Don Pendleton - Orbital Velocity

“The nearest I could make out was that we’re looking at an eastward launch,” Schwarz replied. “The people who fired those darts were using Earth’s rotation to add to the relative velocity of those missiles. And who knows how many times they orbited the planet before they struck.”

“Given an equatorial launch, we could assume two or three cycles around the earth to angle in on Moscow,” Kurtzman replied.

“Maybe more, since those darts came in almost directly from the east,” Schwarz mused. Something caught his eye in his peripheral vision, and he turned his head, focusing on it.

“What is it?” Kurtzman asked.

“Something on the world map,” Schwarz said, getting up and walking toward the plasma screens. He headed toward the monitor panel that contained northern, equatorial Africa. It was a small flicker in Cameroon.

The monitor screen kept watch for anomalies that would add up to flags for potential problems that would end up in Stony Man’s lap. The computer would look for trends in increased criminal or terrorist activity, either smuggling or intensified violence. Then it would take regular census numbers of American or allied agents in those areas. Operatives who had not reported in for three consecutive days raised the flag.

“What do we have in Cameroon?” Schwarz asked.

“Nothing for CIA or NSA as far as we can tell,” Barbara Price spoke up from her liaison station. She frowned. “I’m checking Department of Defense.”

“You think this might be relevant?” Kurtzman asked.

Schwarz pointed at the proximity of the African coastal nation to the equator. “What were we just talking about, launchwise?”

Kurtzman grimaced. “Barb, what is the DoD looking at?”

“Two operatives were sent to the Congo to look into reports of kidnapping among the local population,” Price answered. She looked up. “Modern-day slavery, and in that region, slaves equal diamond mines.”

“Not necessarily in this case,” Schwarz said, “But then, there had to be something done to fund a potential launch pad.”

“Construction teams for a launcher,” Price murmured. “The Congo is akin to a million square miles…”

“One point four million square miles to be exact,” Schwarz corrected. “That’s just for the river basin, which is one of the top three largest unspoiled rainforests in the world.”

“Even with satellites, it’s going to take a lot of time to look through all that jungle,” Price noted, taking a deep breath. “And it’s not as if we have a lot of eyes in the sky looking down at the Congo.”

“Things are more interesting with piracy off the Horn of Africa or around the Mediterranean,” Kurtzman added. “Reallocating orbital surveillance for something that’s only a hunch is going to take a lot of effort and might raise too many flags.”

Schwarz turned, regarding Kurtzman. “I know it’s just a hunch, but everyone else is looking to the sky and pointing fingers at China and the U.S.”

“The only two countries with the resources to launch orbital bombardment satellites,” Price noted. “Though we’re concerned with something in the U.S. Lyons informed us that the Reich Highwaymen were skulking around LAX.”

“Reich Highwaymen in the U.S., Jakkhammer Legacy in England,” Schwarz mused. “Anything on our Nazi watch?”

“There’ve been funds flying around the backtrails, but nothing that points in any solid direction,” Carmen Delahunt spoke up. “All we know is—” she looked at her screen, her green eyes flashing as she did some quick math “—the amount of money in the stream is increased.”

“And no old artifacts or gold has turned up,” Schwarz stated.

“That’s true, but violence has increased in Europe among diamond smugglers,” Delahunt replied, anticipating Schwarz’s next supposition.

The Able Team genius frowned. Being right while he grasped at rumors and hints to form a plan of action was no victory. While he’d put together circumstantial evidence for where Stony Man should direct its attention for the origins of their unknown enemy, the conspiracy seemed to have links to violent, neofascist, racial supremacist groups from Moscow to Los Angeles. Putting boots on the ground in Africa would do nothing to stem the tide of mayhem that humans could cause, as opposed to the destruction wrought by throwing giant crowbars at cities from orbit.

Able Team had encountered the adherents of racial intolerance in the U.S. and engaged them in brutal combat. They were bloodthirsty and ruthless in their ideology, and recently the white supremacist scum had gone from supplementing their income with drug dealing and weapons smuggling to becoming full-time players, exercising their greed at easy money, power and prestige.

The Reich Highwaymen were symptomatic of this trend, being among the most successful smugglers across the border between California and Mexico. There were also five warrants for RHM members wanted for questioning in regard to twenty murders.

That’s just what the police knew. Unreported killings, in Schwarz’s experience, would be exponentially more.

“See if the Highwaymen have any friends here on the east coast,” Schwarz suggested. “It’s not as if the FBI and the CIA aren’t following more obvious, less arcane leads, right?”

“It could just be that you’ve got a bias against those gangs,” Price noted. “We could be spinning our wheels for an old grudge against a particular type of biker.”

“What was that about Jakkhammer Legacy?” Schwarz asked. “British neo-Nazis who are the strong-arm behind the British Imperial Revival Society? Looking for the day when all the brown peoples in the world know their place, and it’s usually toiling for a white limey?”

“You’re fast on the research,” Kurtzman noted.

“I heard Barb talking about it with David,” Schwarz said.

“A worldwide fascist conspiracy, and they’re working out of darkest Africa,” Price said.

“Using black slaves to mine diamonds and build launch pads,” Schwarz added. “Can you think of something a white supremacist wouldn’t like more than having Africans work themselves to death for their purposes?”

Price shook her head reluctantly. “Racist bastards… For once I completely agree with Carl about dealing with them.”

“Shoot first, ask questions, then finish shooting,” Schwarz explained for the computer experts in the War Room.

A phone warbled. Price picked it up. “Gadgets, it’s Pol.”

“Pol” was short for “Politician,” the nickname for the diplomatic and smooth-talking Rosario Blancanales, the third and final member of Able Team. When Lyons had activated and stayed on station in Los Angeles, the ex-LAPD cop had suggested that someone go on alert in Washington, D.C., preferably working from street level to avoid duplicating the efforts of federal agencies who were looking at terrorist groups and foreign governments. Lyons had been a beat cop, and while he had the advantage of electronic, satellite and internet-scoured information, he had never given up on the reliability of rumors and chatter on the mean streets. Blancanales, an affable, nearly chameleonlike person who could disarm an enemy with his words and his hands, had volunteered, leaving Schwarz free to utilize his particular skills.

Somewhere Blancanales had come through, prying loose some nugget of information that would give Stony Man Farm an edge.

Schwarz punched the speaker phone button, so that Blancanales could be heard by the rest of the War Room staff. “What’s the news, Pol?”

“I stumbled my way to a town just a mile past Chevy Chase,” Blancanales answered. “Don’t tell Carl, but his primitive, stone-age cop ways still work.”

Schwarz grinned. “A town?”