Читать книгу Hostile Dawn - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

“Phoenix pulled it off,” Barbara Price reported to her colleagues gathered inside the Annex Computer Room. She’d just finished speaking long-distance with David McCarter. “Ferris is safe and the Hamas squad was neutralized.”

“Chalk another one up for the good guys,” said Aaron Kurtzman, the wheelchair-bound head of SOG’s crack team of cyberanalysts. He was seated at a workstation situated on the west side of the large subterranean chamber. Poised in front of their computers at other stations were Akira Tokaido, Carmen Delahunt and Huntington Wethers. Price stood in their midst, while Hal Brognola was off to one side, clicking away at a laptop as he wrapped up a long-distance call of his own, this one to Able Team commander Carl Lyons.

“Are the guys okay?” asked Delahunt, a fiery-spirited redhead in her late forties who’d come to Stony Man by way of a long, heralded tenure with the FBI.

“All but Gary,” Price replied. “He’s being looked at for a possible concussion and shoulder separation.”

“By ‘neutralized,’ I take it there were no prisoners,” Huntington Wethers said. The somber-faced African American was the same age as Delahunt, but he looked years older, his close-cropped hair having turned silver at the temples within a few years of taking an extended leave from his professorial chair at UC Berkeley. To explore the cutting edge of cybernetic intel gathering on behalf of his country was, for Wethers, not only a challenge but an honor, and if it had cost him his once youthful good looks, he considered it a small price to pay.

“It would have been nice to have someone to interrogate, but no,” Price said. “David says their only option was to go in for the kill. He’s flown Gary and Ferris to the hospital, but the others stayed behind and are combing the nursery for intel. Hopefully we’ll have something to work with.”

“And hopefully we can convince Ferris to cough up anything he knows instead of saving it for some damn scoop,” said Akira Tokaido, the youngest member of the cybercrew. “The guy owes us.”

“Apparently, Ferris had his jaw fractured by Hamas,” Price said. “He’s going under the knife and probably won’t be up for questioning right away. Once he is, I’m sure McCarter will debrief him.”

Across the room, Brognola removed a flash drive from his laptop and handed it to Kurtzman.

“Load this, Bear, would you? And call up the photo file. Monitor three.”

“Sure thing.”

While Kurtzman transferred the files to his computer, Brognola addressed the others.

“We’ve got a sidebar of sorts regarding Able Team’s assignment on the West Coast,” he said. “It came up toward the end of the White House briefing, but there wasn’t a lot of hard data available to back it up. Now we’ve got a little more to sink our teeth into.”

“This is about the al Qaeda cell?” Wethers asked.

“Possibly,” Brognola said. “I’ll get into it. Bear?”

“Coming right up.”

Once Kurtzman had pulled up the photo file, he ran his cursor over the necessary commands to transfer an image to one of the large, flat-screen monitors lining the east wall. The collective Stony Man braintrust soon found itself staring at a booking mugshot of a man in his midthirties, head shaved, his thin, tight lips framed by a goatee the same dark color as his piercing, defiant eyes.

“He uses a handful of aliases, but his name is Kouri Ahmet,” Brognola explained. “He’s Lebanese by birth and has loose ties with both Hamas and Hezbollah, but all intel points to him being a freelancer. Over the years he’s also dabbled with al Qaeda, Islamic Jihad and a handful of other terrorist outfits in the Far East. He specializes in assassinations but will tackle any job that suits his purposes.”

“He doesn’t look like the happy sort,” Carmen Delahunt commented.

“This was taken after his arrest three days ago in Mexico,” Brognola said, passing along what he’d just learned from Lyons, who, in turn, had come upon the info through an L.A. contact with the FBI. “He was trying to broker a deal for a cache of Blinidicide-81 LAWs stolen from a military depot in La Paz. Apparently an informant turned on him and the Mexican authorities had him in custody when the Justice Department here flagged him on a conspiracy charge involving the secretary of state.”

“I remember that,” Tokaido said as he absently fingered the ink-black topknot rising from his scalp like an exclamation point. “Some sniper plot that was supposed to be carried out during the secretary’s last trip to the Middle East, right?”

“Good memory,” Brognola said. “We’re not sure at this point what Ahmet planned to do with the LAWs, but the idea of him loading up on that kind of firepower just south of the border obviously has us concerned.”

“Not to mention the secretary,” Delahunt interjected. “If he thought it was bad having someone come after him with a rifle, imagine what he must think about being the crosshairs of an antitank rocket.”

“Again, we’re not certain who Ahmet was targeting,” Brognola said. “He’s being extradited and is already on a plane bound for the States. The Bureau wants to run him through interrogation and dangle leniency as bait in hopes he’ll cop to what he was planning and finger some higher-ups.”

“I assume one theory is that he was looking to bring those rocket launchers to the sleeper cell Able Team is looking for,” Price ventured.

“It would make sense,” Brognola said. “Like I said, Ahmet’s a freelancer, so it’s not a reach to think he’d throw in with al Qaeda. And the Mexican border is still porous enough to figure those LAWs were earmarked for L.A.”

“Hopefully the Bureau will get to the bottom of it,” Price said. “But I take it we’re in the on-deck circle.”

“Affirmative,” Brognola said. “I pulled strings and arranged to have Ahmet flown up to Edwards Air Force Base near Barstow instead of L.A.”

“Where Able Team just so happens to be in the neighborhood,” Delahunt interjected.

Brognola nodded. “The Bureau will go by the book with Ahmet, but if that doesn’t work, we’ve got the green light to let Ironman have a go at him.”

Price smiled dourly. “If it comes to that, I like our chances.”