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BROGNOLA STOOD WHERE HE WAS, WAITING
“In addition to the church in that cowboy state of yours,” the voice said pompously over the speakerphone, “the third suicide bomber I sent to Israel has just eliminated close to four hundred infidels in Tel Aviv.”
The President remained cool. “I hadn’t even heard of the first two yet,” he said, glancing at Brognola. “They must not have been very big.”
The voice that responded turned angry. “They were exactly the size I wanted them to be.”
Brognola was listening to one of the biggest egos he’d ever encountered in his long career.
“And, Allah willing, there are far bigger things to come,” said the Iranian president.
“Are you declaring war on the United States?” the Man asked.
But the leader of the free world got no response.
All he and Hal Brognola heard was a click as the line went dead.
Sky Sentinels
Don Pendleton
Stony Man ®
America’S Ultra-Covert Intelligence Agency
CONTENTS
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
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Wilson “Pat” Patrick took a seat on the rocky ledge and pulled the strap of his canvas briefcase over his head. As he set the bag down at his side, he turned to Buford Davis and said, “Make sure you get those colors flying high, Buff. We can’t be more than a quarter mile from the border.”
Davis had already found a crack between the craggy rocks and jammed the steel pole down as far as it would go. A light wind caught the flag and flattened it out so it could easily be read.
Noncombatants! the slick flag proclaimed both in Farsi and Arabic. And below that was written Newsweek magazine, followed by the periodical’s logo.
Patrick opened his briefcase and pulled out a small tin lunch box. Davis had found another relatively flat surface a few feet away from Patrick and dropped to a sitting position, temporarily setting his camera bag behind him. From somewhere inside the light bush vest in which he carried everything from camera lenses to a Swiss Army knife, he produced a paper sack. He pulled an egg-salad sandwich out of the bag.
The two men heard the tromping of feet behind them and turned slightly to see six members of the FOX News team approaching. Jason Kapka, who was toting a heavy video camera, was the only one Patrick knew. Kapka made the introductions.
Patrick opened his lunch box and pulled out a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich as the FOX crew found rocks or ledges where they could stow their gear and sit for lunch. Patrick finished his sandwich and opened a small bag of Cheetos at the bottom of his lunch box. He looked down into the valley that separated them from Iran. A trickling stream of water passed over the rocks at the very bottom of the valley, and although it was actually a few feet inside the Iraqi border, it was generally regarded as the separation line between the two countries.
As he watched broken twigs, flowers and strands of grass float by, he suddenly caught movement in the corner of his eye.
Patrick spotted the heads of two men appear as they marched purposefully over a hill and into view. Both wore red scarves around their necks, earmarking them as members of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards. Officially known as the Pasdarans, these special forces Iranians were fully decked out in khaki uniforms, web gear and carried either American M-16s or Soviet AK-47s.
The M-16s, Patrick knew, were left over from the days when the Shah had ruled Iran. The AK-47s had been acquired from the old Soviet Union, which had been more than happy to arm the Iranians while they held the American hostages shortly after the revolution.
“What do you suppose those two are up to?” asked Court Hough, one of the FOX crew anxiously. Before anyone could answer, another pair of heads appeared. Then another. And it continued until roughly two dozen of the Pasdarans had marched over the hill into view.
“Just out on patrol,” Davis said around a mouthful of egg salad. “Flexing their muscles for us.”
The Americans continued eating their lunches. “They’ll stop down by the stream,” Jason Kapka said. He reached to his side, unzipped his bag and pulled out his camera. “Might as well get some footage of them, though,” he added as he turned back around and rested the camera on his shoulder. “It’s been a boring day. But the suits back home’ll still want tape of some kind.”
The routine-patrol explanation seemed to have calmed the FOX men. When Roger Stehr spoke up, his voice was steady. “Well, I’m sure you Newsweek liberals can find a way to make it look like it was all the U.S.’s fault,” he said.
“And I don’t doubt that by the time we finish lunch, you FOX guys will have written that they killed two dozen babies in some sort of Satanic Muslim ritual,” Davis retorted.
All of the journalists laughed.
But their laughter had an edge to it.
The Americans continued eating as the men with the red scarves around their necks made their way down the embankment to the water. But they all stopped in mid-bite when the Pasdarans sloshed straight across the water and began climbing the bank on the Iraqi side.
Patrick looked quickly to the side and saw that the breeze still held the noncombatant flag straight out. There was no way the Iranians could miss it. And there was no doubting that they knew they were invading another country.
“What the hell are they up to?” Court Hough said in a shaky voice. “Don’t they know where the border is?”
“They know,” Davis said as he continued clicking away with his camera. “They just don’t care.”
