by Gar Wilson
Encizo also carried a Walther PPK for backup and two fighting knives. The big Tanto was a modern version of a samurai fighting knife. It had a rubberized handle for a firm grip, and the heavy Cold Steel blade was as thick as three-quarters of an inch at the spine and razor sharp. His other knife was a double-edged Gerber Mark 1, carried in a sheath clipped to his boot.
Along with the knives, the Cuban carried a less conventional weapon. The star-shaped shaken had six sharp points. Encizo had learned to use these shurikenjutsu weapons from the late Keio Ohara. The Cuban's expertise with knives made him an exceptional student of the art. In fact, his skill with the shaken had surpassed that of his deceased teacher.
John Trent's arsenal was even more unusual. He wore a traditional black ninja uniform and hood with split-toe tabi shoes. A .45 Colt Commander was in a black shoulder holster rig under Trent's left arm. He had also been supplied with a Remington twelve-gauge shotgun with a SWAT-style folding stock. The rest of his weaponry was ninjutsu-oriented.
His primary weapon was the ninja-do, the sword of a ninja. Unlike a samurai katana, the ninja sword was slightly shorter and had a straight blade. The large square hand-guard provided extra protection and could be used to trap the blade of an opponent. The black scabbard was hard enough to serve as a club in an emergency. The scabbard could be used for an air tube or a crude blowpipe because it was hollow and had a hole at the tip. Even the long silk cord of the ninja-do could be improvised as a weapon or tool.
Around his waist, Trent wore a shoge, a twelve-foot-long sturdy cord that had a large knife at one end and a steel ring at the other. Like all ninjutsu gear, the shoge had many uses. The knife had two blades — a long double-edged main blade and a cresent-shaped blade that could be used to hook objects or opponents. Inside his gi jacket, Trent carried several shaken, similar to those used by Rafael Encizo. He also had four metsubushi, simple miniature flash grenades consisting of hollowed-out eggshells, filled with pepper and flash powder.
Trent wore a belt with a number of pouches. Several of these contained ammo for his shotgun and pistol. One held a manrikigusari, a fighting chain with weights at each end. Another concealed three small smoke bombs. Trent also carried a black knapsack.
Of course, all the men of Phoenix Force carried plenty of ammunition for their weapons. Every man, except for Trent, carried several M-26 fragmentation grenades and SAS flash-bang concussion grenades.
McCarter impatiently consulted his Le Grand wristwatch. James sighed as he watched Katz take two stones off the backgammon board. That's what happens when you play against a master strategist, James thought.
"What's taking so bloody long?" McCarter muttered.
"It is about that time," Encizo admitted, checking his diver's watch.
The roar of an explosion confirmed the Cuban's remark. This was the signal for Phoenix Force to go into action. At their request, the Italian army had reluctantly agreed to provide a dramatic distraction for the commando team. An explosion had been engineered near a tank. Gasoline had been carefully and surreptitiously applied to the tank. The armored vehicle had not been occupied, and all of the explosive shells and ammunition had been removed to prevent the distraction from becoming a genuine tragedy.
The burning tank appeared to be far more dangerous than it really was. Naturally the explosion had attracted the attention of virtually all of the members of the press and of the soldiers and diplomats who had not been aware it had been staged. Phoenix Force also hoped it would distract the terrorists on sentry duty along the walls of the Vatican.
Phoenix Force had to act swiftly. Fire extinguishers would soon be used to put out the blaze, and the distraction would not last long. If it did, the terrorists would certainly become suspicious. The five commandos and John Trent burst from the trailer. The soldiers who had been stationed there had already rushed toward the explosion. They were not careless. The troops had been ordered to abandon the post when the fireworks began. It was a small but vital part of Phoenix Force's strategy.
The six warriors dashed for the wall. Manning and McCarter both dropped to their knees, the Canadian aiming his FAL rifle and the Briton his Barnett crossbow at the top of the wall, while the others continued forward. Two sentries were stationed at the foot of the wall, but both were preoccupied with the fiery tank and the excited crowd that had assembled around it. They did not see the Phoenix Force assault team approach.
Manning and McCarter made certain they never would.
The Canadian marksman peered through the Starlite viewer that was mounted on his rifle. The light-intensity scanner turned black night into twilight. He clearly saw the back of a sentry's head. Long black hair was knotted into a thick bun at the collar. Manning's finger began to squeeze the trigger of his FAL as the terrorist's head moved.
Soft features appeared in Manning's view. The sentry was a young woman. Her lips were sensuous and full, her cheekbones high. The woman's large dark eyes stared into Manning's own. She brought her weapon up to bear on the Phoenix Force commando.
He squeezed the trigger. A harsh cough was emitted from the muzzle of a foot-long sound suppressor attached to the barrel of his FAL. The high-velocity 7.62 mm projectile smashed into the terrorist's skull. It entered her right temple, drilled through her brain and blasted a gory exit at the opposite side of her head. The woman's lifeless body crumbled to the walkway.
Manning wished he had not seen her face.
David McCarter watched the other sentry through the infrared scope mounted on his crossbow. The terrorist had heard something strike his comrade and had turned to see her fall. He opened his mouth as McCarter triggered the Barnett. The fiberglass bolt shot through the air. A steel tip entered the sentry's gaping mouth and traveled downward to strike bone. The bolt severed the man's spinal cord. The point protruded from the base of his skull, and the shaft jutted from between his teeth. The terrorist tumbled forward to join his fallen comrade.
Rafael Encizo barely glanced ai the broken forms of the dead terrorists. Encizo and James carried two coils of nylon rope with grappling hooks attached. Both men looked up at the top of the wall, judging the distance as they swung the hooks.
James hurled his hook first. The grappler sailed over the top and landed against stone. The black commando pulled the rope hard. The line tightened, and the hook held. James seized the rope with both fists and braced his feet against the wall. He climbed hand over hand as he easily walked up the stone surface.
Encizo's hook snared the top of the wall as James reached the summit. The black warrior grabbed the rim and hauled himself over the top to the walkway. James unslung the M-16 from his shoulder.
Suddenly a long ribbon of steel slashed out from the shadows. James hastily raised his rifle. Metal sang against metal as the sword struck the barrel of the M-16. Two dark eyes glared at James from the narrow gap between hood and mask.
James tried to butt-stroke his attacker with the M-16, but he had not extended the weapon's stock. The ninja straightened his wrists and elbows. The sword's hilt struck the frame of James's M-16. The force of the blow sent the rifle flying from the black man's fingers and over the top of the wall.
The Phoenix Force crusader's lightning-quick reflexes saved him from being cut in half by the masked assailant. James grabbed the ninja's wrists before the killer could deliver an overhead sword stroke. He pumped a knee toward the ninja's groin. It struck a thigh muscle as the Japanese assassin moved a leg to guard his privates.
James pivoted and rammed the ninja's forearms into the stone ridge of the wall. The masked figure hissed like a cornered serpent, but the blow forced him to release the sword. However, the ninja was far from helpless. He slammed a knee into James's ribs. The black man grunted in pain as the ninja yanked his wrists free.
A heel of the palm-stroke tagged James on the jaw. He staggered backward along the walkway, nearly losing his balance. Metal flashed from the killer's left fist. The ninja advanced. He held his knife poised for attack.
&
nbsp; James's right hand streaked to the Colt Commander under his left arm. The black man swung the pistol in a fast backhand sweep. The barrel struck his opponent's fist, slamming the knife from the ninja's hand. James simultaneously snap-kicked the killer in the lower abdomen.
The ninja doubled up in response to the kick. James swung the pistol toward the assassin's hooded skull. The killer's arms rose in defense. James's wrist struck the ninja's crossed forearms, but his left fist delivered a hard jab to the man's masked face.
The punch bounced off the ninja's head as if it were a beachball. James quickly followed with a high roundhouse kick to his opponent's skull. The ninja fell against the stone ridge of the wall. James did not take any chances with the guy. He swiftly closed in and hammered the butt of his Colt against the ninja's skull. He hit the assassin three times before he was certain the hooded killer was either unconscious or dead.
Rafael Encizo climbed over the top and hurried toward James. The Cuban's Cold Steel Tanto was in his fist as he grabbed the ninja from behind with his free hand. He plunged the knife into the enemy's kidney. Encizo yanked the blade free.
"Jesus, Rafael," James rasped, stunned by the Cuban's ruthless overkill.
'This is a ninja," Encizo stated in a harsh whisper. "You can't afford to take any chances with him. We came up against ninja with the Tigers of Justice. Don't even think about taking one of them alive. Kill the son of a bitch and kill him again to make certain he stays dead. They're the most dangerous opponents you'll ever come up against."
"The dude came out of nowhere," James admitted. "I didn't even see him until he was right on top of me."
"You dropped this," a voice whispered.
James turned to stare into a pair of almond-shaped eyes above a black scarf mask. Calvin James nearly aimed his pistol at the figure before he realized the ninja was John Trent.
"Your rifle," Trent explained, handing James the M-16. "I managed to catch it before it hit the ground. The gun wasn't damaged."
"Thanks, man," James replied, taking the rifle.
"Are you okay?" Trent inquired.
"I nearly had a heart attack," the black warrior confessed. "But other than that I'm fine. How'd this ninja creep up on me that way?"
"I didn't see him," Trent said with a shrug. "But he probably crept along the overhang of the wall and hid among the shadows. Standard ninja camouflage technique."
"What was he doing here?" Encizo asked.
"He probably suspected that the fire was a distraction," Trent answered. "He's a ninja, remember. The guy must have figured this was a weak spot in the defenses. We're lucky he came alone instead of alerting all of his comrades."
"If one of them can figure it out, others are likely to show up pretty soon," Katzenelenbogen remarked. The Israeli had climbed over the top in time to hear the tail end of the discussion. "We'd better move before they burn us off this wall."
McCarter and Manning climbed up the ropes to the top and joined the others. Encizo put a boot to the dead ninja and kicked the corpse over the edge.
"How's everything going so far?" the Briton inquired.
"Could be better," James replied dryly.
8
Phoenix Force descended from the wall at a point near the Vatican's railroad station. Under normal circumstances trains arrived and departed regularly, but the entrance had been barricaded by the terrorists.
The enemy was no longer paying much attention to the tank because the fire had been extinguished. Sentries along the walls were watching soldiers outside the Vatican with suspicion. Phoenix Force heard the voices of terrorists shouting in the distance. They spoke in Farsi and Arabic. A strange cry, resembling a combined Swiss yodel and American Indian war whoop, echoed within the city. Another call responded.
"What the hell was that?" McCarter wondered aloud. "Is this place haunted or something?"
"It's an ancient method of Basque communication over distance," Encizo explained. "Their howls and yips may sound like coyote imitations to us, but they're actually a sort of verbal shorthand. It means they can relay information, signal one another and deliver instructions over a distance."
"And nobody else has any idea what they're saying," Manning added. "I bet the Iranians are thrilled about that. It's pretty unlikely that any of them speak Basque."
"A lot of Basques don't speak Basque," Katz commented as he checked the silencer attached to the barrel of his Uzi subgun. "The dialects spoken by French Basques are very different from those used by their Spanish cousins. Linguists have never been able to agree on the origins of Basque, which seems to defy..."
"Maybe we should chat about this stuff later," James urged, staring at the train station. "I think we've got a problem."
Two figures stood on the platform of the station. Both were staring at Phoenix Force. The pair had apparently noticed the six black shapes among the shadows. It appeared that they were not certain if the group was friend of foe. It was possible that they thought Phoenix Force and Trent were ninja mercenaries on their side.
"What should we do?" Trent whispered.
"If we hit them, we'll be announcing our presence to the enemy," Manning stated.
"They're going to know that pretty soon anyway," McCarter said with a shrug. The Briton reached for a bolt and fitted it into the groove of his crossbow.
"They wouldn't keep any hostages in that little railroad station," James commented. "It's too close to the walls. Seems like a good chance to start whittling down the opposition."
"You can bet they've got a radio in there," Encizo whispered, taking the silencer-equipped MP-5 from his shoulder. "We can hurt their ability to communicate at this end of the Vatican if we take them out."
One of the terrorists gathered up an AK-47 assault rifle while the other moved toward the entrance of the station. If the enemy radioed a report to their comrades, the commandos' presence would be known to the others anyway. Katz turned to his companions and nodded.
McCarter aimed his Barnett crossbow at the enemy rifleman. He peered through the infrared scope. The cross hairs found the center of the terrorist's chest. The gunman was raising the stock of his Russian-made autorifle to his shoulder when McCarter triggered the crossbow.
The bolt sang briefly as it sliced across the shadows and slammed into the terrorist's chest. The steel-tipped quarrel pierced his sternum and buried itself in the man's chest cavity. The split fiberglass shaft contained a lethal dose of cyanide. The powerful poison killed the man almost instantly.
The second terrorist turned sharply when he heard his comrade groan. Gary Manning saw the guy's face clearly through the Starlite viewer. He was young, probably not yet twenty. Manning wished he had not seen this person's face either, but that did not prevent him from putting a bullet in it. The FAL rasped through its silencer, and a 7.62 mm round caught the Iranian youth on the bridge of the nose. The slug punched through his skull and turned his brains into lifeless red-and-gray mush.
A window to the station shattered as two gun barrels burst through the glass. Encizo, who had been advancing toward the building, immediately dropped to one knee and triggered his H&K music box. Nine-millimeter messengers bombarded the window before either terrorist could fire a single shot. The Cuban's MP-5 sputtered another salvo of the parabellums, and the barrels of the enemy weapons fell away.
Yakov Katzenelenbogen's battle-honed sixth sense for danger alerted him to yet another threat. Most fighting men agree that people have a built-in warning system. The more one uses it, the better it works.
Katz whirled and raised his Uzi.
Three startled terrorists along the top of the wall tried to swing their weapons toward the Israeli, but they were too late. The silenced Uzi coughed a merciless stream of 9 mm slugs. One terrorist caught three rounds in the chest. His body tumbled from the wall, lifeless as a coffin nail.
The second terrorist, a female savage from Teheran, aimed a Czech-made Skorpion machine pistol at Katz. The Israeli's subgun stitched a column of bull
et holes between her breasts. The impact kicked the woman backward. She raised her Skorpion as she fell and triggered a long volley of 7.65 mm slugs into the night sky. Then she toppled off the wall and dropped from view.
The third terrorist had decided that dying for the Jihad was not as appealing as the Ayatollah's representatives had described it. He bolted from the confrontation, awkwardly firing his Kalashnikov as he ran. None of the bullets came close to the men of Phoenix Force. Katz tracked the Iranian's progress through the sights of his Uzi and triggered a three-round burst.
Parabellums crashed into the terrorist's legs. The man screamed as his feet left the walkway and he plunged over the top of the wall. A cry of terror echoed from outside the Vatican as his body hurtled to the ground below. His screams ceased abruptly when he crashed to earth.
More gun barrels emerged from the windows of the railroad station. Automatic fire erupted. Bullets sizzled toward Phoenix Force. The commandos hit the ground as the projectiles burned air all around them. Calvin James aimed his M-16 at the station and rolled on his side.
He reached for the trigger of the M-203 attachment. The grenade launcher kicked the rifle back into James's right thigh muscle as if it were a pissed-off mule. A 40 mm projectile rocketed into the train station. The explosive missile blasted the building. Windows shattered, an entire wall collapsed and half the roof fell in.
Encizo and McCarter scrambled to their feet and charged toward what was left of the train station. Five dazed and disoriented terrorists staggered from the wreckage, thankful to still be alive. Their gratitude vanished when Encizo and McCarter opened fire. The H&K and Ingram machine pistols snarled, 9 mm slugs slicing into the terrorists. Their bodies dropped like bloodied bowling pins.