War Tides. Don Pendleton

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

      McCarter lent him a sour eye as he said, “We’ll need to know everything you can tell us about your team, dossiers on its members…everything. It would also help if you could give us some idea of when someone last saw them.”

      “At least an eyewitness who can confirm or deny they left Lüderitz when they were supposed to,” James added.

      “You think one of my people could be involved in this?” Matombo asked with incredulity.

      “Involved in what?” McCarter asked with a shrug. “We aren’t even sure what’s going on here yet, mate.”

      “We simply want to know whether or not they left so we know where to start looking,” Encizo added.

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Well,” McCarter explained, “it already seems obvious whoever grabbed up your chums are operating out of Lüderitz. Knowing whether they met their fate in the city before they left or if they were ambushed after leaving will give us a better idea of who to look for.”

      Matombo shook his head. “I trust what you tell me, Doc…er, I mean, Mr. Brown. But what I do not understand is how you can help just by knowing this.”

      “Simple. We’ll know if those behind the team’s disappearance are operating within the city or if they’re being fed intelligence.”

      “In other words, we know the search needs to start in Lüderitz,” James said. “We just need to be certain if it will end there.”

      Hawkins grinned broadly. “You see, we generally like to terminate problems at the source. Hitting lackeys isn’t usually a permanent solution to a problem like yours.”

      “I understand now,” Matombo said. “I will see what I can do to get this information for you.”

      McCarter nodded. “Right-o. In the meantime, we’re going to head straight for Lüderitz.”

      “Would you like me to arrange an escort?”

      “That won’t be necessary. But some decent transportation would be helpful.”

      Matombo stood as he replied, “We have a fleet of various vehicles at our disposal. I believe we can find something appropriate.”

      DR. JUSTUS MATOMBO was true to his word, and before long Phoenix Force was headed southeast out of the city and bound for the port city of Lüderitz in a pair of matching, late-model Dodge Nitro SUVs. They split the equipment between the two vehicles. McCarter and Hawkins rode with Encizo behind the wheel in the lead vehicle, followed by James, Manning and Matombo in the second. McCarter had tried to discourage Matombo from tagging along but the man wouldn’t hear of it, citing his required oversight of their transportation, as well as his cooperation as the official representative of his government. McCarter decided not to fight the guy about it. Matombo still had plenty of juice and could make it very difficult for them if he really wanted to, and McCarter figured it better to err on the side of cooperation.

      That didn’t stop them from having Matombo ride in the tail vehicle. That afforded the Phoenix Force leader some privacy when he contacted Stony Man with his update. Brognola and Price listened while McCarter gave his report, telling them everything including how he felt compelled to reveal they weren’t exactly as the U.S. government had initially represented them.

      “You think he’s trustworthy enough to stay quiet?” Brognola asked.

      “For now,” McCarter said. “I think he’ll keep still as long as we cooperate with him. I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot off his mouth if he thought we were holding back.”

      “This complicates things,” Price said.

      “But we know you did what you thought was best,” Brognola added. “I have complete confidence in your decision. It’s probably for the better, anyway, since Able Team is stepping into the thick of it here.”

      “They’re on a mission you think is related?”

      “We don’t have any doubts at this point,” Price said. “What’s happened there coupled with the events here in Washington is too proximal to be mere coincidence.”

      “Yeah, well, you’ve never been much for coincidence, either, love.”

      “Right.” Price filled him in on their discovery of the traffic video and the IUA. She concluded with, “Able Team has a lead they’re following up even as we speak.”

      “So this is a new terrorist cell.”

      “Pretty much,” Brognola said. “They only recently were identified by Israeli MOSSAD as a group who has grown large enough that they could pose a significant threat to the security of the U.S. and her allies. You are to assume they are fully trained and equipped, and you are to deal with them by S.O.P.”

      McCarter didn’t have to ask what that meant; a rookie could’ve figured it out. “Acknowledged. As soon as we know more, we’ll get in touch.”

      After they signed off, McCarter lit a cigarette and groaned. He reached back toward Hawkins, who in turn responded by pressing a sweaty can of soda into his palm. McCarter yanked the top and took a long pull from it, draining nearly half the contents. The dry, dusty air and afternoon sun beating through the windshield had left him parched.

      “What’s the scoop, boss?” Hawkins finally asked.

      “Either of you ever heard of the ‘the Revenge of Allah’?”

      They shook their heads.

      “Me, either. Until Barb and Hal just told me about them. They’re a new terrorist group, up-and-coming, and a case Able Team is working might just be related to what we’re doing here.”

      “In what way?”

      “Somebody lifted the plans to a nuclear-powered sub and left the designer and some federal agents dead. Took them out in bloody broad daylight, no less.”

      “Sounds lovely,” Hawkins said.

      “So plans go missing for a nuclear-powered device, and parties unknown suddenly show up here with radiation poisoning,” Encizo said.

      “Right,” McCarter said. “Go figure.”

      They rode a couple more miles in silence and then something cast a shadow over their vehicle. McCarter leaned forward and strained his eyes to see beyond the limits of the roof. He caught the first glimpse of the helicopter before they actually heard the sound of the rotors chopping the air, felt their vibration through the vehicle. They were flying awfully low and McCarter felt something prick his sixth sense. Before he could react, the shortwave radio clipped to his belt squawked for attention. He removed the earpiece from the clip holder on the lapel of his shirt and inserted it into his right ear.

      Keeping one eye on the chopper, he answered, “Go.”

      Manning’s voice came back. “We just talked to Matombo and he said that bird above you has markings of the Namibian national guard. It looks like maybe someone let the cat out of the bag.”

      “What

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