Domination Bid

by Don Pendleton

  Greek Isles

  High winds whipped the faces of the five warriors of Phoenix Force as they moved into jump position. Exactly twelve hundred feet below them lay the island where they had tracked Muriel Annabel Stanish, aka Mishka.

  McCarter had insisted on jumping below radar signatures. Although they had no reason to believe Madari’s compound boasted any sort of radar station or tracking of air traffic, he didn’t care to risk it. So far Madari had managed to keep one step ahead of them, up to and including tracking of the Stony Man teams if what they’d been told about Able Team was accurate. If Madari was sophisticated enough to succor a CIA agent, engineer Dratshev’s kidnapping and develop advanced weapons, he was surely capable of tracking the movements of any special operations group.

  That didn’t mean Phoenix Force didn’t have a few tricks up its own proverbial sleeve. First, they were more than experienced enough to execute an assault operation against compounds such as this one. They had acquired the layout of the island, which McCarter understood included a private small-plane airstrip, and a full estate with adjoining underground facility the experts at the Farm believed to be some kind of lab.

  McCarter’s one concern was the potential for going up against EMP small arms, but he considered it more important to take the fight to Madari on their terms.

  The only other detail to be worked out was what to do about Mishka and Dratshev. As far as they could tell at this point, Dratshev was an unwilling party to this game of Madari’s and so they would do everything they could to recover him unscathed. Mishka might prove a valuable asset, but given her betrayal of Phoenix Force and the murder of a CIA agent, she was an expendable asset at best.

  McCarter wasn’t big on killing women, but he hated traitors even worse. He couldn’t understand why Mishka would ever ally herself with the likes of Ishaq Madari. She had no ties to Libya; she didn’t seem like the type motivated by money, so had she done it for…love? Had she really fallen for the nutcase’s pitiable story of losing his family to the Libyan government he’d served for so long?

  Only time would tell—time in numbers that were running down fast. One way or another, they’d find out what was going on and then they’d do whatever necessary to close it out once and for all.

  * * *

  MCCARTER TOUCHED down and shed the parachute pack from his body before Manning touched down, the last on the ground. The five Phoenix Force warriors assembled just short of the makeshift airfield, which they knew boasted a man-made road that led uphill to the estate set higher in some ridges.

  While Madari didn’t own the entire island, he had apparently acquired a good part of it. None of the intelligence from the Farm had explained exactly how a man like Madari could have possibly arranged to amass such wealth. There were rumors that he had financiers with very deep pockets, maybe even terrorist factions, all bent on possessing the EMP technology he’d promised.

  Now it seemed clear that Madari had never intended for anyone to get their hands on Dratshev or his brainchild, and if there were outside organizations that had backed Madari, his life wouldn’t be worth two bits inside of a week once they discovered they had been betrayed. Then again, maybe that had been Madari’s plan all the time. It didn’t make a lot of sense, really, given Madari’s stated goals.

  McCarter ran the various scenarios through his mind time and again as Phoenix Force made their way toward an almost inevitable showdown with Madari’s personal security force. He was hoping if he could understand Madari and what motivated him; it would make it much easier to predict the guy’s next move.

  As they neared the perimeter of the estate—having wound their way this far through the trees and tall brush that lined the makeshift road that led from the airstrip—McCarter signaled for his men to spread out. He wasn’t certain the numbers or kinds of resistance they would encounter; only that it was sure to come.

  McCarter’s insight was proved a minute later when the first of the resistance materialized in the form of a sniper bullet that burned past his ear close enough for him to hear its path.

  * * *

  NOTHING HAD HAPPENED as Mishka foresaw it. She’d been an intelligence officer long enough to know that things didn’t always go as planned. She’d hoped since arriving here she would be safe—that she would have time to spend with Ishaq and then some to spare. Instead, after a lovely evening of food, wine and plenty of sex, he’d left her to her own devices while heading to the launch on the far side of the island.

  According to what she’d learned from him, along with things she’d overheard the past day, he’d modified his yacht with prototypes of the EMP weapons. They were preparing to cruise from the islands into the open sea and make all possible speed toward the United States. This troubled Mishka on many accounts, not the least of which had to do with her understanding that her fellow Americans wouldn’t be hurt by his plans.

  Now it was all coming apart. Not only had he left her alone—in part she came to realize this was as much her decision not to accompany him—but also that he now seemed like a different man. Or maybe it was more…indifferent. He was worried about all of it coming together to achieve his political ends in Libya, while Mishka had done everything for him in the name of passion. She loved him so much it hurt and yet he’d seemed to cast that aside for his own ends.

  This reality came crashing down on her in a way she could never have seen in her mind’s eye. Mishka didn’t know what she’d really envisioned, but what she did know was that it wasn’t to have anything to do with Libya or America or these infernal weapons. Madari had obviously abandoned his pursuits of her, perhaps having felt he’d already conquered her affections and now cared only for completing whatever mission he had in mind in America.

  Two armed men entered their private suite, unbidden, while she was still in the process of getting dressed after a long bath—a bath intended to wash away their night of spent passion.

  “What do you want?” she asked of the man she recognized as head of Madari’s house guard.

  The man, whose name was Iman Jachan, didn’t reply. Instead he went to her closet, opened it and immediately removed a light jacket. “A strike team of commandos has entered the perimeter. We have instructions to take you to the bunker.”

  “I’m not leaving until I speak with Ishaq.”

  “That will be quite impossible,” Jachan said with a frown. “The ship left more than three hours ago.”

  “What? But he wasn’t scheduled to leave until tomorrow.”

  Jachan’s smile could have been described as anything but ingratiating. “I’m afraid plans have changed, Mishka. Now please, there isn’t much time. I am personally responsible for your safety. You will need to put that on—” he gestured to the jacket “—and then accompany us to the bunker.”

  “I already told you, I’m not leaving.”

  Jachan produced a pistol and aimed it at her. “You have no choice. You will come with us now, please.”

  Mishka thought of her bag on the far side of the room that contained her pistol and a small dagger, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She’d never get to it in time. So she tried another tack. “This is now my home. And I will not cower in some dank, dusty hole while Ishaq is risking his own life. I will fight for what is mine, Mr. Jachan. And if this strike team is the men I believe they are, you can be assured when I tell you that you will need my help to defeat them.”

  Jachan looked conflicted, and he paused in seeming consideration of her words. “How do you know?”

  “Because they have probably tracked me here.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how. Do you have video of them?”

  Jachan nodded.

  “Then lower your pistol and let me see it. If they are the American special operators, I may be able to help you because I’ve dealt with them. I’ve seen them in action
. Your course will not be easy.”

  Jachan stood there a moment longer and then holstered his pistol. “Then put on the jacket and follow me.”

  Mishka did as instructed and then sauntered casually across the room and retrieved her bag of tricks.

  “What’s that?”

  “Just some personal things I don’t wish to leave behind.”

  “Leave them. The bunker has everything you need should we not be victorious this day.”

  “They could be used to identify me,” she said. “Or perhaps compromise Ishaq’s mission. I will not leave them behind.”

  Jachan hesitated again and then nodded. “Fine. Then let’s go.”

  She slung the bag onto her shoulder, nodded and then gestured for them to lead her out. As they left the suite and headed down the stairs to what Mishka knew was probably in the direction of the control room, she reached surreptitiously into the bag and located her .380-caliber pistol. She palmed it as they crossed through a shadowy section of the downstairs, and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks. It wasn’t that comfortable a fit but she knew she could always transfer it to the holster in the bag later.

  When they got to the control room, Jachan directed her to an unobstructed view of one of the monitors and pointed to a man dressed head-to-toe in camouflage fatigues. The brown hair and intent, fox-faced expression left no doubt in her mind. It was McMasters.

  Mishka nodded. “That’s the group of Americans I thought it was. This one is the leader.”

  “Then let’s try to take him out first,” Jachan said as he raised a radio to his lips. “It will have a great psychological effect on the others, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure,” Mishka whispered.

  But even as she looked at the monitor, content she knew what would happen next, she couldn’t shake the cold feeling in her gut.

  * * *

  MCCARTER DROPPED AND rolled as soon as he heard the bullet. He came up behind a thick tree and brought his MP-5 SD6 to bear. He keyed up his mike. “Omega One to Omega Team. Spread out and find cover. Sniper. Probably on the roof.”

  Encizo’s voice replied a moment later. “Copy, Omega One. You sure?”

  “He just tried to fit me for a toe tag, mate. I’m sure.”

  “Roger.”

  McCarter let his weapon dangle from the sling over his shoulder as he whipped a pair of binoculars from his load-bearing harness and dashed to the next tree some ten yards away. Two more rounds chopped the air in his wake and McCarter cursed. It would be difficult to get an exact location on the target as long as he had the Phoenix Force leader’s scent. He might have to continue working as the bait until Manning could get his sniper rifle in play. This would make coordination more difficult but McCarter didn’t sweat it. Every one of his teammates was a professional and had been trained to operate in tandem if McCarter found himself pinned down and unable to give tactical direction.

  McCarter took a glance and saw the opening in the trees that gave him a view of the roofline. He pulled back in time to avoid a bullet that hit the tree he was using as concealment with a sickening thwack. Yeah, no doubts the sniper had his mark and he wasn’t going to let it go easily. The other troublesome aspect was that their being detected this soon probably meant electronic security had taken stealth as their advantage. The security force assigned to the residence would be on high alert by now and prepared to defend their position until the bitter end.

  McCarter meant to ensure that end meant confining losses to the enemy.

  First, though, they had to take care of the sniper who McCarter had no doubt could reduce their numbers and thereby increase the odds significantly. McCarter keyed his transmitter. “Omega One to Omega Two. Do you have position on our birdie?”

  “Not yet,” Manning replied. “I have no joy from this spot.”

  “Can you get to my position?”

  “Working on that now.”

  “Roger. Out.”

  * * *

  MISHKA WATCHED WITH fascination, something she wouldn’t have admitted to Jachan. There was little doubt in her mind that if her countrymen reached the house the situation would definitely fall to their favor. She’d seen them beat the odds several times. They didn’t fight like normal men—they fought like devils with a purpose. They were almost fanatical about it, really, and yet she knew firsthand from having met them they were anything but fanatic.

  “You cannot let these men through, Jachan.”

  “It’s not my intention.”

  “But your sniper on the roof missed. You might think about someone better.”

  Jachan’s face visibly reddened despite his swarthy complexion. “I believe you’ve done all the good you can here. It’s time for you to retreat to the bunker as originally planned.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t do that.”

  “It’s no longer a request.” He turned to his lieutenant and gestured at Mishka.

  The man immediately stepped forward and grabbed her elbow, none to gently, steering her away from the console and out of the control room. They were through the manor in less than a minute and headed for a rear door when Mishka reached into her pocket, drew the pistol and aimed it at the head of her escort.

  He didn’t react in time and Mishka grit her teeth with a mixture of malice and satisfaction as the .380-caliber round punched through the man’s temple and blew out a significant chunk of his skull. His eyes rolled upward as his body dropped to the carpeted floor. Whether the shot was heard at this point didn’t make much difference—Mishka didn’t plan to wait around.

  She reached to the body and lifted the man’s weapon and assorted ammunition packs and other equipment that would prove useful. She would find some way out of this on her own—she didn’t need any help. If all went well, the Americans would provide Jachan’s men with the distraction needed to make her escape. They had been quite accommodating in that role before and they would do so again.

  Mishka was counting on it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Through a bit of stealth and whole lot of good luck, Gary Manning managed to reach a position close enough to McCarter to get a vantage point on their sniper. McCarter tossed the binoculars to him and Manning caught them one-handed.

  The Canadian lifted the binoculars to his eyes and swept the roofline twice before he spotted their quarry. The sniper was set back in one of the dormer-style windows, just out of the light, but a glint of sunlight on metal gave away his position.

  “I can rectify this pretty quickly,” Manning said, tossing the binoculars back to McCarter.

  They’d been keeping low and speaking quietly, tossing the binoculars so low that the sniper couldn’t see the interaction.

  “Go for it,” McCarter replied.

  Manning nodded, rose, and made his way through a blind spot provided by the overhead foliage. The Canadian positioned the rifle and took aim, sighting the scope on the right location. At that angle he wouldn’t have a direct shot, so he would need to concentrate his fire just to the right. If he played his cards right, the rounds would penetrate the thin siding of the house and strike the target. It would take a few shots, but at least it would remove the threat long enough for him and his teammates to make for the house proper.

  Manning waited only a moment before locking the stock to his shoulder and squeezing the trigger three times. All three rounds hit where he’d intended, but it was just a matter of taking the risk of breaking cover to see if he could make the house. He thought he’d seen the flutter of the enemy sniper’s rifle, so it was possible he’d landed a hit.

  “Go,” Manning practically whispered.

  He counted the seconds, reaching four before McCarter and Encizo broke through the tree line and dashed toward the house. The sniper rifle remained silent on their approach and Manning grinned, helpless no
t to enjoy a moment of satisfaction. His plan to take the sniper from that angle had obviously worked despite the risks involved.

  Now, if our luck can just hold out a little longer, he thought.

  * * *

  IMAN JACHAN SAW the commandos approach the house and knew immediately they had somehow managed to neutralize the sniper he’d placed in a dormer on the second floor. With his only sniper dead, the battle would now be joined at the estate.

  Jachan considered himself neither a freedom fighter nor a crusader. He was more of a privateer—a solider-for-profit that took whatever assignments he chose, when and where he chose them. His work had always been on his terms and he intended to keep it that way. However, he’d taken this assignment on the condition he could run the show when it came to the operations, and Madari had left him to it. He wouldn’t now abandon his post. They would defend the estate to the last man, even if the estate was not occupied by its master.

  As the minutes ticked by, Jachan became more anxious. Something was definitely wrong. Aburam should have returned by now. The bunker was only a couple hundred meters from the house.

  “Stay here and keep me apprised by radio of the enemy’s movements,” he said before leaving the control room.

  It took him less than a minute to find his lieutenant lying facedown on the expensive tile floor, his lifeblood seeping from a fairly large head wound. On closer inspection, Jachan realized the wound had been caused by a small-caliber handgun.

  “You murderous bitch!” he swore. To the ceiling he let out an agonized howl and added, “I’m going to find you! And when I do, I’m going to kill you!”

  The last echoes of his outrage were drowned by the blast of the front door being blown off its hinges. The American commandos had finally made entry to the house.

  * * *

  HAWKINS AND JAMES were the first through the smoking hole blasted out by the HE charges they’d placed against the front entrance door.

  They fanned out, moving inside the darkened foyer and keeping low. Those profiles saved their lives as a cacophony of gunfire overtook them as house security behind furniture opened up on them. Hawkins dived and rolled, coming to a stop on one knee and triggering his M-16 A3. The weapon chattered ceaselessly as Hawkins sprayed his would-be assassins with a storm of responsive fire. The ferocity of his counteroffensive forced them to seek shelter, scattered as they were with the two moving targets they were trying to hit.