Promise To Defend. Don Pendleton
eyes roved the terrain for other attackers. At the same time his mind roiled, particularly over the terrorists’ errant gunfire. The noise had been unwanted, but unavoidable. Now the bastards inside knew a hit was coming. That brought heightened urgency to the mission.
Encizo’s voice came over the com link. “Coming up on your six.”
“Clear.” Within moments, the two men were crouched together, next to a two-story, redbrick outbuilding.
EXITING THE TUNNEL, McCarter, Manning and Hawkins fanned out over the dimly lit room in the embassy basement. McCarter, in concert with the other two men, swept the muzzle of his MP-5 over the room, but found nothing other than computer servers, two computer workstations and a minifridge.
“Embassy Command,” he whispered into his com link. “Embassy One and team are inside.”
“Clear,” Colvin replied.
McCarter nodded toward the door and headed for it. The other warriors fell into step behind him, spreading out in a triangular formation. McCarter knelt next to the door and let his MP-5 hang loose on the shoulder strap. He extracted a handheld device outfitted with a small television screen and a lengthy, tubular camera lens. He slid the lens through the space between the door and the floor and checked the screen. The door led into a corridor. A pair of Arabs stood in the hallway, smoking cigarettes and talking. One man carried his AK-47 on a shoulder strap, the barrel canted toward the floor. The other man had leaned his against a wall. His hand rested on his pistol.
McCarter turned to his friends and with hand signals indicated the number of opponents and their positions. The men nodded.
Pocketing the handheld camera, McCarter brought the SMG back around. For the hostages’s sake, he knew that they needed to keep the element of surprise for as long as possible. They’d need a quick, quiet takedown. Resting a palm on the doorknob, he held the MP-5 ready. A glance at his comrades told him they, also, were ready to go.
McCarter surged through the doorway, the sudden motion causing the Arabs to turn toward him. The men scrambled for their weapons. But their inattention would prove fatal. The man who’d abandoned his AK-47 dropped into a crouch and scrambled for his pistol. McCarter’s MP-5 chugged out a burst of 9 mm rippers that shredded the man’s middle, killing him.
The gunner who’d held on to his assault rifle proved to be a livelier target. He raised the weapon to acquire a target. Manning rewarded the man’s efforts by laying down a burst from the sound-suppressed MP-5. The slugs stitched the man from right hip to left shoulder, launching him back several feet. To McCarter’s relief, the man didn’t trigger his weapon in a death reflex.
As Manning and McCarter had fought, Hawkins had taken out the surveillance cameras with a small device he, Schwarz and Kurtzman had developed. The zapper could be aimed at a camera and destroy the fiber-optic cables by bombarding it with microwaves. A dead camera would attract attention, but not with the urgency of images of two bloodied corpses.
A quick check of the rooms in the basement revealed them to be empty. McCarter led the other men down the hall and to the stairs, which they took to the ground floor.
AS THE PHOENIX FORCE commandos stood on the stairwell, McCarter knelt next to the door leading into the first floor. He swept the camera’s tubular lens again under the door, trying to determine what he and his comrades were preparing to walk into.
He saw a vision of hell.
The corpses of Marines killed during the initial raid still lay scattered throughout the lobby, in pools of blood. Spent shell casings littered the floor. A half-dozen terrorists, their heads swathed in scarves, armed with Uzis and AK-47s, walked among terrified embassy employees and other bystanders who were crouch on the floor. He saw three huddled against the wall just outside the door, and made a mental note to draw fire away from that area as soon as possible.
McCarter’s stomach churned with rage. His face grim, he let the other men take a look at the viewer. Judging by their expressions, both shared his reaction.
“Embassy Two,” McCarter whispered into the com link. “Status report?”
“In position,” Encizo replied. “Ready to move on your command.”
“Clear. Stand fast.”
McCarter reached into a belt pouch and extracted a pair of flash-bang grenades. In a brief conversation, he, Manning and Hawkins etched out a quick plan to take the room.
McCarter gripped the MP-5 by its pistol grip and grabbed the door handle. Hawkins shot to his feet. Manning took a final glance at the viewer. He gestured for the other men to wait, beckoned them to look at the screen.
The Briton knelt again. He saw the terrorists yanking people from the floor, walking them to the exterior walls, positioning them in front of windows. He whispered a terse oath. A human wall. The bastards were surrounding themselves with hostages.
Damn!
A clatter sound from upstairs heralded yet another change in McCarter’s plans. He whipped his head toward the noise to identify it. Hawkins, who’d been watching the stairs, wheeled toward the other two, his eyes wide.
“Grenade!” he breathed.
ENCIZO GAVE the rope one last tug. Satisfied that the grappling hook was set, he stepped to the roof’s edge, crouched and waited for McCarter to give them the go.
As he waited, he swept his gaze over the rooftop, let it linger on a pair of terrorists lying together in a tangled heap, their chests glistening where blood had saturated their shirts. Encizo and James had downed the two men moments earlier and begun preparations for a two-pronged, lightning-fast insertion through the second-story windows.
James was crouched next to Encizo, his MP-5 held steady as he covered them both. Encizo flashed a thumbs-up and James grabbed his own rope. The Little Cuban reached inside his combat pouch and palmed a flash-bang grenade. The plan was relatively simple. Scale the wall, toss the stun device through the window, disorienting the terrorists and the hostages. After that, it would be basic shock and awe. The orders were explicit: grab one or two terrorists for interrogation purposes.
Everyone else went out in body bags.
Encizo could live with that.
“Been a while,” James said. “You want to check in with David?”
Encizo nodded. Before he could make another move, a peal of thunder seemed to erupt from within the building. A cold sensation rolled down Encizo’s spine like a rivulet of ice water. He and James exchanged quick glances. Before either man could say a word, though, they heard the muffled rattle of gunfire from within the building.
“Shit,” Encizo said.
He keyed his throat mike. “Embassy One. Sitrep?”
McCarter’s reply was instantaneous. “Taking fire. Proceed as planned.”
Encizo and James rose as one and started for the edge of the roof. Encizo placed one foot onto the parapet and prepared to step off. Steel clanged against brick, snagging his attention. He and James looked in unison at a service door leading onto the roof and saw that it had slammed open. Three armed men spilled from the doorway, fanning into different directions, flames spitting from the muzzles of their weapons.
Bullets chewed into the rooftop at the warriors’ feet, shredding the rubber roofing material. His hand moving with practiced ease, Encizo freed the Beretta from his hip holster, raised it and acquired a target. The Beretta sighed, dispatching a trio of Parabellum rounds. Encizo had a vague impression of his target being slammed back, red geysers of blood springing from his chest. In the same instant, a million fiery needles stabbed inside his chest as something slammed into him, causing his legs to go rubbery. He stumbled backward, trying desperately to regain his footing. His hands flew up to his chest defensively and he realized that he’d dropped the Beretta.
He glimpsed James’s face, saw the panicked expression there as his comrade mouthed his name.
He