Han paused, allowing the implicit threat to hang in the air, and could have laughed at the sudden jolt of panic that filled Tien’s eyes. He would be the one who caused the problem. He, Tien, would be the one to carry the burden of guilt. Han felt a moment of pity for the man, because he was in the same position. His pity only lasted a microsecond.
“Captain Tien?”
Tien cleared his throat. “There will be no problem here, Director Han.”
Han nodded. “Your cooperation in this matter will be highlighted in my report, Captain Tien. It is heartening to deal with a professional.”
Minutes later Han was seated in the departure lounge, breathing a little easier as he waited for the flight that would take him to Central America, where he would be met and flown for the final leg of his trip to Santa Lorca and his meeting with Oliver Townsend.
TOWNSEND’S DECISION was made quickly, and once he had made that decision he acted on it.
“Ralph, in here,” he called as Chomski walked into view.
Chomski joined him, sensing immediately that something was about to happen.
“Somebody start World War III?”
Townsend smiled. “I believe our friends in China might look at it that way.”
“Tell me?”
“Guang Lor has been taken down. Blown to hell in a hand basket. Cheung is dead. So is Kang, the guy who ran the military setup there. This strike force we’ve been hearing about has been running riot in Xinjiang. It looks like they recovered the stolen circuit board and it’s on its way back Stateside. I got this directly from Director Su Han a short time ago.”
Chomski perched on the corner of Townsend’s desk. He stared out the window, across the dusty yard and watched T. J. Hawkins making his way to the bunkhouse. He experienced that uneasy feeling he always got when he saw the newcomer, but kept it to himself. Townsend had enough on his plate right now. The last thing he wanted to hear was gossip.
“Have the plane readied.”
“Vacation time?”
“Not exactly. We need time to assess the situation. Somewhere the hard hand of the law isn’t going to fall on our shoulders.”
“You think this mess in China might hit us?”
“Ralph, we skinned ourselves out of that CIA setup because Tilman did us a favor. It might not happen next time. Kibble could have exposed us. Security has been stepped up on all our potential sources. We’ve got that here on our home ground. Now the Chinese business might, and I say might, lead back to us. Let’s face it, we’re in a high-risk enterprise. I need some clear time to sit down and figure out how we work our way around it.”
“Okay. Where’re we going?”
“Santa Lorca. Regan’s place. Me, you, Rik and Hawkins. Joseph, too.”
“The crew?” Chomski queried.
“Keep a skeleton crew. Send the rest home on a paid break.”
“I’ll call for the chopper to pick us up and take us to the field. How soon?” Chomski asked.
“Soon as you get your butt off my desk and do it?”
Chomski grinned. He left the room and located Brandt, explaining what was happening.
“I’ll go and tell the guys.”
“Rik, Hawkins doesn’t hear about this until I give the word. Understand?”
Brandt frowned but nodded.
“Whatever you say, Ralph.”
TWO HOURS LATER the ranch was nearly deserted. All the men had left, except for three, plus Vic Lerner, who was still confined to his bed. Hawkins had no idea what was going on. The departing crew members were strangely silent, simply throwing packed bags into vehicles and driving away.
Crossing in the direction of the bunkhouse, Hawkins spotted Chomski standing at the entrance. He had an odd smile on his face, as if he were hoarding a big secret.
“What’s going on, Ralph?”
“Go pack a bag, Hawkins. You’re on special detachment. A little trip down south.”
“South as in over the border?”
“Sharp as ever, T.J., now get a move on. We don’t have all day to stand around gabbin’.”
Hawkins went inside the bunkhouse and threw his stuff in his duffel. On his way out he passed Lerner’s room.
“Hey, buddy,” Lerner called.
“How you feeling?”
“Stiff and sore.” Lerner put down the magazine he was reading. “So you get to go on a trip?”
Hawkins shrugged. “Mystery tour down south is all I heard.”
“Santa Lorca. Our pal Jack Regan has a big hacienda there. Outside the big city of Port Cristobal.”
“You been before?”
Lerner nodded. “Couple times.”
“See you when we get back.”
Lerner grinned. “I’ll be here.”
AS HAWKINS STEPPED outside the bunkhouse he heard the sound of a helicopter coming down for a landing. Townsend. Chomski, Brandt and Joseph Riotta emerged from the house. All carried bags. Hawkins didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t afford to show any signs of not wanting to join the group at this stage. Whatever was going on in Santa Lorca might prove both interesting and informative, even if he had no idea what it might be at this moment in time.
As he made his way across the yard he found himself wondering about his backup team. Able would be nearby, maybe even watching what was happening. He hoped they were. Depending what went on once he was in Santa Lorca, he might need the special talents of Carl Lyons and company.
“WELL?”
Lyons’s demanding tone made Blancanales subdue any casual comments he might have been considering.
“T.J. was on board,” he said.
“Fuck.” Lyons spoke the word very softly, without emphasis, and it sounded all the more threatening than if he had bellowed it out.
Blancanales listed the people who had boarded the helicopter.
“Townsend’s top line. Something important is going on and we lose them.”
“Only three left at the ranch as far as I could see. Rest of the crew has been shipping out over the last couple of hours.”
Lyons turned suddenly and climbed into the SUV. Blancanales followed, tossing the powerful binoculars he’d been using onto the rear seat. He was slammed back in the seat as Lyons floored the gas pedal, turning the 4x4 in a tight circle, dust billowing from beneath the heavy tires.
“You want to let me know where we’re going before we hit Warp Factor 7?”
“The ranch,” Lyons snapped testily. “Townsend left some of his crew behind. They can tell us where he’s gone. I’m tired of creeping around like an old woman. Time for some direct diplomacy.”
Blancanales muttered something too low for Lyons to pick up.
“Say what?”
“I was just thinking I wish I’d never asked.”
The 4x4 bounced as it left the dirt track and hit the blacktop. The tires squealed in protest as Lyons fought the wheel and brought it back under control, pushing the vehicle hard as he went looking for the entrance to the Townsend property.
“Isn’t this going to hang us out to dry?” Blancanales asked. “Show our hand?”
“You think I give a shit? We just lost our guy. The one we were supposed to keep safe. He’s gone off into the blue yonder and we haven’t a clue where. I don’t like being jerked around.”
“You want me to update Stony Man?”
Lyons uttered an affirmative grunt.
“You’re going where?” was Barbara Price’s comment after Blancanales explained what was happening.
“The Townsend spread. I see this as an exercise in pushing luck to the limit.”
“Just don’t start another OK Corral.”
“That was Tombstone. Arizona. This is Texas.”
“Don’t split states with me. Just do what you have to.”
Lyons drove without letup, swinging off the main road and onto the long, dusty dirt road that brought them into the Townsend ranch proper. He braked in a cloud of dust outside the main house and was out of the SUV before Blancanale
s could stop him.
A figure appeared from the main house, dressed in work clothes. He stood on the wide steps and watched as Lyons approached.
“Do something for you?” he asked.
Lyons held up his left hand and let the man see the Justice Department shield.
“See that? Know what it means?”
“Means you got a shiny badge.”
Lyons smiled. It was almost a pleasant smile. Blancanales caught it as he joined his partner.
“You’re looking at something rare,” Lyons said. “A real stand-up comedian.”
“I feel privileged,” Blancanales said.
“What is it you want?”
“It’s like this,” Lyons said. “We were hoping to see Mr. Townsend, but it appears we just missed him.” He waved his free arm in the air. “He just flew off in that fancy chopper of his. Right?”
“You say so,” the man said. He came down the steps to face the Able Team pair. “Looks like you wasted a trip.”
“No. We’ve got you, so it isn’t all bad.”
“Hell, I just work here. I don’t know a thing.”
“Strange thing to say when you haven’t a clue why we’re here,” Blancanales pointed out. “Makes me start to think maybe you have something to hide.”
“The hell you say. Fuck this, you can’t stroll in and accuse people of—”
“That’s another mistake,” Lyons cut in. “First you don’t know anything. A classic sign of guilt. And now you get defensive when we haven’t accused you of a thing.”
“All we were going to ask was, where has Townsend gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“There you go again,” Lyons said. “I knew Texas was short on talk but you’re taking advantage.”
“I’m not from around here.”
“Maybe we should take this guy in,” Blancanales suggested. “At least we’ll have an arrest on our file.”
Lyons nodded.
The man glanced around, looking for somewhere to vanish. There was nowhere he could go, except back inside the house.
“You carrying a gun?” Blancanales asked out of the blue, his voice harsh.
The man’s reaction was sudden, not unexpected, and broke all the rules of common sense. Instead of denial, or admitting he had a weapon, he simply reached behind him for the pistol jammed down the back of his jeans.
As he went for the weapon Lyons erupted into movement, stepping right up to the man and executing a savage head butt that crunched against the other’s nose. The appendage broke and the man swayed back, stunned, oblivious to the sudden gush of blood that washed down his face and splattered his shirt. Following through, Lyons stepped around the man, grabbing the hand that was reaching for the gun. Lyons arced around behind the guy, twisting the arm up his back and took possession of the pistol himself.
“Bad choice, pal,” Lyons whispered, jamming the muzzle of the pistol against the side of the man’s head. “Now make sure the next thing you say is the correct thing. Unless you want the top of you head and the brains under it on the ground by your feet. Think about, sucker. It’s your choice.”
The man swayed, shaking his head, blood still dribbling heavily from his nose.
“I—I…” The guy was having problems forming coherent sentences. “Fuck, man, it hurts.”
“It’s supposed to hurt. Gets your attention. Now tell me what I need to know. Where the fuck has Townsend and his buddies gone? And don’t give me any shit about the local Wal-Mart.”
Blancanales spotted movement across the dusty yard, where a figure had appeared in the door of a long building he took as the bunkhouse. It might have been cowboy country, but there was nothing Western about the weapon the guy was carrying. It was a very modern M-16 A-1.
“Gun,” Blancanales yelled at his partner. “Behind you.”
Blancanales hauled his Beretta from the hip holster under his jacket and moved to cover behind the bulk of the 4x4.
Lyons hefted the bulky pistol he had taken from Broken Nose. He spun suddenly, clouting the guy across the skull with the heavy weapon. The struck man grunted and went flat down on the ground. By that time Lyons was moving to join Blancanales. He was a few steps short when the guy with the M-16 A-1 opened up. The ground exploded in dusty spouts where the 5.56 mm slugs dug in. Lyons last steps turned into a hurried dive that took him behind the 4x4.
The rifle man ran in the direction of the vehicle, raising the assault rifle as he closed in.
Lyons rolled to his feet, spitting dry dust from his mouth.
“Okay, now the hard way.”
He dropped the pistol and moved the length of the 4x4, walking around the rear, and when he stepped out he had the Colt Python in his hands. The rifle man caught a glimpse of Lyons an instant before the Able Team commando opened fire and laid a trio of Magnum slugs in his chest. The force picked him off his feet and he twisted violently before he hit the ground, raising a cloud of pale dust.
There was movement just inside the bunkhouse door, followed by the staccato rattle of autofire. One of the 4x4s window blew out.
Blancanales leaned across the hood of the vehicle and sighted along the barrel of his 9 mm Beretta. He made out the dark outline in the bunkhouse door’s shadow, then stroked the trigger. His shot hit the man’s shoulder. The guy slumped forward, exposing more of his upper body. Blancanales fired again, twice, and saw his bullets punch into the target’s chest and put the man down hard.
Blancanales picked up the pistol Lyons had dropped and tucked it in his belt. He jogged to the guy Lyons had slugged and hauled the groggy man to his feet.
“Let’s go, hombre.”
The man was too dazed to protest.
Lyons had reloaded his Colt with some loose shells from his pocket. He was heading directly for the bunkhouse, checking for further movement. When he reached the man he’d put down, he cleared the M-16, then checked for further weapons. Not that it mattered. The man was dead.
The man Blancanales had fired at was dead, too. One 9 mm round had cored through his right shoulder, two more directly into his heart.
Blancanales pushed his prisoner against the bunkhouse wall.
“Now I’m sure you realize the error in not cooperating,” he said.
The man stared at the pair with obvious terror in his eyes and decided that a broken nose and a crack on the skull was preferable to being dead.
“Jesus, you win. What the hell, I didn’t sign on for a fuckin’ war with the crazies.”
“Any more around?” Lyons asked, making sure his Python remained in full view.
“Only one inside. He’s confined to bed. Took a slug in the shoulder a few days ago.”
“Lead the way,” Lyons said, prodding the man with the tip of the Python’s muzzle.
They entered the bunkhouse and moved through the living area to the individual rooms.
“Hear that?” Blancanales asked.
Lyons nodded. He had heard the sounds, too. Someone was moving around, awkward, stumbling. A man was cursing to himself.
“What’s this guy called?” Lyons asked Broken Nose.
“Lerner. Vic Lerner.”
Lyons glanced at Blancanales. “Just had to be him.”
“Hawkins’s old Army buddy?”
Lerner appeared then, leaning around the door frame to peer along the passage at the group heading his way. He wore light pants, no top. His left shoulder and upper arm were heavily bandaged and in a sling. He held a Beretta pistol in his right hand. It took him a few seconds before he recognized Lyons.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just put the gun down, Lerner, unless you want a matching right shoulder,” Lyons said, his Python already lined up for a shot.
“Vic, do it,” Broken Nose said. “They already took down Norris and Davies.”
“Good advice, Vic,” Blancanales said, stepping out from behind Broken Nose to show his own weapon.
Lerner saw sense quickly enough. He secured
the Beretta and lowered it to the floor, kicking it clear. Blancanales stepped forward and took possession of the pistol.
“Now let’s get across to the house,” Lyons said.
As they retraced their steps to the main house, Lerner kept stealing quiet glances at Lyons. Just before they entered he stopped and turned to face him.
“T.J. is a plant? That deal in the bar was to set me up?”
“He’s smart,” Lyons said.
“Son of a bitch,” Lerner said. “Got to hand it to T.J. He fooled the whole bunch. Son of a bitch, he always was a canny old dog.” He hesitated. “Chomski is going to be mad as hell when he finds out.”
Inside the house Broken Nose and Lerner were seated where Blancanales could keep an eye on them while Lyons called Stony Man to apprise them of the situation. He found himself talking to Brognola.
“Ranch is secure. Nobody left here except a few guys house-watching. What…? Some resistance. We took care of it…. What do you mean, how? Hal, I went in with a white flag and appealed to their patriotic side. Expand it…? Okay, we had to shoot the shit out of them. That make you feel better…? Two things. Be advisable for you to get people in here. This place needs checking out from floor to attic. And Townsend’s storm troopers need dealing with. Second, and more important, we need travel arrangements made to get us down to Santa Lorca. I want to be there for T.J. I let him slip away. Talk to the President. He promised any help we needed, didn’t he? Your words. So make him cough up. Divert the Pacific Fleet if he needs to. Just get us a ride down there and the Navy can drop us on Santa Lorca without the locals hearing about it…. Thanks, Hal, I’ll wait for your call. Hey, don’t forget our relief. We got two live ones here and I don’t want them getting any chance to find a phone and tipping Townsend off. Sure, Hal…Trust me, I was trained for this.”
Lyons was smiling when he put the phone down. He returned to where Blancanales was watching the prisoners.
“All sorted,” he said. “You guys will be in the care of a special task force before you know it.”
Broken Nose peered over the top of the bloody towel he was holding to his face.
“They friends of yours?”
China Crisis (Stony Man) Page 21