Domination Bid

by Don Pendleton

  Several rounds cut through the flimsy wood of an antique sofa and found the flesh of one man’s thigh. He let out a scream, his weapon leaving his grasp as he rushed both hands to plug the burning holes and staunch the flow of blood. In so doing, he’d exposed enough of his head that Hawkins managed to sweep the other direction and catch him on the second pass. Two more runs busted the man’s skull wide open and his body flopped onto the floor.

  James had barely escaped being cut to ribbons. One of the rounds clipped the flesh just above his right ankle but he assessed it only as a graze after a quick inspection. Even as he looked at it he was spraying rounds in the direction of his enemies to keep their heads down. He didn’t score any lucky hits but it didn’t matter because a moment later Encizo primed an HE grenade and lobbed it into the room.

  The shooters were busy reloading, charging their batteries as it were for the kill, when they heard the grenade land between their respective positions. They only had a moment to look at each other in terror before the thing went off. Superheated gas and flame decimated the area around them, the concussive effects coupled with the shrapnel whistling through the terrorists like BB pellets through rice paper.

  McCarter and Encizo immediately followed inside and began to lay down cover fire, swathing the area with 9 mm Parabellum rounds while James and Hawkins got clear of their positions. They didn’t dare stay in one place or they would make prime targets, just as they nearly had a moment before. They fanned through the room, moving in a fire-and-maneuver pattern.

  Two more enemy gunners appeared on Encizo’s left flank. One passed by a front window. Glass exploded and a round sheared neatly through his right skull and blew off the left part of his face. His body teetered only a moment before collapsing to the ground, neatly dispatched by the marksmanship of Gary Manning. The Canadian had taken up an outside support sniper role while the remainder of his teammates made entry.

  The other man didn’t let the death of his comrade distract him. He lined up his weapon and prepared to cut down his enemy. Instead he was the one who got cut down with a double blast to the gut from Encizo and McCarter.

  James had decided he’d had enough of trying to dodge his enemies and opted for a more permanent if highly volatile solution in CQB. He popped the pin on a thermite grenade and tossed it through the open door that looked as if it led onto a kitchen where two gunners had taken up firing positions. The clattering of the grenade along the expensively tiled kitchen floor was followed by heat. Fragments of molten metal, heated to several thousand degrees in just a second, rained onto the two gunners. It instantly transformed them into human torches and James put out mercy rounds—they were staggering around, awash in flames—to end their suffering.

  The sounds of battle fell away and left only the eerie silence and persistent ringing in the ears of the four Phoenix Force warriors.

  McCarter keyed up his mike and announced to Manning, “We’re clear.”

  “You want me to join you?”

  “No, hold your position and wait for instructions. We’re going to sweep and clear the rest of the house.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  McCarter clicked off and then told his men, “I don’t want to split us up but I don’t think we have a choice. This place is just too big for us to waste the time searching in pairs. Keep in constant radio contact and report anything you find and where you find it.”

  “What about Madari and Stanish?” James asked.

  “Take them alive if you can,” McCarter said.

  “If we can?” Hawkins queried, brow furrowed.

  Something went flinty in McCarter’s expression. “If they leave you no choice, then do the needful.”

  The men nodded and then McCarter doled out the assignments. The place was only two floors so two would search upstairs and two would remain on the first floor. McCarter doubted the upper rooms would be heavily defended. Obviously their approach had been detected and so any key personnel had already been evacuated, if McCarter didn’t miss his guess. But they still had to go through the motions, whether or not it just gave the enemy more time to escape wasn’t something he could be concerned with. They first had to secure their AO.

  But McCarter also couldn’t help but wonder where Muriel Stanish might be headed. Or whether “Mishka” was truly on their side.

  * * *

  HER HEART THUDDED in her chest, perspiration a glistening sheen on her cheeks and cleavage in the midday sun, as Stanish emerged from the brush. She’d been running for nearly half an hour along the trail that would take her out to the launch. She had changed her mind, determined to accompany Ishaq as he’d originally requested. She no longer saw the wisdom in staying behind. Whatever he had planned—and she knew he’d not told the truth about not testing the weapons in America—she had to be with him.

  Some part of her also knew she was running out of time. The American SOG team had somehow managed to track her here. Of this she had little doubt. She checked first to make sure that someone wasn’t waiting to ambush her and then dashed across the clearing. A million things seemed to run through her mind as she ran. How had they found her so quickly? Had Madari been tracking her? Had she somehow betrayed herself or her plans, maybe left some clue behind?

  The only other man who would have had some idea of her operations was David Steinham. She’d taken his money, sure—it had allowed her to live a bit better while in Belarus. Besides, he’d never pumped her for any particularly classified information, but rather just to keep him informed of Oleg Dratshev’s movements. It had turned out to be rather fortuitous when she’d met Ishaq Madari and she’d mentioned it in passing after a little too much wine. That’s when it had all changed between them.

  So if it wasn’t Madari who’d been tracking her, that meant Steinham had somehow found a way to keep tabs on her. It wasn’t until she made it across the clearing unscathed that she realized what it was. The phone he’d given her! There must have been a tracking device inside it. Probably routed to the GPS so that when she turned it off—something he would have expected her to do under any circumstances—it activated some other internal chip that he used to monitor her location. After all, he was a government defense contractor and had the most advanced and sensitive electronics at his disposal. The guy made guidance systems for weapons.

  The yacht was gone but there remained a small launch, the water lapping gently against its sleek sides. Stanish considered her options and then realized that in truth she didn’t have any. She didn’t know when the yacht had departed but she did know it was to have been earlier this morning. Could the launch catch it? Could she navigate into the open sea, braving the waves of the Aegean and eventually into the Mediterranean?

  Even as she pushed on and made her way toward the launch, Stanish wondered if she would have the fuel. The launch had actually been a part of her lover’s massive yacht, one he’d special-ordered and christened Amra’a not just a few short months after they were together. She remembered how that had impressed her—simply and cleanly, its closest translation meant “woman.”

  Stanish sensed something wasn’t right as she approached the launch and when she got within fifty yards she figured out what that something was. Jachan stepped out of the shadows of the small boathouse at the end of the dock. She could see the pistol in his hand but she didn’t halt her approach. If she could get close enough to the oversize launch—a launch she secretly wondered if Ishaq had left behind in the event she changed her mind—she might be able to overcome Jachan. It was risky but Stanish didn’t really see that she had much choice.

  “That’s far enough,” he said. As she stopped he added, “Quite far.”

  “Not even close,” Stanish replied. The tone in her voice thinly veiled her challenge.

  “I don’t understand it,” Jachan said. “Why have you betrayed us? Betrayed Ishaq?”

  “I haven�
�t betrayed him,” she replied. “You have betrayed him. You thought to keep me a prisoner. I’m no man’s prisoner.”

  “Enough talk!” Jachan barked. “Take your hand out of that bag. I will not let you murder me in cold blood like you did Aburam.”

  Stanish eased her hand out of the bag and, along with it, held it high in her fist just enough to expose the head of a fragmentation grenade. “I have no intention of shooting you. But I also plan to make sure that you never have the opportunity to come between me and Ishaq.”

  She released her grip and the spoon flipped away with an audible clang. She was committed now and she felt a smug sense of satisfaction as she watched Jachan’s eyes light up.

  Stanish tossed the grenade overhand and Jachan instinctively turned and dived off the side of the pier and into the safety of the water. The grenade followed him, just as she’d planned. She knew he would be stunned by the underwater explosion, so she waited until he surfaced, disoriented and helpless. The pistol reported twice, the first bullet crashing through Jachan’s chest while the second punctured his throat. Jachan’s eyes remained wide open in shock and his last couple of breaths were garbled and bloody.

  Stanish dived in and swam to the launch, climbing aboard and pausing to catch her breath Then she rose and went to the control panel of the launch. She found it had a GPS and she set the control to the specific signal of the Amra’a, the one she knew that Madari had registered with the government so as not to appear as anything but a valid businessman.

  Then she fired up the engine, cleared the mooring lines and within a minute headed for open water in pursuit of her lover.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The several technicians in the control room were anything but diligent at sticking by their posts.

  Rafael Encizo had found the place abandoned and was still attempting to tap into the system when McCarter joined him. He was trying to crack the codes to get into the system and getting no place fast.

  McCarter made a suggestion. “Let’s load one of those cracking dongles into the system and see if Bear can’t get in.”

  Encizo nodded. He reached into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a simple flash drive while McCarter transmitted a secure code via satellite uplink from his phone.

  The flash drive contained a special program that would receive additional instructions once Kurtzman interfaced with it. Without Stony Man receiving such a code, in a certain amount of time the program on the flash drive would be activated. If the device was not removed, the program launched a self-destruct sequence that would send out a destructive virus and then activate an overload to its sensitive circuitry. That overload would not only turn the device to slag but make any information on it unreadable.

  All the computer owner would know was that somebody had inserted a device that had melted and fused itself to the computer. That, and they would no longer have access to their information. The computer virus was extremely pervasive and could replicate itself if necessary, completely wiping any physical or electronic trace of Stony Man off the map. And since the code had never before been encountered, and was set to destroy itself after the damage had been done, no current security countermeasure in existence could deter it.

  It was just one more way Stony Man’s SOG stayed one step ahead of its enemies.

  “Okay, the code was received,” McCarter said. “Now it’s just a waiting game.”

  After barely a minute, all the screens that had just been blue with silver text that read SYSTEMS OFFLINE flashed into life.

  McCarter grinned. “Well, bless your heart, Bear.”

  His teammates arrived a minute later and reported the all-clear.

  Manning said, “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “Not really,” McCarter said. “We’re waiting on Bear to find something interesting. Until then—”

  McCarter’s cell phone warbled for attention and he picked up midway through the third signal. “Go.”

  “We’ve found something of interest,” Price said. “Or, well, more like several ‘somethings’ of interest but the biggest one is that we think we know how they’re getting the EMP prototypes out of the country.”

  “Any way we can stop them?”

  “Not at this point,” Price said. “Apparently they’ve gone out by boat and they’re too far out for any reasonable chance of catching up. At least by water.”

  “So how do you want to handle this?”

  “We’ve used our diplomatic channels to alert the Hellenic navy. They’ve agreed to send a patrol interceptor to look for Madari’s yacht.”

  “Yacht?” McCarter was puzzled. “I don’t get it? How did he actually expect to get a yacht into U.S. waters without being intercepted by USCG? Or even out of here for that matter. And a trans-oceanic voyage in a small yacht? Seems a bit bold.”

  “You won’t think so once I tell you that yacht isn’t really so much a yacht as a converted freighter.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “The computer systems we tapped didn’t have much in the way of information on the EMPs. In fact, mostly all we found were mathematical computations and some other data. Looks like most of those computers were there just to store camera footage, run the house security, and so forth.”

  “Mostly used for security, then,” McCarter interjected.

  “Pretty much. However, because it was for security it also monitored all electronic communications in and out. There are all sorts of emails between Madari and the maritime fabrication and construction firm he used to make the conversion. All the holds were left intact. It would also appear as if he ordered materials that by themselves are not odd, but when put together by one of Bear’s algorithms, looks as if they planned to build some sort of gun platform.”

  “Well, we did think that they might have some EMP capabilities,” McCarter said.

  “Right,” Price replied. “Which makes any such attempt to intercept them very dangerous. You guys aren’t really equipped with anything large enough to take them out so we told the Hellenic navy we believe the boat may be attempting to smuggle rare artifacts from the country, artifacts we believe might belong to the Greek government.”

  “And what if Madari does have one of those weapons active and decides to test it out on a live target?”

  “We considered that possibility. But you must also realize that despite Dr. Dratshev’s considerable advancements in this field, we still don’t think the technology is advanced enough to be of any real effect. And even if it is, it’s still no match against the speed and surety of conventional onboard naval weaponry. I have little doubt the Hellenic navy is quite up to the task of defending itself against one lone freighter-turned-yacht if it comes down to it.”

  “Let’s hope so,” McCarter said. “In the meantime, what’s our next step?”

  “You still have to deal with Madari’s people. There’s a bunker with a full testing range not more than a hundred yards south of the estate. You’ll want to check that out. There may very well be some sort of material evidence left behind that will give us a much better clue as to what we’re up against.”

  “There may also be some personnel we can take alive,” McCarter pointed out. “A live body says a whole lot more than a dead one.”

  “Very astute observation. Just do what you think is best on that count. As soon as you’ve gotten all you can there, I’d recommend you pack it in and come home. There’s really very little more you can do at this point. We’re convinced the government in Athens won’t give up Madari once he’s been taken alive.”

  “Because?”

  “We let them know they were in on the attack in Athens. They deal very severely with anyone who employs such terrorist methods. And they’re especially not happy about several Greek citizens being killed. Between that and the complaints they’re fielding from
our folks about the death of a member of the U.S. embassy, you can bet they’ll go out of their way to deal with Madari.”

  “And then maybe we get Dratshev as a consolation prize.”

  “You’re catching on.”

  “All right. We’ll touch base again once we’ve cleared the island.”

  “Good luck.”

  McCarter disconnected the call and turned to his teammates.

  “All right, lads, it’s a-hunting we will go.”

  * * *

  ISHAQ MADARI WATCHED with immense satisfaction as his men loaded the cargo plane at the small-business terminal of the airport in Athens.

  Even as he waited for them to complete their work, he thought of his yacht heading out to sea. The authorities would be in for a very terrible surprise if, or when, they intercepted his yacht.

  Meanwhile, he’d be well on his way soon, bound for the United States, where he planned to demonstrate and test the weapons, not only to prove their effectiveness but also as a matter of recourse for their interference.

  And then there was the American defense contractor to consider. Steinham. Madari had a very personal grudge to settle with that bastard. Steinham had been the one to provide technology under the table to officials within the Libyan government, technology that ultimately resulted in the demise of Madari’s family and defeat of the Libyan fighters bent on democracy. This was Madari’s way of making a statement while simultaneously verifying the efficacy of his plans. If the weapons worked as Oleg Dratshev promised, Madari could then transport them into Libya and bring down the government dictatorship once and for all.