with the takedown.”
“The approaches are rough, just like the satellite showed. Coming down the hill on the far side will bring a damn avalanche down with us,” Encizo put in.
“Yep,” McCarter agreed. “I was hoping once we got on location we’d catch a break.” He eyed the steep terrain surrounding them and funneling downward toward the terrorist compound and village. It was unforgiving. “But it looks like our luck is holding true to form.”
“Straight down the road?” James asked.
“Straight down the road,” McCarter answered.
Dominican Republic
CARL LYONS FLUNG himself to one side, and the Detonics Combat Master went off like a hand cannon in the confined space. The heavy .45-caliber slug snapped through the air and burned down the hallway before burying itself in a wall.
Hermann Schwarz spun around the wall and threw the chair in a rough lob. It arced out and landed, bouncing awkwardly. The interloper jerked back, flinching away from the flying furniture.
Lyons used the seconds to readjust himself and leap onto the masked figure. His hand caught her wrist just behind where the gun butt filled her palm. He surged forward, snapping his elbow around and driving it into the side of her head.
The masked female slumped under the blow, stunned. The compact automatic dropped out of her hand and fell loudly on the floor. Schwarz rushed into the room ready to back Lyons up. He looked down and saw the sprawled figure on the floor as Lyons pushed himself up.
“She go night-night?” he asked.
“Like a baby,” Lyons replied, and picked up the pistol.
Out in the front room they heard the door being thrown open violently. Lyons spun and lifted his handgun.
“We’re fine, Pol,” Schwarz called out.
“Glad to hear it,” Blancanales replied. “Guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion after seeing you walk into a building right before there’s a gunshot.” Blancanales walked in and looked down at the unconscious figure on the ground. “Dios mios, Ironman, we don’t have time for you to start dating.”
“You’re getting to be a real old lady,” Lyons muttered.
“Speaking of ladies,” Schwarz said, “maybe we could ask this one some questions?”
“Suits me.” Lyons nodded, and stuck the gun behind his back. “Let’s get her up and put her in a chair.”
Blancanales took her mask off to check the extent of Lyons’s blow, and an attractive woman with mahogany skin and Caribbean features was revealed. Her head was covered with close-cropped, tight-knit rows of dark hair pulled back severely from her handsome face. Her temple was swelling where it had made contact with the sharp end of Lyons’s elbow.
The woman came awake, still dazed while the three men pushed her down into a deep, comfortable chair in the living room that was so soft it would be impossible to quickly rise from. She sought to argue and perhaps fight, but Lyons laconically showed her her own pistol and she sat quietly, shooting daggers with her eyes.
“Anything?” Lyons asked after Blancanales had finished searching her.
The Puerco Rican nodded and held up empty hands. “Nothing.”
Lyons nodded. “Check the room she was tossing,” he instructed.
The big ex-cop regarded his prisoner while Blancanales moved back to the bedroom where they had first jumped the thief. Schwarz moved behind the woman and took her hands up, rolling her fingers across a glass he had taken from the kitchen, then setting it just out of reach on the table.
The woman squawked in protest at the liberty taken and spit out a long line of vulgarities. Lyons smirked in admiration at her profane grasp of the English language.
“Nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“My mother’s dead, you Yaquis pig-screwing bastard!” the woman snapped.
Lyons didn’t believe her for a second. “Everyone’s got a hard luck story, sister. What’s your name?”
“None of your business.”
“Sure, you break into the house of my friend, try to steal stuff, and it’s none of my business. But that’s fine, little girl, we’ll know who you are in a moment.”
At the kitchen table Schwarz was quickly mixing a small amount of commercial glue taken from desk supplies in the apartment with common tap water. He worked methodically while the computer next to him began warming up.
“Where’s your badge?” the woman demanded, trying to turn the tables.
Lyons smiled at her and lifted one big, blunt finger to his lips. “Sshh. You felt my badge upside your head just a minute ago.”
“Someone will have heard that pistol shot,” she warned. “They will call the police.”
“In this neighborhood? In the middle of a riot? For a car backfire?” Lyons shook his head gently and the girl slumped into the chair.
Blancanales came back into the room carrying a black canvas backpack. “She found the safe,” he said, and dumped her pack out onto the table next to where Schwarz was working.
“She crack it?” Lyons demanded.
“Nope, but she would have,” Blancanales answered. “I found this.”
The Puerto Rican Special Forces veteran lifted out a black electronic device the size of a commercial Pocketbook computer with two coaxial cables dangling from it. The implement was a top-of-the-line digital safecracker. Lyons let out a long, slow whistle of appreciation.
“That’s not exactly gear I would associate with a common street burglar,” he said.
The woman looked away. From the kitchen table behind her Schwarz scanned his fingerprint sample into the safehouse computer. “I’m sending it through now,” he said into his com link.
The Stony Man supercomputers would compute a match at speeds that far outstripped the power of the field station equipment.
“Why don’t you save me some time, lady,” Lyons snapped. “No one’s buying the burglar act.”
“Who are you?” the woman asked, voice steady.
Lyons opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Schwarz, the man’s voice thick with sardonic irony.
“Who are we, Ms. Felicity Castillo?” Schwarz laughed. “As of now, we’re your contacts.” He turned toward Lyons. “She’s one of ours.”
Lyons got a look of disgust on his face. “I already hate this fucking town.”
CHAPTER SIX
Kyrgyzstan
“Phoenix to Stony
