Terminal Guidance

“Writing pads and pens. Most importantly a top-of-the-range laptop computer. It must have a large-capacity hard drive. USB connections. And a number of flash drives, again with large storage capacities.”

Qazi nodded. “All these things will be provided. Anything you require. The colonel has ordered that you must have the best.”

Fazeel found it hard to conceal his rising excitement. He stared at the UAV, understanding that he alone would control this machine. Make it carry out the tasks asked of him. It was a great responsibility. Only for a second did he feel inadequate to the task. The feeling quickly vanished. The colonel had entrusted him with the operation. It was a great honor. He would not let Rahman down. He would prove his worth. To the cause and to himself.

Gwadar Port, Balochistan, Southwest Pakistan

“THE CARGO HAS ARRIVED, Colonel,” the caller said. “The freighter docked last night. The goods are being unloaded even as we speak.”

“All in good order?”

“Yes, Colonel. The voyage was without incident.”

“And the freight aircraft?”

“Ready at the airfield. It will take off once the cargo is on board.”

“Good news indeed. Once it arrives we can step up the operation.”

CHAPTER ONE

The White House, Washington, D.C.

The President of the United States waited in uneasy silence while Hal Brognola read through the assembled data. The two men were alone in the Oval Office. The President had made it known he was not to be disturbed for any reason less than the imminent outbreak of total war.

Hal Brognola, director of the Stony Man SOG organization, was aware of the other man’s close scrutiny. He did not allow it to intimidate him. He read the file, absorbing much of the detailed information as he went through it. Later he would reread and assimilate the data so he could assign his people to the operations that would follow. Now he needed talking points he could discuss with the President.

Brognola laid the file back on the desk.

“And you want Stony Man to take this on board why?”

The President kept a straight face. Brognola’s response might have been judged a little out of order, but the President understood the big Fed’s question. He knew how Brognola worked—always direct, respectful to his commander in chief, but wanting specifics when it came to committing his teams to the field.

“The U.S. is on a high wire where Pakistan is concerned. Trying to keep the administration on our side as an ally and at the same time keeping a watchful eye on elements in the country who would like nothing better than to see us kicked out. The extremists see the U.S. as opportunists with an eye on the main chance. Plenty of people over there simply don’t like us. Don’t like what we stand for, and see America as an imperialistic nation that wants Pakistan as just another stepping stone in a long-term plan to subjugate their corner of the world.

“That’s not the way we see things, Hal. Yes, we have an interest in the country and the area. I don’t see our involvement as anything but prudent, given how the extremists want al Qaeda and the Taliban to gain a greater foothold in the region. I see our obligation to the Pakistani president clearly. He’s doing what he can to hold things down, but he has people in his administration who are sympathetic to the extremists. And we know only too well how dedicated these extremists are.”

The President tapped the file on the desk. “These assassinations are an undeclared act of aggression against the U.S.A. There has been an internet posting stating that the killings are just to show us we can be hurt wherever we are. That the U.S. and its rabid allies have no protection from the followers of Allah. The details they put in the postings reveal they had in-depth information on the people murdered. They claim this is only a beginning and suggest what might follow when the curtain goes up. This group is taunting us, letting us know they can hit us when and where they like. They warn of a larger terrorist strike both here and in Pakistan. That’s worrying, Hal. We need to act. Our people have been killed because they were, according to their reports, starting to get information on the extremists. It saddens me to admit that we might have a traitor in the ranks.

“The U.S. has allies in the war against terrorism. We’re not on our own. There are deep ties to other security agencies across the globe. Europe. The U.K. Information passes back and forth. Links are formed between departments. There are multiagency teams. I don’t need to tell you how it works, Hal, but the fact that delicate information reached the assassination team suggests they were fed by a source inside our combined agencies. If there is a mole somewhere in our ranks it’s going to make any decisions we make hard to isolate. I want this handled by Stony Man, Hal, in case we do have someone passing information to the enemy. I can’t hand this over to our security departments knowing sensitive information could be intercepted and used against us. Stony Man is a separate entity, with no allegiance to any other departments here or abroad.”

The President leaned forward, fixing Brognola with an unflinching stare. “The main reason I want you in on this, Hal, is information I received from a genuine source.” He didn’t elaborate, so Brognola passed, and the President said, “I understand your curiosity about that, but I can’t say anything right now. Just take my word it’s on the level. The asset has warned that the threat of the strikes is real. There will be an attempted strike in Pakistan and on the U.S. mainland. Hal, it’s going to be nuclear. And we have a name. Colonel Jabir Rahman.”

The President sat upright, fixing his gaze on Brognola. “That a good enough reason for you to bring Stony Man in?”

“Good enough, Mr. President.”

War room

Stony Man Farm

AROUND THE CONFERENCE room table sat the members of Phoenix Force and Able Team, along with the cyber group under the leadership of Aaron Kurtzman. Hal Brognola and Barbara Price sat at the head of the table. Once the general banter had been exhausted, everyone settled down for the mission agenda. First up was the youngest member of Aaron Kurtzman’s team, Akira Tokaido.

“We didn’t have a great deal to work with,” he said. “The information Hal handed us was based on existing data from various agency reports, so we used that to feed our own files and search for links.”

He used a handheld remote to pull images onto the plasma monitors ranged around the War Room walls.

“This is Colonel Jabir Rahman, the guy whose name keeps cropping up when we dig. A Pakistani military guy with diplomatic credentials. The man does not like the U.S. Outspoken in his criticism of American policy and our involvement in the region, he is also not much of a fan of the Pakistani administration. He’s been in any number of confrontations with the Pakistani president. Rahman has a lot of influence with extremist groups, sections of the military and sympathizers among the general public.”

The image on the monitor showed a man in his late thirties, uniformed and with an erect military bearing. Rahman would have been called handsome by women. His features were strong, his eyes dark and penetrating. His black mustache was neatly trimmed, his thick, oiled hair just starting to show streaks of gray. Overall, he displayed an arrogant image. A confident man who would command respect and not be shy to correct anyone who failed to give it.

“So why is he in the frame?” Carl Lyons asked. The broad, powerfully built ex-cop was the leader of Able Team. “He a bad guy?”

“Rahman has been on numerous agency lists for a number of years,” Brognola said. “He comes and goes without challenge because he has diplomatic immunity. He knows he’s on watch lists, and enjoys playing the game. The Brits, U.S., French and Spanish have all had him in their sights. Rahman is a slippery guy.

“There’s a source in Pakistan who points the finger at Rahman. Apparently, he’s close to the man’s group and picked up on conversations about the upcoming operation, passed it on, then dropped out of sight. The guy is working undercover, so there’s no way to get in touch with him. Right now there’s no knowing if he’s alive or dead.”

“So do we accept his information as genuine?” McCarter asked. The fox-faced Briton was the leader of Phoenix Force.

“This came via the President, who told me the guy can be trusted and so can his word.”

“Piecing together every hit we’ve found suggests there’s definitely something going on,” Price said. “Rahman and the names linked to him, the recent visits between these people, their allegiances and a pretty strong hint anything Western goes against their thinking all add up to something big,” the mission controller explained.

“Doesn’t stop them making money from us,” James said.

“Yeah? Well, what they make goes toward the latest atrocity,” Lyons said testily.

“Freedom of speech and beliefs,” Rafael Encizo said. “And before you jump in and bite my head off, Carl, it’s what this country is all about. We start discriminating against religious and political diversity, we end up just like them.”

Lyons took a deep breath. It seemed he was about to challenge Encizo’s comments, but then he shook his head. “Rafe, you’ve got too many smart answers for me.”

The truth was Carl Lyons knew exactly what Encizo was saying. It was one of life’s ironies. Individuals who had nothing but contempt for America were able to live and work within its borders, their freedom and right to free expression protected by law. Until they actually went ahead and committed some crime, without definite proof there was nothing that could be done except put them on a watch list. Watch being the operative word.

“Rahman has a number of dubious friends.” Carmen Delahunt, a valued member of Kurtzman’s cyber team, the vivacious redheaded former FBI agent spoke decisively. She raised a hand to Tokaido, and more images appeared on the plasma screens. “Take your pick. The skinny guy is Umer Qazi. He is under suspicion of being an arranger for various flaky organizations within the Islamic world. He has ties to al Qaeda, so the story goes. In Afghanistan he was spotted in the company of Taliban members. On the surface he’s polite, urbane. Don’t underestimate him. The man is smart. Apparently he coaches young Muslims into becoming hard-liners. Likes to visit London a lot.”

“And while he’s there,” Tokaido said, “he spends time with this guy, Samman Prem. Prem owns an export-import company based in the city, with a warehouse facility on Tilbury docks—you know the place, David?”

McCarter nodded. “Large port area. Used to be a lot bigger years ago. Still a busy place.”

“Prem ships mainly to Pakistan and India. Some in the Middle East. He uses freighters belonging to Saeeda Hussein. He’s another suspect, wealthy and not a lover of Western ideology. They’re both on a watch list because of their affiliations, but that’s as far as it goes. Prem especially has been known to express his anti-Western views privately.”

“I traced Prem’s cell phone calls,” Kurtzman said. “Discounting nonimportant stuff, that left a lot of contacts. I broke them down into blocks.” He worked his own remote, and lists appeared on a plasma screen. “Most calls were to this number. I ran it, and it came up as belonging to Khalil Amir. Originally from Pakistan. Had an import business over there until he relocated to the U.S.—Boston to be exact. Still works the import business, but now also deals in real estate.”

Akira Tokaido brought up images of the named men.

“Interesting points are that both these guys have a history of being involved with our friend Colonel Jabir Rahman. We picked this up from a sweep of friendly agencies. British intelligence have been running a dossier on Rahman for a couple of years. He’s suspected of having links with radical sympathizers based in Europe, as well as Pakistan and the U.K.”

“This sweep of friendly agencies?” Brognola queried. “How should I interpret that?”

Kurtzman cleared his throat. “Better you don’t,” he said.

Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman and his cyber team were undisputed experts when it came to infiltration. Kurtzman had developed programs of such sophistication that they allowed covert entry into the most dedicated systems without the agencies ever having knowledge that they were being scrutinized. The details of Kurtzman’s invasive programs were known only to himself. He kept them in his head, running them only when Stony Man needed instant access to information vital to missions.

Like the one they were into right now.

Brognola nodded. “Okay. So, you checked databases and picked up what you wanted?”

“MI5 and MI6 have information on Rahman that ties in with the proposed Phoenix Force and Able missions,” Akira said. “It confirms the guy is deep into this radical culture. He basically just doesn’t like the U.S. He’s especially ticked off about our close ties with the Pakistani administration. I pulled up these.” More images appeared on the big screens. “A U.K. operative took this a few weeks ago. Rahman and Khalil Amir. They were in Lyon, France, at some antiques junket. Rahman affects an interest in antiques. They stayed at a swish hotel along with other import-export players. The U.K. agent tailing Rahman reported he returned to Pakistan after his meet with Amir.”

“The Brits kept a watch on them all,” Carmen Delahunt said as she overlaid photos of Amir arriving at London’s Heathrow Airport. “This was Khalil Amir arriving. He stayed in London for three days before returning to Boston. While he was in the U.K. he visited Prem.”

“Any significance in this U.K. visit?” David McCarter asked. The Phoenix Force commander was sipping from a frosted bottle of Classic Coke. “I’ll bet they weren’t taking in the sights.”

“Like Akira said, Amir did make contact with Prem, who’s on the U.K. watch list as a possible radical,” Delahunt stated. “Under surveillance, but he can’t be tagged with anything vital.”

“All these meetings can’t just be bloody coincidences,” McCarter said. “Too many in a short space of time.”

“I’m guessing none of the agencies can do anything in case they scare these people and drive them underground,” Calvin James said. The black Phoenix Force member had been watching and listening in silence, taking everything in and filing it away. “If they scare these guys off we could lose valuable leads.”

Brognola nodded. “Exactly. Keep all this in mind once you get into the field. If we’re right about a possible upcoming threat, we need to stay well back until we have solid evidence these people are involved.”

“Easier said than done,” Rosario “the Politician” Blancanales, of Able Team, pointed out. “We start probing, it could easily generate contact. If that happens what are we supposed to do?”

“Look, Pol,” Brognola said, “I’m not saying you have to put yourselves at risk if the situation changes. If it comes down to the wire I want you guys walking away alive. All I’m saying is try to keep things low-key until you have something we can use.”

“With the chance these idiots are serious about setting off nuclear devices, are we supposed to walk around on bloody tiptoe?” McCarter retorted. “Step back from doing anything to upset them? Hal, you presented us with this threat. Why all the pussyfooting? We should go with whatever we have, and nail these bastards. Squash them into the ground and put a stop to their harebrained scheme.”

“Son of a bitch,” Carl Lyons said. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“He stole the boss’s line,” Hermann Schwarz, the third member of Able Team, whispered.

Blancanales gave a melodramatic gasp. “I’m shocked.”

“Should we duck and cover?”

“Nah, I want to see the fight.”

For once Lyons failed to bite. He sat back, a thin smirk on his face because he had beaten Blancanales and Schwarz at their own game.

“Now that isn’t fair,” Blancanales said. “No reaction means no fun.”

Schwarz nodded. “He’s doing it on purpose. Let’s not talk to him for the rest of the briefing.”

“Now the children have put their toys back in the box,” Brognola said, wiping the grin off his own face, “we can get down to business.”

The short break had given them all a breather from the tension of the moment. Hal Brognola knew his people well. Horseplay was to be expected from the teams. It was part of who they were. They were consummate professionals, and the missions they undertook for the special operations group were life threatening. They stepped into the thick of combat, taking on savage opposition without a flicker of regret. Brognola sent them out on missions that stretched the limits of their skills, pitting them against truly dangerous enemies. He understood that, shouldered the responsibility, knowing his people—and he considered them to be his people—would give their utmost.

“In the field, guys, you make your own decisions. I’ll back whatever you do. However you achieve it. What the hell, you’re the experts. If eggs need to be broken, that’s it. Look, I’m just the administrator here. Let’s get it right.”

Barbara Price stood up and began to circle the table, dropping thick mission folders in front of each man.

“Everything we have is in these files. Backgrounds on participants. Photographs. Contacts. Locations. Let me know if there’s anything else required. Once you’ve studied the files we can discuss individual needs.”

“I don’t see my luncheon vouchers,” McCarter said. “You’re always expecting us to do it on the cheap.”

“Okay,” Price said sternly, “listen up. We can arrange transport to get you to wherever you want. Paperwork, too, as per usual. Depending on location there might be problems with weapons, so we’ll have to find local suppliers. With the current tensions, some regimes are very hot on loose weapons, so be careful. You’ll have to use any local contacts you have yourselves. I’ll let you have anything we might find on file.”

“Work out your dispersal plans as fast as you can,” Brognola said. “We want you fully organized, but time is not on our side here. We need you moving ASAP. Once you have things pinned down, let Barb know so she can make the arrangements.”

A subdued murmur filled the room as the teams went over their mission parameters. They worked in unhurried discussions, each member putting forward suggestions. Brognola left them to it, withdrawing from the table to pour himself a mug of coffee from one of the thermos jugs supplied. As he stood there, Kurtzman spun his wheelchair around and powered it to where the big Fed stood.

“Never fails to impress me, watching them figure out a battle plan,” he said. He was refilling his mug from the infamous pot of his special brew. It was said Kurtzman’s coffee had the same strength as industrial paint stripper, and no one at Stony Man would ever deny that statement. “They’re a unique crew.”

“Damn right there, Aaron. It’s a shame when you think how many times they’ve pulled this country back from the brink, and no one apart from the SOG will ever know it.”

“The President knows. So did his predecessors.” Kurtzman paused, then added, “And I guess he knows that truth, as well. He can’t say anything, because Stony Man doesn’t officially exist, so if he spills the beans he’s just as guilty by default.”

Brognola chuckled softly. “Hell of a way to make a living.”

An hour later decisions had been made. Both teams had their objectives. In-depth discussions had been completed. Barbara Price had left and was already elsewhere, making travel arrangements and handing out assignments to her teams. The support staff at the Farm were responsible for travel and documentation, arranging equipment and weapons Phoenix Force and Able Team might need.

Once they were on their own, the Stony Man teams would, as usual, rely on skill and determination to get them through whatever came up.

MCCARTER GAVE Phoenix Force their orders.

“Gary, you and Rafe take Pakistan. Go scope out the situation. The rest of us will head to London. We can dig into the U.K. mob and see what we can find. Once we reach a conclusion we’ll head out to join you. Barb will arrange transport. Gary and Rafe need to cross over from Afghanistan unannounced. We can work out a cover story for them so they can snoop around Peshawar. Maybe something to do with the New Relief charity?”

Price nodded. “There’s a contact we can use in the city. A guy working undercover for British security. He’s been in place for a while. Knows Peshawar. He could ease the way in.”

“Okay. The rest of us need a ride to the U.K. Usual arrangements via the Air Force would be handy. Ferry us to a base near London.”

“I can sort that. We’ll organize documents for Gary and Rafe. Passports and visas all stamped with current dates. I’ll get that set up for them.”

“Ordnance,” Encizo said. “Pakistan cops might not look too favorably on foreigners supposed to be working for a charity who are walking around loaded for bear.”

“Make up a pack and hide it once you’re across the border, before you go into the city,” McCarter said. “Something to fall back on if things get hot.”

“And knowing our luck, that’s likely to happen,” James said.

“Bloody bloke is such a party pooper,” McCarter said.

“You guys need anything special for London?” Price asked.

“Pocket translator?” T. J. Hawkins said, grinning. “Way those Brits talk it might as well be Cantonese.”

“Coming from you that’s rich,” McCarter said. “Barb, just fix us up with a decent hotel, love. We might not be there long, but let’s be comfortable while we are.”

BOSTON WAS ABLE TEAM’S destination. Khalil Amir was their target of interest. The man’s connection to Jabir Rahman and Samman Prem brought him into the spotlight for the Able Team trio.

Once destinations had been settled the Stony Man support departments swung into action, leaving the teams to spend the next few hours reviewing their mission files, discussing how they were going to handle the operations.

Weapons were talked over, with visits to the armory in the lower section of the building, where they could test and check the ordnance chosen.

Barbara Price handed each man his personal folder holding passports, cash and credit cards. Later that evening the passports for Manning and Encizo were delivered, along with all the documentation they would need in Pakistan if they were asked to produce it. Dates and stamps had been added, and Price was able to say with confidence that no one would be able to spot they were forgeries.

The communication section provided the teams with current high spec satellite phones with global capabilities. Each phone had a built-in GPS system and, more importantly, a direct speed dial to the Farm.

“Able, I’ve arranged a private flight for you to Logan. Your credentials will ID you as Justice Department agents on special assignment. Your weapons will be in a separate, secure case. When you touch down you can go direct to the Hertz rental stand, where a vehicle has already been booked for you. It’s in your cover name, Carl. And rooms are also booked at the Boston Marriott.”

Price turned to McCarter. “David, there’s an Air Force supply flight due to leave at seven tomorrow morning. We can have Phoenix Force there in time. You will touch down at RAF Mildenhall. Orders have been cut that will get you on board and delivered safely, no questions asked. Car will be waiting for you to pick up on base. After that you’re on your own. When you want to move on, a USAF plane will fly you on a regular supply run to Afghanistan, where you’ll be shipped out to the forward Marine base close to the border with Pakistan.”

“What about Gary and Rafe?” McCarter asked.

“They’ll be flown to the same base and choppered in across the border at night for a rendezvous with our contact. He’ll drive them into Peshawar to where they’re staying. This guy can give only limited assistance, so when he drops you at your hotel and gets you settled, he’ll move on.”