Stony Man - Triple Strike Part 2

Hawkins had started for the edge of the wall when he caught a glimpse of movement and dropped back down. A man in beret and boots with an a.s.sault rifle slung over his back was standing at the far side of the roof, apparently looking out into the night. Hawkins had searched for signs of guards on his way down, but he had missed this guy. All it would take was one more mistake like that to ruin his whole day.

Slipping the silenced .22 Ruger pistol from his shoulder holster, he started down the wall. He didn't know why this guy hadn't heard him coming in, but the wind had to have masked the sound of the rush of air past his chute.

When Hawkins got close enough to take his shot, he raised the Ruger and crossed his wrists to steady his aim. When he had acquired the target, he half pulled the trigger, activating the red-dot laser sight to double-check his aim. Seeing the dot appear on the back of the guard's head, he squeezed the trigger the rest of the way. The subsonic puff of the silenced pistol was almost too quiet for even him to hear.

The Teflon-coated .22 LR slug drove through the base of the guard's skull and mushroomed to the di-ameter of a dime in his brain. With his neural syn-apses cut at the core, the guard instantly went limp. Since his weapon was slung over his back, the body made little noise as it fell face-first. Hawkins kept the pistol trained on the corpse as he moved in to check his kill. He knew the man was dead; the laser dot had been right on the juncture of his spinal colunto and skull. But it was always the ones you didn't check who came alive at the wrong moment. A quick touch behind the point of the man's jaw, though, was all it took to rule this guy out of action.

The Phoenix Force commando paused to take a close look at his kill. The guard was wearing a des-eft-camouflage uniform, and he also had the expected AK-47 a.s.sault fife slung over his shoulder and a chest-pack magazine carrier. What wasn't expected was the set of night-vision goggles hanging on a strap around his neck. Whoever these guys were, they were well equipped. But as this guy had just found out, night goggles really didn't help much if you weren't using them properly.

"One down," Hawkins reported in a whisper. "And be advised that he was wearing night goggles."

"Copy."

Since he had missed this guy, Hawkins decided to make sure that he really did have the roof all to himself. When he was satisfied that the top of the fortress was clear, he took the roll of nylon rappeling rope from his b.u.t.t pack and tied the end around one of the battlements. After making sure that the ground below him was clear, he dropped the other end of the rope over the side of the wall. After slinging his MP-5, he clipped the rope onto the carabiner on his rappeling harness and got ready for the trip down.

Taking up the slack in the rope with his left hand, he stepped backward over the battlement. Stopping for one last look, he drew the .22 with his fight hand and flicked it off safety. For this short rappel, he would risk making a one-handed drop for the security of being able to shoot if anyone showed up.

He checked his descent a foot off the ground and eased himself the rest of the way down. "I'm on the ground, and it's clear," he radioed.

"We'll be there in zero-five," McCarter radioed back.

Keeping his back to the wall, Hawkins waited in the dark. Breaking into a fortress was never easy, and ancient or not, this one wasn't going to be an exception to the rule. As soon as the rest of the team showed up, they would recon the walls for the best way in.

ENTRANCE TO the fortress proved to be as simple as finding a small door that was secured with an antique padlock. Taking the bolt cutters from his pack, Manning cut through the lock and had the door open in seconds. Behind the door, a tunnel through the thick stone wall opened up onto a courtyard. After checking to make sure that no sentfides had been posted, they moved in.

Kurtzman hadn't been able to locate a plan of the castle for the team. But since it was traditional to house prisoners in the lower levels of stone fortresses, when Phoenix Force came to the stairs leading below ground level, they headed there first. If they didn't find Richard Lacy in the bas.e.m.e.nt, then they would start searching the rock pile room by room. Doing that would put Lacy in great peril, however. As soon as the first shot was fired, the hostage would be as good as dead.

James slid along the right side of the curving stone stairs, his back pressed against the damp wall. If there was a guard posted at the bottom of the stairs, the chances were more than good that he would be stationed on the right side so his weapons hand would be free. Knowing human nature was a great part of being successful in this kind of combat.

When he'd traveled far enough down the stone steps, James's combat expectations were met. A man was standing on the right side of the archway with his back against the wall. His AK was slung over his shoulder, and he looked to be half-asleep.

Even though the guard had made himself an easy target, James didn't know if he had a buddy down there and decided to silently take him out with cold steel. Shooting him with the silenced MP-5 would have been his first choice, but he couldn't risk his making a noise when he fell, so a little knife work was called for. Slinging his subgun out of the way, he drew the Ka-bar knife from his boot-top sheath.

Moving slowly and silently, he closed the gap until he was within ann's reach of his target. Though the guard wasn't completely alert, something in the back of his mind warned of the commando's presence. When he started to turn, James was on him, his left hand clamping over the man's mouth and snapping his head back to expose his neck. The knife flashed, slicing through the veins and tendons of his neck.

James held the guard until his feet stopped kick-ing. Then, holding the corpse for cover and his silenced H & K at the ready, he looked to see if another guard was stationed at the other end of the dimly lit room. When he saw that the dungeon was empty, he double-clicked the radio to signal the rest of the team to join him.

Though there had been signs of renovations and modemizat'lon elsewhere in the fortress, the dungeon looked untouched. Cells flanked both sides of the corridor, but only two looked to have their antique iron locks slid shut.

Rafael Encizo went to the first locked cell and shone his flashlight through the crude iron bars over the opening in the thick wooden door. The man lying on the narrow bed along the wall was the right age and, though his clothes were dirty, they looked to be Western style.

When Encizo opened the door and walked in, the man opened his eyes. "I'm Richard Lacy," he announced. "Ex-U.S. State Department."

"We've been looking for you, Mr. Lacy," Encizo said. "Are you able to walk?" Lacy nodded and tried to stand. "I'm okay."

When he faltered, Encizo offered his hand. "Let me help you up."

At the other end of the line of cells, Hawkins was checking each one to see who else might be imprisoned. s.h.i.+ning his flashlight through the cell opening, he spotted a man on a cot wearing a military flight suit.

"Over here, Striker," Hawkins whispered over the comm link. "I found a hot one. I think it's that pilot who went down."

"I'll be there in a minute. Check him out."

' 'Roger.' '

The man blinked when the flashlight beam hit his eyes and raised his hands to s.h.i.+eld his face.

"Are you Air Force Major John Hammer?" Hawkins asked.

The pilot painfully raised himself from the cot. "Yeah, that's me. Who are you, the Marines?"

"Nope, the cavalry." Hawkins grinned. "Can you walk?"

"I can flap my arms and fly if it'll get me out of this place."

"Save that for when we get cut off. Then you can carry all of us out."

"Do you guys have a chopper waiting somewhere?"

"It's waiting in Italy," Hawkins replied. "We have to call for it." "Oh, s.h.i.+t."

"What's the problem?"

"The Iranians have this place covered with radar and ground-to-air missiles."

"Iranians?" Hawkins frowned. "We were told that this was a Bosnian stronghold."

"It is," Hammer answered. "But there's a large Iranian contingent here, as well. It looks like they're some kind of commando unit working for the Bosnians. And I saw a couple of Strellas in one of their jeeps."

"Danre!" Hawkins clicked in his comm link, "Striker, we've got a problem." "What's that?" Bolan asked.

'Tve got the pilot, but he says that there's some kind of Iranian commando unit here and that they're armed with antiaircraft missiles."

Bolan cursed under his breath. "Okay, let's get out of here."

When Hammer reached the dead guard, he paused to pick up his AK-47 and strip the corpse's magazine carder.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Encizo asked when he saw the pilot go for the weapon and anununition.

The pilot grinned. "d.a.m.ned straight I do, mister. I have one of these at home, and I use it all the time to relieve stress."

"Just remember where the safety is," the Cuban cautioned.

"And the 'rock and roll' switch."

"You'll do," Encizo said. "Just follow us."

Lacy was in worse shape than he had thought, so James stayed with him, ready to throw him over his shoulder and mn if it came to that. Hammer had been roughed up, too, but the pilot was a lot younger and kept himself in good shape.

Once they were outside the walls, Manning and James supported Lacy as they started off across the plain at a dogtrot. Since Kurtzman had picked up numerous tire tracks in the valley from his satellite photos, they knew that they wouldn't be in the clear until they reached safety in the rocks at the base of the cliffs. If someone made a late-night check on the prisoners and found them gone, they'd have vehicles chasing after them.

MANNING AND JAMES were carrying Lacy between them by the time they reached the base of the cliffs below the ridgeline. The diplomat had tried his best, but his ordeal in the castle had taken its toll.

As the team's mountaineer, Manning went up the cliff face freehand, then threw down two rappeling ropes for the others to climb. After clipping a safety rope to his harness, James took Lacy on his back and started up the rope hand over hand. At the top of the cliff, Manning belayed the safety rope in case the big man slipped with his load.

Hammer was able to make it on his own and was quickly followed by the rest of the team. Now that they were above the plain, Bolan took the time to talk to Lacy.

"We're safe from their vehicles now," Bolan told him, "but we need to keep on going. Do you think you can keep up with us?"

Lacy was beat and felt like he could sleep for a week, but he nodded. 'Tll try."

"Good man."

MAJOR NASLIN ALWAYS WOKE well before dawn to praise G.o.d for having given him another day to bring death to the infidels. After his prayers, he headed downstairs in the dimly lit castle to check on the two Yankees who had fallen into his hands. Once more G.o.d had given him a gift exactly when he had needed it most.

The Bosnian crisis was reaching a climax. Years of planning were coming together. In a few short weeks, the Serbian and Croatian factions in Bosnia would find themselves in utter chaos and unable to stop the Muslims from taking control of the entire nation. But for the plan to succeed, he had to make sure that the United States wouldn't get involved, and the prisoners would do a lot to relieve the minds of the planners in Tehran.

He hated to admit, though, that he had been im-pressed with the courage of the Yankee pilot, and he didn't think that he could be made to talk anytime soon. As he well knew, any man would talk if he was worked on long enough. But there was no point in wasting valuable time on the pilot when he had Lacy, the so-called diplomat, in his hands. He was an old man and he was weak. Naslin was confident that he could break him today or tomorrow. Then they would find out what the Great Satan was plotting in Bosnia.

The major was surprised when he didn't see the guard at his post at the bottom of the stairs. Although the guard was one of Asdik's men, Naslin had expected better of him than to sleep on duty. He would have to talk to the Bosnian leader and insist that one of his Iranians stand guard over the Yankee prisoners from now on.

In the dim light at the bottom of the stairs, the Iranian officer failed to see the thickening pool of blood where the guard had been killed. Walking up to the cell that had held Richard Lacy, he immediately saw that the door wasn't closed and locked. The cell was empty.

Running back to the guard post by the stairs, he slanuned the b.u.t.t of his hand on the alarm b.u.t.ton on the wall. As the wail of the siren sounded, he turned and ran back to see if the Yankee pilot had been taken, as well.

When he saw that cell was also empty, he turned again and raced for the stairs. When he met Dragan Asdik coming down the stairs, he shouted, "The prisoners have escaped!" "What happened?"

"They've escaped! The Yankees came and took them away." Naslin shouted, his face distorted with rage. "After them!"

CHAPTER FIVE.

Asdik was enraged to learn that the prisoners were gone, too, but he held it in check. He had learned long ago that rage should be used as a weapon and not squandered as a constant frame of mind.

"Show me."

When Naslin led him into the dungeon, it was obvious that the prisoners hadn't freed themselves. The locks to the doors hadn't been forced, and the guard had been killed at his post. Since no one had heard a shout or a shot, he'd been killed with a silenced weapon. Asdik knew that the Iranian was right when he said that commandos had raided the fortress and released them.

Exactly who the raiders were wasn't really important to the Bosnian, but his gut told him that they were Americans, not NATO troops. And they wouldn't be planning to walk out of the mountain that surrounded the fortress.

Since there had been no radar alarm during the night, more than likely the raiders had parachuted in. And now that they had what they had come for, they would call for a helicopter to come in and pick them up. But he had the perfect way to deal with that situation.

Calling two of his subordinates to his side, he gave orders. "Issue the missiles," he told the first man. "I want every search team to carry at least two Strellas with them. If they see an airplane, particularly a helicopter, they are to fire on it immediately."

"Yes, sir."

The second man stepped forward. "Tell the radar operators to be extra-alert for low-flying aircraft. They are to radio the search parties as soon as they make visual contact."

"As you command."

In minutes, three Toyota four-wheel-drive pickups packed with Iranian troops raced across the castle's drawbridge, their headlights stabbing into the breaking dawn. Each pickup had two Strella missiles on board.

As soon as the vehicles were away, AsdLk went to his radio room to inform the Bosnian high command of the situation. Lacy and the pilot hadn't been cen~ tral to the plans that were being set in motion, but the fact that someone had raided the remote fortress was of critical importance. It had been thought that NATO didn't know about Castle Asdik, and precautions would have to be taken now that it did.

THE STONEY i[AN TEAM had gotten the two ex-captives to safety in the ragged mountains before dawn broke. After finding a good hiding place where they could watch the approaches, McCarter and Bo-lan huddled with Major Hammer to question him about what he had seen in the fortress.

"What's the story on those missiles you mentioned?" McCarter asked him. "We have a chopper scheduled to come in and get us."

"You'd better call it off," the pilot said as he chewed on an MRE ration bar. His captors hadn't been big on feeding him. "StreUas are death to choppers."

"How do you know that they were Strellas?" McCarter asked.

Hammer smiled. "I'm a pilot, and that means that I'm a little paranoid about things that can shoot down planes and I study them. I probably know more about those d.a.m.ned things than the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who designed them. They were Strellas, and I can clue you that they're bad news for low-flying aircraft. You're not going to get a chopper in here without having it blasted from the sky."

"You also mentioned something about radar," Bolan said.

"Right. My Night Owl was equipped with all kinds of threat-warning gear. I started picking up ra-dar emissions fifty miles out, and it was pretty dense. I don't think you'll be able to sneak past it even on the deck."

McCarter looked across at Bolan. "Go to Plan B?"

"I think we have to." Bolan nodded and glanced over at the rescued diplomat, who had fallen into an exhausted sleep. "They won't let us risk Lacy under those circ.u.mstances."

"So I'm expendable?" Hammer asked.

"We didn't come for you, Major," McCarter said bluntly. "You were an unexpected bonus, so to speak. And if it comes down to it, since you're military, you get to take the same risks we do."

That set Hammer back. "By the way, who in the h.e.l.l are you guys anyway, Project Delta?"

"We have a Delta graduate," McCarter said, "but we're a DLJ team."

Hammer frowned. He thought he was up on all the special-warfare units a.s.signed to PROFOR, but he'd never heard those initials before. "I've never heard of DLJ."

"It stands for Dirty Little Jobs."

"Oh." Hammer looked surprised. "The Company." "Not really, but you don't have a need to know." "Okay." Hanuner shrugged. "I can live with that. You mentioned a Plan B for the extraction. What's that?"

Now McCarter smiled. "We don't b.l.o.o.d.y well know yet."

"You're making this up as you go along?" Ham-mer's voice rose a couple of notches. "You might say that." The pilot slowly shook his head. "Now I know you guys are from the Company. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds never get it right the first time."

McCarter grinned. "Welcome to the world of clandestine operations."

"You also mentioned something about Iranian troops in the fortress," Bolan prompted, getting back on track. "What's the story on them?"