for the men to see. “I also took this off one of the Lakwena fighters. It is American-made and a forgery I seriously doubt.”
“Why would Americans equip our sworn blood enemies with weapons to fight us? They will hardly even provide General Kiir with equipment we’ve requested. Have they switched their allegiance?”
“I do not have an answer, Kumar,” Taha said. “But it is not of great importance right now. Begin searches on the remainder of the camp and see if we can find any clues as to the direction they may have gone. Also search the body of every man here. If you find any alive, see if you can revive them enough to question them. I want to know if any of the others have American weapons on them. General Kiir will want to know this and any intelligence that we can take will help us. Let us not return to our leader empty-handed.”
With a nod from Taha to signify he had finished giving orders, the men scattered across the camp and began to search the bodies for any information. Taha doubted they would find any—it wasn’t like the Lord’s Resistance Army to leave behind anything of value.
His unit had learned of the camp from a young girl, a villager who managed to escape notice and waited in the weeds for three days straight, afraid to show herself even after she saw Taha’s force arrived at the village. Of course the little girl had been able to tell them absolutely nothing of the size of the force or the weapons they were carrying; such things were not naturally part of a young girl’s life and should never have been. Taha had been unable to imagine what that poor, motherless child had witnessed. The Lakwena dogs committed atrocities against the females while the men and boys of the village watched helplessly, tied down to stakes or herded into pens where they had their feet cut off and the wounds cauterized by hot brands so they didn’t bleed to death.
Instead they died by infection and dehydration, an unimaginable death so horrific it made Taha want to be sick again.
As Taha inspected the weapon in his hand once more he wondered if there was a grain of truth to Kumar’s accusation. Were the Americans supplying their enemies with guns? It made no sense to him. He knew a few Americans—mercenaries from a paramilitary company who had come to advise General Kiir and bring supplies and equipment. There was no benefit to Americans, military or civilian units, for the fighting to continue among the various factions in Sudan. In fact, quite the opposite since Sudan hosted resources and other valuable commodities of great interest to American companies and their foreign investors. They had always demonstrated a willingness to do what was necessary to resolve the civil strife that threatened stability in the region.
No, it did not make any sense for them to help the Lord’s Resistance Army.
There had to be another explanation. He would ask General Kiir to make contact with his friends in the United States. The general had contacts through the CIA operative working out of the capital. These men would know what to do—they would be able to provide answers to this mystery.
And perhaps they would help.
CHAPTER TWO
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
The help would come in the form of the five men who sat awaiting the arrival of Harold Brognola and Barbara Price.
Many briefings had occurred in the confines of the War Room, as well as a good many debriefings following more successful missions than any of those men cared to count. Their presence signaled the results of what just one man can do when he’s trying to make a difference. The covert unit at this table, Phoenix Force, had been born from the courage and bravery of the inimitable Mack Bolan. Bolan’s war started against the American Mafia but eventually broadened to a fight against worldwide terrorism.
Forged from the spirit and unswerving abilities of Mack “the Executioner” Bolan, the men of Phoenix Force had earned a reputation as one of the finest fighting units in the world. Not even the President of the United States and a good number of his predecessors knew their identities; that was a privilege reserved only for the select few whom this band of brothers trusted with their lives.
Leading the team of warriors was David McCarter, a fox-faced Briton who’d begun his career serving with the SAS. To his left sat Rafael Encizo, whose life had started as a prisoner in the death prisons of Fidel Castro. The lone Canadian was Gary Manning. A former explosives expert with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Manning had a penchant for hunting rifles and possessed uncanny knowledge of terrorist groups around the world.
The other two men of Phoenix Force were successors but no less effective in their own rights. Calvin James had been handpicked by the late leader of Phoenix Force, Yakov Katzenelenbogen. A former Navy SEAL and member of a Chicago P.D. SWAT team, James was a human force with which to be reckoned. Finally, the youngest and newest member of the group was Thomas Jefferson Hawkins. Hailing from the Lone Star State and known for his quick wit, Hawkins had served honorably with Delta Force until leaping at the opportunity to join his elite friends.
Together these men had battled and overcome the forces of evil around the globe under the guidance of the most covert special operations agency in the world: Stony Man.
The Phoenix Force warriors greeted the arrival of Brognola and Price with little fanfare. While nobody pointed out the fact the pair was fifteen minutes late for the briefing—something rather unusual for these particular individuals—there was no mistaking the air of anticipation in the room. It hung like an electrically charged cloud above the Phoenix Force warriors, and Hal Brognola, director of the Special Operations Group, immediately noticed it.
“I’m sorry we’re behind schedule but it was unavoidable,” Brognola said. “I know you’re itching for action so we’re going to keep this as short and sweet as possible.”
“As soon as you’re briefed,” Price said, “there’s a chopper waiting to take you to Andrews. Jack is there now doing the preflight so we’ll skip the ceremony.”
It seemed as if everyone simultaneously issued a sigh of relief. Not that they would have done anything other than sit patiently while Price laid it out for them in ever-arduous detail. The mission controller was cool and calm under the worst situations, often treating them in a very maternal fashion, although only because of her natural personality; she had no real desire to flutter around them like a mother hen.
“We’re sending all of the main details to your portable devices,” Price continued as she sat at the table and flipped a strand of the honey-blond hair behind her ear. “You can study those on the flight out.”
“Where are we headed, love?” McCarter asked.
“We’re sending you for several days of fun-filled adventure in Sudan,” Brognola said. “There’s a time factor involved here and I want to give you as much time as possible, hence the brevity of this particular meeting.”
“Here’s the short story,” Price said. “Four days ago, a CIA agent in Khartoum received communication from a man named Rahmad Kiir, the general and leader of the Sudan People’s Liberation Army. Contact with Kiir isn’t apparently that uncommon for the CIA, since they’re able to provide a considerable amount of information regarding activities inside the Sudanese government. Those activities are of course the real story about what’s happening and not merely the bull hooky they like to feed our embassy. To break it down succinctly, some of Kiir’s men were on a mission to rescue villagers who had been taken by members of the Lord’s Resistance Army.”
“Also known as the Lakwena,” Brognola interjected helpfully.
“I thought
