Critical Effect

Lyons got one at the front left fender with a single shot to the hip. The bullet shattered the man’s thigh and his weapon fell from number fingers. The guy fell. Schwarz got to his feet and rushed for Blancanales, sending a few more rounds at his enemies for the sole purpose of keeping heads down.

It did little good. The next ten seconds seemed to run through Schwarz’s head like a slow-motion replay.

Two other gunners got Delmico into the SUV.

The Lincoln’s driver leaned out the window and pumped a volley of rounds into the man Lyons had wounded.

The Lincoln jumped into Reverse with a roar, churning up a cloud of smoke, dust and bits of gravel.

Schwarz reached Blancanales just as Lyons pumped out his last two rounds at the retreating SUV.

Everything after seemed to return to normal time.

Lyons trotted over to his friends. He crouched, nodded at Schwarz, then looked at Blancanales with mild concern. “You okay?”

“Got winged,” Blancanales said, breathing a bit heavily as he gripped his arm to stanch the flow of blood.

Schwarz jerked his head toward the Ford. “There’s a med kit in my satchel. Why don’t you grab it.”

Lyons rose and trotted for the bag.

“Hang tough, partner,” Schwarz said. He showed Blancanales a reassuring grin. “You’re going to pull through just fine.”

‘Thanks, amigo,” he replied. “But I sort of already figured that. Really, there’s no reason to get all mushy on me. People will talk.”

I N THE W AR R OOM of Stony Man Farm, Brognola and Price sat and listened as Carl Lyons relayed his report of the past few hours.

“So Rosario’s going to be okay?” Price asked when Lyons finished.

“Fine,” Lyons replied.

“We thought there might be a connection between yours and Phoenix Force’s mission,” Brognola said. “But we sure as hell didn’t expect you to walk into a firestorm like that.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Lyons said. “That’s why you pay us the big bucks.”

“The only question now is how this relates to what went down in Germany,” Price said. She directed her voice toward the speakerphone receiver in the center of the conference table. “Carl, we have a theory based on some leads we’ve been pursuing here. It’s still a bit thin, but it may be enough for you to move forward. And we can always fill it out once David checks in.”

“We’ll take anything you’ve got,” Lyons replied.

“Well, we started looking into Delmico’s recent activities,” Price said. “We have it on reliable word that while he was in Germany giving that lecture, he became acquainted with a man named Choldwig Burke. Other than a sheet of misdemeanors, Burke seems clean. However, about seven years ago he did an eighteen-month stint in jail. He didn’t have any more run-ins with the authorities, successfully completed his six months of parole as required by German law, so he fell off the radar.”

“I’ve heard this story,” Lyons cut in. “Suddenly he shows up at a seminar and befriends a microbiologist formally employed by the DOD.”

“Right,” Brognola said. “We think he was working with inside information. Somebody told Burke who Delmico was and how to contact him.”

A low buzz sounded for attention from an overhead speaker, followed by Kurtzman’s voice. “I’ve got David McCarter on our secured satellite line.”

“Conference him in, won’t you, Aaron?” Price asked.

“Your wish is my command,” Kurtzman replied.

A moment later McCarter joined them.

“David, we have Carl on with us,” Brognola said. “What do you have to report?”

“We found the plane,” McCarter replied. “Cargo was gone, and the entire crew dead except for the captain. We also ran into some friends.”

“Terrorists?” Price inquired.

McCarter snorted. “Hardly, although they’d probably like to think they are. We took a prisoner and he did some talking. We got all we could from him, so now we’ll probably need a way to unload him on local authorities.”

“We’ll make the arrangements,” Brognola said. “I’ll have someone get with Interpol and take him off your hands.”

“Thanks,” McCarter said. “He’s starting to get on our nerves.”

“What did he tell you?” Price asked, steering the conversation back to topic.

“He said he’s a member of some bloody outfit calling themselves the Germanic Freedom Railroad. He alleges to know nothing about any operations there in the States. Apparently he’s just a grunt and has only been with this group for about six weeks.”

“Aaron, are you still on?” Brognola asked.

“You bet, and I’m looking it up now,” Kurtzman replied.

“Go ahead, David,” Price urged the Phoenix Force leader.

“There were eight men in the squad behind to see who came to find the plane. They were apparently expecting military or police agencies, but when the leader of the squad saw us he panicked. From what we can gather, they thought we were competitors instead of a legitimate agency. That’s when this brilliant lieutenant of theirs gave the order to open up on us.”

“Big mistake,” Lyons cut in.

“You said it, mate,” McCarter replied.

“What’s your current status?” Brognola asked.

“We’re holed up in Rodenbach. Our ammunition and weapons situation is fine. I’ve got the team cleaning up now, but we could use some food and duds that are a wee bit less, say…conspicuous.”

“I’ll make it happen,” Price assured him, and she immediately excused herself from the room.

“Barb’s going to see you get everything you need,” Brognola said. “What about the leadership of this Germanic Freedom Railroad? Did he give any names?”

“He claims he doesn’t know any, and Calvin’s said he thinks the bloke’s telling the truth about that.”

“You concur?” Lyons asked.

“I’d say so,” McCarter replied quickly. “I trust his judgment, and it doesn’t seem like the guy would benefit from telling us lies at this point. I figure with at least the name of this group you can get more information.”

“What do you guess is their main angle?” Brognola asked.

“Supposedly they’re smugglers for VIPs in the terrorist network. Mostly, they handle al Qaeda and other affiliates with strong ties throughout most of the ECU.”

“Well, it’s no secret Germany’s always been somewhat of a terrorist sanctuary,” Brognola said.

“Right.”

“That would also fit the guys we tangled with,” Lyons added. He quickly brought McCarter up to speed on Able Team’s activities.

“Does anybody have a plausible theory on what this all means?” McCarter asked.

“I’m wary about speculating on this thing,” Brognola said. “The situation has obviously grown more complex. And you guys need hard intelligence. Facts. It’s up to us to get them to you in the best and most efficient way possible. I don’t want either of your teams acting on conjecture. Give us a little time to put together some reasonable data and we’ll get back to you within…I don’t know. Aaron?”

“Two hours should be more than enough time,” Kurtzman said. “We’ll definitely have something solid by then.”

“Fine,” Brognola said. “In the meantime, both of you sit tight and try not to get your asses shot off until I can get back to you.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Hal,” McCarter replied.

“Ditto,” Lyons said.

Brognola sat back with a deep sigh once his men disconnected. The information about the Germanic Freedom Railroad had proved interesting. The big Fed searched his memory and couldn’t recall hearing of them before now. Apparently they had been operating in relative secrecy. Had he been a betting man, Brognola would have let it all ride on the odds Choldwig Burke was the number one guy in the GFR.

The man from Justice got to his feet and headed for the Annex. He didn’t plan to breathe down Kurtzman’s neck—or maybe he would and just wouldn’t make it seem like that—but he wanted to be involved with the process.

He reached the Computer Center and found Kurtzman hunkered in his chair and focused on a wide, flat-panel computer screen.

“What do you know?”

Kurtzman looked at Brognola with a cocksure grin. “You mean, since ten minutes ago? What makes you think I’d have something that fast?”

Brognola grinned as he dropped into a nearby chair. “Come on, Aaron. We’re talking about you here.”

“Yes, we are, aren’t we?” he replied, his normally booming voice rising in tone. Somehow the higher pitch sounded funny on him. Kurtzman made a production of looking at his nails, exhaling on them and then rubbing them against his shirt. “But as it just so happens, I do have something for you.”

“Shoot,” Brognola said, settling back in his chair.

“The GFR apparently has a reputation in certain circles. We haven’t picked up on it until now because they’ve made a point of never referring to the organization by name.”

“Any idea on the hierarchy?”

“Pretty much what you’d expect from your run-of-the-mill smuggling operation,” Kurtzman replied. “It’s been proposed by the international law enforcement community that the secret of their ability to remain virtually nonexistent is because they operate in teams of no more than three to four on any given job. Additionally, they deal strictly in cash and all up front.”

“Makes for a good way to keep your clients silent,” Brognola said.

“Sure. Collect the entire advance and your customers will do just about anything to make sure they get their money’s worth.”

“What else?”

“Well, I’m just spit-balling here, but it seems a little interesting that a group like this would risk blowing it for these LAMPs. The technology hasn’t been completely researched and is relatively untested in any kind of legitimate trials. They haven’t even been retrofitted with delivery systems. And insofar as I can tell, the GFR’s never been into actual commission of terrorist acts. It seems they’ve stuck to smuggling, hiding and criminal acts that meet those ends.”

Brognola nodded. “I agree. They make their money by optimal discretion, not drawing any attention to themselves. Why risk that on a major operation like bringing down a military plane so close to their home turf and stealing untried technology?”

“Maybe it’s a special job,” Kurtzman proposed. “Maybe, just maybe, the hostiles Able Team encountered are part of the deal, and that’s why they grabbed Delmico.”

“It fits. The GFR gets approached about this job. It’s so big, bigger than anything they’ve ever done before, they spend nearly a year planning it. Then they make their play, but things don’t go quite right.”

“Then their clients get nervous when Phoenix Force shows up at the plane, and Able Team lands in St. Louis and starts asking a whole lot of uncomfortable questions.”

“So they decide to take over the operation before it gets out of control,” Brognola finished. “It all seems plausible.”

“Well, as it stands now, that’s about the extent of our facts. Other than the fact it’s become plainly obvious these are some tough customers we’re up against.”

“A band of overachievers,” Brognola mused. “Marvelous.”

“Where do you want to go from here?”

“Keep plugging away at it, Aaron. We’ll need a bit more to give Phoenix Force and Able Team something to act on.”

“Oh, you’ll get it,” Kurtzman said as Brognola rose. “Or your money back.”

Brognola chuckled. “Aren’t you the same Aaron Kurtzman who’s always complaining I don’t pay you enough?”

“Why, Hal, don’t you get it? That’s just my little way of endearing myself to you.”

Brognola shook his head and quipped, “Glory.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Choldwig Burke quietly placed the cordless telephone handset on his makeshift metal desk and swiveled in his chair to look upon the dusk cityscape of Wiesbaden. He had a perfect view of it from the abandoned automobile factory on the south side of the city, and it calmed him. He had purchased the factory a mere six months earlier for a song under a deal he’d worked out anonymously through a third-party agent.

Burke considered the recent news. He opened and closed his hands, clenching his jaw in tandem with the movements, as if keeping time with an orchestral piece. The detachment he left behind to observe the plane failed to check in at either of their scheduled times, and then he received the message that most if not all were probably dead. The informant didn’t have much more information than that, but she had noticed one of his men in the custody of five strangers of various ethnicities. He’d instructed her to call back as soon as she had more information on their current whereabouts.

The other issue weighing on Burke’s mind was the unsteady alliance he’d formed with the Palestinians. Mukhtar Tarif, leader of the Hezbollah unit under sanctuary provided by the GFR, had proved himself totally unpredictable. Such men were not trustworthy to Burke’s way of thinking, and he didn’t know how much longer they could maintain a credible alliance. Burke hadn’t wanted this whole thing to begin with, but the people he employed expected payment for their services, and being they were very good at what they did, they didn’t come cheap, either.

When Burke’s operation had still been small—with just a couple dozen men able to handle the business in the way it needed handling—these kinds of troubles hadn’t been an issue. But with growth came greater risks, and greater risks demanded upping the ante for certain types of services. Tarif had stepped forward and made an offer Burke resisted at first. But Burke’s second in command, a brilliant ex-military strategist named Helmut Stuhl, convinced him to accept the deal. He regretted every minute of it. It had turned out to be very risky and expensive for the GFR, which meant it hadn’t resulted in as much profit.

Burke planned to change all that with their successful theft of the LAMPs. He had supreme confidence in them to do the job necessary, and once he sold them out to the highest bidder, Burke could rid himself of Tarif and his band of fanatics forever. First, however, he needed to deal with the incident in St. Louis.

A knock sounded at the door of his makeshift office. “Come in.”

The door swung open to admit Mukhtar Tarif and his pair of bodyguards. He never seemed to go anywhere without them. The bodyguards tried to look imposing, menacing, but to a man of Burke’s size and physical prowess they were a joke. Burke possessed the physique of his father, but he’d inherited his brains from his late mother. Liesl Burke had served as a nuclear power engineer and consultant to the government of Luxembourg. She’d held a degree in nuclear physics, and many colleagues had considered her one of the most innovative and brilliant scientists in her field. Then cancer took hold and ravaged her body, eventually overtaking not only her life but her beloved career.

Liesl Burke also left behind a saddened ten-year-old boy.

Sworn to model his life after that of his mother’s, Burke excelled in his studies. By sixteen he’d been wooed by the finest universities in Germany but eventually he set his heart on the study of particle physics. He spent several years at the CERN Laboratory in Geneva. That later proved extremely valuable in gaining knowledge of the Hadron magnets used in the LHC project, and ultimately proved instrumental in understanding the Low Altitude Military Platform brainchild of the British RAF.

Mukhtar Tarif dropped into the straight-backed metal chair in front of Burke and propped his feet on the desk. Young and impetuous, the terrorist leader had treated Burke with impunity and disrespect nearly from the beginning of their relationship. Burke had only tolerated it because of his belief in the GFR and his steadfast ideology that the needs of his organization far exceeded those of any individual, including its founder. Such idealism had earned him the respect of every member in the organization, and he didn’t intend to sacrifice their loyalty on what amounted to little more than ego.

“I’m told you needed to speak to me,” Tarif announced in flawless German. He’d mastered the language in one of the terrorist training camps sponsored by al Qaeda deep in the mountains of Afghanistan. “What do you want?”

“I want to know exactly what kind of a fool you think I am,” Burke replied in a no-nonsense tone. “You didn’t actually think I wouldn’t find out about Delmico?”

“On the contrary, I knew you would find out. He is no longer of any concern to you.”

“I will judge what’s of concern to me and what isn’t.”

The effect of the implicit warning in Burke’s voice became evident with the dangerous hue visible in Tarif’s expression. “That sounded much to me like a threat, Mr. Burke.”

“Take it as you like,” Burke replied with a smile. “But Dr. Delmico is my contact, and I want him released unharmed. Immediately.”

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