Primary Directive. Don Pendleton

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      “N O , I UNDERSTAND ,” Hermann Schwarz said. “I’ll keep my eyes open. See you soon.”

      Schwarz hung up the phone and sighed, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. His backside hurt, his muscles ached and his stomach growled for attention. The Able Team computer wizard looked at the thick, orange curtains as they bobbed in the breeze of the air-conditioning unit vents mounted into the wall below the window.

      At some point it had grown dark outside. He climbed from his chair with a groan and went to the refrigerator of the hotel room they had set up for him about a mile off post. He didn’t like being here alone—especially not with his friends in the heat of the action without him—but Stony Man had decided it was better if he kept to himself for the time being. The unit members out of Fort Bliss assigned to work on End Zone were as vulnerable to attack from al Qaeda as the system creators, and they couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable member of the team. Schwarz remained a critical component in this operation given his familiarity with the system coupled with his expertise in electronic surveillance.

      Schwarz removed some cold cuts and bread acquired from a nearby deli and went about the task of making a hoagie. After his lunch he got back to business. The system modifications had proved more difficult than he originally assessed but finally the algorithms were complete and he had transmitted them to Kurtzman. It was now basically in the hands of the Farm’s cybernetics experts to complete the original interface. That’s where the real expertise would come in. Schwarz didn’t try to be self-effacing about his abilities but he was generally a hardware man; Kurtzman, Carmen Delahunt, Akira Tokaido and Huntington Wethers were the main players in Stony Man’s technological arsenal, and a hell of an arsenal it was.

      Schwarz added some notes to the schematics he’d been studying, then looked at his watch for the fourth time in an hour.

      “Come on, Bear,” he muttered. “Call me back.” The harsh ring of the landline startled him and he studied the phone a second before picking it up. “Were your ears burning?”

      “What’s that?” Kurtzman replied, although he caught the reference. “Sorry, it took a little more time than I thought.”

      “Understood.”

      “You got the call from Ironman?”

      “Yeah,” Schwarz replied. “Just hung up maybe twenty minutes ago.”

      “Barb told me you should be extra careful,” Kurtzman said.

      “Tell Mommy I’m fine. Really.”

      Kurtzman paused for effect. “Maybe I’ll leave you to tell her that.”

      “Chicken.”

      “No, smart.”

      Schwarz chuckled. “Okay, so give me the scoop.”

      “All right, we ran your computations through our database. I also had Akira program some additional software algorithms into the graphics-rendering engine, so that should help you with the analysis part.

      “Your idea to mount the tracking domes to the sides and top of that van and run them from a multibattery-supplied power unit’s brilliant. You can then pipe the wireless signal back to us as you follow the designated route and we’ll get that data into the system pronto.”

      “How long do you think it will take us to pinpoint their base of operations?”

      “Well, if our logistical calculations are correct about what’s a practical geographic boundary for al Qaeda to operate in, I’d be willing to say we can find them within a two-mile square radius in less than eight hours.”

      Schwarz whistled his amazement. “Not bad at all, Bear!”

      “We aim to please.”

      “What about the operation itself? You guys got any further developments on that?”

      “Barb’s still running down possible angles that could give us a better idea of Bari’s movements over the past few months, but you already know we’re not sure how soon that will develop some tangible leads, if ever. She did want me to tell you we think he left Washington, D.C., by private transportation headed for Chicago where he then got on the train for Albuquerque.”

      “So there’s little doubt he’s heading up this operation.”

      “Right.”

      “Okay then.” Schwarz sighed. “I’ll get my equipment gathered up and get it transferred to the van. Then I guess it’s wait on Ironman and Pol.”

      “When are they scheduled to be there?”

      “Ironman said he thought shortly after midnight.”

      “Well, you just watch it until then.”

      “Okay,” Schwarz replied. “Oh…and, Bear?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Tell Barb and Hal—No, check that. Ask them to get rid of the watch detail parked outside my motel. I’m sure they’re attracting more attention than helping and I don’t really need a babysitter.”

      “I’ll pass the word but I can’t promise they’ll do it.”

      “Understood, and thanks. Out, here.”

      Schwarz disconnected the call and stared at the phone for a minute. An old clock on the wall ticked through the seconds—loud and annoying in the silence of the room. Schwarz reached his arms overhead, stretched and yawned, then closed the lid on his laptop and disconnected the cord attached to the unit power adapter from the wall socket.

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