Wilson, Gar - Phoenix Force 05 - The Fury Bombs

by Anonymous Author

"Shall we take her?" a cop asked.

  "Negative," said Hal Brognola. "But stay with her to make sure she takes the flight."

  Riordan's wife was unimportant. But her departure without luggage was a good indication that New York was one of the target cities.

  Shortly after six o'clock Hal Brognola cameon the radio again. He could not hide the elation in his voice.

  "Heffernan's informants just came in. We've pinpointed the Chicago and Washington bombs.

  "I've talked to the Man. It's been decided we'll take out the bombs now. The Chicago man says the bombs are on telephone triggers. Washington and Chicago were told to clear out three hours before the L.A. bomb is due to go off. If there's a screw-up, Chicago will be fired instead, and then New York."

  "Won't the terrorists fire the bombs in self-defense?" asked Keio anxiously.

  "Heffernan's men say they won't have a chance. They're going back with gas grenades. Nonlethal, because they'll be knocked out themselves, but they'll do the jobs. We'll have bomb teams in there within twenty minutes, defusing them."

  "But still no word on the New York bomb," said David.

  "That's up to you five," said Brognola. "None of Heffernan's men are in New York. "They say Riley's holed up with only his top guns. New York's in your hands."

  Dusk gathered and settled over the desolate Lower East Side. Except for the streetlights on the avenues and the twinkling red and green traffic signals, the area was dark. Black. Deserted.

  Gary checked his watch. "It's time." Rafaelwas paired with Gary. The two nodded at David and Keio, then moved out quickly when David opened the door. Rafael and Gary each carried an Ingram, silenced with noise suppressors. Rafael had a bag of grenades and Gary had a hunting bow and four arrows.

  They moved north, two black shadows, almost invisible. They turned onto the first block north of the terrorist house, and disappeared into a deserted house.

  Rafael flicked on a pencil flash and the pair advanced to the third floor. Opening the trap-door on the roof, Rafael peered outside.

  "I see one sentry at the back of the house," he whispered to Gary Manning. "His head just shows over the wall. He can't see us if we go out low."

  Manning nodded. "Let's go."

  Rafael made his way over the top of the trap-door, pushing his bag of grenades ahead of him.

  Manning followed and stopped at the top. He heard the slithering sound as Rafael made for the shelter of the nearest chimney. When the noise stopped, he lifted his head far enough to scan the roof.

  Rafael peered around the chimney, gave a signal, then Gary went over onto the roof.

  The roof was a mine field of discarded mattresses, broken glass and plastic trash bags. Gary moved toward the chimney in a crouch. He then slowly stood and moved until he could sight along the chimney cap.

  The sentry was there, the upper half of his body showing above the low wall that surrounded that roof. Then another man appeared and stood beside him.

  "Christ, it's cold!" said one. "I wish 'twere done an' finished. I'd rather be back in Londonderry, where a man has family and friends to watch his back, than in this godforsaken place."

  "D'you think the Americans will pay?" said the other.

  "Seamus said they would."

  "He said the Brit companies would pay, but they didn't. Killin' their people just put their backs up, made them as stubborn as an Irish-man."

  Gary unslung the hunting bow, notched the cord and drew one of the arrows he carried.

  The conversation on the next roof ended. Gary glanced around the chimney and saw that both sentries were moving away. He stepped out, brought the bow to position and let fly with the first arrow.

  It struck the target silently. The terrorist made a small noise, hardly a protest but enough to alert his partner. The second man started to turn but was stabbed by Gary's second arrow, which tunneled through his heart.

  The Irishmen dropped. Rafael sprang forward, ran to the wall and crouched to be sure the noise of their collapse had not been heard. After thirty seconds, he went over the wall,landed on the terrorists' roof and moved forward with the Ingram ready to check the trap-door.

  Rafael stood and Gary, abandoning the bow by the trapdoor, joined him. They moved to the front of the house, and signaled twice.

  Across the street, the bum rolled over and sat up with a yawn. He opened his coat to scratch his chest. He did not move from his sitting position but his hand remained inside his coat, touching the folded stock of his Uzi.

  In the van, the three men tensed, ready to enter the battleground from the rear doors. One man pressed the transmit button of a radio twice.

  The signal was received in the Con Edison truck. The two remaining Phoenix Force agents worked gas masks over their heads.

  Gary and Rafael donned gas masks as David opened the truck's door and slipped out, followed closely by Keio. The latter carried an M-16 rifle with a grenade launcher attached; a grenade was ready for firing.

  They moved to the east side of the block, slipped from shadow to shadow, hugging the stoops. On the north side of the street, they could not be seen from the fourth-floor window of the terrorists' flat.

  The bum watched the window. He pulled off the cap and scratched vigorously.

  In the flat, the sentry held back the curtain in the front room and let it fall almost immediately. The action had become routine. He did little more than glance at the street. The abandoned van and the bum no longer bothered him.

  The bum watched David move into the shadows of the terrorists' stoop and use the bars on a window to pull himself up the wall until he stood on the broad cement railing, flattened beside the door.

  There was a sentry inside; that had been verified by the men in the van.

  He had to be drawn out.

  David signaled. The bum came off the stoop and started across the street, hitching up his pants. He stooped, looked up at the lighted window and studied the building as though wondering whether to make it his home for the night.

  The glass on the doors was intact, although one of the panes on an inner door had been replaced with plywood. The bum came to a decision and started up the steps. He opened the door, moved inside and came backpedaling, hands out in protest.

  "Hey now, mister! Ain't no call for that! I didn't do nothing."

  "Out, you drunken bum!"

  The sentry came out, cursing, ready to strike at the bum with the butt of his rifle. "Out, before I give you a taste of my . . ."

  David struck. The blade sliced through muscle and fat, the sentry staring with astonishment as the instrument of death plunged deep. Before he could protest, David pulled the rifle from hishand and used the pull to spin him around. He damped a hand over the sentry's mouth as blood spilled from the eighteen-inch gash, splattering across the soiled stoop.

  Yakov came up the steps, shrugging out of the filthy overcoat, his Uzi ready. He worked a gas mask into place as Keio cut across the street, dropped into cover behind a stoop and raised the rifle. An instant later the grenade smashed through the fourth-floor window, and gas blosomed into the front room.

  Gary and Rafael were ready. Gary's heel slammed against the door, which collapsed in, and Rafael tossed two quick grenades before the terrorists could react.

  The terrorists coughed and choked on the gas. Several fell to the floor, totally immobilized, retching in agony. Others remained on their feet and retained their weapons, despite the waves of nausea and lack of muscle control created by the gas. Mucus dripped from their noses and drool slobbered from their mouths. Their bladders relaxed and urine stained the crotch of more than one pair of trousers. The terrorists' eyes burned and their lungs felt as if they were filled with red-hot needles.

  Phoenix Force burst into the apartment.

  Yakov, his Uzi in his left hand, the frame braced across his prosthetic right arm, literally ran into two of the fumbling, puking terrorists. Before the thugs could react, Yakov smashed into action. His right arm slashed a forearmsmash to
the closest man's chest, sending the Irish fanatic hurtling across the room.

  The Israeli brushed aside the second terrorist's AK-47 with the frame of his Uzi and drove a knee into the startled man's groin. The terrorist doubled up with a groan, and Yakov chopped the side of his steel hand into his opponent's collarbone, shattering it as though it were made of glass. The man fell on his face, unconscious, while his partner drew a commando knife from an ankle sheath and launched himself at the Phoenix Force leader.

  Rafael and Gary charged into the melee to discover two other terrorists still on their feet. One Irish bastard tried to swing a 9mm pistol toward the pair, although his trembling muscles and uncontrolable hacking cough made his efforts slow and awkward. Rafael stepped forward and delivered a roundhouse kick that sent the gun flying from the terrorist's grasp. The Cuban then backhanded the frame of his Ingram across the man's face, breaking his jaw-bone.

  Another terrorist swung his AK-47 in a desperate butt-stroke at Gary Manning's head. The Canadian easily dodged the clumsy attack and stabbed the barrel of his M-10 under the man's rib cage. The terrorist gasped and folded at the middle. Gary's rock-hard fist landed a solid left hook to the side of his opponent's skull, and the Irishman dropped.

  Yakov pivoted to face the knife-wielding terrorist. His face contorted with rage, the Irish assassin ignored the effects of the gas and delivered a murderous slash at Yakov's throat, exposed beneath the gas mask. The prosthetic arm rose swiftly and the seven-inch blade struck the steel limb, harmlessly bouncing off.

  Before the stunned terrorist could react, Yakov chopped the edge of his deadly steel hand into the man's wrist, breaking bone on impact. The knife fell to the floor and the Irishman howled in agony. Yakov then jabbed the muzzle of his Uzi into the man's solar plexus. The terrorist moaned loudly and seemed to bow before the Israeli colonel, who promptly slammed a knee into the bully boy's face. The terrorist crashed to the floor without even uttering a sigh.

  "Casualties?" barked Yakov, his voice distorted by the mask.

  "None," said Rafael. The dead sentries did not count.

  Gary drew his radio and reported briefly. By the time the gas began to clear and the masks became useless, the terrorists had been rounded up and gathered into the kitchen. There were nine of them, confused and sickened by the gas, their hands cuffed behind their backs.

  Other footsteps sounded. Brognola appeared, followed by Heffernan. Hal looked at the captives, and then at the Irishman.

  "Which is Riley?"

  Heffernan shook his head. "None of them. Are you sure this is the lot?"

  "It's everyone in the flat," said Gary.

  "Search the house," said Yakov.

  The agents moved out, smashed doors into other flats, frightening a few other illegal occupants. But there were no more terrorists.

  They returned and reported. Brognola scowled and turned to Heffernan again.

  "Do you know any of them?"

  "Most of them," said Heffernan. He moved along the line. "Doyle MacGrew. Peter O'Rourke. Emmett Farrell. Liam Clune. These are Riley's lieutenants. If any know where he's hidin', it'll be them."

  Brognola stared at the terrorists. "Well? Where is he?"

  They would not talk.

  Somewhere in the city of New York, one bomb waited for the mad last strike of the Irish war.

  20

  THE IRISH TERRORISTS were driven to police headquarters and interrogated by teams of agents. But the terrorists would not so much as admit they knew the name of Seamus Riley.

  The evening dragged.

  Doyle MacGrew would say nothing at all and shrugged when asked if he wanted coffee or food. Emmett Farrell cursed Heffernan for a traitor, and then cursed the factions when told of their action against Riley.

  Peter O'Rourke seemed most vulnerable but, whether from fear or loyalty, remained true to the terrorist code of silence.

  Liam Clune seemed sunk in despair.

  "This is gettin' us nowhere," said Heffernan. He yawned widely and stretched to ease the tension of knotted back muscles. "They won't talk for fear of what the others will think, or what they'll do. These lads have long memories. They know what they'd do to a traitor."

  "What do you suggest?" said Yakov. "We're open to any suggestion."

  "Offer them a deal," said Heffernan. "Protection, a new life under a new name."

  They began again, this time making the offer. It was received with disdain by the first three of Riley's lieutenants; then Liam Clune was brought into the room.

  He looked up. "What deal?"

  Brognola explained the provisions of the cooperative witness act.

  "You won't send me back to Ireland?"

  "Not if you tell us everything, your part in this affair; where Riley is hiding; the location of the bomb."

  "The latter I can't tell you," said Clune. "I swear, Seamus kept that information for himself. But I can tell you where he is now."

  "We're waiting," said Brognola.

  "On the farm, upstate."

  Clune opened up and spilled everything he knew, including the location of the Chenango County farm. He told his own part in the Britamco takeover in Atlanta. He would not stop talking until at last Yakov grew weary of his voice and cut him off.

  "Enough! I am sickened! With your own hands you murdered a helpless old man and another."

  "I'd give a penny to know how many English-men he's killed," said David, grimly.

  "But I have your word!" said Clune. "A new life in a new place, that was the bargain!"

  "It's as bad a bargain as ever I made," said Brognola, "but the United States government will stand by it."

  "And you'll not tell the lads it was I who spilled?" insisted Clune.

  "You don't think they'll guess when you turn up missing?" said Rafael.

  Clune's face fell again. "Aye, they'll know. But they won't be able to find me."

  The Phoenix Force agents rose as one and moved toward the door. Then Yakov stopped, looking at the weasel. His eyes shifted to his artificial hand.

  The Irish terrorist shivered as he recognized the look in the Israeli's eyes. Clune's complexion was sallow, bleached of all color. He looked as though he would be sick when Yakov moved to his side, rested the steel hand against the back of his neck.

  The fingers were in natural position but it would be easy to take Clune's spinal cord between thumb and forefinger. A slight exertion and the steel fingers would crush the cord as easily as snapping a twig... .

  Yakov blinked. He had almost done it.

  He could not kill Clune so casually, without the excuse of battle. That would make him no better than the terrorists.

  "You're coming with us," he said.

  Face white, Liam Clune rose from his chair and moved after the five agents.

  21

  A CABLEVISION SERVICE TRUCK drove along anarrow rural lane, the man in the passenger's seat working his way through an apple. As the truck drew abreast of a long dirt driveway, he tossed the apple core from the window. Neither driver nor passenger paid special attention to the white house that sat back nearly a quarter of a mile from the road.

  The farmhouse was isolated, standing five hundred yards from the road, across a field gone to seed. The windows were boarded up, the barn shut up. A rusting cultivator sagged behind a chicken coop, and weeds grew in the driveway. The house had two cars parked on the lawn and a station wagon in the driveway. A panel truck was pulled up close to the back porch, almost touching the steps. Shades were pulled tight on all windows.

  "Too bad they didn't rent the big house,” said David. "Plenty of cover. No cover at all where they are."

  "It'll be like a turkey shoot," Gary agreed.

  "No problem if we could wait until dark,"said David as the truck passed the next threedeserted farms. Three miles north of the tenant farmhouse the truck finally passed an occupied house.

  "No time," said Gary. "It's now or never." In one hour the Los Angeles bomb was due to explode.

&n
bsp; Time was ticking toward action.

  Gary turned into the yard of the one occupied house, which had been taken over as a command center. The farmer and his family were being kept happy in a nearby town.

  "Well?" said Yakov when David and Gary entered the farmhouse. "Any ideas?"

  "A bombing raid," David said. "The bloody house sits there with a quarter-mile open land on all sides. According to Clune, there are at least twenty men inside. Drop a bomb down the chimney and pick up the pieces."

  "If we could get a chopper there, I could drop a gas grenade down the chimney," said Rafael.

  "No," said Yakov, "they won't let a chopper or a plane get within striking distance."

  "We have to do something quick," said Keio. "Time's running out."

  "There's always the old underground rail-road station," said the sheriff. The Phoenix Force agents spun staring at him.

  "That's the second house on that foundation," explained the lawman. "First one burned down twenty-five years ago. It dated back to the Civil War and was a regular stop on the underground railroad runnin' slaves to Canada. Usedto be a barn with a springhouse thirty or forty feet back of the present house. It had a well with a tunnel that ran to the woodlot."

  "Is the tunnel still there?" asked Yakov.

  "Yah," said the sheriff. "Buddy of mine lived on the farm for a couple of years. We used to play in it. It's kinda tight, maybe four feet, four feet and a few inches high, big enough for one man to move in, but it's stout-built, big, planks on the walls and the roof."

  "Where does the tunnel come out?"

  "In an old sugarin'-off shack about a hundred feet inside the woods. I ain't been there in twenty years, mind, the shack's probably fallen in by now."

  "Can we reach the woods without being seen from the house?"

  "Come cross-country. Maybe a half mile, from the state road. Marshy there. Once you're in the woods the ground's dry."

  "Well?" Yakov scanned the other agents. "Does anyone have a better idea?"

  "I say go for it!" said Gary.

  "I agree," said Rafael. David and Keio indicated assent at the same time.

  Forty minutes remained until the deadline.