Return to Armageddon

by Gar Wilson

  "You've been doing it all your life," Rafael Encizo replied with a wry grin.

  Encizo was disappointed when McCarter failed to counter the remark. The Englishman seldom missed an opportunity to exercise his caustic wit. McCarter was known for his sense of humor and the sharp tongue that accompanied it, yet he had been strangely quiet since boarding the plane at Montreal.

  McCarter, Encizo and Keio Ohara had been at Gary Manning's home in Montreal. The Phoenix Force members had planned to journey north of the city to conduct a field exercise in wilderness survival.

  But Manning had received a telephone call. The Canadian was surprised to hear Colonel Katzenelenbogen's voice.

  "Get to Israel immediately," Katz said. "We can get everything we'll need at this end. I'll meet you and the others at the Ben Gurion International Airport."

  "We'll be there," Manning answered, aware that Katz would not answer any questions on a telephone.

  The four men had made reservations on the first available flight to Israel. Phoenix Force seldom used commercial airlines, yet under the circumstances it had been the fastest possible route. They sat together in the business class section, quietly discussing the situation.

  All four men were very different from each other in appearance. McCarter stood six feet tall with a leanly muscled physique and a handsome face. A bundle of nervous energy, the SAS-trained Englishman thrived on adventure. In combat he was a fearless dynamo, totally committed to the success of the mission.

  Encizo was shorter and stockier than McCarter. His good looks and ready smile covered a hard-nosed professional who had endured considerable misery and torment at the hands of Castro's regime. He was a cunning, often ruthless warrior who never backed down regardless of the odds.

  Manning was a strong man. The Canadian workaholic committed himself to every task with bulldog determination and limitless endurance. An expert in demolitions and explosives, he had the cool head needed for such work and the courage to charge into battle and get the job done.

  Ohara possessed the same qualities of bravery and devotion inherent in his samurai ancestors. More than six feet tall, the Japanese member of Phoenix Force was a highly disciplined fighting machine, skilled in karate, judo and kendo sword fighting. An electronics genius and the youngest man on the team, he had proven to be one hundred percent reliable in combat.

  "Katz had better have a bloody good excuse for this," McCarter stated as he gulped down his Coca-Cola.

  "I don't like this either," Gary Manning said as he leafed through a Hebrew phrase book. "This mission hasn't been planned out."

  "And Katz of all people was the one who called us," McCarter added. "Have you ever known him to use a bloody telephone to contact us about a mission?"

  "I don't like going to an assignment with a minimum of personal equipment," Encizo stated. "The stuff we managed to smuggle on board won't do us a hell of a lot of good in a major firefight."

  "We didn't even receive a briefing from Brognola," Manning said.

  "Perhaps Brognola is not aware of this mission," Ohara remarked.

  "Not aware of it?" Manning said, frowning. "But we're part of Stony Man. Our orders come from Brognola."

  "Are you sure of that, Gary?" Encizo asked. "After what's happened, can we really be sure Stony Man is still in operation?"

  "You're referring to what happened to Colonel Phoenix?" Ohara commented.

  "Colonel Phoenix?" McCarter snorted. "Keio, we've always known who 'Colonel Phoenix' really was. Why play that game any longer?"

  "The Executioner is a fugitive," Encizo added. "The whole goddamn world is after his head now."

  "I see your point," Manning said. "Brognola and Mack Bolan go back quite a ways. The Fed was Bolan's secret ally when The Executioner was still fighting the Mafia. Since Bolan turned renegade, the White House might very well have decided to cut Brognola from the program as well."

  "Or scrapped Stony Man all together," McCarter added. "One thing is certain; we're all walking on thin ice. The president is bound to be suspicious of the lot of us now. After all, Bolan chose us."

  "Well, let's worry about all this crap later," Manning said. "Right now, I'm more interested in why the hell Katz wants us in Israel."

  "Whatever it is," McCarter began, "the situation must be critical for Katz to violate security procedures in order to contact us directly."

  "Maybe he's going to tell us we've been canned," Encizo joked.

  Nobody laughed.

  * * *

  The Boeing 747 touched down at the Ben Gurion International Airport at 1120, Tel Aviv time. The four Phoenix Force warriors deplaned at gate thirteen. Katz was waiting to greet them.

  The Israeli wore a white linen suit and a pair of pearl-gray gloves. The suit jacket concealed a compact .380-caliber Beretta automatic in a shoulder-holster rig, and the long sleeves and gloves covered the mechanical limb attached to the stump of Katz's right arm.

  "1 thought we were in Israel not on 'Fantasy Island," McCarter quipped when he saw Katz's white suit.

  "I see you haven't changed," Yakov said, unable to resist a smile. "But I'm afraid instead of a fantasy, we might well have a nightmare on our hands. I'll explain later."

  "Yeah," Manning stated. "And we've got some other questions for you, Yakov."

  "I'm sure you do," the Israeli said.

  He glanced at the carryon luggage the men had brought from the plane. Manning had a briefcase and a cassette tape recorder strapped over his shoulder. McCarter carried a portable typewriter in a metal case. Encizo held a miniature movie camera, and Ohara had a large aluminum valise and a Minolta 35mm camera, which dangled from a neck strap.

  "What are you suppose to be?" Katz inquired. "A team of tv reporters?"

  "That would have required forged identifications and phony passports," Encizo answered. "We're claiming to be contract personnel for a small independent film company that's planning a documentary on the Middle East."

  "Our cover story allowed us to get some equipment through customs in Canada," Ohara said.

  "Not much," McCarter shrugged. "But we did the best we could on short notice."

  "We'll be able to get everything else we'll need," Katz assured them. "Let's pick up the rest of your luggage. Mossad has arranged for you to bypass the usual customs check. We don't have time to waste with such nonsense. We've got one hell of a job to take care of, my friends."

  Ten minutes later, the five men of Phoenix Force emerged from the airport station and walked to a parking lot. Katz led them to a gray limousine parked in a reserved space.

  "Nice car," Encizo remarked. "Who lent it to you?"

  "Mossad, of course," Katz replied as he fished the car keys from his pocket. "I haven't had a chance to check it for listening devices."

  "You think Mossad planted any in the car?" Manning asked.

  "I'd be surprised if they haven't."

  "I have a radio-frequency detector in my suitcase," Keio Ohara offered. "I can assemble it and sweep the vehicle for bugs if you think that's necessary."

  "Sweep the car," Katz instructed.

  "Allah akbar," a voice called out.

  The men of Phoenix Force turned toward the sound. Two men were crouched behind a parked sedan. They braced their AK-47 assault rifles across the hood of the car, pointed the weapons at the five antiterrorists and opened fire.

  5

  Phoenix Force dived to the pavement the instant they saw the ambush. Twin volleys of full-auto fire scorched air above their heads. Bullets smashed into the metal skin of the limo. Glass shattered as 7.62mm rounds hit the windows.

  Yakov Katzenelenbogen rolled onto his back and yanked the Beretta from his shoulder leather. He braced the pistol across his prosthetic arm and aimed at the ambushers. He was surprised to see both gunmen advancing from the shelter of the sedan. The idiots, assuming none of their victims were armed, had left themselves open.

  "They're too stupid to live," Katz growled as he triggered the Beretta.


  Two .380 hollowpoint slugs tore into the chest of the closest terrorist. The man fell against the side of the sedan and pulled the trigger of his Russian-made assault rifle. A burst of slugs chewed the pavement. Three bullets ricocheted back into the gunman, striking his lower torso. The terrorist collapsed on his belly, twitching feebly as death claimed his soul.

  The second gunman kept coming, determined to exterminate Phoenix Force. Before he could fire, Manning hurled his briefcase. The valise slammed into the terrorist's chest. The blow startled the killer who staggered backward, nearly tripping over the corpse of his former partner.

  Katz thrust his Beretta at the terrorist, but David McCarter had already launched himself at the man. The Briton had responded to the opportunity to attack an enemy the way a greyhound reacts to a running rabbit. He crashed into the killer and both men toppled across the hood of the sedan.

  Another burst of automatic fire suddenly smashed into the opposite side of the limousine. More glass exploded and bullets punched into the frame of the big car.

  "The bastards have us surrounded," Manning muttered, prying the back plate from his cassette recorder.

  "We need more firepower," Encizo said, trying to spot the positions of the new attackers.

  The enemy was stationed behind more parked cars. Three terrorists lurked behind a Mercedes-Benz and at least two others were by a Jeep. Worse news was on its way — another trio of killers was rushing to the aid of the man who was grappling with McCarter.

  "If we can hold out for a few seconds," Manning said, his calm tone concealing tension. "I can give them a hell of a surprise.''

  The Phoenix Force explosives expert had removed the back of his recorder and extracted a glob of white puttylike substance. He reached into his jacket and removed a large fountain pen. Unscrewing it in the middle, he unsheathed a pencil detonator with a timing dial one end.

  "We'll see about buying you some time," Encizo replied.

  The Cuban and Keio Ohara bolted from the limo. Katz fired his Beretta at the terrorists by the Mercedes, who were trying to blast Phoenix Force with two Russian PPSh-41 machine guns and an Israeli Uzi. Yakov realized he was hopelessly outgunned by his opponents, yet the ambushers were terrible marksmen, clearly unaccustomed to handling full-auto weapons.

  Rafael Encizo scrambled to the discarded AK-47 that belonged to the terrorist Katz had killed. He gathered up the gun and quickly frisked the dead man, finding a spare magazine for the weapon.

  David McCarter had managed to wrench the rifle from his opponent's grasp. When the AK-47 clattered on the ground, the terrorist attempted to grab McCarter's throat. The Briton blocked the man's groping hands with his forearms and promptly rammed a knee into his groin.

  The terrorist doubled up in agony. McCarter quickly wrapped his left arm around the aggressor's neck to form a headlock and slammed his right fist into the man's face. The terrorist suffered two furious blows to the mouth and nose before he managed to extend an arm in an attempt to claw at McCarter's eyes. The Briton was familiar with such tactics. He twisted his face away from the gouging fingers and drove the top of the terrorist's head into the steel frame of the sedan.

  The dazed man sagged in McCarter's grasp. The Englishman's left arm remained locked around the terrorist's throat as he pressed his right forearm against the base of the killer's skull. He grasped his own right elbow and left biceps to secure the hold. Then he dropped to one knee and increased pressure around the man's neck.

  The forearm vise crushed the terrorist's windpipe, and his body convulsed in McCarter's lethal embrace. The stench of urine told the Briton his victim had lost control of his bodily functions. McCarter held on a moment longer to be certain the man was dead. He released the lifeless terrorist and scrambled to the dead man's AK-47.

  The three Arab killers who had intended to rescue their comrade saw they were too late. They aimed their weapons at McCarter and prepared to open fire. Then a storm with flashing hands and feet suddenly fell upon them.

  Keio Ohara dived feet first into the trio. One killer caught a glimpse of a blurred shape rushing toward his head. He turned sharply and received the bottom of Ohara's foot in his face. Shattered teeth popped from the man's mouth as he fell unconscious.

  Ohara landed nimbly on his feet and kept moving. The two remaining terrorists tried to swing their rifles toward the Japanese warrior. Ohara grabbed the closest man's AK-47 by the the barrel and yanked the killer off balance, shoving him into his partner.

  Ohara hit the terrorist in the solar plexus with a karate seiken punch. The goon was still gasping from the first blow when Ohara's hand shot out again. He stabbed the tempered tips of his stiff fingers into the man's throat. The nukite stroke mashed the terrorist's Adam's apple into mush. He wilted to the ground and died.

  The last of the terrorist trio was too close to Ohara to try to shoot him with the long-barreled AK-47. He desperately slashed a wild butt stroke at the Phoenix Force defender's head. Ohara weaved out of the path of the attack and snap-kicked his opponent in the gut. The thug folded at the waist. Ohara chopped the side of his hand across the back of the man's skull.

  The terrorist fell to all fours. Keio Ohara screamed a fierce kiai and executed a deadly empi stroke. His elbow struck the fallen terrorist on the base of the neck, breaking the fragile seventh vertebrae and snapping the spinal cord with a single blow.

  "These guys are nuts," Rafael Encizo said as he watched two terrorists bolt from the cover of the Jeep.

  The pair boldly charged at the limo, one running to the front of the car, the other toward the back. Encizo pointed the AK-47 at the latter and squeezed the trigger. A 3-round burst of 7.62mm slugs punched through the terrorist's chest. The impact of the bullets kicked the zealot's body backward. He crashed into the Jeep and dropped face first to the ground.

  Katz fired two .380 rounds into the other terrorist's upper torso. The Arab spun like a clumsy top, his gun flying from his grasp. But he did not fall. The man turned to again face Katz and drew a dagger from a belt sheath. He kept coming. Katz aimed the Beretta carefully and squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  A bent cartridge casing jutted from the breech of the pistol. The terrorist shouted a victory cry when he realized Katz's Beretta had jammed. He scrambled onto the hood of the car, blood dripping from his bullet-torn chest. The man's eyes were ablaze with maniacal joy as he raised the knife.

  Colonel Katzenelenbogen did not back away from the seemingly indestructible aggressor. He simply lowered the Beretta in his left fist, raised his right "hand" and pointed the index finger at the Arab.

  Yellow flame burst from the end of his gloved finger. The terrorist heard the sharp crack of a high-velocity projectile breaking the speed of sound. A .22 Magnum slug smashed through the bridge of his nose. The Arab hardly felt the bullet slice through his brain, blasting out an exit hole the size of a dime in the back of his skull. He died too suddenly to realize what had happened.

  The remaining terrorists were still stationed behind the Mercedes-Benz. They continued to fire at the Phoenix Force defenders. Bullets had destroyed the limousine: all four tires had been punctured and every window had been shattered.

  Encizo fired his AK-47 at the gunmen's position. McCarter and Ohara, who had confiscated assault rifles from vanquished opponents, directed more salvos of bullets at the Mercedes. Despite the constant full-auto hail of metal slugs, only one window of the Mercedes had even been cracked.

  "Son of a bitch," Encizo rasped. "That goddamn car is armor plated with reinforced bulletproof glass. Why didn't Mossad give us something like that instead of this cardboard limo?''

  "They didn't think we'd need a tank disguised as a car," Katz replied. "I wonder if the owner of that Mercedes would like to sell it."

  "Don't buy that car," Manning instructed as he pulled off his right shoe. "In another minute or two, it'll only be good for scrap metal."

  "Cristo," Encizo hissed through clenched teeth when he saw a pool of
liquid foaming under the belly of the limousine. "The gas tank has been punctured. If those bastards fire at the pavement, one spark could ignite the gasoline and blow us all to Valhalla."

  "I remember what those Irish terrorists did in Seattle," Katz said tensely. "We have to move from this position fast. Spread out. We'll try to move in from both sides and get the enemy in a cross fire."

  "No need for that," Manning declared as he waved his shoe at the others.

  "You're going to throw that at them?" Encizo said, rolling his eyes.

  "Trust me," Manning said.

  The Canadian lobbed the shoe across the parking lot. It landed in front of the Mercedes.

  The killers instantly ducked. One cried out in alarm. Then they recognized the object and burst into laughter. The terrorists aimed their weapons at the limo and prepared to open fire once more.

  An explosion tore the Mercedes-Benz apart. Chunks of metal sailed into the sky. Thick plates of bullet-proof glass became flying fragments. Flaming gasoline splashed across the pavement.

  The bodies of the three terrorists were torn. Arms and legs were ripped from their sockets. The three corpses dropped into the fiery wreckage that had formerly been the Mercedes-Benz.

  "The shoe contained a quarter pound of C-4 plastic explosives with a pencil detonator," Manning explained.

  "Good work, Gary," Katz told him, as he pulled the glove from his right hand.

  The prosthetic arm was a contraption of steel and cables. The index finger was a hollow gun barrel. Katz gripped the barrel and twisted it from the socket, removing the spent shell casing of a .22 Magnum cartridge. He removed a metal pillbox from his pocket, which contained five fresh rounds for the finger gun. The Israeli reloaded the device, while McCarter, Encizo and Ohara checked the parking lot to make certain all enemies had been taken care of.

  "We found a live one, Yakov," McCarter declared as he and Ohara dragged an unconscious terrorist by his ankles.

  "Did you check him for hide-out weapons?" the Israeli asked.