Domination Bid Read online

  They were able to clear the second and third floors in half the time and the results were just as McCarter had predicted. They were in the process of clearing one of the last bedrooms on the third floor when Manning pointed to movement on the grounds visible through the bedroom window. It wasn’t an army; of that much they were certain. No country on earth, never mind the Russians, would send a whopping team of three men to eliminate a special operations group such as Phoenix Force.

  “What the hell…?” Calvin James began.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Encizo said with a grin.

  “Well,” McCarter replied, “let’s go find out.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Washington, D.C.

  Able Team stood around the customized van affectionately known as Black Betty and admired its sleek lines. They had reached the special garage arranged by Stony Man Farm where they kept the vehicle—it was a few a miles outside of Andrews AFB. With good reason. They had used the highly specialized van on many missions prior to this one, although they did so sparingly.

  Betty had gone through a number of versions over the years—each more technically and mechanically advanced than before—along with more lives than a cat. The many variations had saved the lives of all the Able Team warriors more times than they could count. Whenever they had a mission that required special capabilities, whether high-tech surveillance or covert probe, they could call on Black Betty and she’d see them through the job to the last details.

  Much like her adoring operators.

  Schwarz sighed. “Ah, always good to see Betty.”

  “Indeed,” Blancanales added with a nod.

  Lyons did a check of all the field equipment while Blancanales got busy with the armory. Schwarz booted up and ran diagnostics on all of the sensitive electronics packages aboard the van. This included an entire surveillance and countersurveillance suite, along with a GPS tracking aperture fed by a cluster of short, bristling antennae protruding through the roof. The antennae were normally shielded from the sun and elements by a transparent bubble in the roof, but that bubble could open and the antennae raised or retracted on a hydraulic platform.

  When they completed their tasks and Lyons got the all clear, they climbed in and headed into the city night. As they rode, each man was left to his own thoughts while Lyons reviewed the intelligence the Farm had downloaded to their secure on-board computer system. The data made his head itch.

  “Hey, listen up,” he finally said. “This is from the files on Colonel Jack Cyrus. This guy’s been in and out of the worst shit you can imagine.” Lyons let out a low whistle. “He’s been decorated six separate times for bravery. Service tours include Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, the Sudan, DRC, and he’s been to the hells all over points in the South and Central Americas.”

  “Sounds tough,” Schwarz said.

  “Ya think?” Lyons retorted.

  “Seems strange a guy like that would be working for someone like Steinham,” Blancanales said.

  Lyons shook his head. “Meaning?”

  Blancanales shrugged. “Steinham’s a businessman and a bureaucrat. Cyrus is a hardcore soldier. Those two elements usually don’t mix.”

  “Unless you’re running a mercenary operation with your eyes out for the most lucrative contracts,” Schwarz observed.

  “You have a point,” Blancanales said.

  “Well, whatever Cyrus’s reason for being in cahoots with Steinham, he signed up with the wrong side,” Lyons said.

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Blancanales said.

  “It’s this whole attack on that NSA storage vault in Iowa,” Lyons said. “Steinham’s obviously got connections in high and very secure places or he wouldn’t have known anything about it. And how did he get the intelligence on Dratshev’s disappearance? It’s almost as if he knew before we did. That’s no mean feat.

  “And what about the fact Cyrus and his bunch knew exactly what they were looking for? They were in there strictly on an intelligence-seeking mission. It was supposed to be a soft op. In and out with the data before anybody knew what happened. But then there’s an entire armed force waiting for them?”

  “It’s all strange,” Blancanales said. “So we’re in agreement on that. We have been from the beginning. But why let it eat at you so intensely?”

  “Because somebody’s not giving us the straight poop,” Lyons said.

  “You think the Farm’s hiding something?” Schwarz asked.

  Lyons turned around and pinned his teammate with an icy stare. “I never said that.”

  “Then what gives?” Blancanales interjected, determined to head off any problem that might arise between his friends.

  “What gives is that Dratshev’s disappearance barely hits the airwaves in the intelligence community and Steinham’s merc team gets bushwhacked trying to procure information. Clearly a guy with Cyrus’s experience would have expected something like that if he had any reason to think it was a trap. He would have had an alternate escape plan, some prearranged signal with his men for getting out of a situation like that. But the fact half his force got killed and they came up empty-handed tells me he wasn’t expecting it. There has to be a reason.”

  “We’re open to any suggestions,” Blancanales said.

  “What happened in Iowa seems highly suggestive of manipulation at the source,” Lyons ventured.

  “You mean this Ishaq Madari?” Blancanales asked.

  “You bet I do,” Lyons replied through clenched teeth. “I think this guy masterminded the whole thing. You see up till now, everybody seems to be operating off the assumption that what happened to Steinham’s crew and Madari’s little public auction have nothing to do with each other. I’m beginning to think just the opposite.”

  “So you think Madari set up Steinham’s people, or at least Cyrus’s mercenary group, to take a hard fall?” Schwarz asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, but to what end?” Blancanales asked with a shrug. “I mean, what’s in it for Madari? That scenario suggests Madari has some sort of personal score to settle with Steinham.”

  “Not necessarily,” Lyons said. “Look at how we’ve reacted to this up until now. We’ve had to split up our efforts with Phoenix running halfway around the globe to chase some phantom trail. Meanwhile we’re jumping around the U.S. like a group of Dead Heads following their last great tour.”

  “So we’re jumping around,” Blancanales said. “So what? That’s hardly a news flash.”

  “But why?” Lyons said. “Why would Madari do that if he planned to come out publicly anyway? He didn’t try to hide the fact he had prototypes on the auction block, nor did he attempt to conceal the fact he was the one who’d engineered Dratshev’s kidnapping.”

  “I think I see where you’re going,” Schwarz said. “You’re thinking Madari purposely leaked this information ahead of time as a way of sweetening the pot.”

  “Right! Steinham’s research has been stagnant the past few years. The guy’s a defense contractor and a popular one at that. But frankly his innovation well has run dry. Madari feeds him information first-hand about Dratshev getting snatched. Steinham knows Dratshev’s research specialty is EMP weapons, a research specialty Steinham tried to pioneer a few years ago with no success.”

  “So you think Steinham’s looking to find a way to steal the tech himself,” Blancanales said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Lyons said. “But it’s pretty obvious he knows Dratshev’s a catch and maybe he figures he can barter for some small piece of the action.”

  “Or maybe Madari wants Steinham to think he can.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain how that helps Madari. His stated goal is for a free and democratic Libya. He doesn’t care about any of the rest of it.”


  “No, but think about how far he could press his aims if he was the only one with EMP weapons. Steinham would jump at that bait. He’s a businessman, remember? All he knows is defense technology and profit margins. That’s how he built a multi-billion-dollar defense contracting empire.”

  “And how he’s held on to it so long,” Schwarz noted.

  “So how do we find out what Steinham’s up to?” Blancanales asked.

  “Simple,” Lyons said. “We go ask him.”

  * * *

  THE DCDI FACILITY would have been the obvious place to start had it been the middle of the business day. This late in the evening, however, Able Team figured Steinham would have left his office and headed home. They didn’t know what type of security they would encounter at the house, but they were all carrying credentials as federal agents.

  “Shouldn’t be all that tough to get access to him,” Lyons noted.

  “Especially not if we make it look like we’re trying to get his cooperation on something important,” Schwarz added.

  “It, um…might be a good idea we don’t mention anything about Iowa,” Blancanales said. With a look from Lyons he added, “Just saying.”

  “You’re probably right. Why don’t we—?”

  None of them was sure where the shot had come from, only that it had come and that it was meant to kill one of them. Unfortunately for the attacker, the bulletproof glass prevented the round from actually penetrating the cab.

  “Gadgets?” Lyons shouted as he reached for the automatic 12-guage shotgun secured in a rack next to his seat.

  Schwarz whirled in the rotating seat and flipped a switch. Immediately a screen in the electronic surveillance suite came alive and gave him a 360-degree view of their surroundings. The system was primarily used to detect heat signatures through extensive use of thermal-optic cameras built into the body of the van. It didn’t take long for Schwarz to locate the source of the heat. A flash appeared on the screen and for a moment they heard the ping of another round deflected by Betty’s external armor composite.

  “Lone shooter, second-floor building we just passed,” Schwarz announced.

  “Coincidence?” Lyons asked.

  Blancanales shook his head with a grim expression. “Highly doubtful.”

  As if in answer to his inquiry, a vehicle swerved into the oncoming lane. Thankfully they were cruising through a secondary commercial area where most businesses were closed so the streets were practically devoid of traffic. Perfect place for an ambush.

  “Watch it!” Lyons called.

  “I see them!” Blancanales said as he whipped the van to the left and then immediately back to the far right and onto the sidewalk.

  The driver of the other vehicle fell for Blancanales’s feint and they missed a head-on collision. In other circumstances, and with just about anyone else behind the wheel, it would have appeared like a reckless game of chicken. Lyons knew better. Blancanales was as skilled as they came behind the wheel.

  “Flip a bitch and let’s handle these worms,” Lyons growled.

  “Your wish is my command,” Blancanales said as he powered into a U-turn and gave pursuit. The maneuver seemed hardly necessary since it appeared the occupants of the dark SUV seemed intent on engaging the Able Team warriors. Whatever the reason they had decided to hit them—and Lyons wasn’t near as interested in how as why—they obviously weren’t up on exactly who it was they were dealing with.

  As the SUV came to a halt and the occupants exited, five in all, toting assault rifles, Able Team decided to show them the error in their choice of targets. Lyons was first to go EVA, leaving the shotgun in favor of a Colt SCW. The most compact of all 5.56 mm small arms in the Colt arsenal, the SCW featured a one-piece monolithic upper receiver and collapsible folding butt stock.

  Blancanales cleared next, also armed with a Colt—his choice had been the AR-15 A3, a tactical carbine model with a fifteen-inch heavy barrel that sported a 1/9 twist. This gave him flexibility in selection of ammunition, for which the Able Team veteran chose full-blown 5.56 mm NATO rounds.

  Lyons and Blancanales opened in concert on the enemy gunners. Blancanales got the first target with a burst to the midsection that doubled the man over as it tore his innards to shreds. He produced a scream as the assault rifle sprang from his hands and clattered to the pavement in front of him, now utterly useless. The screams were cut short by a double tap to the skull.

  Lyons got the next one a heartbeat later, cutting a full-auto swathing path from the target’s right thigh up to the level of his heart. The unyielding flesh at the thigh was no match for the high-velocity rounds, but something didn’t seem quite right. The impact drove him into the vehicle but he didn’t fall. It took Lyons a moment to realize that this particular enemy was protected by body armor. Maybe whoever had thrown this murderous detail at Able Team had come prepared, after all. Lyons reacquired a sight picture as he brought the SCW to his shoulder and squeezed off another two rounds, rewarded with a crimson spray as the man’s head exploded under the impact of the 5.56 mm slugs. The enemy’s body did a pirouette before slamming chest first against the quarter panel of the SUV and sliding away, leaving a gory streak in its wake.

  “They’re armored!” Blancanales shouted as a fresh volley from the survivors burned the air over his head.

  “Noted!” Lyons said through clenched teeth, the air rushing from his lungs as he went prone a moment after his friend.

  One of the attackers burst from the cover of the SUV and ran out and away in a flanking maneuver. Beneath his assault rifle, Lyons spotted the tubular shape of the 40 mm grenade launcher. It looked to be a civilian variant of the M-203, maybe law-enforcement stock designed for firing tear gas canisters, but that made it no less deadly.

  The gunner appeared to have a round chambered and he would have most likely had them dead to rights, but Schwarz, now entering the fray, cut the would-be victory short. Schwarz triggered a full-auto burn from the hip with his MP-5, triggering a steady stream of 9 mm hail that readily found its mark. The grenadier appeared to dance under the rounds as one after another cut through his body and propelled him backward until he stumbled over the edge of the sidewalk. The guy collapsed onto his back, twitched a moment and then lay still.

  That reduced the remaining enemy count to just two, but it looked as if it didn’t matter much to that pair. They opened with a full salvo from their assault rifles, sweeping the battle zone with as much hot lead as they could afford. It wasn’t meant to hit targets as much as to keep Able Team at bay and on that count they did a pretty fine job.

  Lyons rolled from the refuge afforded by Betty’s armored body and came to one knee with smooth precision. Butt stock locked to his shoulder, Lyons returned the incessant maelstrom with a precision volley of his own, catching one of the men with a round to the shoulder. The impact of a few others seemed to drive him back like the first, but he managed to turn and gain concealment at the rear of the SUV. His partner wasn’t quite as lucky, falling under the dual gunfire from Blancanales and Schwarz, the latter having swept out in a flanking motion similar to the grenadier he’d dropped just seconds before.

  As the shots died out, Lyons heard the agonized screams of the gunner he’d hit. He climbed to his feet and waved at his teammates to flank the SUV on the passenger side while he made a path that arced far enough out he could take the target with surety if it came to it. He hoped it didn’t. This was the sole survivor and they needed information.

  The guy seemed prepared and watchful for Lyons. He had his back propped against the bumper but his AR was primed and ready for action. As he swung the barrel, albeit awkwardly, in Lyons’s direction, Blancanales came around the opposite side and managed to stomp a boot heel into the man’s wrist. A few rounds ricocheted off the cement, the whines of the shots echoing through the air, but the gunner lost control of the rifle—it appea
red his hand now dangled at a bad angle where it met his wrist.

  Blancanales shoved the barrel of his AR-15 against the injured combatant’s neck and said with implicit menace, “That’ll do.”

  Lyons trotted to where they waited and flashed the guy a wicked grin. “Show’s over, asshole.”

  “Not even close,” the guy replied. “It’s just beginning.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Lyons replied.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Minsk, Belarus

  Phoenix Force took the three men approaching the FSB safehouse by total surprise.

  The men were obviously experienced soldiers—all had brush-cuts, were in good physical condition and carried themselves like combat veterans. This made David McCarter all the more suspicious about the ease for which they took them unawares. Only one of the three fought back, taking down Calvin James with a surprise leg sweep before Encizo stepped in and delivered a palm strike to the bone just below the guy’s right ear, nearly rendering him unconscious.

  The apparent leader of the group ordered the two men to make no further resistance and they even allowed Phoenix Force to secure them with riot cuffs. McCarter then pulled the man aside for a private interview.

  “You willing to answer some questions?” the Phoenix Force leader began.

  “Possibly,” the man replied. “As long as we can be civil and you agree to abide by proper etiquette where it regards my men. I presently consider all of us POWs and we expect you’ll treat as such.”

  McCarter grinned. “I’ll do you one step better than that, mate. You’re obviously American citizens so you’re not bound to answer any questions without a lawyer present. And this isn’t exactly an official battle site.”

  The guy made a show of looking the place over and then tried for a grin of his own that McCarter found surprisingly disarming. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “So who are you?”