he said anything else?” McCarter asked.
James shook his head. “Not a peep. What outfit you think he’s with?”
“No telling,” McCarter replied with a quick shake of his head. “Could be any one of a dozen organizations I can think of, and we’ve tangled with just about all of them.”
Hawkins had been eavesdropping on their conversation and interjected, “Just as long as it’s not another one of those resurrected neo-Nazi groups. I’m getting plum tuckered out shooting at skinheads and anti-Semites.”
“Ditto,” James replied.
“You guys get a first-class ticket to Germany, a tour through some of the greatest woodlands in all of Europe, free of charge, mind you, and lodgings in a first-rate gasthaus, ” Manning taunted. “And what do you do? Bitch, bitch, bitch.”
James saw an opportunity and decided to exploit it. “Well, I’d say we shouldn’t let this prisoner slow us down. He isn’t going to tell us anything, so why not just do him right here and get it over with?”
James looked back at Encizo on rear guard, ensuring the prisoner couldn’t see his face, and winked. The Cuban nodded almost imperceptibly to indicate he understood where James was headed. The badass warrior from Chicago figured if he could turn the conversation into an issue of racism, maybe it would prompt their German friend to start talking.
“Ease up there, soldier,” McCarter said, also alert to James’s plan. “We need him for interrogation, and we’re going to stick with that.”
James came to an immediate halt and the others followed suit. Everyone knew their part and they would just follow James’s lead. It wasn’t the first time they had pulled a stunt like this, and given its past effectiveness it wouldn’t hurt to try it again. McCarter had agreed to defer to James’s approach beforehand but kept it from the others so things would unfold in a more spontaneous way. The only thing that would make the whole thing pointless would be if their captive didn’t speak English. James had decided to play those odds.
“What difference does it make?” James demanded of McCarter.
“What?” the Phoenix Force leader asked, putting some edge in his voice.
“I asked you what differences it makes.” James gestured at the prisoner with the muzzle of his M-16 A-2. “He doesn’t look to be in real good shape, which means he probably won’t survive the effects of the drugs I gave him during the interrogation. Since it could be a while before we get to where we’re going, why not just take the time now to question him?”
James turned and looked straight at the prisoner now. “We could just beat it out of him, you know. I think that would be faster. He doesn’t like my kind, anyway. And since there isn’t a soul in sight, we could do it all right here and nobody would ever be the wiser.”
Hawkins emitted a laugh. “You know something, he’s right. Why not just get what we need and then move on? Leave his corpse here for the bears to pick clean. He’s just slowing us down, anyway.”
“Look, both of you,” McCarter said. “I’m in charge of the squad, and I’m telling you we’ll do this the right way. And that’s all the discussion it needs. Get me?”
“I’m with them,” Manning said. He looked at the prisoner and then got up close, towering a few inches over him. He pulled the rope taut and added, “He’s probably just another German warmonger, hates anything or anyone that’s not part of his alleged superior race. He’s not going to talk, especially not to a black man.”
Encizo stepped up to join the production. “He probably hates Spanish people, too!”
James looked McCarter in the eyes and shrugged, then broke into a broad smile. “Looks like maybe you’re outnumbered on this one, pal. Nobody likes this guy and nobody wants him around.”
McCarter exchanged glances with each of his comrades and then made a dramatic show of reaching to his holster, thumbing away the safety strap and drawing his 9 mm Browning Hi-Power. A wicked glint flared in his eyes as he held the pistol high for all to see, then pulled back the slide. McCarter paused a moment for effect, then chambered a round. He extended his arm and aimed the pistol straight at the prisoner’s head.
“You guys are bloody well nuts if you think I’m going to let you beat this guy to death,” McCarter said. “I’ll just blow his brains out before that.”
“No!” the man cried. “Please don’t kill me. I will talk. I will talk to you! See…see how good English I speak?”
“I don’t believe him,” McCarter said.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” James said, and he raised his M-16 A-2. “Maybe we should just get this done and over with. Not risk it.”
“No!” The man began to plead with them.
“Now wait a minute,” Manning said, raising his hands. “Let’s be reasonable, gentleman. If the guy’s willing to talk, maybe we should hear what he has to say.”
“Yeah?” Hawkins queried. “Well, how in the world can ya’ll be sure he’ll tell the truth?”
“Aw, I don’t think he’d lie to us,” James said, lowering his rifle. McCarter had holstered his pistol, as well. James turned to their prisoner and smiled. “Now, would you?”
T HE MEN OF A BLE T EAM touched down in St. Louis, Missouri, just after noon, and took the Ford Expedition arranged by Stony Man straight to Our Lady of the Resurrection Hospital near the Washington University campus. The OLR physicians who’d been caring for the two ill college youths had immediately consulted the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention when they determined no potential causes for the illness, and the fact that both patients had come from the same school.
“It’s going to be hard to keep this under wraps for long,” Schwarz said from behind the wheel.
“Yeah, well, we’d best act fast, then,” Lyons replied.
The three men arrived forty minutes later and headed right to the second floor. Their credentials as agents with the FBI would only buy them so much latitude, but that didn’t bother Able Team. They were really there on more of a fact-finding mission than anything else. The place and time to be tough wasn’t the hospital; they had planned to save that for Delmico if their investigation revealed any foul play.
Able Team reached the third floor of the MedSurg ward, infectious diseases section. A pert young woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail buzzed them through the access doors. A large red strip with a sign warned all unauthorized personnel not to advance past the desk without being fully protected by isolation equipment.
“Agent Irons with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Lyons said, flashing his credentials at the dark-haired woman whose tag identified her as the charge nurse. He whipped out his mini notebook, made a show of flipping through it and said, “Um, we’re looking for…Just one moment, got it here somewhere…Uh, hmm. Ah! Here it is, yes. We’d like to speak with Dr. Kingsley or Dr. Corvasce. Is either of them available?”
The charge nurse eyed the three men warily. “Dr. Kingsley’s off today and Dr. Corvasce is in with a patient right now. Is there some way I can help you?”
“Nope,”
