Deadly Payload. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ Thai looked at the hard-faced members of Able Team.

      “Nice try,” Tso said. “I’d find a way to make it quick for—”

      The sound of his shoulder dislocating and separating exploded across Tso’s consciousness like an atomic blast. A red curtain of blood replaced his vision, his ears resonating with the rumbling echoes of his cracking bones and popping cartilage. He returned to reality, the taste of his sour bile in his mouth, the stench of vomit next to his head. He didn’t remember throwing up, but it had to have been while his consciousness disconnected. His arm was a limp, useless mass of twisted muscle and bone.

      There was no one to be seen around him.

      “Hey…” he croaked. His throat was raw from yelling, or maybe the acid in his bile searing unprotected esophagus.

      There was no answer and he twisted, looking around.

      “Hey! Hey! I’ll talk!” Tso shouted.

      The forest was empty, except for the corpses of some of his men. He tried to roll and crawl, but with only one arm and a shattered pelvis, he was helpless, motionless. All he could do was clutch at leaves and roots, unable to pull his lifeless limbs along. He saw the handle of his pistol poking out of some leaves and reached for it. Fingers sank into mud and he pulled. It seemed to take an eternity to shift only an inch, and two of his nails had been pried out by the roots due to his efforts. Bloody tips stung as they sank into the dirt for more leverage and haul himself closer to the pistol.

      He was drenched with sweat, and his cut was burning from the effort. Tso looked at the puckered brown skin, seething with infection. With another tug, he felt the rubber grips of his pistol and he pulled it closer. It felt lighter, and he looked at the magazine well.

      Empty.

      Maybe there was a round in the chamber. He thumbed back the hammer and pressed the muzzle to his temple. The trigger tripped and the hammer fell with a loud clack.

      Tears cut through the sweat and grime on his cheeks.

      They’d left him with an empty gun, to taunt him with the faint hope of a swift end.

      “There are twelve more men at the base,” Tso called as loud as he could, feeling something pop in his throat. “Twelve men, with machine guns, and motion detectors as well as UAV drones!”

      Tso took another deep breath and repeated his cry.

      He shouted his report five more times, for a total of seven, when he heard the crunch of wet leaves under boots. His throat tightened as he looked up to see Carl Lyons standing over him. He held a 9 mm pistol by the barrel, handle presented for the Thai.

      Tso reached up, swallowing. His fingers wrapped around the grip. He turned it over, and there was no magazine in place.

      “You’ve got one shot,” Lyons told him. “Use it wisely. We won’t give you another.”

      Tso nodded. “My people will tear you apart.”

      The ENT commander tilted the barrel of the pistol between his lips and pulled the trigger, getting the hell out of Panama.

       CHAPTER SIX

      The covert conference had reached its conclusion long before, giving McCarter time to report in to the Farm. The Mossad and Unit 777 operators were calling in, as well. All three teams were resting, burning away the morning hours so that they would travel in the heat of the day. It was harder going for all three groups, but fewer people would be out, and Phoenix Force and its allies would be less obvious.

      McCarter’s neck hairs rose and he looked toward Gary Manning who had tensed up at the cavern’s entrance.

      “Drone,” Manning whispered, his HK sniper rifle gripped firmly.

      That awoke the entire group. Squinting, the Phoenix Force commander could barely make out the tiny speck against the sky. Though they were painted white, the Predator drone was difficult to see, the colorless hull blanking out against the halo of sun-blazed sky or clear blue. Manning’s face was set in a grimace of disgust.

      “What’s wrong?” McCarter asked.

      “It’s been following an orbital path around the cave for at least two minutes,” Manning replied. “And it had been following that course when I first saw it. I should have noticed it earlier.”

      “You’re only human,” the Briton said.

      Manning quirked an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to be better.”

      “How did you even notice it?” Mahmoud asked. “It’s keeping the corona of the sun at its back.”

      “Sharp eyes,” Manning answered. He shook his head. “It’s high enough that it can’t be heard, and staying near the sun keeps it secure against thermal imaging. I’d caught odd movement in my peripheral vision, so I used an old eclipse-gazing trick.”

      Manning pointed to his cap. Small, circular vent holes near the crown to allow the seventy-five percent of body heat expelled through the head and shoulders to escape unhindered, was part of most headgear. He took the cap off and held it over a map that he’d put face down. He kept his fingers over all but one of the pinholes, and a disk of light showed on the map in his broad shadow. A dart-shaped object crossed the disk of light.

      “Son of a bitch,” Reiser growled. “How did they know…”

      Rafael Encizo spoke up, “One of your men is missing.”

      “Kohn?” another Israeli asked. “He was supposed to be watching the mouth of the cave from the wash running past.”

      “He’s long gone,” Calvin James interjected. “I don’t see any sign of him anywhere.”

      Mahmoud looked at Reiser, his lips pulled tight. Dark eyes studied the Mossad commander for a moment. “Your suspicions were correct.”

      Reiser sighed. “Let’s move…”

      “We’d be right in the open,” Manning countered. “And our allies tell us that those drones can be armed with anything. One of our teams encountered machine-gun fire from the drones.”

      Mahmoud looked up toward the sun, but the harsh glare made it impossible to see anything. He turned away. “They’ve also attacked with rockets, and this cavern would make a handy tomb with one warhead.”

      “Who did you suspect Kohn of working for?” McCarter asked Reiser.

      “There’s an organization made up of former and current intelligence officers and private citizens,” Reiser began.

      “Abraham’s Dagger?” McCarter prompted.

      “You’ve encountered them before?” Reiser asked. “I lost a good friend investigating those bastards.”

      “Not personally,” McCarter replied. “But I do know of two operations they’ve been involved with. A Palestinian refugee camp, and the attempted assassination of several UN relief workers.”

      “Abraham’s СКАЧАТЬ