War Tides

When they pulled up in front of the address where the vehicles had been registered, Lyons took shotgun position and looked out the window. The darkened structure loomed in the hazy afternoon light. The crumbling facade of the factory didn’t surprise Lyons in the least since he’d already convinced himself and his colleagues that the place would probably be abandoned. Neither did it surprise him to see the many broken windows, with glass strewed across the rutted parking lot. What really frosted Lyons was the audacity of the terrorists to have parked their vans out front in broad daylight. It was as if they were saying, “You moronic Americans are too stupid to track us down, so we aren’t even going to bother trying to hide our transportation.”

Well, Able Team had a message for them.

“Ballsy of them to just park right out front,” Blancanales said as if he could read his friend’s mind.

“Think they’re not expecting company?” Schwarz asked.

“No,” Lyons said. “I can’t buy that.”

“I smell a trap,” Blancanales offered.

“Me, too,” Schwarz said.

“Well, we’re not going to find out sitting around out here,” Lyons said.

Blancanales grunted and then put the van in gear and turned into the parking lot. He increased speed when he passed between the once stately chain-link gates that now dangled uselessly from their fence poles. Immediately the air came alive with autofire, and muzzle-flashes issued from the darkened interior of windows on the second floor. Most of the rounds missed but those that did hit ricocheted off the reinforced Kevlar and stamped-steel body of Able Team’s customized van—the latest in bulletproof technology being tested by Stony Man.

Lyons jacked the charging handle of his assault rifle and said, “Let’s play ball.”

CHAPTER THREE

Namibia, Africa

The road from Walvis Bay to Windhoek, national capital of Namibia, had seen its share of world history, and if the pain in David McCarter’s backside was any indication, it had seen more history than repairs in certain parts.

Windhoek, on the other hand, sported all the conveniences of most modern cities. Not that this had been McCarter’s first visit to the region. It had taken the South-West Africa People’s Organization, aka SWAPO, twenty-two years to bring independence to this area and another two within the United Nations to convince South Africa to end its regional administration. Since 1990, the country had been governed under a democratic constitution headed by a president and national assembly. And while McCarter spoke a little Afrikaans, very little, the official language thankfully remained English.

“Dr. Brown, let me be the first to welcome you to the Republic of Namibia,” said Dr. Justus Matombo, chief medical adviser to the national assembly.

“It’s our pleasure, Doctor,” McCarter replied, shaking Matombo’s hand.

Matombo wasn’t a terribly large man, although he had unusually thick forearms. The black skin of his forehead glistened only slightly with sweat in spite of the air-conditioned offices within the government building on Lossen Street in downtown Windhoek. His eyes were an unusual shade, almost slate blue, a testament to the mixed ethnicity that ran throughout the entire population. The ancestry in Namibia traced its roots to Dutch rule hundreds of years ago, so such ethnic mixes were the norm rather than the exception.

McCarter introduced the men accompanying him as his “medical colleagues” in turn; not all were physicians like himself. The only other “doctor” among them was a tall, lanky black man with a pencil-thin mustache who specialized in hematology. Calvin James nodded in greeting as he shook Matombo’s hand. The remaining three men were “scientists” with varying specialties in different areas. “Biologist” Rafael Encizo, “nuclear radiation specialist” Thomas Jackson Hawkins and finally “geologist” Gary Manning rounded out the five-man team.

The cover and credentials for the Phoenix Force operatives implied they worked for the World Health Organization. Matombo didn’t have a clue he faced five of the most dangerous combat veterans in the world. Dangerous to the thugs and criminals who terrorized nations and oppressed the innocent, that is. To those who could not protect themselves from the animals that preyed on the helpless, the five men of Phoenix Force were beacons of hope, justice and protection in a world filled with injustice and violence.

“I cannot tell you,” Matombo continued, “how very grateful we are for your assistance.”

“The details were sketchy,” McCarter said as Matombo escorted them to a meeting room. “We sort of got just a small understanding of your problem as they rushed us onto a plane. Could you elaborate more on the current situation, mate?”

After Matombo had shown them into the room, arranged for refreshments and they were comfortably seated at a conference table, he related the story.

“About two weeks ago, a local medical facility in the city of Lüderitz received three patients with radiation sickness. All in the same day.”

A weighty silence fell on the group as they briefly exchanged looks that ranged from surprise to genuine concern. The gravity of Matombo’s tone got attention from every man at the table.

“The story was written off originally as some kind of accident with a medical device, but given the compelling nature of the radiation poisoning, the medical center alerted my office,” Matombo continued.

“What did you do?” James asked.

“I sent a team down there immediately,” Matombo replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “The data they began to send back gave me and the entire presidential cabinet cause for concern, not to mention the medical community of specialists. Then one of the members of the team mysteriously disappeared. He hasn’t been heard from since. It was at that point I decided to recall them.”

“Only they didn’t make the return trip,” McCarter interjected.

That much Stony Man had alerted Phoenix Force about when they diverted their return from another mission and sent them straight to Namibia. When a CIA officer working inside the country got wind of the incident, he made notification to his handler, who in turn notified the South African section chief. Before long, the information had come before the eyes of the most powerful individual in the free world, and Harold Brognola had been ordered to send Phoenix Force to investigate.

“You said it was the nature of the radiation poisoning that compelled your investigation,” Hawkins said. “Why is that?”

Matombo sighed. “Because their signs and symptoms were not those of the type of radiation exposure they claimed it to be. They had all been exposed to raw ore, U-92 ore to be specific, and that could only happen in one of two places.”

“The Langer Heinrich or Rössing?” Manning inquired.

Matombo looked genuinely surprised. “You know your geography, sir.”

“No more than any other geologist,” Manning said easily.

In fact, Phoenix Force’s chief explosives expert knew quite a bit that would have surprised Matombo. His background in fighting terrorism coupled with the knowledge gleaned of terrain while serving with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had become areas of keen interest to Manning, much more as a hobby than profession. The Canadian had been over plenty of rugged country and he could read maps like nobody’s business. His knowledge of explosives also implied a peculiar sense of what types of explosives would work on what types of topography.

“For those of you who may not be as familiar,” Matombo said, “the Langer Heinrich calcrete uranium deposit and the Rössing Mining Properties are located in the Namib Desert, approximately twenty kilometers apart. They are both owned predominantly by the Rio Tinto Group out of Australia.”

McCarter noticed Matombo had failed to mention that Iran also had a partial-ownership interest of fifteen percent in the Rössing. For a long time now, the Namibian government had sworn up and down to the world community that Iran had neither purchased nor absconded with any of the U-92 ore from the mine, the key ingredient required to make weapons-grade plutonium.

“These mines have grown to become the fifth largest producer of uranium ore in the world, gentlemen,” Matombo continued. “And I can assure you that the operation is well secured. If individuals that far south are experiencing radiation sickness, it is highly unlikely they were exposed to either of those sources.”

“You think that someone may have discovered a new source?” Rafael Encizo asked pointedly.

“I believe it is a strong possibility we must consider at this point.”

“What about your team?” McCarter asked. “You said they didn’t return.”

Matombo nodded emphatically. “They sent me an e-mail advising they had completed all of the research they could there and they were going to leave Lüderitz the next morning. They never showed up and they were not found along any of the usual routes, even after a considerable search by our national rescue teams and a military detachment.”

“Could you confirm they even left Lüderitz?” McCarter replied.

“We cannot confirm or deny anything at this point.” Matombo’s eyes narrowed. “And that is a very unusual question coming from a physician. You almost sound as if you’re more interested in the disappearance of the team than in the medical situation. I thought you were sent here by the World Health Organization.”

The Phoenix Force leader could see that Matombo was nobody’s fool, and he knew if he tried to lie his way through it that the doctor might just challenge his medical knowledge. That wouldn’t bode well for any of them, in spite of the fact they were there at the behest of Ombarta Nandago, the Namibian prime minister. Stony Man granted some leeway of judgment to McCarter in these matters and it was his discretion as to how far to take their cover.

“Look, guv,” McCarter said, “you’re obviously an educated man. Let me come to the point. We are here in a bit more of a capacity than your government led you to believe. But trust me when I say we’re here to help.”

“And we’re interested in finding your people, yes,” James said. “If you want our help.”

Matombo’s expression remained impassive during this time, but when James extended the offer, the physician visibly relaxed. “Finding my team and seeing them returned safely is my number-one priority. Of course, finding out how these citizens protracted radiation sickness is also of great concern to me. I appreciate your candor, gentlemen. You shall have my full cooperation and the resources of my office. No questions asked.”

“Thank you,” Encizo said.

“Yeah, the ‘no questions asked’ part will be especially nice,” Hawkins added.