They had just finished donning their equipment when Blancanales noticed Bryant approaching with the perfunctory stride of someone who considered himself more important than he really was. “Look out, Ironman, thy girlfriend draweth nigh.”
Lyons started to mutter a rejoinder but thought better. He didn’t want Bryant mistaking their banter for infighting.
“What?” Lyons asked.
“We’re a half mile to target,” he replied. “There’s a Jayhawk that came out of Cape Cod already on scene and they’re attempting to raise the ship by radio.”
“If the freighter continues to fail responding to radio hails or manual signals, what would be your next step?” Blancanales asked, ignoring Lyons’s surprised look.
“By the numbers, we’d fire one warning shot across the bow.”
“You’re equipped with heavy weapons?” Lyons asked.
Bryant shook his head with an expression like a kindergarten teacher who had grown impatient with a child. “Hardly. We’re a sixty-five-foot tug and boarding operations unit. Our support comes from the small boat teams, and the Grant, which are both under way, as well. But we’ll probably be first to arrive.”
“What’s your armament?” Schwarz asked.
“Small arms only. And, of course, the Jayhawk’s loaded with a pair of Mk 46 torpedoes, but that’s fairly minimal armament against a freighter.”
“And if she doesn’t stop with the warning shot, what then?” Blancanales pressed.
“Then we’d take out her rudder and screw.”
“Which would put her dead in the water,” Schwarz said with a snicker.
Blancanales punched Schwarz in the arm for the pun. The Able Team leader then stood and said, “Well, I’m not against a warning shot, but if she won’t heave to, then you’ll have to get in close enough so we can board her while she’s moving.”
“While she’s moving?” Bryant parroted. “Are you crazy, man? Why do that when we can stop her dead to rights and board safely?”
“‘How high,’ Captain. Remember?” Lyons warned.
Bryant remained silent, nodded then performed another perfunctory one-eighty and headed for the bridge.
With that business concluded, the men of Able Team checked each other’s harnesses and then readied for their assault. They already had the general information on the freighter, her dimensions and such, which Stony Man had provided. However, that’s all that the Farm had on the ship.
“So we haven’t confirmed she’s hostile,” Lyons concluded.
“Not yet. According to Aaron’s intel, she originally put out three days ago from Cape Town, with a manifest for lumber and other building supplies being delivered to a local construction firm in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.”
“Canada,” Blancanales interjected. “So up to this point, she was basically on course.”
“Yeah,” Schwarz said with a nod. “But suddenly she turned and headed in our direction.”
“Could be mechanical trouble, after all,” Lyons said. “But I guess we can’t chance it, and rightfully so.”
“Especially since we now know that Qibla is connected with these remanufactured freighters,” Pol added.
“Well, whatever happens, we’ll be ready for it,” Lyons said.
The sound of chopper blades commanded the trio’s attention. They gathered up their equipment and headed to the foredeck, struggling to keep their balance as the cutter slowed rapidly and nearly tossed them to deck plates. Lyons cursed softly, trying to keep his balance.
They had the freighter in plain view now. She was pretty big—Lyons estimated about five hundred feet, stem to stern. He was no expert on freighters, but he knew enough from reading and training that the vessel was older. The majority of modern merchant ships had been increased to seven hundred feet to make up for industrial automation and to answer the economic need to transport the most cargo at the lowest cost. This automation had also allowed most merchant fleets to reduce manpower on larger ships from fifty men to around twenty.
The Lockett continued to decrease speed, and her loudspeakers squawked as Bryant’s voice came on the line. It was difficult to hear him over the helicopter that continuously circled overhead, but he was able to make out something about surrendering and preparing for boarders. Lyons guessed that the crew aboard was most likely belowdecks and preparing to repel boarders.
“They’re not answering, sirs!” the cutter’s executive officer called to them from just outside the bridge.
“Take us in!” Lyons shouted back.
It was time to collect their pay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cape Town, South Africa
It was nearly four hours before the men of Phoenix Force returned to their rooms at The Table Bay Hotel.
Jack Grimaldi and Rafael Encizo were waiting in the three-bedroom suite they shared with David McCarter, which adjoined an identical accommodation occupied by the remaining members of Phoenix Force. The entire team now waited in the suite for McCarter, who had gone to meet Jeanne Marais.
No doubt about it, the South Africans were certainly pulling out all the diplomatic stops. Through some reading material and brochures, T. J. Hawkins had noted to the rest that they were staying in a hotel with some of the most modern conveniences and amenities available in all of Cape Town.
“Wow,” he muttered as he looked over the room service menu. He’d wanted to sit out the evening for a delicious T-bone with all the trimmings, but McCarter put the kibosh on that, ordering them to clean and check weapons, and to change into more “suitable attire,” which was to say they were going to be out in public and needed to act and dress like the rest of the South African natives.
Hawkins looked at James and continued, “They have twenty-two kinds of pie in this place. Can you believe it?”
“Yes. What I can’t believe is that you haven’t ordered something to eat yet, T.J.,” James replied. He made a show of looking at his watch. “And we’re scheduled to leave here in less than an hour.”
McCarter had just entered the room with Jeanne Marais and had obviously caught the last snippet of the conversation. “And I’m not going to wait for you to stuff your bloody face.” McCarter looked at Encizo. “How are you?”
Encizo flashed him the okay sign. “Clean bill of health. Bumps and bruises, but nothing broken. I’m cleared for action.”
McCarter grunted in way of reply, then turned to Grimaldi. “What about our ride? You got my message?”
Grimaldi nodded. “It’s at a nearby helipad the SASS rented for us. Ten minutes by foot.”
“Bloody marvelous.”
“You know,” Encizo said to Hawkins, “if you’re going to order something, I could use a bite myself.”
“He can order for all of us,” McCarter said, conceding to his men.
The Briton obviously figured they deserved something to eat. They’d been giving practically nonstop since returning from their mission in Buenos Aires.
“So what’s sticking in your craw?” Manning asked McCarter.
“Yeah, no shit,” James added. “You’re bouncing around here like you got fire ants up your ass. What gives?”
“Marais here has some news, so listen up,” McCarter said, obviously intent on ignoring the gibes being tossed his way.
Marais cleared her throat. “The prisoner you took at the waterfront has been put into the protective custody of my government. You won’t be able to question him.”
“Say what?” Hawkins said. He dropped the receiver on the house phone before room service had a chance to answer. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Just what it means,” Marais replied, firing him a harsh look. “And I don’t want you to blame me, because I had no choice in the matter. This was a decision left to my superiors and they told me it was nonnegotiable.”
“That’s just great!” Hawkins slammed the menu onto a nearby credenza.
“I’m afraid I have to go with my friend here on this one, Marais,” Manning said, rising
from a chair next to the love seat where Encizo had planted himself. “What’s the story, exactly?”
“As she already said, it’s not her choice,” McCarter cut in.
“The important thing is that I did manage to get some information in the short time before the prisoner was snatched away from me,” Marais said. “I speak fluent Arabic. Apparently there is a warehouse near the wharf that contains the equipment you saw.”
“Well, our trip through that airshaft sure didn’t reveal much,” James said, “so maybe this is the break we’ve been looking for. Only thing we found was a big open area where we think some trucks were parked, and it looked like perhaps some equipment had been unloaded.”
“We’ve pretty much agreed that it’s the same place we saw in the photographs Rensberg took,” Manning added.
Marais nodded. “Well, then, I think you’ll be very happy to know that we believe we may be able to tie those activities in Table Mountain with something the prisoner told me before some other SASS agents whisked him away to Pretoria.”
The woman took a briefcase she’d brought over to a nearby table and opened it, unfolded a large sheet of what looked like cream-colored butcher paper, spread it on the table then motioned for Phoenix Force to gather around her. The men complied, and James noted on further inspection it was drafting paper, the kind used by architects. The paper had blue pencil drawings of some kind of architectural layout.
“These are the plans to a large, commercial shipyard about seven miles south of our location.” She pointed to the small plot map in the lower corner to emphasize. “Here. This yard closed down a few years ago and was abandoned until it was recently purchased by an international shipbuilding company headquartered out of Portsmouth.”
“Virginia?” Hawkins asked.
McCarter snickered. “Just like a Yank. Automatically assumes that she means America. She’s talking about my neck of the woods, mate.”
Hawkins nodded.
“Moving forward,” Marais continued. “This contact told me that all of the equipment you saw in those pictures was moved from the location you discovered in Table Mountain to this shipyard. However, he couldn’t say for sure where inside the shipyard it’s being held.”
McCarter added, “And it’s a bloody well big place, so we’ve got our work cut out for us. I’ll spare you boys the pep talk, and just say this may be our last chance to find a connection to Qibla and exactly what the hell they’re up to. That’s why I’m increasing our odds.”
He turned to Encizo. “Gomez, you’ll take Smith and Jackson and approach from the bay side. Matthews, you’ll be with me and Marais in the chopper. We’ll approach from the air and rappel down to the rooftop at the center of the shipyard.”
The plan made sense, James knew. While all the men of Phoenix Force were skilled warriors by sea, air or land, every team member had their strongest and weakest points. He, Encizo and Manning had the most experience with underwater operations, and Hawkins would play it well, given his experience and training in Delta Force. But both Manning and McCarter were more naturally skilled with air assault operations. James wasn’t sure where that left Marais, and as the party broke up to get their equipment together and prepare to leave at McCarter’s urging, he decided to broach the subject as the Briton changed in his room.
“Yo, David,” James said in a hushed tone.
“What’s up, mate?” McCarter said as he began to shrug out of his fatigues in preparation for civilian clothes. “And close the bloody door. I don’t need Marais seeing me in the all-together. She might not be able to control herself.”
“Yeah,” James said as he closed the door. “Well, it’s her I want to talk to you about. Why are you letting her tag along? She’s got no business—”
“She’s got every business,” McCarter cut in. “And I’m not letting her tag along, I’m including her as part of the op. She’s got antiterrorist training and she knows the drill.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
McCarter stopped dressing, one leg in his pants, and scowled. “You questioning my judgment?”
“Yeah,” James said with a stony expression. “I guess I am.”
McCarter appeared to think about this a moment, then shrugged and continued dressing. James wasn’t sure how to react to that—he had kind of expected McCarter to go off on him—so he stood there feeling stupid for a moment. It seemed obvious the conversation was over.
James wasn’t ready to let it go that easily. “We going to talk about this or not?”
“You talk, I’ll dress.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let Marais be involved in this.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust her,” James said simply.
“You think she’d compromise our well-oiled machine.”
“It’s not that, exactly,” James replied. “This has more to do with the fact I don’t believe her about that prisoner.”
McCarter shrugged as he buttoned his shirt. “So what? I don’t believe her, either.”
James did a double take. “Huh? What do you mean, you don’t believe her?”
“Just like I said,” McCarter said. “According to the intel Barbara gave us, Marais was in charge of this operation. Her people wouldn’t have even known about the prisoner we took unless she told them. She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who would roll over so easily, even for her superiors. Right now I think she believes it’s not in her best interest to let us interrogate the prisoner, so fine. But I figure eventually she’ll be forced to tell us the bloody truth. And when she does, we’ll have the leverage we need to get her cooperation.”
“That’s your plan?”
“That’s my plan, mate. You see, it’s all about the truth. And as the Good Book says, the truth shall set you free.”
“Amen, brother,” James replied.
DAVID MCCARTER CHECKED the luminescent hands of his watch as he studied the area immediately ahead of them. Grimaldi had brought the chopper in three hundred meters offshore, and a mere three meters above the water, he dropped the scuba-clad trio that would approach from the water side. Encizo was still recovering from his minor injuries, but the Briton knew the little Cuban would have no problem leading his crew to the targets.
After dumping the frog team, Grimaldi swung the chopper south and moved away from the shipyard. McCarter wanted any sentries to figure that the chopper was simply ferrying about for some rich out-of-towners. By seeing the chopper move well away from the area, even the most alert observers would relax their vigilance. At that distance from the shoreline, only someone looking through a very powerful night-scope would have been able to detect the human cargo that had dropped from the chopper.
The Briton waited ten minutes before advising Grimaldi to make his move. The ace pilot flashed McCarter a wide grin, then swung the chopper in a wide arc. The Phoenix Force leader readied for his jump. He’d be the first out of the chopper and descending the thirty-odd meters to the ground. He’d then provide cover for Marais, who would come next, and finally Manning.
As they neared their destination, McCarter began to second-guess his decision to allow Marais to accompany them. Of course, she had provided this information to them, which he hoped paid off, but that was her job. She was either on their side and her superiors really were shafting her, or she was playing Phoenix Force like a five-piece band. Whichever way she swung, McCarter figured he had no choice but to use her in every capacity he could. There was too much at stake to ignore her, dismiss any suggestions out of hand. He just hoped for her sake that she was on their side, because the minute he knew otherwise she’d be done working with them. If there was anything David McCarter couldn’t stand, it was a liar.
“Two minutes,” he heard through the headset.
He nodded, gave the okay signal to Manning and removed the headset. There wouldn’t be any further talk. McCarter had left strict instructions to maintain radio silence until they were on the ground and ha
d cleared any immediate threat that might present itself. The middle of a firefight wasn’t time for chitchat, even if it seemed like necessary traffic. He’d need all his wits about him when he touched ground, and what he didn’t need was a bunch of yammering in his ears.
The chopper slowed very suddenly, then began to hover. McCarter took a quick look at the rigging, then bailed over the side. He felt the heat build under his thick, neoprene gloves as he descended the cable. The ground rushed to meet him, and a few feet short of impact he yanked on the brake, drawing the belay line behind his back. When he’d stopped, he snapped the quick release and free-fell the remaining distance.
McCarter had chosen an H&K MP-5 SD-6 for this mission. Several grenades adorned his LBE harness, including a pair of CS riot control grenades, two M-67 frags and an M-18 colored smoker. With the loss of their prisoner, the one lead they had to discovering the heart of Qibla’s operations, the Phoenix Force leader figured to take some new prisoners on this trip if at all possible.
The Briton glanced upward to check on Marais’s progress. It looked at first as if she were having trouble with the rigging, but a moment later her darkly clad form descended. McCarter moved away from her drop point and put the MP-5 SD-6 into battery, adjusting from safe to 3-shot firing mode. He swept the area with the muzzle of the machine pistol, hopeful no threat would present itself before all three of them were at ground zero, but ready if it did.
And it did.
Marais was still disengaging her belay line when motion alerted McCarter to trouble. Two men emerged from the shadows, both armed with assault rifles pointed in the Briton’s direction. They rushed him, one branching away to try for a flanking position. McCarter took the flanker first, swinging the machine pistol into mid-level target acquisition and squeezing the trigger. The weapon coughed a report as the gases escaped through the two-chambered, integrated suppressor system. All three of the 9 mm rounds connected with the gunner’s chest. Pink foam erupted into the air as the wounds punctured his lungs. The impact sent his body into a lazy spin and he died before he hit the ground.
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