Primary Directive. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ coded number to Stony Man Farm. The line rang twice and was then picked up by Brognola. “Hal, you getting this?”

      “We’re watching it right now,” the Stony Man chief replied. “What the hell is going on down there? Border Patrol officers killing illegal immigrants?”

      “We’re as surprised as you, boss,” Blancanales replied.

      “Well, I have Aaron and his team checking out every inch of the footage we captured. We also talked to this Sergeant Ricchio while we were working on the wireless uplink. He says they lost the feed less than thirty seconds after the segment we recorded there.”

      “Lost it how?” Schwarz inquired.

      “I wish we knew. All Ricchio could tell us was that they believe the feeds were cut at the source.”

      “So they destroyed the cameras,” Lyons said.

      “Impossible,” Schwarz said. “Those things are housed inside boxes made of inch-thick titanium alloy plating. It’d take nothing short of a grenade or missile to destroy them. The only other way they could interfere with the transmission at the source would be through the use of a Wi-Fi jammer or severing the hardwired fusible links providing power. And to do that, they’d need some decent insider information.”

      “Whatever the explanation,” Lyons said, “this changes the name of the game, Hal.”

      “Agreed,” Brognola replied. His voice faded a moment as he asked, “What’s that?” Another tense moment of silence, then, “Bear’s people just came up with something hot. If you replay the footage of the large group coming over the wall, about the third or fourth player over you’ll see his hand rest on top of the wall as he climbs down. The tunic he was wearing is pulled back some and it exposed a tattoo on his forearm, just above the wrist.”

      “Can you make it out?” Lyons asked.

      “We’re checking the linguistic database now,” Brognola said. “But what we know for sure is it’s an Arabic symbol of some kind. We’ll send more intelligence along as soon as we have something definite.”

      “Not good,” Blancanales said matter-of-factly.

      “Definitely not good.”

      “This could be a lot more serious than you might think,” Brognola continued. “Like I said earlier, David and Phoenix are in Panama. There was an incident down there two days ago. It hasn’t hit the press up here yet, but I’m sure it will shortly. It seems the Panamanian government may have traded shots with a submarine. We think it might have been sent by our al Qaeda friends.”

      “You’re just full of good news today, aren’t you?” Lyons retorted.

      “You started it.”

      “I assume we’re clear to do whatever we have to on this one?” Lyons asked.

      “Unequivocally,” Brognola said. “Find out what’s going on and act appropriately, but be as judicious as you can. We don’t need any bloodbaths down there if we can avoid it.”

      “They started it,” Lyons said, and disconnected.

      “Now what?” Blancanales asked.

      “I guess we won’t really know until we get there,” Lyons replied. “See if we can find some clues from whatever pieces they left behind to pick up.”

      “You think those were terrorists crossing onto U.S. soil?”

      “I’d wager my next paycheck on it,” Lyons replied.

      He turned to Schwarz. “How we fixed for armament, Gadgets?”

      “We’re good. Kissinger packed all our usual fare, plus a little extra just in case.”

      “I’d say this qualifies as a ‘just in case’ moment,” Blancanales said.

      Lyons grunted his agreement. This smelled of a terrorist plot from the get-go and Lyons could feel a conspiracy at the very center of his gut. The al Qaeda terrorists had been spouting off for years about launching another catastrophic attack against America, and maybe they saw their chance in the recent tensions between Mexico and the U.S. concerning illegal immigration. Leave it to a pack of radical terror-mongers to exploit an already hot issue. There were issues about the 9/11 attacks that had driven wedges between the divisions on issues totally unrelated to al Qaeda and its unquenchable hatred for the United States and her allies. Why should this be any different?

      Well, it would be different in one way. This time Able Team and Phoenix Force would be prepared for it. This time they’d be waiting for al Qaeda to make its move. And when it did, the terrorists would encounter a force unlike any they had faced before.

       CHAPTER THREE

      The men of Phoenix Force stepped onto the tarmac of the heliport in Gamboa as the blades of their Sikorsky H-19 wound down. The humid air brushed over them like oil paint on a canvas and the mugginess made it difficult to breathe.

      A man with a long, thin nose and bushy mustache stood at the edge of the tarmac wearing a lightweight linen suit of white over a pink silk shirt and a wide-brimmed hat. The first thought that came to McCarter’s mind was that of Panama Jack, and as he drew closer to the man he noticed the facial features only reinforced his first impressions. The ends of the man’s mustache tapered off curlicue style and he had a smooth, swarthy complexion with mild crow’s-feet.

      “Mr. White?” The man spoke English with a heavy mestizo accent. He extended a hand and McCarter shook it. “Robert Nativida. I am the Panama province secretary of the interior to President Espino.”

      “Pleased to meet you,” McCarter replied easily. He introduced the others in turn by their aliases; they shook hands all around.

      “Welcome to Panama, gentlemen. If you’ll follow me, please.”

      Phoenix Force accompanied Nativida to a pair of Jeepneys waiting at the edge of the road. McCarter took one with Encizo and Nativida, while James, Hawkins, Manning and their driver manned the other. They turned onto a road that led from the heliport and headed in a westerly direction.

      “Where we going?” Encizo asked casually.

      “There is an activity center near here,” Nativida replied over his shoulder from the front seat. “I will need to stop there and pick up some important documents. I apologize for running errands but as I’m sure you’re aware we’re trying to keep up appearances and this information deserves my attention.”

      “No need to worry the tourists, eh, mate?” McCarter gibed.

      Nativida nodded emphatically. “Precisely. From there, we will take you to the hotel. We have rooms booked for you at the Historical Villa. The apartments there are adjacent to the main resort. We assumed you would wish to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

      “You assumed right,” Encizo replied.

      “Although we’d like to see the site of the engagement first, if it’s all the same to you,” McCarter added.

      “We can arrange that,” Nativida said.

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