trick,” Lyons said.
“Learned it from an old guy when I was stationed in Korea,” Blancanales replied.
Lyons smirked. “Think he’d teach it to me?”
Blancanales shook his head. “Nah. You’re too much of a pale sow’s ear.”
Lyons rolled his eyes. “Take a look at the kids while Gadgets has them filling up on sugar.”
Blancanales did so. In the meantime, the Able Team leader took Perez’s cell phone and checked it. He didn’t expect there to be anything on it, but maybe someone had sent messages to Perez. Lyons found some alerts on his phone, but they were simple emails and social media garbage. That didn’t mean there weren’t clues inside the phone that someone else would find useful.
“Done looking at the magic picture box?” Schwarz asked.
“All yours, wizard,” Lyons returned. “Grog not understand intricacies of electronic communications within it.”
Schwarz smiled and pulled out his Combat PDA. He connected a wire between the two devices then let the microcomputer dive into the phone, checking for the sort of trace programs and outré technology that would turn a cell phone into a weapon. “Bang.”
“Find something?” Lyons asked.
“This phone’s riddled with worms,” Schwarz explained. “I’m running through the diagnostics and there’s little wonder how the safe house was found. And it’s still transmitting.”
Lyons nodded. “That means we can expect shadows.”
Schwarz locked eyes with his friend and partner. “Expect them? I never figured you for a passive host waiting for guests.”
Lyons looked over at Blancanales, who had finished his initial evaluation of the kids. Though they hadn’t come to physical harm in the escape to Yuma, they were frightened, and very likely had a feeling that their parents were either dead or in fatal danger. Blancanales’s expression evidenced that those worries dogged the children, though they each managed to maintain a brave face.
“I’ll only be in passive mode until you give me something to shoot at, Gadgets,” Lyons announced. “So how fast can you give that to me?”
“That’s the Ironman I remember,” Schwarz returned. “Call it fifteen minutes?”
Lyons narrowed his eyes. “Make it ten.”
Blancanales gave his report on the mood and emotional status of the Castillo youngsters quickly and succinctly.
“I hate dragging them around as bait,” Lyons grumbled. “But I also don’t want to abandon them. If this thing is an attempt to ramp up tensions between the US and Mexico, leaving them here makes the federal building a target.”
Blancanales rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “We’ve handled babysitting-style assignments before. If anything, with us, they not only have a group of the best defenders in the world, but also folks who can handle the trauma the kids have experienced.”
Lyons nodded. “We already went over this at the Farm and on the plane. It’s the least of all possible evils, and it’s something I can live with.”
Blancanales returned to Dom and his sisters while Lyons took a mental inventory. Utilizing the resources of the Farm, as well as the skills and strengths of his partners, there was little doubt that Able Team could bring the hammer down on Los Lictors or whomever the Durango Caballeros were using as their enforcers on this side of the border.
Their plan to have Deputy Marshal Perez on their side, continuing his role as caretaker for the kids and as a fourth gunner, allowed them some wriggle room, but he was glad for Schwarz’s additional suggestion. Out in Los Angeles, where Able Team had a lot of friends and contacts, they had a woman who could also supply her own brain and firepower to the mix.
Lao Ti and her business partner, May Ling Fu, had aided the Stony Man trio on previous occasions and were now on their way to assist once again. As they were not a federal law enforcement agency, although Dr. Lao Ti’s electronics and computer firm was a government contractor, there was a better possibility that holes in Brognola’s agency security would be averted. If not, then there was another angle with which to see how the Mexican agency and their pet cartel were penetrating US government security.
He got on his assigned phone. “Barb, it looks like someone loaded some tracking software into the phones of the blacksuits. Gadgets says he’s going to see if any trackers are in the area.”
Price sounded skeptical. “We’re skating on the edge here. Maybe this was just the thing necessary to draw all of you out into the open.”
“A trap. Something from the legacy of Crowmass and the Arrangement,” Lyons mused aloud, giving in to grudging agreement.
“They’ve resurrected the Aryan Right Coalition enough times to figure out who you are and why you’re their number-one target,” the mission controller added. “You as in Able and Phoenix.”
“And we’re going in expecting them to want to trap us,” Lyons answered. “Just look back on all of those ambushes we’ve been through. We fight our way out. It’s what we do.”
“But sooner or later that string of luck is going to fail,” Price countered. She sounded worried, and Lyons knew that his bluster and bravado wouldn’t do anything to soothe her nerves. There were facts and knowledge, prior example, but there was also the knowledge that for all their talent and strength, the warriors of Stony Man Farm were still human, still fallible. Mistakes and a run of bad luck could be the end of any or all of the Stony Man warriors. Lyons had watched too many comrades fall, too many lovers in his life cut down by vengeful thugs.
“Luck isn’t a string. It’s a wave you ride. And in between the waves, a good surfer knows how to stay afloat and position himself for another swell,” Lyons added. “There’s so much more than just chance working for us.”
“Gadgets should be getting the telemetry necessary to home in on your shadows,” Price said. “And he and you were right. They’re waiting to ambush...at least ambush Perez and the kids if they leave.”
Lyons looked at his Combat PDA, which displayed the presence of three vans on a satellite view of the federal building. He tapped one of the van blips and could see heat sources from downward-looking infrared.
“They’re on the same channels...I think,” Price said. “Bear and Gadgets have the proper terminology of how these traces go. And those vans don’t look like they’re sitting waiting for rush hour to take advantage of the carpool lane.”
Lyons, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, scanned the vans that had been marked as targets. Every one of them was loaded with men and all were huddling, ready to explode into action. Lyons had seen that kind of ready-to-roll-out tension before, back when he was on the LAPD and the FBI. He’d been on enough SWAT raids to understand that preparedness, to know the coiled energy waiting for an opportunity to burst. He’d felt that tension in his own bones, so he knew what he was looking at, even through a thermal camera in low orbit over Yuma, Arizona.
He put the PDA away. “We’ll take care of the vans. After all, there’s only one vanload for each of us. We’ve practically
