if they did, they wouldn’t have given any specifics,” James observed.
“That’s a good point,” Encizo replied.
“Yeah, it’s obvious there’s a leak somewhere within the Embassy or among one of their contacts,” McCarter said. He looked at Russell and asked, “How many people knew the details of our mission here?”
“Three,” Russell replied. “The ambassador, his first assistant and me. We’re also the only ones who knew the details of Christopher Harland’s encounter with the local IRGC leadership.”
“Any of that end up in your computer systems?”
Harland shook his head. “Absolutely not. We have a pretty solid security system in place, but it would be insane to have put that kind of sensitive information into computers not hardened against intrusion by NSA standards.”
“Emails or phone calls from the others?” Hawkins asked.
“Nope.” Russell shook his head emphatically. “At least not to my knowledge. I personally monitor all electronic traffic in or out of there to make sure that any information that must be encrypted is encrypted. I didn’t note any references in the content to Harland or his transfer.”
“If he was being tracked electronically,” Manning said, “maybe they somehow used that to get their information.”
“Maybe, but that still doesn’t explain how they knew we were here, which is the real question at hand,” McCarter said. “How about the guy who drove us?”
Russell frowned. “I don’t think that’s feasible. He didn’t know the details of our route until after we’d left the Embassy. I can’t see how he would have had an opportunity to inform them far enough in advance to coordinate such an elaborate ambush. I mean, road bombs? That takes some real planning.”
“He makes an awfully good point,” Hawkins said.
“Well, we’re not going to find out sitting around here on our bloody arses chewing the fat about it,” McCarter said. “Mr. Gold will help you get your electronic systems into place as quickly as possible.”
Encizo and Russell looked at each other with mutual nods.
“The rest of us need to do a little recon.”
“Where?” Manning asked with a furrowed brow.
“The Peace Corps west of here,” McCarter replied. “Bring your waterproof bags and mosquito repellent, blokes. We’re taking a trip up the Rio Negro.”
* * *
IT WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN anybody’s first choice to navigate the winding, narrow road that snaked along the Rio Negro in the dead of night, but Phoenix Force had never been known for taking the easy route.
It bothered David McCarter being one man short but he understood all too well the importance of giving the body time to rest after trauma. Besides, Encizo wouldn’t lack things to do back at the hotel if things continued on the course they had to this point.
This mission could’ve been classified as anything but easy, and yet McCarter could only think about the challenges facing Phoenix Force. McCarter had told the Farm in no uncertain terms that he thought sending Able Team into the heart of Iran wasn’t the hottest idea. After all, this was the CIA’s screwup. Why couldn’t they clean up their own messes? Still, he knew orders were orders; they went where they had to and did what they had to. It was this kind of professional ethic that had guided the field teams of Stony Man all of these years, and McCarter wouldn’t have changed it for anything.
It took nearly two hours to reach the destination of the destroyed Peace Corps camp. As Phoenix Force bailed from the SUV—a loaner from the American Embassy—McCarter ordered them to scout the perimeter. It wouldn’t do to get ambushed again. Until they could figure out how the Hezbollah trainees had managed to track their movements, McCarter had told them to assume their every step remained under observation. Manning had also ensured they weren’t followed and during their entire trip to the site he could have counted on one hand the number of vehicles they encountered traveling in the opposite direction.
Once they cleared the perimeter, they began to search the scorched remains of the encampment. Manning and Hawkins teamed up and took one half of the camp while McCarter and James scoured the other side.
As they moved through what remained of the camp mess, the beams from their flashlights sweeping the interior, James said, “So you never really told us what we’re looking for.”
“That’s because I’m not sure myself, mate,” McCarter replied. “I just have a gut instinct that something here could help us.”
“I suppose it’s possible.” James squinted as he searched the gloom and said, “I don’t mind saying, though, this place gives me the creeps. It smells like…death.”
That forced a chuckle from McCarter. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”
“Nah, that doesn’t bother me,” James said. “Besides, it’s always the white chick who—”
Something caught James’s eye as it glinted in the flashlight beam. James peered at it for a bit, cocked his head and said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
McCarter stopped searching and turned toward the direction of his friend. “What is it?”
“Come look for yourself.”
McCarter advanced on James’s position and shortly the pair stood directly over a small, tubular object several inches in diameter and a half foot tall. At first it looked like a miniature coffee urn but on closer inspection they could see the remains of what appeared to be an advanced electronic gauge set into its face. The most telling thing about the object was that despite the fire the majority of it had appeared to survive the blaze. One thing was certain, it wasn’t any sort of equipment that would be in possession of a Peace Corps contingent and it sure as hell looked out of place in this environment.
McCarter keyed his radio and ordered the others to join them in the wrecked building. Manning and Hawkins arrived less than a minute later.
“What’d you find?” Hawkins asked. “Buried treasure?”
McCarter pointed at the odd-looking device. “Ever see anything like this before?”
Hawkins gave it a cursory glance and shrugged, but Manning knelt to gain a more detailed appraisal. A few times they heard him grunt to himself as he brushed gently as the soot and ash around the electronic inset. He then looked around the area with his flashlight. After a time, he rose and dusted his hands off.
“It’s not an explosive device—I’m sure of that much,” he told his compatriots.
Hawkins appeared to let off a sigh of relief.
“You think it’s some kind of food processor or something?” James asked.
“Definitely not,” McCarter said. “And definitely not any sort of luxury afforded most Peace Corps volunteers. A lot of them travel with only the most basic necessities because they want to fit in with the natives, as it were.”
“So
