War Tides. Don Pendleton

did you have in mind for your next move?”

      “Well, naturally we’ll have to mount a rescue operation for the medical team. We can’t be effective going against the IUA presence here until we’re certain all innocent parties are accounted for and not going to get in our line of fire.”

      “That should make things go over better in the international-relations department,” Brognola said. “Then what?”

      “It looks like we were right about another source being discovered near the two yellow-cake mines, although we aren’t really sure of the exact location. The prisoner we questioned told us the IUA has sent a detachment of miners smuggled in through Lüderitz to perform the extraction, get it back here and transport it out. They weren’t taking very good precautions and so when they got sick it just happened to be the dumb luck of medical staff that they discovered it when they did.”

      “It makes sense,” Price said. “Lüderitz is really the picture-postcard version of a small German folk town since that’s its roots. Since it’s off-season for tourists, they could probably get the U-92 out of there without anyone noticing.”

      “Except somebody did notice,” Brognola pointed out. “So you plan to rescue the medical team, which is being held at an old diamond mine just outside of town, and then go after the mining operation itself.”

      “That’s the plan,” McCarter said. “We’ll still have to pinpoint the exact location of the yellow-cake mine. We’re hoping someone on the medical team can tell us more. We think it’s probably somewhere south of Langerheinz. The terrorists have the medical crew holed up in a place called the Kohlmanskop Ghost Town. It’s about fourteen klicks outside of the city. As Barb’s already pointed out, nobody’s been there recently while tourism is down so the place is perfect since it’s virtually deserted year-round.”

      “That means you should be able to confine casualties to our terrorist friends, too.”

      “That’s how we figured it. Looks like the luck of the draw was with us this time, Hal.”

      “All right, sounds like you have things well in hand. Contact us again when you have more to report. There’s a call coming in now from Able Team so I’m sure I’ll have something more to tell you about their progress on this end.”

      “Right,” McCarter said. “Out here.”

      BARBARA PRICE FROWNED as she stared at the conference phone receiver in the center of the table. She signaled Brognola—still on the phone with McCarter—through the glass enclosure of the massive briefing room in the Annex that he should join her as soon as he wrapped it up.

      “You want to say that again?”

      “I said the IUA totaled our van,” Lyons replied. “And nearly totaled Gadgets with it. But we did manage to take two prisoners, which are proving to be most cooperative.”

      “How did you get them to talk?”

      “You really want to know, Barb?”

      “No…not really,” Price said.

      Although the spunky and beautiful mission controller for Stony Man didn’t micromanage, Price still expected the teams to operate with some semblance of military decorum. It didn’t mean she called every shot, though. Sometimes it was best to leave certain details to the team leaders and not get too cozy with the minute-by-minute operations. Occasionally Lyons or McCarter pulled a doozy of a stunt, and in those times she had no trouble coming down hard on them. But those times were so few and far between that Price usually tried to look the other way. Give them too much and they’d take advantage; don’t give them enough, though, and they would become ineffective. And that latter one could easily get every member of the team killed during an operation.

      Price never wanted that on her conscience. Beside the fact, Brognola did enough worrying about that for both of them, and at least one of the two had to remain clear and levelheaded at all times.

      “What did you find out?” Price asked.

      “Well, we recovered the plans to the FACOS prototype,” Lyons said. “But I don’t think we’re out of the woods.”

      “Ironman, I just got off the horn with McCarter,” Brognola interjected. He took a seat across from Price at the table. “He says they’re close to rescuing the hostages, but that they also discovered the IUA is running some kind of rogue mining operation for U-92. And apparently they’re hell-bent on protecting their assets because the team’s already been ambushed twice. What’s happening there?”

      Lyons recounted the events of their assault on the warehouse, as well as their encounter with the terrorists along the highway.

      “It sounds like you’ve achieved the mission objectives,” Brognola said. “What makes you think there may still be a threat?”

      “The two prisoners we took here have told us their superiors set up some kind of secret construction facility in Charleston.”

      “South Carolina?” Price asked.

      “That’s the one,” Lyons said.

      “What in the devil could the IUA be cooking up there?”

      “A project to build these submarines and a bunch of them,” Lyons said. “Neither of these turkeys admits they know exactly where it’s located, only that it exists.”

      “And you believe them?” Brognola asked.

      “Yep.”

      “But if they never had the plans, how could they possibly build the prototypes?” Price said.

      This time, it was Rosario Blancanales who answered. “Apparently, the design specifications for this sub were leaked long ago, Barb. The terrorists have been ongoing in their construction efforts for months. There are at least four prototype submarines ready, and another two that should be completed in short-order.

      “You see, they only needed the plans in order to figure out how the nuclear reaction chamber was constructed, since that serves as the primary means of shipwide power. Everything else is apparently active and they are only waiting for the raw materials.”

      “Well, I just got off the horn with David,” Brognola said. “Phoenix Force has their hands full in Namibia, but I have his assurances they’ll put this one to bed in less than twelve hours. There is a possibility, however, that the terrorists managed to get at least one shipment of ore out of the country.”

      “If they have and that U-92 ore reaches American shores, it’s a good bet the terrorists could still get these submarines active,” Lyons said.

      “Even without the plans?”

      “Well, not from the sense of nuclear propulsion,” Blancanales answered, “but Gadgets has a theory about that. Hold on, I’ll put him on because there are only two extensions here at the motel.”

      A moment passed and then Schwarz’s voice came on the line. “Hey, gang.”

      “Politician says you have a theory about these terrorist subs,” Brognola said.

      “You betcha,” Schwarz replied. “Our canaries here told us in the event this didn’t go off, the head honcho of their outfit had a contingency plan.”

      “Which was?” Price said.

      “Apparently they arranged to have a buyer procure about half a dozen specialized diesel motors from a local firm in Charleston. These motors are unique in that they’re used by diving outfits and underwater salvage companies to power equipment and the like. I’m betting the terrorists plan to drop these in as substitutes if they can’t get their hands on the original design specifications for the nuclear power plants.”

      “So you think they could still make these things active?” Brognola asked.

      “Well, at least enough to put out to sea and launch a series of nuclear