Armed Resistance

“They wouldn’t and we never intended to bring you in that way,” Brognola replied. “Your contact will meet you at the Ugandan capital city of Kampala. You’ll fly in posing as oil barons, not an uncommon sight there by any means. He’ll then smuggle you over the border into the areas held secure by the SPLA, specifically General Kiir’s men.”

“Your contact is a man named Kumar,” Price said. “General Kiir has assured us that Kumar will conduct your safe passage both into and out of the country.”

“Remember, don’t take chances,” Brognola said. “If the situation gets out of control then do whatever you must to get out of the country alive. That’s your top priority if at any point things fall apart. Don’t get yourself killed over a few military weapons, men. It’s not worth it unless you gain ground and find that it’s worth it. Understood?”

The men nodded and mumbled an agreement.

“Then Godspeed, Phoenix Force,” Brognola said.

CHAPTER THREE

Camp Shelby, Mississippi

“I should be fishing,” Carl Lyons announced.

A military policeman cleared them through the gate with a smart salute.

“Cheer up, Ironman,” Hermann Schwarz replied from the backseat of the sedan with the government plates. “We could’ve been stuck with an assignment someplace where it’s cold.”

“Or worse,” Rosario Blancanales added from behind the wheel. “How would you like to have the mission location Phoenix got?”

Lyons scowled. “We’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I’m hungry,” Schwarz said. “Wonder what the chow’s like here?”

“You’ve had Army chow plenty of times,” Blancanales reminded him. “You never really liked it.”

Schwarz looked puzzled. “I didn’t?”

Blancanales looked him in the eyes through the rearview mirror and shook his head.

Indeed, both men were quite familiar with Army food. While Schwarz had significantly less experience in the field than his friend, he brought skills that were unusual for a combat veteran. Following a stint in Vietnam as a radio intelligence officer, Schwarz had begun his second tour with Bolan during the Mafia wars after spending only five months at a technical school in East Los Angeles. With his electronic intuition, one that had earned him the name Gadgets, Schwarz was a shoo-in for selection to become part of Stony Man’s elite urban counterterrorist unit.

Blancanales had a more distinguished career in the sense of notoriety. A decorated Green Beret, “the Politician” had earned a reputation as an effective member of the pacification programs implemented by the Army during the Vietnam War. He also served as Able Team’s medic. Most of the time, Blancanales acted as the team’s primary spokesperson due in no small part to his talent at being charming and gregarious.

The team leader was glad to leave these two men to their specific talents. Lyons had first met Bolan when the two men were on opposite sides of the law. Bolan had not spared Lyons’s life once, but three times, actually, and it came as quite a surprise when Bolan and Brognola approached him about joining Able Team as their leader—not that he wasn’t qualified. The only member of Stony Man’s field units who had never served in the Armed Forces, Lyons had been a member of the LAPD SWAT team and a decorated police sergeant. His successful completion of the Ironman competition, coupled with his intense inner strength and physical stature, had earned him the nickname and he wore it well.

“We got a major shit storm in front of us and all you two can think about is food?” Lyons grumbled. “Hopeless, utterly hopeless.”

“Well, who peed on your cereal this morning?” Schwarz asked.

“You know he gets like that when he gets hungry, too,” Blancanales said. “He’s the boss so he’s not really allowed to show his discomfort.”

Ignoring the chance offered by his two friends to trade coarse jokes, Lyons said, “What do we know about this General Saroyan?”

“Highly decorated officer,” Blancanales cited mechanically. “Came up the hard way, from what I understand. Did tours in both Iraq wars and spent some time with a military intelligence unit following the 9/11 attacks. He’s been post commander here at Camp Shelby since 2007. Definitely not the politicking type, which means we can probably assume he’ll shoot straight with us.”

“He’d better,” Schwarz interjected. “The guy doesn’t have any choice, especially in light of the fact they decided to slap Army CID credentials on us.”

“If he’s got nothing to hide then I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it,” Lyons said. “I’m actually more concerned about the disappearance of Colonel Scott. Barb was right when she told us this guy going AWOL and the disappearance of the spook in Khartoum was entirely too proximal to be an accident.”

“Well, let’s just remember we’re not supposed to know anything about Scott unless Saroyan mentions him,” Blancanales reminded them. “The Farm got that information from someone inside the administrative ranks. We have to keep our investigation focused on the missing weapons. If Scott’s disappearance comes up then maybe we can take an interest, be able to logically tie the two incidents together.”

“Sounds like a reasonable plan to me,” Lyons said. “The sooner we can get this done the sooner we can get to work and find the bad guys.”

“While we’re on the subject of bad guys, what do you two think about Scott’s disappearance?” Schwarz asked.

“What do you mean?” Blancanales said.

“Well, I just mean that while his splitting is obviously not coincidental, we don’t have any evidence so far that suggests he was taken involuntarily. If we assume he was kidnapped or worse, that would imply whoever’s behind smuggling these weapons off this base and out to members of the Lord’s Resistance Army would have to be in country. Even if we are able to swing this so that our looking into Scott’s disappearance just seems like part of the case, it’s a good chance we might walk into a trap.”

“You’re thinking members of the Lord’s Resistance Army might figure someone will come looking for him,” Lyons said.

“Exactly.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve walked in with blinders on for the sake of government red tape,” Blancanales said. “I think we just have to wait and see what happens.”

“Are we there yet?” Lyons asked in an attempt to lighten the conversation a bit.

“I thought I told you to go before we left,” Blancanales shot back.

Lyons took the opportunity to give him a light tap in the arm, if there was any such thing from the blond warrior, as Blancanales turned into the parking lot of the base headquarters building. After locating a guest parking spot and asking a short, pert brunette in uniform where they could find the base commander’s office, Blancanales and Schwarz made their way dutifully toward the entrance to which she pointed. Lyons straggled just a bit, taking the opportunity to watch her walk away—appreciative of the shapely legs that protruded from the dark green skirt and dipped into black shoes that clopped along the sidewalk in rhythm to her walk.

Shaking himself and realizing his friends had made considerable distance, Lyons jogged after them with just the hint of a smile.

The men found the office of Major General Anthony Saroyan and were shown in by a young sergeant as soon as they arrived. The place was spacious and nicely decorated, many of the pieces on the furniture from the turn of the nineteenth century. There was a fair amount of war memorabilia sitting along the high shelves and a fairly large bookcase occupied another wall. The desk was the only military-issue item in the whole place, and the chairs shown to the Able Team warriors were unusually comfortable.

They were barely seated when a tall, distinguished-looking man in his early fifties entered the room. He had thin hair of a color somewhere between white and gray. The eyes were equally gray but there was no mistaking the intelligence and hard discipline behind them. He was attired in standard Class B uniform, and a bucket-load of medals adorned the left breast of his shirt. The twin stars of his rank rode on dark green epaulettes and glistened in the morning light that streamed through the window.

They rose to attention and saluted in unison. He returned the salute casually, shook hands with each of them in turn and then took a seat behind his desk.

“Gentlemen, this is Command Sergeant Major Shubin,” Saroyan said, gesturing to a man who entered right at that point and took a position near the general’s desk.

Shubin was considerably shorter than his CO but no less intense. He wore the identical Class B uniform and nearly as many medals, the only difference being that on his epaulettes were three stripes and three rockers, a star cradled in a leaf centered between the chevrons.

Saroyan continued. “Sergeant Major Shubin is the senior noncommissioned officer on the base, and I’ve asked him to be a part of this inquiry since the armory here at Camp Shelby falls under his purview along with all of the other S1 depots.”

“That’s all well and good, sir,” Lyons replied, adding the honorific quickly as an afterthought. Damn, he’d almost blown it and he’d barely opened his mouth. “But I assumed that we would be joined by your senior supply officer, as well. We are, after all, talking about a dozen missing assault rifles.”

“I’ll be candid with you, primarily because you are representatives of the Army’s chief law-enforcement division,” Saroyan said. “Under most circumstances I would’ve had Colonel Scott join us. Unfortunately, he had to leave the base quite suddenly. A family emergency—I’m sure you understand.”

“I see,” Lyons said. He glanced at Shubin and then returned his attention to Saroyan. “Well, I have every confidence the sergeant major here can assist in our investigation.”

“Sir,” Blancanales interjected, intent on getting the situation into their control as soon as possible. “Being as these weapons have gone missing and Colonel Scott is not present—”

“I know what you’re going to say, Chief…?” Saroyan’s voice trailed off.

“You’ll pardon me, sir,” Blancanales said. He made a show of reaching for his credentials.