"Five million dollars!" he said. "They're out of their minds."
The letter was typed in capital letters with an oversized typeface, on paper that bore the heading THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF IRELAND. The same inscription appeared on the envelope. There was no address, no other means of identification.
The FBI agent read the letter.
To the British-American Corporation, Ltd.:
You have been judged and found guilty of high crimes against the Irish people.
As compensation to your victims, you are herewith ordered to give the sum of five million dollars ($5,000,000) U.S., payable to the account of the People's Republic of Ireland, Banque Nationale, Tripoli, Libya.
As proof and evidence of the power of the courts of the People's Republic of Ireland, within seventy-two hours of receiving this letter, the Army of the Republic will destroy a major British-owned or British-controlled property within the United States.
After that event, you will be given twenty-four hours to complete transfer of the money. Failure to comply will lead to the destruction of additional British property.
By your acts know that you have declared yourselves an enemy of the Irish people. As your enemy, we, the people of Ireland, shall not hesitate to use the weapon of God's ultimate justice to punish transgressors and their transgressions.
Our cause is noble, our hearts steadfast. Our souls are committed to the war for Irish liberation.
We are the army of God's fury.
We are the Fury Bomb.
"A bunch of maniacs," Leinster said. "What else can they be?"
"Crazies, maybe," said the FBI agent, "but there are four dead bodies here that indicate we'd better listen to what they're saying."
"And give them the five million?" cried Leinster, outraged. "These Irish bastards aren't the only crazies around here!"
As MADNESS SWEPT ATLANTA and other major cities in the United States, well-trained, calm, professional people—known to Hal Brognola and the crew at Stony Man Farm as"sources"—were updating the men who worked at the largest, most intricate and the damn best antiterrorist center in the entire world.
Hal and the Stony Man crew were assimilating the information given to them and planning, plotting their course of action. In Brognola's mind, the course was simple.
"Get me Phoenix Force," he growled.
8
FOUR MEN AND A WOMAN were in the War Roomat Stony Man Farm.
Computer wizard Aaron "The Bear" Kurtz-man sat in front of a CRT console, his hands resting on the computer's keyboard.
His eyes took in the green glare of the screen and the other persons in the room: April Rose, Gary Manning, Yakov Katzenelenbogen and Hal Brognola.
Katz, the senior member of Phoenix Force—a man with one arm missing, blasted off during the Six Day War—sat erect in a chair, a cane at his side. He leaned forward, his face drawn. The veteran fighter seemed tired.
April sat beside Katz, Manning beside her. Hal stood and paced as The Bear accessed the machine.
"Got it," Kurtzman said. A list of company names came up on the screen. Brognola began to read the list aloud.
"British Petroleum. Cunard Lines. Intercontinental Trading Corporation. Hayes-Eastwood Stores. Royal Dutch Shell. Lloyds Bank of California. . ." The list seemed endless. "ArdenSecurity Services," said Brognola. "They're nationwide."
"They hire winos and bums," said Manning, "college boys—whoever they can get for minimum wage."
"They didn't do much for their parent company, Britamco," said Hal.
The list continued.
Yakov thumped his cane on the floor. The others glanced at him.
"I think we're getting carried away. There are thousands of these little companies. The letters threaten a major property. Cut out everything with a value of less than a million dollars."
Kurtzman touched the keyboard and the screen cleared. His fingers danced and the program began again, from the beginning, but this time much of the underbrush had been cleared away. Still, the program took ten minutes to run.
"Over seven hundred possibles remain," said Yakov. "How do we find the one they're going to hit?"
"And how much time, do we have?" asked Hal. "The various letters said within seventy-two hours, but that gives them a lot of leeway."
"They want publicity as well as money," said Gary. "Otherwise, why hit so many companies in one operation? I think they'll give the story time to build to the maximum."
"Cocky-bastards," said Hal. "We've pulled out all the stops. We have full cooperation rightdown the line from the FBI and the various state and local police agencies. Already there must be ten thousand police and other agencies working on tracing the attack teams."
"Has it been cleared with the Man?" asked Gary.
"Personally," said Hal. "He's been on the phone half the morning. Justice and Defense are on full alert and the National Guard commanders in all fifty states have put their troops on standby."
It was 11:00 A.M. At that moment David Mc-Carter was over the Irish Channel.
By then, reports from Stony Man sources had come in from all of the targets of the raids. Not all raids had been as successful as the one in Atlanta. Brognola updated Gary and Yakov while waiting for the computer to be accessed for its next task.
"In Chicago, the terrorist team was intercepted by a police patrol car that was able to call in reinforcements. They took out the whole team, all three men, but police suffered heavy casualties doing it."
"All three dead?" asked Gary.
"Unfortunately. The terrorists wouldn't surrender. The last one blew himself apart with a grenade. We have pictures and prints on the other two. All had Irish accents, so pictures and prints are being rushed to both police and military agencies in England and in Ireland. Maybe they'll make something of them."
"No trace on the terrorists in the other cites?" Gary asked.
"Nothing," said Hal. "It's incredible, but somehow between a hundred and two hundred foreigners, who would stand out in any crowd, managed to vanish into thin air."
"What's being done?" asked Yakov.
"Full coverage of public transportation, airports, bus terminals, train stations. A sweep of every hotel, motel, tourist camp and rooming house that accept transients in the target cities. It's amazing how many first-generation Irish are in this country, and the number of them living in hotels and rooming houses. But so far there's nothing to tie any of them to the raiders. The outcries are starting to come in from Irish nationalists and civil rights organizations, screaming Nazi-Fascist dictatorship because we're even looking for the terrorists."
"When the fire bombs start coming through their windows, they'll have something else to scream about," Gary said sourly. "What about this People's Republic of Ireland?"
"Another blank. We're pushing our informants, here and across the water, but it's something new."
Except for the company and the amount demanded, the letters had been the same in every instance. A few asked for one or two million, a few at the top end demanded ten million. The total came to one hundred eighty million dollars.
"Seldom do you see a terrorist organization this well organized," Hal informed them.
"They could have government help. That's a possibility to be kept in mind," said Yakov. "But I don't think even our old friend in Libya would try anything quite like this, even though the money is to be deposited in one of his banks."
Brognola said, "I agree with the colonel. I could see a band of criminals trying to extort from a single company, but nothing on this scale. Still, considering what has happened thus far, it's been agreed that we have to take their demands seriously."
"Have any companies agreed to pay?" asked Gary.
"Not yet. They're still talking it over. But I don't think they will; not unless the terrorists carry out their threat to destroy a major property."
Most of the six hours since the first threats had been reported had been used in organizing the investigation. Using forces put i
n motion by Brognola, Gary had caught a Canadian Armed Forces jet to Andrews Air Force Base. From there, a helicopter brought him directly to Stony Man. He had arrived thirty minutes earlier.
"McCarter was in London," said Hal. "Right at hand, as it were, so he's working over there."
"That could be bad news," Gary said.
"Very bad," added Yakov. "It's bad luckDavid was there. He's the worst possible choice to go into the snake pit. As soon as he opens his mouth every third person he sees will want to shoot him."
"Maybe," Brognola said, "but there wasn't anything else we could do. Remember, there are already more than a hundred bodies; we're in a shooting war. There was no time to send some-one from this side of the water, even if Ohara and Encizo had been available."
Keio and Rafael were still on standby, awaiting developments, waiting to see on what front the main battle would be fought.
"Let's get this list broken down by region," April said.
Kurtzman tapped out the new request, and the printer beside the computer console began to click, spilling folded paper into the document receptacle. When the noise stopped, Gary ripped away the printout and scanned the list. He shook his head in disgust.
"There are a dozen possibles within twenty miles of Washington, a hundred between here and New York."
"The fuel depots and refineries along the Jersey shore," said Hal.
"They're on the list," said Gary. "Spectacular," said Yakov. "Perhaps too spectacular."
"But the security is lousy," said Gary. "Two or three men could go through those fences likewater through cheesecloth. If they want to make that much noise."
"British consulates," said April Rose. The men looked at her. "They're not on the list, but they could be targets."
"I hope not," said Yakov. "If we have to include cultural and governmental sites, there's no hope of covering them all."
"Besides," said Hal, "only the most dedicated Marxist would consider the British government industry-controlled."
"But aren't they?" April asked. "Marxist, I mean. Look at the name they chose—the People's Republic. That's straight from the textbook. It's well-known that the IRA and its splinter offshoots are Marxist."
"A brilliant thought," said Yakov. "But again, I have to hope you're wrong."
"We have to cut away the deadwood," Hal said.
Gary continued to study the printout, scanning back and forth. Twice he stopped at a name, went on, came back and locked on it.
The information was scant, merely a corporate subsidiary and an address. He tapped the printout, musing.
"Something?" said Yakov.
"Maybe. A hunch."
Yakov and the other Phoenix Force men had learned to trust Gary's hunches.
"Ames Computronics, Sussex, New Jersey." "Sussex is about as far northwest as you canget and still be in New Jersey," said Kurtzman. He punched up a regional map. "Near Milford, Pennsylvania and Port Jervis, New York. There's a private landing strip at Sussex and another at Port Jervis. Nearest Air Force base is Middletown, New York, forty miles farther. The Sussex strip can take Lear jets."
April turned to Gary. "The helicopter trip would take a good two hours."
"I think Ames Computronics in Sussex is the company they're going to hit. I'll go over alone—we can't afford to spread ourselves thin. Lay on a Lear at Andrews," said Gary, moving toward the door; he dropped the printout on a table.
Minutes were precious. Even if the terrorists milked as much suspense as possible from their threat, less than sixty-six hours remained.
"I'll patch you in with the New Jersey State Police and with the FBI out of Newark," said April, as Gary reached the door. "Someone will meet you at Sussex."
She picked up the telephone and called the alert shack where the chopper pilots waited. By the time Gary arrived, his chopper would be ready to take off.
"Let's get this list on the wire," said Hal, shuffling papers into his briefcase. "I've got to get back to the White House to give the Man a face-to-face report. You'll coordinate here, Colonel?"
"For the moment," Yakov said broodingly.
"At least we'll get a firsthand look at security around the targets," said Hal.
"We are the fury bomb,'" said Yakov. "What do you suppose it means?"
"Rhetoric," said Hal. "Terrorists usually manage to find good speechwriters."
"I think not. I think that phrase is very important."
"What do you think it means?"
"I've no idea. But we better find out, before it's too late."
9
As THE STONY MAN TEAM shifted into fighting gear, a search plane from Tinker Air Force Base, Oklahoma City, spotted the wreckage of the C-130.
The pilot caught the blackened path of the crash, then made a second pass at five hundred feet to pick up the markings on the tail.
"I've got it, Tinker." He gave the coordinates. "Any sign of life?"
"Nothing," said the pilot. "Nobody walked away from that."
The fuselage had skidded several hundred yards up the low slope, shedding wings and odd bits and pieces. Fires had started when the fuel tanks exploded on impact, and the underbrush had burned from fifty to a hundred yards around the path of the slide. The fires had quickly burned themselves out for lack of ground fuel.
"All right, Search, thank you," came the voice from the ground. "We're already notifying the nearest civil authorities. They'll have ground teams in there before our own people arrive."
"They'll need all-terrain vehicles," the pilot said. "This country is badly broken up. No roads anywhere. They'll probably have to walk in the last three or four miles—I see a couple of gullies even an ATV won't be able to negotiate."
"Any indication of what caused the crash?" "Not from up here, Tinker."
"All right, Search, well done. Come on home."
The search plane banked sharply and made a wide circle away from the wreckage, heading back to Oklahoma City. Tinker AFB was more than fifty minutes away at subsonic speed.
Several hours would pass before the first of the ground teams reached the C-130 and began the grisly task of digging out the bodies.
Two HUNDRED MILES TO THE SOUTHWEST, a teamof arson investigators from the state police picked a cautious way through the remains of the Collins house. They were aided by men from the local fire department, most of whom hadbeen on the scene during the previous day's fire.
One man shouted to the others. "I found a couple!"
He studied the charred bodies as the professionalsslogged over. "Jesus," he said, blanching. "These must be the kids."
"Here's another," said someone else, uncovering Hamilton Brownlow. The body was not recognizable.
Twenty minutes later Bobby and his mother were found together. "Hey," said one of the locals. "I thought there was only supposed to be four of them."
"Can't be the father," someone said. "They said he was on that plane they figured went down."
"Probably a friend," said a state man.
The bodies were loaded into meat wagons, to he delivered to the cold-storage room at the local hospital.
10
DAVID MCCARTER RECEIVED his first look at thelegendary Emerald Isle. Perhaps because of his British reserve, he was unimpressed.
The Harrier jet, after landing at Belfast'sAldergrove air base, was met by a military-command car. As McCarter pulled his suitcase out of the cramped cockpit, a British major stepped out of the car.
"Laurence Dickman," said the major.
David took the proffered hand and was given a firm handshake.
"David McCarter."
Dickman held the door for McCarter, then settled heavily into his seat. "Quite a slap in the face for our friends across the water," he said. "I imagine the Americans aren't quite so pleased with the IRA boys today."
"IRA?" said David.
"They're all IRA in one form or another," said Dickman. "Call themselves Provos, Regulars, whatever; it's all cut from the same pudding. I must say, though, on
e must credit them for thinking so highly of themselves with this caper."
"Any update on the raids?"
"Nothing since we received word that you were on the way. Not that I understand exactly your position in this matter—just that I've been tapped as liaison. You'll really have to fill me in on what it is I'm supposed to do."
"At the moment your information is probably as up to date as mine," said David. "My first priority is for a secure link to my people on the other side."
"That we can do."
The command car motored on. The vehicle was heavily armored: steel shutters over the windows offered firing slits, and the windshield was triple-thick plate that would stop anything short of a rocket. McCarter peered through the slit and saw a shell-shocked city.
There were few men but many women on the street, and they turned away as the command car came into their block, showing their hatred for the men inside. Several women stopped and spit, and children threw stones that clanged against the armor.
A British soldier in full battle dress sat beside the driver, his rifle grounded between his feet. He hunched forward, staring through the windshield, the cords in his neck standing out with tension.
The street was potholed; the car jarred through the smaller, circled the biggest. Some holes were the result of mines that had destroyed other British vehicles, killed other British soldiers.
There were gaps in the buildings that lined the street; burned-out shells and lots filled with only rubble.
Dickman seemed relaxed, perhaps even bored, despite the tension of the youth in the front seat. The car stopped at a barricade manned by half a dozen soldiers with Bren guns. The major held up a laminated identity card, and the barrier was pulled aside. The car rolled through, into the heart of the city.
Civilian traffic was barred from downtown except for lorries making deliveries. Each van was checked thoroughly. There were more pedestrians, however, and for the first time the latter included a proportion of men from the surrounding offices and business establishments.
"We're going in bloody circles," McCarter said.
"Cook's tour," said Dickman. "Mandatory for every new arrival. Let's you see what the battle is all about."
Wilson, Gar - Phoenix Force 05 - The Fury Bombs Page 5