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  Encizo muttered something under his breath and then said, “Too bad. A real waste—you know?”

  “I know.” McCarter cleared his throat. “Anyway, I don’t know what drove that woman but I think she was a bit of a bloody loon. And while we don’t know her reasons, we do know she was aboard and Madari wasn’t. So our thought this yacht was a decoy was spot-on.”

  “So if Madari’s not headed to Libya and he has the weapons, what makes us think he’ll go to America?” Manning asked. “Why not just take Dratshev and the prototypes somewhere else and keep working on them? Build more and perfect them. I mean, Madari doesn’t actually think he change the tide of political and social unrest in Libya with just a few weapons. Right?”

  “I don’t know what the guy’s thinking,” McCarter said. “But if he’s anything like Mishka, he’s probably a bit of a loon himself. And they’re convinced that Madari’s going to the States so he can settle a score with Steinham. I guess he’s figuring he can test the weapons and get his revenge on Steinham. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Makes sense,” Hawkins said.

  “So what’s the play, then?” James asked.

  “There’s a meeting of defense contractors at 2000 local time in Washington on Friday.”

  “That’s tomorrow!” Hawkins interjected.

  “We’re ahead of them by eight hours, chief.”

  “Ah, yeah—forgot about that. Sorry.”

  “We need to get there in time to back Able Team. They don’t have the resources capable of covering every avenue, and they don’t want to rely on trying to put together something with the FBI or Secret Service on such short notice.”

  “Just how many attendees are we talking at this conference?” Manning asked.

  “Damn near five hundred.”

  James let out a low whistle. “They use those EMPs on a crowd of that size it’ll be a mass slaughter.”

  “Exactly what has the Farm worried. And why they want us to beat feet back there as quick as our arses will carry us. So let’s get our gear checked and weapons inventoried so we can give them to Grimaldi to load. Then you’ll have a little time to get cleaned up and eat. We’ll go in pairs. I’ll go last with Jack.”

  As they broke up to attend to their individual tasks and made small talk with one another, McCarter assessed each of them with a once-over. His chest swelled with pride. They’d done more than their fair share, accomplished everything asked of them, and without complaint they were going to head straight into the face of another terror storm undaunted. They were one hell of a team, and the best friends for which any warrior could ever ask.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Cyclops Base Camp, Virginia

  Riley Braden dragged his tired body through the door of the HQ building at the Cyclops base camp. Every muscle ached. All he wanted was a hot shower and comfortable bunk, but he could see by the expression on Colonel Jack Cyrus’s face that wasn’t going to happen. Braden ordered his two teammates to go do what it was he couldn’t and then slung his gear pack on a nearby table and dropped into a chair like deadweight.

  “I can tell you don’t have much good news for me, Jack.”

  They were alone so he dispensed with the military formalities.

  Cyrus propped his butt on the corner of his desk and folded his arms. He seemed almost pained, something he rarely demonstrated unless he had really bad news to communicate.

  “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What’s going on?”

  “First, I owe you an apology.”

  “Huh? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Cyrus sighed and looked toward the ceiling, obviously trying to collect his thoughts. “Riley, we’ve known each other for a long time. We grew up together, we joined the military together and we even served side by side on a few missions.”

  “That’s the bad news?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, quit taking us on a walk down memory lane and get to telling me why you’re apologizing to me.”

  “My point is that we’ve known each other a long time—you know me probably better than anyone. And you know how personally I take the safety of the men under my command. I allowed my judgment to get clouded by this contract with Steinham. As a result, I jeopardized you by allowing this mission—no…this farce—to go on. I should have been stronger and fought Steinham on it.”

  Braden was definitely lost now. It wasn’t so much the words or tone in Cyrus’s voice, but the haunted look that seemed chiseled into his features. “Who says the mission was a farce?”

  “I do,” Cyrus said. “Steinham’s been playing us for suckers from the beginning. He’s been in cahoots with Madari all this time. You remember when he told us that they tried to create EMP weapons but their research didn’t lead them anywhere?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Cyrus nodded, rose and circled the desk to sit in his own seat before continuing. “DCDI had a five-year R and D contract with the U.S. government to come up with some technology related to EMP weaponry. It was only supposed to be for large-weapon tech, but Steinham was convinced he could bring it to small-arms technology, too. When it got close to the end of the contract and he realized they weren’t going to be able to come up with something substantial, Steinham cooked up the scheme to kidnap Oleg Dratshev.”

  “What? That’s insane—defense contracts aren’t supposed to be in the business of kidnapping and collaboration with fanatics.”

  “Agreed. But he didn’t think Madari was a fanatic, except about wanting to institute democratic rule in Libya. Steinham thought he could accomplish dual purposes that would solidify the United States as a technological power in the world.”

  “We already are,” Braden interjected.

  Cyrus shook his head. “We’re falling behind quickly, Riley. We’re sucking the hind tit to countries like China and the Saudis. They’ve been putting their money and resources into something tangible while we’ve been stuffing the straw man by torchlight.”

  “Did you know about this, Jack?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “I knew as much about it as you did, and that’s the honest truth. I didn’t know he’d put himself in bed with Madari.”

  “So then what happened? Why did Madari betray him?”

  “Steinham tells me it’s because the government transferred some of his tech to the Libyans, the same Libyans that were responsible for killing Madari’s family and exiling him.”

  “You believe him?”

  Cyrus splayed his hands and shrugged. “I have no reason not to. But now Steinham’s convinced Madari is coming here to kill him. And he’s asking for our protection.”

  Braden sat for a long moment, his throat burning as he tried to stuff his anger deep in his gut. He quietly replied, “Let the bastard burn, Jack.”

  “Under other circumstances I wouldn’t hesitate. But the fact is we have a contract with him and we’re bound to honor it. Honor and duty are the only two things we have left, and I won’t sully the name of Cyclops or any of the brave men who have sacrificed what America stands for.”

  “Cyclops doesn’t stand for Steinham.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But we do stand for the safety of this nation and despite the fact we fight for money I cannot stand idly by and let Madari waste innocent Americans.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We pulled the bacon of an American SOG unit out of the fire last night. They told us that there’s evidence to support the possibility Madari has managed to develop some prototypes of these energy pulse weapons. Hell, I don’t understand all the technical bullshit, but I got the gist based on what they described to me. And Steinham confirmed this is a very real threat. If Madari comes after Steinham, he won’t care who else gets
in the way.”

  “You’re saying Madari’s not concerned about collateral damage.”

  “Right. He wants one thing and that is to kill Steinham—but he also wants to know these weapons will work so he can use them to fight his personal war with the Libyan government.”

  “So he’s not a freedom fighter, he’s a terrorist.”

  “I’d say if he couldn’t care less about innocent bystanders then…yeah. He’s a terrorist and we have to view him as such.”

  “Well, sounds like Steinham fixed us all real good. Didn’t he?”

  “No, I was responsible for letting myself be suckered by him.” Cyrus shook his head. “I didn’t do right by you, Riley. I didn’t do right by any of us. I’m the CO of Cyclops. The safety and welfare of every man in my command is my responsibility, including yours.”

  “And it’s just that attitude that explains why we joined up.” Braden scratched absently at his five-day beard. “I can only speak for myself, Jack. But I’m up for whatever you think is best. I don’t want to be on the team that’s protecting Steinham, but I’m more than happy to meet Madari head-on.”

  Cyrus nodded slowly, the relief evident in his expression. “Thank you, Riley.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Braden climbed to his feet, came to attention and then saluted. “And now, Colonel, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get cleaned up.”

  Cyrus stood and returned the salute, then checked his watch. “You have about six hours. Get some sleep and I’ll have you roused when I’m ready. I’ll be working through strategy and tactics for this mission. We’re going to make sure everyone comes out of it alive.”

  Braden turned and started to leave but then thought better of it and stopped. “Colonel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That SOG unit you helped.”

  “What about them?”

  “We ran into a similar outfit in Belarus. They were also on a mission to find Madari. They let us go and advised we should stay out of it because they couldn’t guarantee we wouldn’t get caught on opposite sides of the line next time.”

  Cyrus nodded. “I had a very similar conversation with these men.”

  “You think they’re together?”

  “I don’t know,” Cyrus replied. “It’s possible. But if they are, based on what I’ve seen of their skills, Madari won’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of going up against them—doesn’t matter how many prototypes he’s got.”

  “You may want to account for their involvement. If we know what’s going on with Madari, then it’s a pretty good bet they know, as well. They may already be preparing for him to come.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement. But I won’t let it deter us from our mission under any circumstances. One way or another, we’re going to stop Madari. Let’s just hope we don’t clash with these special operators.”

  “And if we do?”

  “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it, Major.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Even as Braden departed for the officer barracks, he thought about the team they’d encountered in Belarus. He’d seen those men in action, too. He’d watched them take out the security at the alleged FSB safehouse and he’d talked with their leader at some length. Braden had developed a significant amount of respect for those men. And for the very first time, he wondered if Cyclops could survive another such encounter.

  * * *

  FOR THE FIRST time he could remember in a long time, Ishaq Madari felt nervous.

  A torrential downpour and hazy skies had delayed the landing of his plane, and it took even longer to await investigators from the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement to complete their inspection. Madari felt they were a bit more thorough than under normal circumstances but he remained as congenial as possible. His passport and other documents, forged naturally along with the credentials he’d provided for Dratshev, were pristine and hardly got more than a cursory glance. No, the ICE officials seemed more interested in the aircraft aboard in which he’d smuggled the prototypes.

  “Your flight plan indicates you came here by way of Athens,” the lead agent said.

  “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Darmi. Your documents are all in order and the inspectors are just about finished looking over your cargo. You’re in technical materials exports?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what is that, exactly?”

  “Mostly raw materials, substrates and purified aluminum. A little bit of silver, but as you’ve noted there we have pre-paid the duties and export fees on those, and they are in very small quantities.” Madari tried for an ingratiating smile. “These materials are utilized mostly in computers and such, for the manufacture of chips.”

  The customs officer seemed to ignore the little lesson, choosing to grunt as an acknowledgment of what he’d just been told.

  “And what again is the purpose of your visit to the United States?”

  “I’m here strictly on business. I am to attend a meeting in Washington and when that’s completed I’ll return here and fly home.”

  The officer nodded and then paused as one of the inspectors came up behind him and whispered in his ear. The guy listened, although not apparently too intently, and then muttered something in reply before returning his full attention to Madari.

  “I’ve just been informed our inspection is complete.” The ICE guy handed Madari his passport and other documents, which included the equipment manifest. Fortunately the disassembled weapons were so futuristic-looking it appeared they had fooled even hardened U.S. customs inspectors. Beside the fact, they obviously had other pressing duties and other aircraft to inspect, and this wasn’t the first time Madari had visited the United States—or so that’s what all his documentation indicated.

  “You have a nice evening, sir.”

  Within five minutes the inspectors were off the plane and on to their next assignment. Madari breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them drive away. He realized a sheen of sweat had formed on his upper lip, moistening his trimmed mustache, and he wiped at it with irritation. Madari indulged in a moment of self-rebuke—he shouldn’t have allowed them to make him that nervous. Only his years of experience as a security officer had helped him to remain rock-steady.

  Madari shook it off and turned his attention to Dratshev, who had sat calmly aboard the plane and witnessed the entire exchange. Dratshev smiled. “You seem edgy.”

  “I’m not,” Madari lied. “I was just becoming irritated with them. They were taking too long and I thought perhaps our cover had been blown.”

  “That would most certainly have ruined your plans.”

  “Of course.”

  “So now I’m curious to know exactly what your intentions are, and if there’s ever a chance you will release me. Or did you just plan to murder me in cold blood once I’d accomplished your purpose?”

  Dratshev’s cavalier attitude irritated Madari but he could understand it. Dratshev had been an unwilling ally from the start, and had done what he had only out of scientific curiosity. A part of Madari had thought to kill Dratshev, but another part thought he’d be a useful tool in the future. And they still didn’t have a hundred percent guarantee that the devices he’d designed would actually work in the long-term sense.

  “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t decided. If I release you, Oleg…what would you do with your freedom?”

  “It depends on where you release me. I’d prefer not to be let go here in America. And if you choose to kill me then I’d hope you would at least have the common courtesy to ship my remains back to my mother country. Despite the fact they have done nothing to promote my research and hard work, it is still my home.”

  “A reasonable request and one I will honor. You have my word.”

  “I would much r
ather have my freedom.”

  “All in good time,” Madari said. “For now, you’ll remain here under guard.”

  “You only brought a crew of four. You have many more weapons than that at your disposal and that won’t leave any guards.”

  “Those men are strictly acting as handlers for the prototypes. In fact, I have a significant force that should be arriving shortly to make the transfer. They will be the ones to actually use the weapons for the operation I have in mind. Don’t worry—we shall return victorious. But in case we don’t, and if there’s any doubt in your mind, rest assured our failure will mean your death. Of this you can be certain.”

  * * *

  Washington, D.C.

  “IRONMAN, WE JUST got a call from Bear,” announced Schwarz.

  Lyons and Blancanales were at the dining-room table of an apartment Stony Man Farm maintained in the city, checking their equipment and working to restock Betty from their previous ventures.

  Lyons didn’t even look up, focused on his task as he set the mag he’d been loading on the table and replied, “What about?”

  “He says they got a bead on Madari. He just landed via plane in Norfolk.”

  “Norfolk?” Blancanales echoed. He looked at Lyons. “Why Norfolk?”

  Silence dropped like a lead weight as the three urban commandos exchanged knowing glances. They’d all reached the same conclusion in that moment, realizing with horror that they’d made a tactical miscalculation.

  Lyons said, “There wouldn’t be any reason for Madari to go there unless…”

  “The target wasn’t Steinham at all,” Blancanales said. “The target is Cyclops.”

  “Grab your shit, boys,” Lyons said. “We need to get there and now.”

  “You want us to get Betty loaded?” Schwarz asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Blancanales said, “Ironman—your call, but it might be faster to commandeer a chopper.”

  “Doubtful,” Lyons said with a dismissive wave. “By the time we got to Dulles, transferred our equipment and got airborne, we could just about be there.”