McCarter said.
“I’ve spoken with my contacts at the NSA and they tell me he’s top shelf.” Price smiled. “Just be your usually charming and cordial self. Russell’s a hard-line patriot who’ll give you the shirt off his back. He’s also a one-man geekfest so you’ll have every technical advantage at your disposal.” She glanced at Kurtzman with a wink and said, “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Back at you, girlfriend,” Kurtzman said, the reply very uncharacteristic when matched against the masculine bass in his voice.
* * *
MCCARTER SMILED IN RECOLLECTION at Kurtzman’s droll retort before the sudden waver as the engines revved in preparation for landing at a small airfield near Asunción.
“Prepare for landing, boys,” Grimaldi’s voice called over the cabin intercom. “Tray tables up, seat backs in their locked and upright positions…blah, blah, blah.”
This brought a chuckle or two from the roused Phoenix Force members.
They could’ve landed at one of the major airports, but McCarter had opted to go in using more covert means. Any public display would have attracted unwanted attention. Grimaldi had filed a flight plan with the Paraguayan government with a request from the U.S. Embassy to not pay much attention to the flight, a request that they’d chosen to honor in light of the recent events. The last thing they needed was for seventeen missing Peace Corps volunteers, possibly seized by a terrorist group, to leak. The press would eat it up—the situation would turn overnight from a private nightmare into a very public one.
That was the reason they’d decided to keep Harland under the spotlight, as well.
The Gulfstream C-38 had just rolled to a stop when the onboard phone next to McCarter’s seat signaled for attention. The engines whined down even as he picked it up. “Yeah.”
“David,” Price’s voice replied. “We just got notification from Able Team. Somebody tried to kill Harland.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” McCarter said. “I take it Ironman and friends pulled his bacon out of the fire?”
“Barely, but yes. We also just got word from the Man and his morning CIA briefing. Somebody has apparently come forward and identified our mysterious paramilitary group. Looks like Bear’s theory panned out.”
“Who’re we dealing with?” McCarter asked.
“It’s a training contingent of Hezbollah under the leadership of an elite paramilitary unit inside of Iran…the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps.”
“Bloody hell,” McCarter mumbled. “Why would the IRGC have any interest training terrorists in South America?”
“For one thing, they’ve had economic and soft power in the region for quite some time. Due to Paraguay’s large production of soybeans, these food exports are vitally important to Iran’s stability more than ever after the embargos, injunctions and other economic sanctions the UN’s leveled against them.”
“Yeah, Ahmadinejad’s not known for his working and playing well with others.”
“That’s only half the news,” Price said. “The other half is that this individual who approached some agents in Tehran indicated the Muslim cleric group of power in Iran, known commonly as Pasdaran, plans to make their move against Ahmadinejad soon. We’re talking a religious coup inside the country of incomprehensible proportions.”
“Do I smell a change in plans?”
“Not for you. Your mission is the same as before but we wanted you to have a better idea of what you’re up against. We’ll be taking care of the rest of this through Able Team.”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”
“We’re sending them to Tehran to handle the matter personally,” Price replied.
“Wait. Let me make sure I just heard you correctly. You’re sending Able Team into Iran?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” McCarter said. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Well, the decision’s already been made by the President, and Hal’s in complete agreement with it. I had my own reservations but it didn’t seem like the issue was up for debate so I’m going along with it. For now anyway.”
“Have you told them yet?”
“No, we’re still trying to sort out the details regarding Harland and who to hand him off to. This just isn’t a contingency we saw coming until now.”
“All right, then, thanks for keeping me in the loop. And, Barb?”
“Yes, David.”
“Tell Ironman I told him to bring his ass home in one piece. I don’t want to hear about anything like what happened a few years ago aboard the USS Stennis.”
“Will do.”
“Out here.”
McCarter broke the connection and then assembled his gear with the other members of Phoenix Force. Once they were settled in whatever temporary quarters had been arranged, he’d brief the team while they cleaned and double-checked their equipment. This news wouldn’t sit well with his teammates, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Phoenix Force had its mission and now Able Team had theirs. The stakes had gone way up and they couldn’t police everything at once, although they may have liked to.
A fresh-faced man met them outside the Gulfstream C-38. He had dark hair and skin, which would have made him fit in well among the local population save for the blue-gray eyes, which implied a European background. He wore tan slacks, loafers and a midnight-blue silk shirt with a crop collar. The figure looked almost athletic and although he might have been hired by the NSA due to his brains, McCarter could easily identify between men who couldn’t handle themselves versus those who could, and clearly Brad Russell fell into the latter category.
Russell offered McCarter a strong handshake and broad smile. “Mr. Brown, I presume?”
“You presume right.”
“I’m Brad Russell.”
McCarter grinned. “I know that, chap.”
“And I’m sure you know that I know your name isn’t really Brown, but I wasn’t supposed to ask questions, so Brown it is.”
“Touché.”
Russell acknowledged in turn the other Phoenix Force warriors ranged around McCarter’s flanks. “And these are Misters Gray, Gold, Green and White,” he said, referring to Manning, Encizo, Hawkins and James.
“Though not necessarily in that order,” Hawkins said with a laugh.
Russell returned the jest with a good-natured chuckle of his own before saying, “If you’ll come this way, gents, your chariot awaits.”
They hauled their tired butts across the
