Don Pendleton: Hell Dawn

“Unknown,” Jack Grimaldi replied. “But these guys put down a cop.”

Lyons cursed under his breath. An instant later Blancanales fell in step with him. At the same time the Able Team leader caught the sound of sirens closing in from the distance, the wails eliciting another oath.

The ex-LAPD cop keyed his throat mike and spoke. “Get the bird into the air. And call the Farm for a cleanup crew on this. Tell Hal or Barb to start greasing the wheels. Otherwise we’ll be stuck here.”

“Roger that, Ironman,” Grimaldi said.

Blancanales had stepped in close to a nearby building, raising his weapon to cover Lyons while the man edged along the line of the store until he reached the mouth of an alley. Halting, he craned his neck to peer around the corner. Another shot rang out, followed by a strangled cry.

Gabe Fox was nowhere in sight.

#19 NUCLEAR NIGHTMARE

#20 TERMS OF SURVIVAL

#21 SATAN’S THRUST

#22 SUNFLASH

#23 THE PERISHING GAME

#24 BIRD OF PREY

#25 SKYLANCE

#26 FLASHBACK

#27 ASIAN STORM

#28 BLOOD STAR

#29 EYE OF THE RUBY

#30 VIRTUAL PERIL

#31 NIGHT OF THE JAGUAR

#32 LAW OF LAST RESORT

#33 PUNITIVE MEASURES

#34 REPRISAL

#35 MESSAGE TO AMERICA

#36 STRANGLEHOLD

#37 TRIPLE STRIKE

#38 ENEMY WITHIN

#39 BREACH OF TRUST

#40 BETRAYAL

#41 SILENT INVADER

#42 EDGE OF NIGHT

#43 ZERO HOUR

#44 THIRST FOR POWER

#45 STAR VENTURE

#46 HOSTILE INSTINCT

#47 COMMAND FORCE

#48 CONFLICT IMPERATIVE

#49 DRAGON FIRE

#50 JUDGMENT IN BLOOD

#51 DOOMSDAY DIRECTIVE

#52 TACTICAL RESPONSE

#53 COUNTDOWN TO TERROR

#54 VECTOR THREE

#55 EXTREME MEASURES

#56 STATE OF AGGRESSION

#57 SKY KILLERS

#58 CONDITION HOSTILE

#59 PRELUDE TO WAR

#60 DEFENSIVE ACTION

#61 ROGUE STATE

#62 DEEP RAMPAGE

#63 FREEDOM WATCH

#64 ROOTS OF TERROR

#65 THE THIRD PROTOCOL

#66 AXIS OF CONFLICT

#67 ECHOES OF WAR

#68 OUTBREAK

#69 DAY OF DECISION

#70 RAMROD INTERCEPT

#71 TERMS OF CONTROL

#72 ROLLING THUNDER

#73 COLD OBJECTIVE

#74 THE CHAMELEON FACTOR

#75 SILENT ARSENAL

#76 GATHERING STORM

#77 FULL BLAST

#78 MAELSTROM

#79 PROMISE TO DEFEND

#80 DOOMSDAY CONQUEST

#81 SKY HAMMER

#82 VANISHING POINT

#83 DOOM PROPHECY

#84 SENSOR SWEEP

Hell Dawn

AMERICA’S ULTRA-COVERT INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

Don Pendleton

This book is dedicated with sincere respect and appreciation to the 3rd Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment, Ohio Marine Reserve, for its service in Iraq. You’re heroes all. “Thank you” seems woefully inadequate recompense, particularly for those who made the ultimate sacrifice. We owe you so much.

Also dedicated to the loving memory of Carol—wife, mother and my favorite reader. Charlie misses you and so do I.

And, last but not least, to Bill C., my other favorite reader. Keep fighting the good fight, my man.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

Frisco, Colorado

Rolling his chair back from the desk, Gabriel Fox stared once more at his latest creation, shivered, then cursed himself under his breath. He’d created a monster, one he damn sure intended to slay. But first, he’d have a cigarette and maybe another drink.

Getting to his feet, he crossed the luxuriously appointed bedroom, moved to a window and, turning a small hand crank, opened it. He was supposed to leave them shut. That’d been the first thing the craggy-faced CIA agent had warned him against.

We have the whole place wired, every entrance, every door, the guy had said. You want to open a window, you come find me and we’ll bypass the alarm for you. I’ll have a couple of guys sit in here and baby-sit you. Otherwise, leave the windows alone. Don’t fuck with me on this, Gabe.

Which, of course, had been all the challenge Fox needed. It had taken him all of five minutes to bypass the alarm system, allowing him to open the window—a heavy pane of bulletproof glass—undetected and at will. With the grounds outside the mountain chalet crawling with armed guards, he assumed it’d only be a matter of time before he got busted by the dour security chief, a tight ass named Oliver Stephens, and suffered a severe tongue-lashing for it.

But hell, getting caught was half the fun.

Grinding out his cigarette, he tossed the butt out the window and watched as it fell three stories before hitting the sidewalk, joining two others he’d dropped earlier that night. He figured the guards would eventually see them there, put two and two together, and figure out that he was opening his window and having a smoke. Let them, he decided. He already was a dead man. Why delay the inevitable?

Leaving the window open, he walked to the bed, perched himself on the edge of the mattress and considered whether to light another cigarette. Or maybe dive into that glass of whiskey he’d promised himself. Dive in and drown.

That seemed to sum up how he felt. His life to this point had been anything but seamless. But, within the last couple of weeks, it had turned into a damned horror show. The cold mountain wind blew through the window, raising gooseflesh on his tattooed arms. He rubbed them, trying to generate some heat. At six feet, six inches, head shaved bald, body covered in tattoos—a multicolored montage of eagles, Sanskrit symbols, big-busted women and alcohol logos—Fox usually turned heads. Not admiring glances, but the surreptitious kind people cast after you’ve already passed, a sort of morbid fascination, like watching paramedics drag a bloodied corpse from a mangled car. He didn’t care. His rule in life had been that negative attention was better than no attention, so he took what he could get.

And lately he’d been getting plenty of attention, all of it negative.

He headed for the dresser, stopping only long enough to close the window, and poured himself three fingers of whiskey. He downed it in a loud gulp, poured another and returned to his desk. Seating himself, he enjoyed the whiskey’s warmth as it enveloped the inside of his stomach. A glance at the laptop’s screen doused the pleasant burn and brought him back to reality.

Lord help him, what had he done? Fox stared at the lines of code he had written and felt an avalanche of guilt fall over him, smothering him. When the lines had sprung from his fingertips, he hadn’t fully considered their implications. He’d been in the zone, unaware of reality. He’d felt more like a pianist, like Ray Charles or Ahmad Jamal, a maestro unleashing his creative juices, making something beautiful, an extension of himself.