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STONY MAN
The elite, covert agents of Stony Man Farm, comprising the best cyber techs and military in the world, act under orders of the President. Whether it’s stopping a terror attack overseas or saving civilians closer to home, the teams fight for freedom and peace.
DEADLY SCIENCE
A cutting-edge electromagnetic pulse weapon sets off a bidding war, and brokers from countries all over the world can’t wait to get their hands on it. But when the Libyan rebel behind the auction squeezes out the U.S., red flags are raised in Washington. Determined to keep the weapon of mass destruction away from hostile powers, Stony Man Farm has two choices: steal it from the rebel’s headquarters in Greece—or destroy it. While Phoenix Force deploys overseas, Able Team has its own mission. An American paramilitary contractor also wants the EMP device…and he’s willing to kill anyone who gets in his way.
“WATCH OUT!”
Mishka had missed the dark sedan that rolled alongside the driver’s side of her coupe.
McCarter reached beneath his coat and quick-drew a Browning Hi-Power. He aimed at the small window behind Mishka’s seat as the sedan swerved toward the coupe and tried to force her to crash into the cars parked along the road.
“Sorry ’bout the window, love!” he shouted before squeezing the trigger twice.
The first bullet shattered the coupe’s window and the second took out the passenger-side window on the sedan. The outline of a man’s face was all McCarter could make out in the dark, but he didn’t have trouble discerning the whites of his eyes. McCarter fired a third shot and the mask disappeared in a crimson spray. The sedan swerved as the driver whipped the wheel hard left and put the vehicle into a one-eighty.
McCarter grabbed a small walkie-talkie from his belt. “Gray One to team. You got that?”
“Saw it all, Gray One,” Encizo replied immediately. “Should we pursue?”
“Hell, yes,” McCarter muttered.
Domination Bid
Don Pendleton
Contents
Minsk, Belarus
Night settled on the city as a blanket of fog rolled across the Svislach River and obscured the lights of Upper Town. Atlantic currents made the air feel dense as heavy humidity was normal to the city this time of year. However the rare lack of wind made the air stifling and Oleg Dratshev, used to the clear and crisp bite of northern Russia, found it a chore even to breathe.
Within a stone’s throw, Dratshev noted the smooth and precise movements of his shadowy escorts: four FSB agents assigned to monitor his every move. The Soviet secret service
