Domination Bid. Don Pendleton

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      “If there’s any more intelligence that comes our way while you’re en route,” Price said, “we can always divert you.”

      The five warriors nodded in concert.

      “Good luck, men,” Harold Brognola added.

      * * *

      CARL LYONS WAS enjoying an icy swim through a Mississippi tributary in northern Minnesota when the waterproof GPS device around his wrist sent a very mild tingle along his skin.

      Lyons pushed his body against the strong current, his muscular arms and shoulders propelling him through choppy waters that would have bested a lesser man. This was just one of the many feats that had earned Lyons his Ironman nickname.

      Lyons reached shore and climbed from the water onto the trunk of a fallen tree. He swung his legs over it and planted his feet on terra firma. Beads of water dribbled from every part of skin that had taken on a golden-bronze tone under three days of the early summer sun.

      Lyons checked the device as it signaled him again and then set off into a half-mile trot until he reached the spot where he’d left his two companions. He found them both fast asleep, a rock pit smoldering with red-orange wood coals the only remainder of the campfire they’d started the night before.

      Lyons put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Pathetic.” He then walked over and kicked the soles of their feet.

      The first man, husky and muscular with gray-white hair, awoke with a start. “What’s the big idea, Ironman?” Rosario “Politician” Blancanales demanded. “That’s no way to wake up a friend.”

      The other man had barely stirred, although that hardly fooled Lyons. He knew that both of them were trained well enough they’d probably detected his approach while he was still out of sight. Those same instincts, forged from years of combat and training, were the ones that had registered Lyons as an entity that didn’t pose any threat.

      Hermann “Gadgets” Schwarz yawned. “Yeah. Really, Ironman, you have no class.”

      “Shape up, boys,” Lyons said. “I got buzzed.”

      Schwarz looked at Blancanales and rubbed one eye. “He’s not a very nice person.”

      “Old age has made him cantankerous,” Blancanales replied.

      “Stuff it,” Lyons muttered as he reached into his backpack and retrieved his cell phone.

      Lyons issued a voice-coded command and the phone automatically dialed the secure satellite uplink to the communications center at Stony Man Farm.

      When Price answered on the second ring, Lyons said, “You rang, Mizz Daisy?”

      “I did,” she replied. “I’m sorry to cut your vacation short but we have big trouble. We just finished briefing Phoenix Force and they’re getting ready to depart for Belarus. We need you guys to head to the location I’m sending to your phone via secured traffic.”

      “Can I have a clue?”

      “North of Des Moines, Iowa. A research facility belonging to the USDA.”

      “Understood. We’ll head for the car now.” He looked at Blancanales and Schwarz and grinned as he added, “Tweedledee and Tweedledum were only sleeping.”

      “Probably trying to catch up.”

      “We’ll get all the sleep we need when we’re dead.”

      “Not funny, Carl.”

      “Yes, Mother.”

      “Get moving and call me back when you’re on the road. I can talk to all of you via the car phone.”

      “Roger that. Out.”

      Blancanales watched expectantly as Lyons disconnected while Schwarz had simply rolled over and started to drift. “Where we headed?”

      “Some USDA facility in Iowa,” Lyons replied.

      * * *

      “AMERICAN MERCS OPERATING on American soil?” Lyons said into the roof-mounted speaker once they’d returned to their car. “That’s bizarre.”

      “I think you’ve understated it,” Blancanales said from behind the wheel.

      From the backseat Schwarz asked, “So I assume you think they were after something in the data vaults, Barb?”

      “That’s our thought,” Price said. She explained their theory as it related to the disappearance of Dratshev.

      “The timing does seem noteworthy,” Blancanales agreed.

      “So what’s our approach?” Lyons asked. “I assume the FBI and NSA are already knee-deep in this. Are we going to run into territorial dick flexing?”

      “Probably,” Price replied. “But you’d hardly be able to avoid it, no matter what. We did manage to put in a good word with the FBI’s SAIC, who’s been appointed as the lead in the investigation.”

      “And who is this FBI Special Agent In Charge?”

      “You’ll want to make contact with a guy named Robert Higgs. He’s a veteran investigator and one of the FBI’s most decorated agents.”

      “What’s our cover?”

      “Use your BATFE credentials,” Price replied. “If you come in expressing only interest in the weapons that were used, that should buy you at least some partial good will. Learn what you can and then funnel the information back to us.”

      “Understood,” Lyons said. “We’ll get the info out of them.”

      “Just find out everything you can and report back to us as soon as possible. It’s important we determine how this fits in to Phoenix Force’s mission before they reach Minsk,” Price explained.

      “We’ll do our best,” Blancanales said.

      “As always,” Schwarz added.

      After they disconnected, Lyons tendered a grunt.

      “What is it?” Blancanales asked.

      “Just something really odd about it all.”

      “You think the Farm’s right about a connection between Dratshev’s disappearance and this assault on the NSA data vault?” Schwarz asked.

      “I wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand,” Lyons replied. “They’re usually right about those kinds of things. I wish we could take a more direct approach, though. Seems more and more that we’re being forced to fight bureaucratic red tape in our missions.”

      Blancanales chuckled as he met Schwarz’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Sounds like Ironman’s got a bit of nostalgia for the good old days.”

      “Can you blame him?” Schwarz replied. “He СКАЧАТЬ