going to look weird us pulling in well beyond either of those vehicles.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get the chance,” Lyons said.
To the surprise of all three Able Team warriors, Thomas Acres climbed out of his car, closed the door and turned toward the van as he pulled a pistol from a belt holster concealed beneath his suit coat. Muzzle-flashes cast his silhouette to Able Team as Acres fired round after round into the passenger-side window of the van. The glass shattered under the impact of the first two rounds, and the third rewarded Acres with a bloody spray. He’d hit someone.
“Shit!” Lyons whipped the Colt Anaconda into play. “Get between them!”
Blancanales stepped on the gas and whipped the nose of the sedan into a point between the two vehicles, although much too late to reach Acres in time. The van’s side door slid aside to reveal a pair of tough-looking gunners clutching semiautomatic machine guns. The pair opened up simultaneously and red splotches exploded from Acres’s body in grisly, random patterns. The man jerked and twisted under the impact and eventually succumbed to the onslaught as his body collapsed to the dirty pavement.
Blancanales had his window down and extended his arm, the SIG clutched steadily in his left fist. He squeezed two rounds and then tromped the accelerator, causing the sedan to ride onto the shallow curb. The shots weren’t meant to actually hit anything as much as to keep heads down and buy Blancanales the time he needed to get their vehicle out of the direct line of fire. The maneuver worked well enough, taking the gunners by genuine surprise.
As soon as Blancanales reached the pinnacle of the turn, he put the accelerator to the floor at the same time as he hammered the brake pedal. The maneuver spun the rear of the vehicle, churning grass and mud from the finely manicured area designed to walk pets. As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, Lyons and Schwarz went EVA with pistols at the ready.
The first of the two gunners appeared at the front of the van and sprayed his enemy with autofire from his SMG. Lyons and Schwarz ate dirt and Blancanales ducked to avoid the rounds that went through the windshield and caused a massive spiderweb to form across the safety glass. Lyons, propped at the elbows, leveled the muzzle of the Anaconda and squeezed the trigger. The weapon boomed twice, undoubtedly causing as much fear as physical damage in its reports. The first 300-grain SJHP connected with the gunner’s chest, punched through his right lung and exited his back. The hit spun the man, causing Lyons’s second round to graze his neck, but he twisted enough to reveal the gaping hole left in the wake of the first.
Schwarz spotted the second gunman rush toward Acres’s sedan. The man whipped open the back door and retrieved a large silver suitcase that Schwarz knew would be filled with cash. Oh, no, that just won’t do, Schwarz thought as he lined up his sights on the man and took a deep breath. He let half out, adjusted for lead time and then triggered three successive rounds. The first caught the man at a point just above his left knee and as he pitched forward a second round ripped through the side of his neck. The last passed a bit too high over his head but at enough of an angle it would easily clear any vehicles on the highway and likely come down harmlessly in the field beyond that point.
As Schwarz and Lyons climbed to their feet, the van engine roared to life and the vehicle began to back out of its space. Blancanales thought desperately for a moment before hammering the gearshift downward and tromping the accelerator. More mud and grass flew from under the wheels as the sedan sluiced forward and finally gained purchase on the broad sidewalk. The van was just at the point of stopping when Blancanales tapped the brakes and connected with the right fender. The maneuver spun the nose of the van into a 180-degree arc and smoke rose from the wheels as rubber burned on the asphalt.
Unfortunately for the driver, who could not keep his vehicle under control, the van’s rear tires connected with the opposing curb. The impact jarred the van just enough that it listed sideways. Gravity and Archimedes’s law of the lever did the rest, flipping the van onto its side and causing it to come to rest on the slight incline of the hill that separated the rest area from the interstate.
Blancanales jumped from the sedan and rushed the incapacitated enemy vehicle, SIG-Sauer held at the ready. The driver had wriggled his way through the open window just as Blancanales reached him. He saw the Able Team warrior’s approach and clawed for shoulder leather but not before Blancanales managed to jump up and snatch hold of the back of the man’s neck. Blancanales yanked as he came down and then twisted his body with enough strength to flip the man head over heels. The thug landed ass down on the pavement and air audibly whooshed from his lungs.
The gunman started to moan with pain, rolling onto his side and clutching his wounded tailbone with one hand. He froze and a horrified look crossed his face as Lyons and Schwarz arrived and both leveled their pistols at him.
Blancanales smiled at his friends as he holstered his weapon and then dusted his hands. With a flair for the dramatic, he put his hands on his hips. “Well, looks like I managed to keep one of them alive.”
“Kiss ass,” Schwarz replied.
* * *
AFTER VERIFYING Congressman Thomas Acres was in fact dead, Able Team got the hell away from the scene before police arrived.
They needed a chance to question their prisoner before turning him over to local authorities and it wouldn’t do their timetable a lot of good to hang around and wait for the cops to arrive. And as Lyons had pointed out, he didn’t want to have to explain the situation to the boys in blue any more than he wanted to involve Stony Man to clear them if they could avoid it. Instead, it made more sense to take their prize and run.
They took the money with them, as well, intent on making sure it was returned to the Acres family—it probably wouldn’t save the life of Acres’s son at this point anyway.
Able Team returned to the outskirts of Washington, D.C., and proceeded straight to a safe house the Farm kept in the area for just such occasions. En route to the place, Lyons placed a hurried call to Stony Man and requested Calvin James meet them there.
James had been the successor to Keio Ohara, one of Phoenix Force’s original members, and had become a critical part of the field units. A former Navy SEAL and medical corpsman, James had grown up on the mean streets of Chicago and studied police science. He’d been working as a SWAT officer when chosen to join Phoenix Force. He was an expert in underwater operations, and as someone with advanced medical training, he’d become proficient with the chemical interrogation of prisoners.
Many liberals would have considered such techniques inhumane, but Calvin James felt the opposite for a number of reasons. He’d never administered the drug to anyone without a fundamental knowledge of their anatomy—it was critical to ensure the viability of a subject’s cardiac and respiratory systems before proceeding with the tactics. Moreover, James considered chemical interrogation significantly more humane than some of those methods employed by CIA and others on the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, for example. That boiled down to torture even in the most abject sense, but what James did—while most would fault him for it—could be implemented in a controlled environment.
“What are you going to use?” Blancanales asked with interest as he watched James draw five cc’s into a syringe followed by ten from a different vial filled with something milky.
“It’s a mixture of amobarbital and temazepam,” James replied as he pushed the excess air from the syringe. “Either drug by itself isn’t really effective in making a patient talk but the two together can be quite persuasive.”
“I’ve heard most people can resist it,” Schwarz said.
James smiled.
