Unified Action

“Copy,” McCarter acknowledged. He turned toward Encizo and James. “Let’s start at the lead vehicle and work our way down.”

From above them Manning’s machine gun had fallen silent. Hawkins’s sniper rifle barked once, then was still.

At every vehicle they found dead terrorists and burning corpses. The ambush had been unleashed with brutal efficiency, leaving no survivors after the initial assault. Satisfied, McCarter informed Stony Man, then called his overwatch element down to the road.

“We’re ready for phase bravo,” he said simply. A burning truck at his back cast his sharp features in a slightly diabolical light. “Form up and let’s roll.”

Immediately, Phoenix Force formed a loose Ranger file, each soldier putting twenty yards between themselves. Calvin James, in the lead, took a GPS reading, noted the time and then set out up the center of the road at a fast clip.

For the next phase of the operation Phoenix Force would conduct an overland march for movement to target. To keep cover of darkness, they would have to maintain a tight pace. Their margin of error had been whittled down to a very slender gap.

In the hands of the IMU terrorists was an American contractor tasked with controlling Predator drones in the border region.

With terrorist reinforcements stopped while still en route, Phoenix Force was now prepared to make the overland hike to the location and free the American contractor who was being held hostage.

James set a rugged pace, leading the men straight up the road until they had crested the rise and started down the other side. Using a pace count perfected over long years of patrol and special reconnaissance missions he led them three miles before reorientating himself and cutting cross-country.

Following James’s navigation, while McCarter doubled checked the GPS landmarks, Phoenix Force cut across the rugged terrain. As they dropped in altitude from the high mountain pass, sparse vegetation gave way to temperate forest. Saw grass and chokeberry bushes became interspersed with stands of thick dogwood and copses of coniferous trees, providing good cover for their movements as they drew closer to their target.

Finally, James called a halt at the team’s predetermined rally point. The group huddled close together in the lee of a stand of tamarack pines. Below them an adobe-style walled compound was set on a stretch of valley floor in the middle of a small village. The road they had followed for part of their insertion after the ambush cut in from the west and ran directly through the hamlet. This late at night the only lights showing came from the compound. Overhead a low-pressure front had rolled in and stacked up like dirty cotton candy against the mountains.

Hawkins adjusted the ambient light levels on the passive receiver of his sniper scope, bringing the compound into a starker relief. Beside him Gary Manning had swapped out his night-vision goggles for IR binoculars, allowing him greater ocular clarity of the target site.

“I got three sentries,” the Canadian muttered softly.

“That’s my count,” Hawkins confirmed. “Two at the east-facing driveway gate and one walking the wall to the rear of the compound.”

McCarter keyed his com set. “You still have eyes or has the pressure front cut us off?”

“Be advised,” Price replied immediately, “cloud cover has obscured our imagery.”

“Understood.” McCarter clicked off. “Any sign of the hostage?”

“Negative,” Hawkins said.

“If the intel is spot-on, then he’s down in the basement,” Manning added, still scanning the scene with his IR binoculars.

“Shaking thing to bet a life on,” James said.

“I agree,” McCarter replied. “I think we’re going to have infiltrate silent and identify before we commence with the takedown.”

“The approaches are rough, just like the satellite showed. Coming down the hill on the far side will bring a damn avalanche down with us,” Encizo put in.

“Yep,” McCarter agreed. “I was hoping once we got on location we’d catch a break.” He eyed the steep terrain surrounding them and funneling downward toward the terrorist compound and village. It was unforgiving. “But it looks like our luck is holding true to form.”

“Straight down the road?” James asked.

“Straight down the road,” McCarter answered.

Dominican Republic

CARL LYONS FLUNG himself to one side, and the Detonics Combat Master went off like a hand cannon in the confined space. The heavy .45-caliber slug snapped through the air and burned down the hallway before burying itself in a wall.

Hermann Schwarz spun around the wall and threw the chair in a rough lob. It arced out and landed, bouncing awkwardly. The interloper jerked back, flinching away from the flying furniture.

Lyons used the seconds to readjust himself and leap onto the masked figure. His hand caught her wrist just behind where the gun butt filled her palm. He surged forward, snapping his elbow around and driving it into the side of her head.

The masked female slumped under the blow, stunned. The compact automatic dropped out of her hand and fell loudly on the floor. Schwarz rushed into the room ready to back Lyons up. He looked down and saw the sprawled figure on the floor as Lyons pushed himself up.

“She go night-night?” he asked.

“Like a baby,” Lyons replied, and picked up the pistol.

Out in the front room they heard the door being thrown open violently. Lyons spun and lifted his handgun.

“We’re fine, Pol,” Schwarz called out.

“Glad to hear it,” Blancanales replied. “Guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion after seeing you walk into a building right before there’s a gunshot.” Blancanales walked in and looked down at the unconscious figure on the ground. “Dios mios, Ironman, we don’t have time for you to start dating.”

“You’re getting to be a real old lady,” Lyons muttered.

“Speaking of ladies,” Schwarz said, “maybe we could ask this one some questions?”

“Suits me.” Lyons nodded, and stuck the gun behind his back. “Let’s get her up and put her in a chair.”

Blancanales took her mask off to check the extent of Lyons’s blow, and an attractive woman with mahogany skin and Caribbean features was revealed. Her head was covered with close-cropped, tight-knit rows of dark hair pulled back severely from her handsome face. Her temple was swelling where it had made contact with the sharp end of Lyons’s elbow.

The woman came awake, still dazed while the three men pushed her down into a deep, comfortable chair in the living room that was so soft it would be impossible to quickly rise from. She sought to argue and perhaps fight, but Lyons laconically showed her her own pistol and she sat quietly, shooting daggers with her eyes.

“Anything?” Lyons asked after Blancanales had finished searching her.

The Puerco Rican nodded and held up empty hands. “Nothing.”

Lyons nodded. “Check the room she was tossing,” he instructed.

The big ex-cop regarded his prisoner while Blancanales moved back to the bedroom where they had first jumped the thief. Schwarz moved behind the woman and took her hands up, rolling her fingers across a glass he had taken from the kitchen, then setting it just out of reach on the table.

The woman squawked in protest at the liberty taken and spit out a long line of vulgarities. Lyons smirked in admiration at her profane grasp of the English language.

“Nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“My mother’s dead, you Yaquis pig-screwing bastard!” the woman snapped.

Lyons didn’t believe her for a second. “Everyone’s got a hard luck story, sister. What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“Sure, you break into the house of my friend, try to steal stuff, and it’s none of my business. But that’s fine, little girl, we’ll know who you are in a moment.”