Extreme Arsenal. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      THE SECURITY GUARDS spotted Encizo and Hawkins as they rushed into the lobby, guns drawn, but the Phoenix Force warriors had out their badges. Recognition of their authority had saved them from a mistaken-identity shooting.

      “It’s a war outside!” one guard snapped. “What the hell is going down?”

      “Two helicopters dropped a squad of commandos on your roof,” Hawkins replied. “Are you getting any reports from upstairs?”

      The sentry keyed his radio and heard static and screams over the speaker. “This is all we’ve got.”

      The other guard nodded anxiously. “We were going to evacuate the building, but with that gunship out there…”

      “Keep an eye on people down here,” Encizo ordered. “We’ll take care of things. Do you have any shotguns or submachine guns?”

      “I’ll take you to the security office,” the second guard said. “All we have are—”

      A wraith in black burst into view, heading toward the security office. The newcomer’s head was wrapped in a shiny black helmet, making him look almost insectlike, an alien invader out of a science-fiction movie. Hawkins, Encizo and the two security guards all acted as one and unleashed a swarm of 9 mm slugs at the black-clad invader. The swarm of bullets knocked the intruder down, and Encizo rushed up to the fallen invader, keeping the muzzle of his HK leveled at the helmeted face.

      The black-clad killer suddenly jerked to life and swept the muzzle of his machine pistol at the Cuban, but he kicked the frame of the weapon. His armored adversary’s grip was too strong to dislodge the gun, but Encizo had saved himself from a chestful of bullets. He fired point-blank at the assassin’s head, but jerked away as his 9 mm slugs rebounded off the shiny helmet. The invader twisted and hooked the Cuban’s ankle with one arm. Off center, Encizo struggled to maintain his balance as his opponent rolled and toppled him. The machine pistol’s muzzle swung up toward Encizo’s face, the unblinking eye of the barrel threatening to be the last thing he ever saw when a hurtling form crashed into the downed pair.

      Hawkins wrapped his forearm around the intruder’s throat. “Stick him, Rafe!”

      Encizo didn’t need prompting as he drew his Cold Steel Tanto fighting knife. The reinforced chisel point flashed for a moment, then plunged through the tough black fabric across the invader’s chest. It took every ounce of the Cuban’s weight and strength to penetrate the body armor, and even then, the razor-sharp blade lodged in the killer’s rib cage.

      “Cristo.” Encizo cursed as he redoubled his efforts to eviscerate the bulletproof attacker. A second surge of the muscular Phoenix Force warrior’s frame against the invader’s armored chest, and the full six and a half inches of reinforced, chisel-bladed steel snapped through bone and bullet-resistant material. Pulling with all his might, Encizo dragged the deadly knife through the marauder’s stomach, slitting him open like a fish. The black-clad intruder thrashed in Hawkins’s grasp for a moment, then died.

      “Holy shit,” Hawkins gasped. “What the hell is this bastard wearing?”

      “Good stuff,” Encizo answered as he plucked the machine pistol from the killer’s lifeless fingers. He dumped the magazine and checked the top round, a bottle-necked, greenish-black tipped slug. “Teflon-coated tungsten penetrators, 6.5 mm.”

      “Same caliber as the creeps David ran into in London,” Hawkins said as he handed Encizo spare magazines. He plucked a handgun from the dead man’s holster and checked its load. “Same ammo for this one, too…but it’s a high-capacity 1911.”

      “You take that one until we can find one of these things for you,” Encizo replied, holding up the Bofors PDW.

      Hawkins holstered his mini-Glock and took two spare magazines for the high-cap 1911. “Twenty rounds per stick. Not that bad a piece.”

      “Come on. If they penetrated this far, then they’re probably all over the building,” Encizo responded.

      The two Phoenix Force commandos left the security guards to retrieve their heavier weapons to protect the CIA employees in the lobby.

      GARY MANNING EXAMINED the pod as Calvin James watched the lurching gunship. The big Canadian ducked as a scythe of .50-caliber slugs ripped the air over his head, ignoring James’s exclamation as the salvo came too close.

      “Hurry up, Gary,” the black ex-SEAL admonished. “That thing’s taken out a lot of windows and sections of wall.”

      Manning pulled his Impact Kerambit wrench from its sheath and chopped its reinforced fiberglass point between the seams that formed the end of the drum. He twisted hard and broke off the tip, but pried apart the metal enough for him to fit his powerful hands in. The Canadian’s massive shoulders swelled as he wrenched the metal pod open, his face beet-red from the effort.

      James tried to ignore his friend’s display of nearly superhuman strength, but even with a deadly gunship spraying lethal streams of fire overhead, it was a sight to behold. The drum popped open and armored tubes were visible inside. Manning swallowed hard, breathing deeply, then planted one foot against a tube and wrapped both of his paws around another. “I need your Taser, Cal.”

      The tall ex-SEAL nodded. “Think it’s got enough of a charge to set that off?”

      “It should. These things don’t need that much voltage to fire.” Manning grunted as he flexed against the tube. Metal crumpled and wrenched as the brawny Canadian hauled on the rocket tube. He’d freed one end, levering it out of the pod when James tackled him to the ground. A heartbeat later a thunderstorm of bullets hammered into the ground, destroying what was left of the tree stump. Dirt and wood chunks rained on the prone Stony Man commandos.

      “Thanks,” Manning replied, breathing hard.

      “Anytime,” James answered. “You’re going to end up with a hernia.”

      “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” the Canadian replied as he returned to the rocket pod. It had been left untouched by the stream of lead that nearly chopped the Stony Man warriors to pieces. Manning braced himself again before the pilot could swing the helicopter around.

      “He’s not shooting the other rocket pod,” James noted. “He must not want to hit his own people inside the Computer Center.”

      Twisting steel shrieked as Manning ripped the rocket tube free.

      “It’s loaded,” he said softly, exhaustion having crept into his voice. James knew Manning possessed prodigious endurance, regularly running in marathons and engaging in weight-lifting contests with Carl Lyons, Able Team’s muscular commander. For him to show weariness meant that he’d tapped reserves of strength that the Phoenix Force demolitions expert had rarely touched. “Fire off your Taser, Cal.”

      James nodded and fired the X-26 point-blank into the dirt. The launching probes shot out, but he released the trigger, preventing the battery’s capacitor charge from draining. Manning grabbed the probes and hooked them up to the wire leads at the base of the rocket pod.

      James slid his slender but strong frame under the tube and shouldered it. “You aim.”

      Manning nodded as he wrapped the wire leads around the electrical probes at the tip. He stepped clear of the back of the rocket tube, sighting along the top of the bore as the СКАЧАТЬ