Close Quarters. Don Pendleton
took a drag of his smoke before saying, “Who?”
“They are members of the Hezbollah, men being trained by officers in our Guard Corps.”
“You’re full of it!” Abney said. “There’s no way you could possibly know that.”
“There is a way I could know it,” Hemmati said. “I haven’t told you something until now because I needed it as leverage.”
“Why would you need leverage against us?”
“I don’t need leverage against you. I need leverage to get out of Iran, to go to America and never to return this country.”
“That’s a tall order, Farzad,” Poppas said.
“It is something you can do,” Hemmati replied. “Do not pretend that you don’t have the ear of the highest powers in your Washington. I know enough about you to know who you are and who you work for. Let us not pretend that I’m stupid. I went to college in Europe, remember? To be trained to work in the military. I have contacts close to Seyyed Ali Khamenei, you could even call them family. Only because of my bad eyes was I not able to do this. I have told you all this, so I would think my request comes as no surprise to you. Or my price.”
“Your price?” Poppas said.
“Oh, so you not only want us to spend a whole bundle of cash getting you out of here, but you want us to finance your life in the U.S., too,” Abney added.
“You’re a wackadoo if you think this tidbit of gossip you’re handing us is going to buy you a free ride across the pond, joker.”
“I have more,” Hemmati said.
Through a gust of smoke Poppas said, “Okay, tell us your more.”
“A faction within President Ahmadinejad’s officer corps is planning a coup. They plan to move on him soon and establish a new power within Iran. They are seeking the support of the Americans and they’ve sent me to make the offer.”
“Jumping jeebus,” Abney whispered.
Poppas looked at his companion and said, “I think it’s time to call Mother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Atlantic Ocean
David McCarter stared at the blue-white horizon, the kind that could only look this pure and clean at an altitude of eight thousand feet. The sight liberated him inside, freed his soul and imagination from the cares of the day. Very soon, McCarter knew that feeling would dissipate to be replaced by a range of dangers that most men never experienced.
David McCarter had experienced enough to fill a thousand lives.
The other five men who accompanied him aboard the Stony Man jet could claim very similar circumstances, although none would have boasted about them if given a chance.
McCarter realized the time for introspection was nearly over. According to Jack Grimaldi—Stony Man’s ace pilot—they’d be touching down in Asunción in about ten minutes. McCarter had to consider all the angles of their present mission. Stony Man’s intelligence had been unusually scant. Between the powerful computers overseen by Aaron Kurtzman and the keen intellect of Barbara Price, sending either of the teams into a situation with little intelligence was an exception—a very disconcerting exception at that.
As leader of Phoenix Force, McCarter didn’t like unknowns and he certainly wasn’t big on winging it when it came to missions where vast numbers of angry, armed men were involved. Nevertheless, Phoenix Force was only alerted when the situation was serious, and the absence of hard intel was never reason enough to prevent their deployment.
“You’ll be going in with your eyes wide shut,” Hal Brognola, head of Stony Man Farm, had told them during their briefing nearly fourteen hours earlier.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” McCarter had replied.
* * *
“THE INFORMATION IS sketchy because it’s all we have,” Price said. “Three days ago the American embassy in Asunción, Paraguay, received a request for sanctuary by a volunteer with the U.S. Peace Corps. The man’s name was Christopher Harland. Harland told a story so absurd that at first the secretary to the U.S. Ambassador didn’t believe him. Apparently they had an NSA analyst with the Signal Intelligence Group on staff.”
“They turned him over to the analyst, who immediately realized there may be a bigger problem brewing in Paraguay,” Brognola added.
“A crazy story by this one man has the White House jumping?” asked Gary Manning, disbelief evident in his tone.
“Not just one man,” Brognola told the Canadian demolitions expert.
“There are sixteen other U.S. Peace Corps members who have gone missing,” Price confirmed, “and the atrocities Harland claims to have witnessed against them were confirmed by an investigative team sent to their camp. Or what was left of it.”
“What do mean, what was left of it?” T. J. Hawkins asked.
A native of Texas and the youngest, newest member of the team, Hawkins had served with Delta Force before joining Stony Man. Hawkins may have been a bit unconventional at times and was still an occasional hothead, but he was a good fit with the highly disciplined Phoenix Force operatives. He’d become an integral part of the tight-knit field unit and all of his companions were glad to have him along when the going got tough, which was most of the time in Phoenix Force missions.
“They burned the thing to the ground after plundering everything they could get their hands on that might have had value,” Price replied.
“Word has it they even stole the silverware from the camp mess hall,” Brognola added.
Rafael Encizo, former Cuban refugee and unarmed-combat expert, said, “Mess hall? I thought most Peace Corps volunteers stayed in the homes of native families, not only for safety but translation purposes.”
“This particular mission was somewhat special according to Christopher Harland,” Price said. “A fact we confirmed with their main offices after the initial reports came in from the U.S. Embassy via the State Department.”
“What about the NSA’s investigation?” Calvin James asked. “Did that reveal anything useful?”
Calvin James was a former Navy corpsman and SEAL, who served as the team’s chief medic—and a chief badass, as well.
“It didn’t reveal any identity but we’re guessing they aren’t local dissidents,” Price replied.
“Did you say guessing?” McCarter said. “You, luv?”
“I know,” replied a booming voice from the door of the War Room. “Isn’t it a shocker?”
Though the man who came through the doorway was in a wheelchair, nobody would mistake that for weakness. Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman didn’t just fill the role of technical wizard for Stony Man; his intelligence and prowess had literally saved the lives of every team member more times than anybody could count. Kurtzman had a way of pulling off technical feats like a magician pulled a live rabbit out of a hat, and that had paid off many times over.
“You can blame me for our lack of information,” Kurtzman replied. He looked at Price and added, “Sorry I’m late.”
Price nodded. “Did you learn anything else?”
“Nothing definite but some patterns emerged from a software algorithm Akira and I wrote to scan travel documents into and out of South America, particularly around Paraguay. It seems there’s been an increasing number of Muslim visitors. Now supposedly they came in and later left, but there were some inconsistencies we didn’t really like so we’re digging deeper into those patterns. They’re complex, however, so it’s going to take time. For now we can conclude that this paramilitary force, if nothing else, is not comprised of native South Americans.”