Primary Directive. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ taking up a stance to look over the shoulder of one of the controllers. The man wore a subdued three-up, one-down chevron on the collars of his desert camouflage uniform blouse: a staff sergeant.

      “We online there yet, Sarge?” Lyons asked casually.

      “No, sir.”

      “How much longer you think?” Lyons asked.

      “Almost there now, sir. We’ve rebooted the servers and we should be online…right…now.”

      The trio of LCD screens in front of the controller came to life simultaneously and displayed different camera angles on Schwarz and the team members huddled around him near the wall. The pictures were displayed in high-definition format and rendered with full sharpness and opacity, and neither Blancanales nor Lyons could admit they weren’t somewhat impressed.

      The pair continued to watch with interest as the controller talked with Schwarz over a headset. The two discussed a few techie-tech things and then Schwarz concluded the conversation with a thumbs-up to the camera before he stepped out of viewing range. A minute later Schwarz entered the TOC. His face beamed with pride and as soon as Blancanales saw it he looked knowingly at Lyons, who chose only to return the look with an exaggerated smile.

      “Well, boys,” Schwarz said as he removed his work gloves and slapped at the make-believe dust on his uniform trousers. “It looks like that’s that. I’d have to say End Zone is a complete success.”

      Lyons visibly brightened. “Great! Does that mean we can leave now?”

      Blancanales mocked him with a stunned expression. “But, Ironman, this is just where the real fun begins.”

      Lyons groaned and Schwarz held up a hand to placate him. “Don’t worry, buddy. We only have a few tests we have to run through tonight. But if those pan out, I’d say we’ll probably be able to head out first thing in the morning. So you can call Jack.”

      “No go,” Blancanales said. He looked in the direction of the controller and then added, “He’s busy.”

      Schwarz nodded, but before anyone could say another word the controller called for their attention. Able Team gathered around as the guy pointed toward one of the screens. It now displayed a different set of cameras that Blancanales recognized from having worked in that location two days prior. The group watched with fascination as two figures climbed over the top of the wall and dropped down onto the U.S. side.

      “What’s going on?” Lyons demanded.

      “Sergeant, do we have some kind of live exercise scheduled for that area today?” Schwarz asked.

      The controller grabbed a nearby clipboard and flipped through several sheets until he came to the one he sought and let his finger trace down an itemized list.

      “That’s a negative, sir.”

      “Holy crap,” Blancanales said. “We got ourselves a couple real-life border crossers.”

      “Where is that, Sergeant?” Lyons demanded.

      The controller punched it up on another computer. “Those are the systems mounted at Pitchfork Point.”

      “I remember that area,” Schwarz said, exchanging glances with his comrades. “It’s about twenty miles east of the Columbus, New Mexico, port of entry.”

      Lyons looked at his watch. “At least an hour away.”

      “Shit, sir!” The controller pointed at the cameras and Able Team noticed his face had gone white as a sheet. “What the hell is that?”

      The pair who had vaulted the wall a moment earlier suddenly danced around like a pair of marionettes as red splotches appeared along their upper torsos. All the men of Able Team recognized the kind of destructive force that could only have come from automatic weapons.

      “Let’s go!” Lyons snapped.

      “T HAT’S RIGHT, YEAH !” Lyons barked into his cell phone for the third time in the past two minutes. “Pitchfork Point, that’s what I just said! What, you don’t speak English?”

      “Tell them they need to get out of town first,” Schwarz said.

      After another moment of silence, Lyons said, “Fine!” He clicked off and muttered, “Morons.”

      “They know where they’re going now?” Blancanales inquired from behind the wheel of their Ford Expedition.

      “Doubtful.” Lyons twisted in the passenger seat to look at Schwarz, who had his laptop open and was typing furiously at it. “What are you doing?”

      “Working with Bear on a direct feed to my laptop. I just talked to Ricchio back at the TOC. He told me right after that pair got shot to shit that a whole gaggle of illegals came over that wall. This time, though, they didn’t shoot them.”

      “Do we even know who they are?” Lyons asked.

      “What’s a gaggle?” Blancanales asked to lighten the mood.

      “Okay, the feed’s coming up now,” Schwarz announced.

      They rode in silence for the next minute, each man in his own thoughts about what might lie ahead.

      Finally, Schwarz whispered, “Good God…”

      “What is it?” Lyons asked.

      Schwarz turned the laptop so Lyons could see for himself. It replayed the shooting of the first two men who came over the wall and then displayed the mass of a dozen or so more who followed a minute thereafter. The last thing they saw astonished all of them. Four Border Patrol agents armed with M-16s stepped into view. Each pair grabbed one of the deceased men they had gunned down and dragged them off camera.

      “Impossible,” Blancanales said through clenched teeth.

      Lyons shook his head. “It’s unthinkable, I’ll agree.”

      “Two things are evident here right off,” Schwarz interjected. “First, those two weren’t wasted by Minutemen. Anywhere the wall’s been completed is strictly off-limits to all but authorized personnel. Second, what about the fact they made entry here in the sight of a newly constructed surveillance system in broad daylight?”

      “It signifies an act of desperation,” Blancanales replied.

      “Exactly,” Lyons added. “There are plenty of easier places to cross the border. Proved places with fewer obstacles and way more running room. That point couldn’t be more than—what?—maybe half a mile from the access road off Route 9.”

      “Something stinks to high heaven, no doubt about it.”

      In a drifting, almost contemplative tone, Schwarz said, “It’s almost as if they wanted us to see it, to make us believe the Border Patrol gunned down two crossers and then dragged away the evidence.”

      “Okay, but what about the rest of the group?” Lyons said. “Why gun down just those two?”

      “I don’t know,” Schwarz replied. “But СКАЧАТЬ