Читать книгу Neutron Force - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

Wake Island, Pacific Ocean

About six hundred miles off the coast of California, Phoenix Force landed its Learjet on the deck of the USS Kitty Hawk aircraft carrier. Quickly transferring to a Black Hawk helicopter, the team continued its journey across the Pacific Ocean.

According to the U.S. Army records, the landing strip on Wake Island was too short to handle a Lear, and the helicopter gunship gave them the option of landing wherever they wished, possibly avoiding an ambush. Or worse, the deadly beam of the orbiting satellite.

Wake Island was an atoll, the crested rim of an ancient underwater volcano. The three curved islands barely covered one and a half square miles. But because of their position, the islands had been an invaluable refueling spot during World War II. In its time, the atoll had been heavily armed with anti-ship cannons hidden in the thick palm trees.

But these days the atoll was all but forgotten. The big guns were long gone, and all that remained of the refueling station was a small airfield for emergency landings that was used only once, or twice, a year. The only paved road was slowly returning to nature, the Quonset huts removed, the tiny jungle allowed to grow freely over the circular atoll. For a while, it had been a U.S. Army weapons research facility for an antimissile program, but the funding disappeared, and so did the Army. These days, two of the tiny banana-shaped islands were tangles of unfettered growth, while the third contained only the short, cracked landing strip, and a heavily fortified concrete laboratory. Code name: Prometheus.

The Black Hawk helicopter moved low across the Pacific Ocean, flying over some pleasure craft, a cruise liner and a fat oil tanker bound for Alaska. Halfway to the isolated atoll, it began to rain, soft and gentle. Wisely, the Black Hawk stayed below the cloud layer. What couldn’t be seen, hopefully couldn’t be attacked. Passive radar was clear, and the active radar revealed no hostile aircraft, only rumbling storm clouds and rain.

The five members of Phoenix Force were jammed into the jumpseats lining the walls, the open space in the middle filled with trunks of ammunition, explosives and assorted supplies. The team needed to be ready for anything.

“Anybody know a Ravid?” Calvin James asked, lowering the radio headphones. His accent was pure southside Chicago. Tall and lanky, the former Navy SEAL was the field medic for the team, and one of the best underwater demolitionists the soldiers had ever seen.

“The head of Tiger Force is Ravid something or other,” T. J. Hawkins said.

“Tiger Force?” Rafael Encizo asked scornfully. “No way those backwater grunts could launch a bottle rocket, much less a freaking satellite.”

A stocky man with catlike reflexes, Encizo was less than handsome, his face carrying the scars of too many battles. But the looks beguiled the razor-sharp mind inside. Slung across his chest was an MP-5 machine gun. Stun grenades festooned his web harness and a compact Walther PPK .38 rode in a high belly holster. A Tanto combat knife was sheathed upside down on his shoulder for fast access, and plastic garrotes dangled from a breakaway catch on his belt.

“Himar comes from India,” David McCarter said from the copilot seat. “Was born there if I remember correctly, and now a south India terrorist group appears from the shadows.”

The leader of Phoenix Force, McCarter was a former member of the elite British SAS. The Briton radiated controlled strength, and every man present owed their lives to McCarter a dozen times over. The bonds of friendship between the Stony Man warriors had been forged on the bloody fields of combat.

Hawkins grunted. “Hell of a coincidence.”

“What kind of files do we have on Tiger Force?” Encizo asked, inspecting the razor-sharp edge of his combat knife for any feathering. Satisfied, he slid the knife into its sheath.

“Pretty sketchy,” James admitted. “They’re small-timers, not really on the world radar.”

“So far,” Gary Manning retorted, working the bolt of his titanic Barrett .50-caliber sniper rifle, then adding a drop of lubricant to the slide. “However, if these guys have a neutron cannon, then I’m really looking forward to meeting them.”

Thunder rumbled outside the craft, the concussion buffeting it slightly.

“Fifteen minutes to the island, David,” the blacksuit pilot announced crisply.

“Anything on radar?” Hawkins asked, checking the clip in his 9 mm Beretta.

“We’re clear,” the blacksuit reported from the front of the craft.

A moment later the blacksuit announced, “There it is.”

McCarter looked hard through the rain-smeared window, but there was nothing to be seen below but endless ocean. “Better be sure,” he demanded, unbuckling his seat belt. “The atoll has three islands, with a lot of water around them. We want the north island, just past the deep water cove.”

“The instruments read dead center, sir,” the pilot said confidently. “I’m on target.”

“Fair enough.” Strapping on a harness, McCarter went to the hatch, slid it back and stepped out of the helicopter.

A few yards down, the catch on his harness engaged and his descent along the rope rapidly slowed. With the downpour blurring the landscape, the leader of Phoenix Force couldn’t see anything. It was like rappelling into an abandoned well.

A shiny refection swelled beneath his boots and McCarter braced for an impact into the ocean, then he caught the dim outline of a nearby building and quickly bent his knees.

With a hard thump, the Stony Man commando landed on a rain-slick parking lot. Immediately, McCarter slapped the release and saw the line swing free as he swung around his MP-5 and worked the arming bolt. A heartbeat later Hawkins landed, closely followed by Encizo.

Clearing the landing zone, the men flipped on their night-vision goggles and scanned for any possible dangers as Manning and James arrived. The Black Hawk promptly began to move away, the sound of the rotors lost in the storm.

Spreading out, the men swept along the parking lot, staying low to the pavement. There were no Hummers in sight, only a vague sensation of a fence to their left and a dark outline of something looming large in front of them like the side of a cliff.

“EM and thermal are clear,” Encizo reported.

“Good. Okay, keep it tight, people,” McCarter whispered. “Gary, you’re on cover.”

“Roger,” Manning replied, stopping where he was and bringing up the long barrel of the Barrett.

The laboratory slowly came into view. A door to the left was situated under a small awning, while a set of large doors were to the right with concrete aprons jutting for truck deliveries. There was no light or movement.

Pausing in the rain just outside the clear area below the awning, McCarter studied the entrance. A drain in the pavement gurgled as the water from the parking lot trickled into it. The name of the project had been scraped off the door, the Plexiglas windows frosted white. There was no sign of a keyhole, but there was a palm lock on the jamb.

Warily, McCarter placed a hand on the sensor pad. It gave an angry buzz, nothing more.

“Stony Base, this is Firebird,” McCarter said into his throat mike. “We need a knock-knock.”

“On it,” Aaron Kurtzman replied through a crackle of static.

“T.J., Cal, check for another way inside,” McCarter ordered.

“On it,” Hawkins replied.

Leveling his dripping MP-5, James went in the other direction and disappeared around the corner of the huge building.

The rest of the team waited patiently. A few minutes later the others returned.

“Found a loading dock, but the steel doors have been welded shut,” Hawkins said gruffly.

“Same with the back door,” James added. “Somebody really doesn’t want people inside this building.”

“What about the roof?” Encizo asked, glancing upward.

James snorted. “The access ladder is gone. Only the bolt holes remain.”

“Firebird One to Stony Base, anything yet?” McCarter asked, shifting his grip on the machine gun. Blowing their way inside was looking more and more likely.

“Not yet,” Kurtzman answered from halfway around the world. “Whoever built the firewalls around these circuits really knew what they were doing.”

Pulling out a wad of C-4 plastique, McCarter admitted he had half expected something like that. Walking under the awning, the big man pointed at the door frame. “Okay, I want a charge there and there,” he directed. “Be sure to—”