovered, and none of them were done up in ceremonial mud or paint like Algul’s men.”

“Too bad we didn’t take any prisoners,” McCarter growled. “I’d get them to talk.”

“Remember what Yakov said about torture, David,” Manning gently reminded.

“What torture? I forgot my country music CDs anyway,” McCarter quipped.

“Hey now…” Hawkins spoke up, exaggerating his drawl. “So what is our plan?”

“I’ll go check with some SAS lads in the British barracks,” McCarter replied. “Gary, you see if any of the Canadian task force boys know anything. If they don’t know you, at least you have the credentials Barb printed up. T.J., you think you know some Rangers assigned to this task force?”

“If not, I can get in good with them after a few minutes. A lot of Special Forces troopers are good ol’ boys. A little jawin’, and I’ll flip ’em over to my way of thinking in no time.”

“Right, whatever you said,” McCarter answered with a wink. “Just see what the good ol’ boys know about the local situation. Deep-down information that they might not have passed on through channels.”

“And then we’re going to have to find a way off the base,” Hawkins added.

“Stewart put us on lockdown?” Manning asked.

Hawkins gave a curt nod. “Tighter than a frog’s ass. His orders were that nobody goes off base without his say-so.”

McCarter shrugged. “Since when have we obeyed orders?”

Manning cupped his chin in his hand, folding his other arm across his broad, barrel chest. His brow furrowed for a moment. “Are you counting simple orders like ‘get down’ and ‘hit ‘em’?”

McCarter grinned. “All right, meet back here at 2200. We go over the fence at Oh-dark-hundred.”

Hawkins and Manning took off, McCarter slipping into a fresh BDU shirt before they set out on their tasks. His shoulder felt stiff and ached, but the thought of revenge for the injury already deadened the pain.

HERMANN SCHWARZ OPENED his gear locker in the back of the rented Econoline van that Able Team had loaded with weapons of war. While the standard gun cases were stored within cardboard boxes, Schwarz kept his portable locker in plain sight. The electronics equipment wouldn’t cause as much consternation on a simple traffic stop as Lyons’s and Blancanales’s rifles, handguns and submachine guns. Schwarz had his own weaponry, as well, hidden in the packing boxes, but the most important stuff, at least for surveillance, was right now at hand.

“Give me a preview, Mr. Wizard,” Lyons said.

Schwarz pulled out a telescope and attached a thermal imaging unit to it. The imager was one of his own designs, and had the power and range, even in full daylight, to see through flimsy walls into buildings. It was good for counting small numbers of people, but heavily crowded bars and clubs could provide a problem. Even then, if the mass of humanity was enough to make individual identification problematic, that was still important advance intelligence. He peered through the viewing reticle and furrowed his brow.