by Gar Wilson
"We don't have any extra time," Katz stated. "But maybe we can buy a few minutes after we take care of the terrorists. Do you think someone in there has a transmitter to activate the radio detonator?"
"I'm sure of that," Manning confirmed. "Probably just a small radio transmitter about the size of a walkie-talkie. In fact, several people could have transmitters and could detonate the explosion from anywhere within a three-kilometer range of the station."
"We'll just have to take care of the enemies at the station," Katz declared. "If we can do that and deactivate the bomb, it won't matter if they have a hundred transmitters."
"No matter how we do this, it's going to be risky, Yakov," Manning said tensely.
"But we have to do it and we have to do it fast," Katz insisted, checking the silencer attached to the muzzle of his Uzi. "We'll take out the sentries first. With a bit of luck we can hit the bastards before they can get organized."
"Or before they can cause an earthquake," Manning muttered.
"I doubt they'll do that unless they feel they've run out of options," Katz replied. "At least, I hope not."
"Hope springs eternal," Manning sighed as he braced the stock of the FAL against his shoulder and put his eye to the Starlite scope.
He aimed the Belgium assault rifle at the two guards stationed by the drilling rig. The features of a young Iranian appeared clearly through the lenses of the light-intensity device. The sentry did not fit Hollywood's perception of a terrorist. His face was round and his mouth turned up at the corners. The man's eyes were large and soft.
Manning squeezed the trigger. The familiar recoil of the FAL rode against his shoulder as he watched the Iranian's head snap backward from the force of a 7.62 mm slug through the forehead. Manning swiftly swung the FAL toward the second sentry. The guard stared at the body of his slain companion; he was dumbfounded by the unexpected assault. Manning triggered his rifle once more. A bullet struck the sentry between the tip of an ear and the edge of an eyesocket. The guy went down in a lifeless lump.
The Canadian and Colonel Katzenelenbogen broke cover and dashed toward the radio station. They glanced up at the windows, fearful that they would see a dozen terrorists staring down at them. Luckily no one saw the commandos approach. However, the remaining sentries had probably heard the muted report of Manning's weapon and the groans of the dying terrorists.
One guard cautiously moved toward the rear of the building, his M-16 assault rifle held in combat readiness. He saw an unfamiliar shape near the frame of the drilling rig. A figure dressed in black held a submachine gun in an awkward position. The stock was under the man's armpit, and the frame was braced across his right arm. The limb seemed oddly rigid like the arm of a cripple. The man held a large knife in his left fist.
"La!" the figure called softly to the guard. "Minfadluk, la!"
The terrorist held his fire when he heard the other man speak to him in Arabic. He did not know the man was an infidel invader.
"Nisina elmafa-teh," Katzenelenbogen stated, claiming he had lost his keys. "Te'dar tisa-edni?"
He casually pointed the tip of the Ballistic knife at the terrorist as he spoke. Katz aimed carefully and pressed the trigger. The powerful springs launched the blade from the handle. Sharp steel shot into the terrorist's chest. The blade stabbed flesh and like a bolt of metal lightning pierced the man's heart. The terrorist dropped his M-16 and fell to the ground. Katz approached the mortally wounded sentry. He kicked the man in the temple with the steel tip of his boot to make certain the man did not cry out or attempt to shoot Katz in the back. The kick either rendered the man unconscious or killed him outright. Either was more merciful than leaving him to die with the knife buried in his chest.
The Israeli moved to the front of the building. Two sentries were still posted at the entrance. Katz's left hand seized the pistol grip of his Uzi as he stepped around the corner to face the pair. He squeezed the trigger.
The sound suppressor at the end of the Uzi spat flame as the weapon studdered with a muffled snarl. Nine-millimeter projectiles sprayed the terrorists. Bullets bashed through their torsos and ravaged vital organs. One man screamed before he died. The other fumbled with his AK-47, but failed to trigger the weapon before life was stamped out of his body.
Gary Manning used his wire cutters to snip the antenna under the tower of the drilling rig. This would not prevent a transmitted signal from reaching the radio detonator at close range, but it might scramble the signal if it was transmitted from the opposite side of the Vatican. The Canadian heard voices shout within the radio station.
"Shit," he rasped. "They suspect something's gone wrong. Might as well let them know they're right."
The Canadian fighting machine yanked the pin from a concussion grenade and hurled it at a third-story window. Glass shattered, and the grenade landed inside the building. Manning ran to the wall and placed his back flat against it as the grenade roared overhead.
Shards of broken glass and the framework from smashed windows showered the surrounding area as the blast sent a shock wave through the structure. A man's body plunged from the third story. He screamed until he hit the ground with bone-breaking force. Manning pulled the pin from a second grenade and lobbed it through a window on the first floor.
Another explosion rocketed the building before Manning could brace himself. Katzenelenbogen had already tossed a grenade through a second-story window, and the explosion caught Manning off guard. The Canadian fell to one knee and covered his head with his arms.
A moment later the grenade in the first story exploded. The third blast sent an aluminum swivel chair hurtling through a window and forced open the back door to the radio station. Sheets of paper, magazines and clipboards flew across the threshold. Manning uncovered his head. His ears were ringing, but he ignored the discomfort as he got to his feet and charged through the doorway.
He entered a small lunchroom with several overturned tables and hard plastic chairs. Two dazed terrorists were sprawled on the floor. One man was unconscious. The other dragged himself to his knees, slowly shaking his head as blood dripped from his nostrils.
Manning approached the stunned terrorist and stamped the stock of his FAL rifle against the back of the guy's skull. The man fell on his face in a superb imitation of a bearskin rug. The Canadian slowly moved to the doorway of the lunchroom and carefully peered around the corner into the corridor beyond.
Two terrorists armed with Ingram machine pistols opened fire on Manning. The warrior ducked back as a sheet of 9 mm slugs sliced air where his head had been. Bullets chewed splinters from the doorway. Manning's computer-quick mind developed a strategy.
He plucked a pencil detonator from his pocket and set the timer for two seconds. Manning held the detonator and whispered "one" before he tossed it around the corner at the two terrorists. The blasting cap exploded with a bright flash and a firecracker pop. It was harmless, but the two terrorists were still unnerved by the tiny explosion that had followed so quickly on the heels of the stun grenades. The pair instinctively ducked when the detonator exploded.
Manning hoped he had guessed how the enemy would react as he thrust the barrel of his FAL around the corner. The Canadian sprayed the corridor with 7.62 mm rounds. The terrorists screamed as copper-jacketed destructions slammed into their flesh. The multiple bullets kicked the pair backward. Manning hit them with another volley and watched the bloodied corpses roll to a stop.
A figure appeared at the end of the corridor. Manning raised his assault rifle to the ceiling when he recognized the one-armed Israeli. Smoke curled from the muzzle of Katz's Uzi subgun. They nodded to one another, relieved to discover that so far both had survived the raid.
"Downstairs will be quiet for a while," the Phoenix Force commander remarked. "Ready to go upstairs?"
"Yeah," Manning replied. "I'll go first. You cover me." The Canadian still felt a degree of responsibility for the nearly fatal injury Rafael Encizo had suffered during their mission in France several
months before. The Cuban had mounted a flight of stairs, assuming the dangerous role of point man while Manning had supplied backup. Gary Manning did not intend to let one of his teammates take that risk again.
The stairs were located between the corridor and the front lobby. Manning did not hesitate. He bolted up the stairs, taking three steps with each stride. Katz followed, climbing the stairs at a slightly slower, more cautious pace. The Israeli watched the stairs and glanced over his shoulder to be certain that no one was sneaking up from behind.
An arm extended from a post at the head of the stairs. A pistol that resembled a Luger was in its fist. The unseen gunman fired at Manning, but the terrorist had not aimed. A 9 mm slug punched plaster from a wall above Manning's head. The Canadian snap-aimed his FAL and fired a three-round burst.
Two 7.62 mm missiles smashed into the terrorist's arm. The fist opened and dropped the Luger. A voice cried out in Farsi as the terrorist staggered away from the post. Manning saw his opponent and immediately blasted another three-round volley into the man's chest. The terrorist fell forward and tumbled headlong down the stairs.
Manning sidestepped the corpse and allowed it to roll down the stairs. He continued up the stairs and sprayed another salvo of FAL rounds into the second-story hall. Three figures dived to the floor to avoid the high-velocity hailstorm.
The Canadian ducked behind the post and yanked the pin from a concussion grenade. He fired the last rounds from the FAL magazine to encourage the terrorists to stay down before he tossed the grenade, then braced himself for the blast, covering his ears and opening his mouth to equalize the pressure.
The grenade exploded. Manning drew his Eagle .357 Magnum autoloader from shoulder leather and jogged down the corridor. The terrorists in the hall were sprawled across the floor and were either unconscious or dead. Katz mounted the stairs to join his partner.
"Well," Katz mused, glancing at the next flight of stairs leading to the third floor. "We've got some more terrorists up there and probably a few behind closed doors on this level."
"And any one of them could have a transmitter to the earthquake device," Manning added. "If you want to take the upstairs, I'll see if I can arrange a distraction."
"Try not to make it too drastic," the Israeli replied. "I'd just as soon you didn't blast the floor out from under me while I'm up there."
"I'll place the charge over there," Manning stated, pointing to the west corner of the building with the barrel of his empty FAL rifle. "It might take me a while to arrange it."
"I'll try to keep everyone entertained until then," Katz assured him.
A round object bounced down the stairs from the third floor. Both men recognized the Russian-made F-1 fragmentation grenade. Manning hastily kicked the grenade and sent it hurtling down the flight of stairs to the bottom story. The Phoenix pair dived to the floor, but Katz kept his Uzi pointed at the stairwell.
The grenade exploded below. The shock wave shook the floor under Katz and Manning, but neither man was struck by shrapnel. Katz continued to watch the third-story stairwell. Two gunmen ventured onto the stairs and peered down at the Phoenix duo.
Katz opened fire. Uzi slugs raked the terrorists. The gunmen jerked and staggered from the impact of the multiple bullets. One man grabbed his comrade and tried to prop himself up long enough to aim and fire a Beretta machine pistol. However, his partner fell forward, and the gunsel was thrown off-balance as well. Both men toppled down the stairs in an awkward bundle with arms and legs swinging.
Katz blasted the pair with another volley. A door opened, and a female terrorist emerged with an AK-47 in her fists. Manning's Eagle roared, and a 148-grain flat-nosed bullet punched through the woman's chest. Her body slammed into a wall as she triggered her assault rifle. A burst of automatic fire ripped into another door, peppering the panels with ragged holes.
The woman's corpse slid to the floor as the door she had fired on suddenly burst open. The barrel of an assault rifle appeared near the doorknob. Manning snap-aimed his Magnum and blasted a .357 messenger through the middle panel of the door. A shriek of agony announced that the tactic had successfully found its intended target. An Iranian gunman tumbled into the corridor with his Soviet-made weapon still clenched in his fist. Blood washed his neck and shirtsleeve. Manning's Magnum round had blown away most of the man's left shoulder.
Manning's Eagle pistol bellowed once more as he pumped another .357 slug through the heart of the wounded Iranian. The Canadian pulled an SAS flash-bang grenade from his belt and dashed forward. He yanked the pin and hurled the miniblaster into the room that the terrorist had stepped from. Manning kicked the door shut and fired a Magnum slug to convince anyone inside that it would be unhealthy to get near the door.
The Canadian jumped clear of the door and dropped to a crouching position with his arms shielding his head. The grenade exploded, smashing the door off its hinges. Confident that any opponents inside the room had been neutralized — temporarily if not permanently — Manning moved to the next door.
The Phoenix warrior put down the empty FAL rifle and reached for his backpack of explosives, planning to blast the lock with some CV-38 low velocity plastique. But the door swung open before Manning could touch it. He pressed his back flush against the wall and pointed the Eagle Magnum at the open door.
"No kill!" a voice shouted from within the room. "No kill, please!"
Manning slowly approached. He did not trust the terrorists. He had yet to meet one who scored high marks for courage. They were all fanatics, and most would never willingly surrender. But if the guy was Basque instead of Iranian, he might be serious about giving up. The Basques had no real stake in the Vatican operation.
"No kill!" the terrorist repeated as he slowly stepped to the doorway. The guy appeared to be an Iranian, but he had interlaced both hands and placed them on top of his head.
"Do you understand English?" Manning asked, watching the terrorist across the sights of his pistol.
"Maf-hem-tish,"the man replied helplessly.
He spoke Arabic, Manning realized. The Canadian had spent some time in Cairo as a youth. He had only retained a few words of Arabic, and he did not know how to tell the guy to face a wall and put his hands behind his back. Manning considered the possible sentences he could construct with his tiny Arabic vocabulary.
"Od-kull!" he ordered, incorrectly using the expression to invite a person to enter a room. "Fehem-tini?"
"Ee-wa," the gunman replied. The guy understood that Manning wanted him to step into the hall.
He emerged from the room, hands still on top of his head. Manning caught an elbow and pushed the Syrian toward the open door. The guy placed his hands against it and assumed a spread-eagle position. Some gestures are universal, Manning thought. Unfortunately there was no time to bind the terrorist's hands with riot cuffs.
"Ana asif," Manning apologized. He slugged the guy behind the ear with the barrel of his Magnum.
The Syrian slumped unconscious at Manning's feet. The Canadian stepped over the senseless terrorist and peered into the room. It was a small office with a simple desk, bookcase and filing cabinets. The room seemed to be unoccupied. Manning carefully entered, watching the desk and cabinet for possible hidden opponents.
Without warning something struck Manning. The shape landed on his back and shoulders. The butt of a knife handle hammered the ulna nerve of his right arm. Manning's hand popped open, and the Magnum fell to the floor. Steel flashed as the assailant swung the knife at Manning's throat.
The Canadian warrior grabbed the wrist that held the knife. The blade stopped an eighth of an inch from Manning's throat. He pulled hard, forcing the knife away from his neck. The assailant seized Manning's hair and pulled his head back. The demolitions expert clenched his teeth and endured the pain as he wrenched the assassin's wrist to force his opponent to drop the knife.
Manning propelled himself backward into the clinging form of his assailant. The killer groaned when his spine connected with the doo
rjamb. Manning pumped an elbow back at his tormentor. A jolt of sharp pain shot through the Phoenix Force warrior's arm when his elbow struck the doorjamb. The attacker, who had slipped from behind Manning, suddenly slammed a fist into the Canadian's head.
The blow staggered Manning. He turned to face his opponent, but dots of red and yellow blurred his vision. The enemy was dressed entirely in gray, and his face was mostly hidden by a hood and scarf mask. A cold ball of fear knotted inside Manning's stomach. A ninja was a fearsome opponent under any circumstances, but to face one unarmed was a supreme test of survival skills.
At least Manning understood how his opponent had suddenly appeared from nowhere. The ninja must have wedged himself between the walls and hidden above the doorway. It was part of the ninjutsu art known as "ceiling walking."
The ninja's arm streaked out and hurled an object at the Phoenix fighter. Manning dodged the projectile. The shakenstruck the bookcase behind him; the sharp tines pierced the leather spine of a volume of Roman history. The ninja had not intended to kill his opponent with the shaken. The throwing stars were designed to distract or wound rather than kill. His gloved hand drew a snub-nosed revolver from a black holster on his hip.
Manning's boot lashed out and adroitly kicked the pistol from the ninja's hand. He swung a left hook at the Japanese assassin's head. His fist whirled through air as the ninja ducked and rammed a hard seiken punch under the Canadian's ribs. He followed with a roundhouse kick that caught Manning above the left kidney.
Gary Manning fell forward. He grunted when his belly collided with the edge of the desktop. Manning turned in time to receive a hard snap-kick to the abdomen. He doubled up as the ninja raised an arm to deliver a final stroke. The pointed metal tip of a shinbo— a hand-held weapon about a foot long with a finger ring in the center — protruded from his fist.
The Canadian raised his left arm. The ninja's wrist struck his forearm, and the shinbo stabbed air. Manning's right fist drove an uppercut at the assassin's gut. Quickly Manning seized his dazed opponent. His left hand grabbed the ninja's throat as his right slid between the killer's legs. Manning raised the ninja in a crotch lift and shifted his shoulders to turn the man upside down.