“Nothing of the kind,” Hawkins said. “In fact, I’m guessing whoever was behind his death was probably expecting we wouldn’t find him. But if that’s true, it means he was exposed to the stuff very quickly and it’s probably what caused him to fall.”
“So you think they’ve found a way to rapidly distribute this stuff into the body?”
“Why, I do believe you have it, Watson.” Hawkins knew even as he attempted the British accent that it came out sounding corny. Still, he’d hammered his point home and now sensed he had Encizo in agreement. For some reason he felt he’d need that to convince the others of the potential danger they faced, while maybe it wouldn’t take any convincing at all. It made sense to him, and now Hawkins had something else that concerned him. He didn’t want to panic his teammates, not that such a thing was even possible, but he wanted them to be aware of the possibility. Phoenix Force had to protect itself, not only because of what was potentially at stake but also for them to remain an effective and cohesive unit. Now, not only would they have to worry about the terrorists dumping toxic missiles on an entire population center, they would also have to be concerned about personal exposure to the cholinesterase chemical.
The others were finally roused from their sleep with an announcement from Grimaldi that they would arrive in South Africa within the hour. As each man joined the pair, Hawkins would fill them in on what they had been discussing. McCarter was the last to join the group, and after firing some additional questions at James about the medical implications, he admitted he had to agree with Hawkins’s assessment.
McCarter rubbed his face. “Whatever happened to the good old days of bullets and bombs?” he asked.
None of the other Phoenix Force warriors bothered to respond to the Briton’s rhetoric, each choosing instead to visit his own somber thoughts on the subject.
Cape Town, South Africa
JEANNE MARAIS TRIED TO contain her excitement as she watched the plane taxi to a stop in front of the SASS private hangar at Cape Town International Airport. Marais had served with the SASS since its inception in 1994, the result of the established National Intelligence Coordinating Committee. The NICC was responsible for all four of the intelligence services in South Africa. Besides Marais’s organization, South Africa had the National Intelligence Agency, which was responsible for investigating domestic matters, the military intelligence agencies and the Police Intelligence Unit. While each unit cooperated with the others fully, they were autonomous and generally restricted to investigating only those cases that fell into their jurisdiction.
Marais had been sorry to hear of the fall of a fellow intelligence officer, but as far as she was concerned Rensberg had been both smart and stupid. It was risky enough investigating areas for which one had no familiarity, but Rensberg had also chosen to go it alone. It was odd that his superiors had allowed him to proceed. The matter should have immediately been referred to the NIA, and if it involved security issues on an international level, which counselors to the NICC deputy minister now believed it had, the SASS would take over. Messy and inefficient were the only words Marais could find to describe the situation.
The engines began to wind down and Marais could see the pilot motion that it was okay to approach. Having a private hangar was one of the many privileges afforded the SASS. All nine commercial airports in South Africa were owned and operated by Airports Company South Africa, including the three international hubs in Cape Town, Johannesburg and Durban. Only because the SASS was a government agency, and because they did a considerable amount of flying in and out of Cape Town, were they able to procure a private hangar for their operations. In most cases, such ventures and luxuries were reserved only for the very rich or prestigious among South Africa’s culturally and ethnically diverse population.
Marais watched the men with interest as they deplaned from the Gulfstream jet that, from where she stood, anyway, looked as if it was a bit more than the average executive transport. To the untrained eye, the plane would have probably looked quite normal, but to Marais the antennas and other equipment that bristled cactus-like from its fuselage provided the telltale clues that the aircraft was more than met the eye.
And, she knew, so were the five men that emerged from her. A man with a Coca-Cola can flashed a warm, genuine smile as Marais approached, and offered his hand. His grip was firm but considerate, and he spoke with an unquestionable British accent.
“You must be Marais,” the Briton said. “My name is Brown, David Brown.”
Cover name, Marais thought as she shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brown, and welcome to South Africa.”
He nodded in way of acknowledgment, then gestured toward his comrades, introducing them by last name as Matthews, Gomez, Jackson and Smith. It was painfully obvious they were cover names, but that went without being said. During her briefing at the SASS headquarters in Pretoria, Marais’s superiors had described the men as “specialists” in a variety of areas, and said that the U.S. government liaison at the embassy had made certain “guarantees” about the efficacy of their methods. Marais had hoped the entire intel hadn’t been just a line, and, looking at them now, had the sense to believe every word.
She shook hands with each man, then led them to the Lincoln Navigator she’d signed out specifically for the mission. The men stowed their gear and climbed aboard as Marais got behind the wheel. Soon she was on the N2 and headed toward the downtown area.
“I have arranged accommodations for you at The Table Bay Hotel,” Marais told them, directing her attention primarily to Brown, who had identified himself as the team leader.
“Sounds nice,” Hawkins purred.
She looked at the youngest of the group in the rearview mirror and replied, “Very nice place…a five-star hotel. In fact, it’s adjacent to the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront, where there’s shopping and entertainment.”
“Which we’re not going to have any time for, mates,” Brown interjected, directing his voice toward the other men, “so don’t bother asking. So Ms. Marais,” Brown continued, “what did you have in mind for our first move?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” the woman replied. “I understand that all of you are experts in terrorism, and right now I’m ready to take any help I can get. This assignment comes straight from the Deputy Intelligence minister, which means my job’s riding on the line.”
When the new arrivals remained silent, Marais realized her mistake and added quickly, “Don’t worry, fellows, I’m not looking for any career moves. I’m happy where I’m at, and I take the threat of terrorism in or against my country very seriously. And by the way, I expect nothing less from all of you.”
“Point taken,” Gary Manning said.
“What can you tell us about this Jabir al-Warraq?” Rafael Encizo asked. “We’re still a little fuzzy on his possible involvement, and we didn’t seem to get a whole lot of information on him.”
Marais nodded. “Which you find strange because he’s a rather public figure in Cape Town. Am I correct?”
Encizo indicated she was correct with a curt nod.
“Gentlemen, you must understand something up front about my country. Despite our significantly shaky history, or maybe because of it, we take the privacy of citizens quite seriously. We also take the security of our citizens seriously, and unlike in most regions of your country, we generally do not permit citizens to own firearms.”
“The right to keep and bear arms in our country is based on the citizen protecting itself from a government takeover,” T. J. Hawkins replied. The man’s accent betrayed his Southern United States upbringing, so Marais wasn’t offended by his patriotic move to defend American laws.
“I’m not attempting to place aspersions on your culture,” Marais replied. “I’m trying to help you understand that the citizens of the country rely on the protection of the police as their primary means of security. The right to peaceful protest and political views are just two of those freedoms, and aside from some
radical ideas, we’ve never had any reason to consider al-Warraq a threat.”
“Despite the fact he’s an Arab with known ties to a domestic vigilante group here in your country?” Calvin James said with some surprise in his voice.
“He is also a citizen of South Africa. He was born in Cape Town, and has just as many rights as any other citizen. When he was first investigated following the 2001 attacks in your country, we didn’t find any evidence whatsoever tying him to any terrorist activities with South Africa or abroad. He is politically motivating, yes, and has a number of close ties with local officials, but he has never been caught committing an act of violence, let alone being involved in any conspiracy to do the same.”
“So what you’re saying,” McCarter interjected, “is that the bloke has been running around here doing whatever he bloody well felt like, while making fools out of local authorities as he secretly plans terrorist attacks behind their backs.”
“I would say that’s a fair assessment,” Marais admitted. She knew Brown was right, but she hadn’t been much for the way he presented it.
“Okay, so the key is to find this guy,” McCarter said. “That means we’ll have to get our man in the air while we conduct a ground search. Where do we start?”
“Don’t you want to go to the hotel first?” Marais said.
McCarter checked his watch. “If we can do it in high gear, then I guess it won’t hurt.”
Hawkins leaned forward from the seat and said, “You’ll have to forgive his lesser social graces, ma’am, but we got it from our higher-ups that this was sort of a matter of urgency.”
“I understand,” Marais said. “Frankly, I’m as anxious as the rest of you to get this operation moving forward. I was ordered to wait for your arrival, so we’ve already lost more time than I would care to imagine. We have actually arranged to take a boat to the area we believe Rensberg referenced in his notes. I’m afraid we’ll have to hike the rest of the way in.”
“That doesn’t sound like it will be too much of a problem,” Encizo said. “We’ve been there before. In fact, I’m sorry to say that we’ve probably grown a bit used to it.”
“Yeah,” Manning added. “It’ll be like a Sunday stroll through the park.”
CHAPTER THREE
Boston, Massachusetts
Thus far, Able Team’s trip to Boston had been uneventful and Carl Lyons intended to keep it that way; at least until they were ready for a confrontation on their terms.
The Able Team commandos sat in a nondescript SUV on loan from the FBI, studying the massive harborside home intently. Gadgets Schwarz had parked the vehicle directly under a streetlight, somewhat strange under the circumstances, and yet it provided the desired effect. If there were sentries, and Able Team believed that was the constant here, they would be more paranoid of objects they couldn’t see lurking in the shadows than those in plain view. The side windows of the SUV were darkened and designed to prevent its occupants from being seen.
Able Team had been fighting a war on America’s mean streets for a long time, and those experiences had shaped them into veteran combatants. They knew what they were doing, although it might not have seemed that way to their liaison, Special Agent Nootau Hightree, a Native American of Algonquin heritage.
Lyons had read the dossier on Hightree during their military flight from Andrews Air Force Base to a rented DOD hangar at Logan International Airport. After graduating from a scholarship for statistical analysis at USC Berkeley, the agent had applied for training at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in hope of eventually winning a coveted spot as a U.S. Air Marshal. However, his talents for analytics didn’t go unnoticed and Hightree apparently jumped at the chance to become an FBI agent. Hightree took his first assignment in Illinois, Chicago, Organized Crime Bureau, then moved on to Philadelphia for more of the same. Now in his eleventh year with the FBI, he was newly assigned to the Boston branch in the Counterterrorism Operations Unit.
“You know, guys,” Hightree said, his buttery-smooth voice cutting through Lyons’s train of thought, “I’ve met a lot of people in my years, but you’re a serious bunch. The info I got was somewhat sketchy. Who exactly did you say you’re with?”
“We didn’t,” Lyons replied as he looked through the night-vision binoculars.
“We’re on that page of the book with the fine print,” Blancanales added easily. “The one that says ‘don’t ask too many questions.’”
“More like the invisible ink, I’d say,” Hightree replied.
It wasn’t far from the truth. They had Hightree whisk them from the airport to the downtown office where they cleaned up and changed into blacksuits and and well-worn combat boots with rubber-lug soles. They had shrugged into harnesses from which dangled stun and smoke grenades and Ka-Bar fighting knives. Each man also wore a shoulder holster with his favored sidearm. Blancanales carried a Glock 26, Schwarz toted a Beretta 93-R and Lyons had his trusted .357 Magnum Colt Python revolver.
They had also arranged for John “Cowboy” Kissinger to add some heavier firepower, since they weren’t sure what they’d come up against. Stowed in the rear of the SUV was an M-16 A-4/M-203 combo for Schwarz. Kissinger had added a satchel with preloaded, 30-round magazines of standard SS109 NATO ball ammunition and a number of 40 mm smoke and high-explosive grenades. As for Blancanales and Lyons, they had decided to go with Heckler & Kach MP-5/40s, which were chambered for the .40 S&W cartridge. The MP-5/40 had two additional features: a carbon-fiber magazine with a two-magazine clamp for rapid change-outs and a 2-shot mode.
However, they weren’t planning on toting the heavy hardware for this part of their mission. If at all possible, Lyons wanted this to be a soft probe. Their primary mission in Boston was to get inside and collect information from the computer system. Homeland Security analysts had determined that cryptic messages were being exchanged between computers originating at this address and those companies in South Africa that were remodeling the ships. If it went hard, they’d have to be ready for it and make do with what they had.
To get the information, they’d have to know what they were looking for in the first place, and that wasn’t obvious.
“So give us the lay of land, Ironman,” Schwarz finally said with a tinge of impatience in his voice.
Lyons lowered the binoculars once more, scratched his chin and replied, “Looks like six sentries, all told. Four men on roving ground patrol and another pair on the roof.”
“Sounds like more than just your average security detail,” Blancanales said.
“Just what exactly are we planning to do?” Hightree asked.
Lyons showed him a wan smile. “Well, you aren’t planning to do anything. I want you behind the wheel in case we need to make a quick exit.”
“Or have to give chase,” Schwarz said, looking in the rearview mirror with a wicked grin.
“Oh, come on,” Hightree protested. “That’s bullshit, man.”
“Maybe so, but you’re a federal agent and required to obtain a warrant before entering private property,” Lyons continued. “We have no such restrictions. We operate with autonomy.”
“We’re not trying to cut you out of the fun, Hightree,” Blancanales said. “It’s just that we’ve trained long and hard and we can read each other’s moves. Unless you know exactly how we operate, you become a liability.”
“I see,” Hightree said quietly, looking away.
Lyons clamped a firm but friendly hand on Hightree’s shoulder. “Look, you still have an important job, and that’s to be ready to cover our hides if this thing goes south.”
“Which always seems to be the way it happens,” Schwarz added.
“So be ready,” Lyons finished.
With a new expression of resolve and trust, Hightree nodded.
“Let’s go, guys,” Lyons told his crew.
Able Team went EVA and Hightree traded positions with Schwarz, climbing behind the driver’s seat as the trio moved nonchalantly down the sidewalk away fr
om the house. Their combat gear was covered by overcoats, which weren’t out of line considering it was late November.
After crossing the street and moving parallel to the rear of the houses facing the waterfront, the team reached a four-foot stone wall that encircled the property line of the corner lot. Lyons was the first one over, drawing his pistol and tracking the area to cover the other two as they followed him. They continued through the yard of each house in similar fashion. They crawled the entire length of the backyard of the neighboring house.
It took a while to reach the privacy fence that bordered the target property. Lyons risked a glance over the fence and ducked back in time to avoid being seen by a sentry. He knelt next to his friends.
“There’s one sentry visible,” Lyons whispered.
“Did he see you?” Schwarz asked.
Lyons shook his head. “We should take him out now.”
“Let’s not jump the gun,” Blancanales cautioned. “If he raises the alarm, this whole party will be for nothing.”
Lyons looked to Schwarz for support, but Able Team’s electronics wizard simply shook his head. “It’s your call.”
“All right,” Lyons whispered, sighing. “We wait until it’s clear.”
Lyons began to feel along the fence line until he found a small, rotted area. He noiselessly dug away at it with his fingernails until he had enough of a gap to afford him a view of the yard. He watched the boots of the sentry he’d seen a moment earlier, waiting until the man rounded the far corner of the house and disappeared from view. He then gave his teammates a thumbs-up. The two men got to their feet, then Blancanales immediately went into a crouch with his hands cupped at his left knee. Schwarz was the smallest and lithest of the team. He took his cue and immediately shoved a boot in his teammate’s waiting hands. He went over the fence in one smooth motion and landed quietly on the other side.
Blancanales was next, and after he touched down he followed suit with Schwarz, who had already produced his sidearm. The two men provided cover and swept the area with the muzzles of their weapons while Lyons followed effortlessly over the fence. Once all three were set, Lyons was the first to go for the house. Fortunately the grounds were massive and the four-man roving patrol was taking its time. Still, the Able Team leader knew he couldn’t dawdle.
Sensor Sweep Page 3