War Tides. Don Pendleton

along the sidewalk head over heels. The gunman lost his weapon somewhere and came to his feet gracefully only to find himself facing down James’s gun barrel.

      The guy delivered a spin kick with greased lightning behind it that took James utterly by surprise. He didn’t drop his pistol but the kick deflected the barrel long enough to provide the distraction his enemy needed to follow with a front kick directed toward James’s groin. Reflexes honed from years of training and experience in hand-to-hand combat saved James from a crippling injury. James took the brunt on his thigh and ignored the shooting, numbing pain that lanced up his leg.

      James pivoted and delivered a left haymaker that landed on the man’s jaw and snapped his head sideways. James immediately followed with a back-fist to the exposed temple and then delivered a smash kick that took out a knee. The guy dropped like a stone and howled in agony. James cut the outburst short by sticking the barrel of his .45 into the gaping maw.

      “So much as try anything else and you’re dead,” James said.

      Wisely, the man whimpered around the barrel and nodded once to signal his compliance.

       CHAPTER SIX

      A gathering of onlookers along a sidewalk in the shopping district near their hotel drew McCarter’s curiosity as the remaining members of Phoenix Force rode into Lüderitz. He couldn’t see what the crowd was staring at so he shook it off. None of their concern—he had other things to worry about, like pulling the team back together and locating the missing medical team.

      Under other circumstances, the United States didn’t commit their sensitive operations groups or paramilitary units to domestic events in sovereign countries. Most of that work was clandestine and best left to the CIA or military intelligence. Whenever nuclear materials were involved, though, that rightly got the brass nervous and always prompted the President to make it Stony Man’s business.

      “Rafe, stop.”

      Encizo’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, where he caught the surprised expression in Manning’s profile. Without another word, he pumped the brakes and brought the SUV to the curb.

      “What’s up?” McCarter asked.

      “I just saw Calvin,” Manning said. “Or at least I think I just saw him.”

      T. J. Hawkins, who was seated in the rear seat next to Manning, said, “Well, which is it, partner? You saw him or you didn’t see him.”

      “There.”

      Manning pointed to a place where the crowd had parted and watched as James proceeded down the sidewalk with a fistful of an unknown, young male held by his jacket in one hand and in the other hand his pistol held in a discreet fashion at his side. Being on the passenger side of the vehicle, Manning and McCarter immediately bailed from the SUV and rushed to assist.

      James nodded at the pair when they were close enough to recognize. “About time you guys get here.”

      McCarter noticed the blood-soaked sleeve of James’s jacket. “You hit?”

      “Graze. I’ll be okay.”

      “Who’s your new friend?” Manning asked as he jerked a thumb at James’s prisoner.

      The sudden wail of an approaching siren reached their ears.

      “No time for chitchat, boys,” McCarter said. “Let’s get going before the law arrives. Last thing we need is a firefight with the bobbies.”

      As they made for the SUV, James said, “They have bobbies here?”

      “I don’t think so,” Manning said.

      McCarter made no reply.

      IT TOOK JUSTUS MATOMBO more than an hour of interviews and several phone calls to the capital city before he could dispel any further inquiries from local police constables. Whatever he’d said, Matombo somehow managed to protect the five members of Phoenix Force from being questioned, so McCarter had cause to rejoice about that. The team didn’t need that kind of attention right now. Matombo had even arranged for a room to replace the one with shattered glass and bullet-riddled walls.

      Sometimes the backing of the Oval Office had its advantages.

      Matombo stepped into the hotel room, closed the door and sauntered over to the prisoner Phoenix Force had bound to a chair. To everyone’s surprise, he hauled off and slugged the Arab male in the chin, snapping his top and bottom teeth against each other and damn near knocking him out cold. James and Manning rushed forward to haul Matombo out of reach even as the doctor was winding up for a second shot.

      “You bastard!” Matombo’s face had taken on a visibly reddened hue even given his dark skin. “Were it not a violation of my oath, I would kill you.”

      “Yo, yo…easy there, Doc,” Hawkins said as he inserted himself between Matombo and the prisoner. “We need this one alive to talk to us.”

      As James and Manning released Matombo after making sure he wasn’t going to try again, the physician straightened his rumpled clothes from the tussle and reverted to his more dignified persona before speaking. “That animal is responsible for the disappearance of my people. I am sure of it. For that, he must pay.”

      “And he will—you can count on it, guv,” McCarter said. “But right now you need to get hold of yourself and let us do our jobs.”

      Matombo appeared to think that over and then in one final gesture of defiance told the prisoner, “I will make it my personal mission to see that my government hangs you for your crimes.”

      The Arab male stared hatefully at Matombo but remained silent.

      McCarter, who had been seated with his arms draped over the back of a chair, kicked himself to his feet and rapped a knuckle against the side of the prisoner’s head. “Listen up, junior. We know you and your friends are up to no good in this country and we expect you to talk. So let’s not be making it difficult on us.”

      Encizo nodded. “Yes. Otherwise we might have to make it difficult on you.”

      “You work for the Revenge of Allah,” McCarter said.

      The prisoner sat stony-faced and quiet.

      McCarter rapped him again. “I’m sorry, but you bloody well are going to have to speak up because I couldn’t hear you. Now, are you working for the Revenge of Allah?”

      Still nothing.

      McCarter stepped back, folded his arms and scratched his chin with a sigh. Finally he looked at James with a nod. The medic took his cue and went to the bed where he’d stored his medical bag. In addition to the combat medical equipment contained within it, enough to treat any of them for even serious injuries, James always carried several doses of a variety of barbiturates designed to reduce the inhibitions of resolute prisoners and get their tongues wagging. While the concept of “truth serums” belonged in books and movies, many studies had proved beyond any doubt that certain combinations of these drugs were sufficient to the task when coupled with effective interrogation techniques.

      McCarter never liked to resort to this sort of thing except in special circumstances and, as head of Phoenix Force, he had sole approval or veto authority for the use of such methods. Of course, he also absorbed responsibility if it resulted in the death of a prisoner. To his recollection, a subject had never died in the care of Phoenix Force when such methods were employed, and he meant to keep it that way.

      Within twenty minutes they had broken the prisoner’s will and had the guy chatting away amiably, in almost flawless English, no less, about their plans in the country and the whereabouts of the missing medical team. As soon as the interrogation finished, McCarter ordered James to give the prisoner a sedative that would keep him docile and under wraps long enough for a military detachment to arrive from Windhoek and take custody of him. He then went into an adjoining room for privacy and contacted Stony Man Farm.

      When Price and Brognola got on the line, McCarter briefed