Gathering Storm. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ the speed up until I tell you, then hit the brake.”

      Encizo nodded. He trod on the gas pedal and put the Jeep along the road at dizzying speed. He saw the crest coming fast, then the Jeep cleared the hump and left the road for long seconds. It came down with a thump that jolted the passengers violently. The Jeep bottomed out, scraping up earth and creating a thick swirl of dust that misted the air behind them. Encizo felt the wheel wrench in his hands and had to use all of his strength to keep the vehicle on the road.

      “Hey, Rafe,” Hawkins said, turning to check behind them again. “You know how they do that in movies and the cars come out in one piece?”

      “So?”

      “I think we left some bodywork behind us.”

      Manning’s guess had been correct. There was a slope on the far side of the hump. The Jeep bowled along it, bouncing once again as it hit the level road.

      “Now,” Manning demanded.

      Encizo hit the brake and hung on to the wheel as the Jeep slowed, sliding to one side.

      The moment the speed had dropped to a safe level, Gary Manning eased open his door and cleared the vehicle. He turned immediately and faced the slope they had just come down, bringing his M-16 to his shoulder.

      As Manning raised the rifle, the roar of the pursuing SUV’s powerful engine increased as it burst into view over the hump in the road and sped in their direction.

      Manning watched the SUV as it sped toward him. Once it was in range, he stepped forward and tracked in the M-16. He knew the American rifle well. He was also the team’s lead sniper, deadly accurate with a rifle. He was entirely comfortable with the M-16 and now he sighted in on the oncoming SUV. The driver had to have seen the Phoenix Force commando’s armed figure. He jammed on the brakes, putting the big vehicle into a dust-kicking skid.

      Manning wasn’t about to allow the opposition time to take cover. He opened fire, placing his shots in the visible front tire, the 5.56 mm slugs tearing and shredding the rubber. The tire flattened and the SUV’s steering went leaden in the driver’s hands. The vehicle lurched and rocked, threatening to overturn, but remained upright as it came to a juddering halt.

      One of the rear doors swung open and an armed man sprang out, swinging his own weapon into play. Manning hit him in the chest with a pair of rounds. The man bounced off the side of the SUV, pitching facedown in the dust. Manning immediately switched his aim and began to jack off shot after shot into the windshield and the side windows. Glass imploded and they could see shapes inside the SUV struggling to get clear. The driver’s door opened and an already bloody figure tumbled out, hauling his SMG into play. He fired a burst in Manning’s general direction. Manning hit him with a single shot that entered just above his right eye and cored through and out the back of his head, blowing brain scraps onto the SUV’s door.

      The big Canadian took another couple of steps forward, the M-16 already following its next target as another gunrunner emerged from the far side of the SUV. He had stayed low until the moment he raised his head above the hood of the vehicle, searching for the shooter who was eliminating his partners. He never even had time to see his killer. Manning’s M-16 cracked once and the bullet blew off the back of his skull. The man did a complete turnaround before he slammed facedown on the ground.

      It became very still after that.

      Manning remained on full alert, watching the enemy vehicle. He couldn’t see any movement inside the vehicle and decided that his shots through the windows of the SUV had taken out any others still inside. He took a couple of steps back, freeing the magazine from the M-16 and feeding a fresh one into the receiver.

      McCarter stepped up beside him. “Persistent buggers, aren’t they,” he commented.

      “Were,” Manning corrected.

      The Briton touched him on the shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here before the Santa Lorca militia decide to chip in.”

      “This burg got a militia?”

      McCarter shrugged.

      They returned to the Jeep and Encizo moved off. He pushed the vehicle as fast as was safe on the dirt road. A couple of miles out from the strip, James put in a call to Jack Grimaldi.

      “Crank up that crate, Flyboy. We’ll be checking in anytime now.”

      “Ready when you are, ladies. Make sure you wipe your boots before you come aboard. I run a clean ship.”

      ENCIZO TOOK the Jeep across the airfield and parked just behind the DC-3. The engines were already running, turning over smoothly. Grimaldi leaned out of the cockpit, waving at his passengers as they made for the open hatch. As the last man in pulled the hatch shut, the Stony Man pilot released the brakes, boosted the power and the aircraft began to move. Grimaldi coasted to the end of the runaway and waited until he had the engines balanced and trimmed. Then he upped the throttles and the DC-3 began to roll along the strip.

      They lifted off into a sky that was darkening around them. Grimaldi banked the aircraft onto its correct heading once they were out over the Pacific. He settled back in his seat, enjoying the experience of piloting an aircraft like the DC-3. It was real flying as far as he was concerned. No digital readouts or satellite-controlled flight settings. Just his hands on the controls, a far cry from supersonic jets and even his beloved Dragon Slayer. For Jack Grimaldi this was a flight of pure indulgence and he was enjoying every minute of it.

      KAMAL RASHEED HAD BEEN handcuffed to his seat with metal handcuffs. He resented Phoenix Force, making his feelings known whenever anyone came close to him.

      “Do all the ranting you want, mate,” McCarter told the Iraqi. “When we reach the U.S. you’ll be handed over to the people who are going to be looking after you from now on, and I can tell you they aren’t as nice as we are.”

      Rasheed glared at the Briton. “You should reconsider what you are doing. Do you realize who I am?”

      “Don’t remind me. Kamal Rasheed. One of Saddam Hussein’s little helpers. We have a nice long file on you. And what a bloody charmer.”

      “You dare to judge me?”

      “Damn right I do.”

      “Because I am Muslim you have decided I am your enemy.”

      “Change the record, Rasheed. You people keep bleating on about your religion like it’s the reason for everything. I don’t care who you worship. This isn’t about religion. It’s about a bunch of bullies who held their own country to ransom, put everyone who wasn’t in their club in fear. You terrorized them, tortured them, kept them in ignorance and stole every bloody thing you could get your thieving fingers on. Kids died from malnutrition while you miserable bastards had gold taps fitted to your bathrooms, ran around in luxury cars and salted away billions of dollars in your personal accounts. That had nothing to do with religion of any kind, so don’t throw that one at me.”

      “Because you have me, do you think it will stop what we are going to do? We have God on our side, and we will win.”

      “See? You can’t open your mouth without using your religion as an excuse. Just for once talk to me man-to-man. Stop bloody hiding behind God.”

      The expression in Rasheed’s eyes hardened. “You are not fit to speak СКАЧАТЬ