Critical Effect. Don Pendleton

the Ford. The man slid to the ground as the light left his open eyes.

      The other terrorist never stood a chance under the crack marksmanship of Carl Lyons. The Able Team leader got it done with a single squeeze of the Anaconda’s trigger. The .44 Magnum weapon reported thunderously, even from that distance, its message to the hardman plain and simple: game over. Lyons’s round caught the guy square in the chest and dumped him on the pavement next to his deceased partner.

      Schwarz turned in time to see Blancanales had bought himself some fresh trouble. He broke cover and beelined to help his friend, signaling Lyons with a loud whistle between thumb and forefinger on the move. Lyons waved and burst from behind the PT Cruiser. Schwarz came up the sidewalk on the passenger side of the smashed Lincoln in time to see Blancanales find sanctuary behind a small brick alcove near the building entrance.

      The electronics expert reached the rear bumper, dropped and squeezed off a volley of rounds in the direction of the new arrivals. He didn’t have anywhere near the firepower of the enemy, but what he lacked in quantity Schwarz made up in quality. The combat veteran put two rounds in the chest of the closest gunner. The 9 mm slugs ripped through the tender flesh of lungs and pink, frothy sputum erupted from the man’s mouth. The impact spun him into a second gunner who had been a bit too close. The falling corpse tied up the second man long enough for Schwarz to draw a bead. He finished their dance with a single skull-buster to the forehead.

      Lyons got one at the front left fender with a single shot to the hip. The bullet shattered the man’s thigh and his weapon fell from number fingers. The guy fell. Schwarz got to his feet and rushed for Blancanales, sending a few more rounds at his enemies for the sole purpose of keeping heads down.

      It did little good. The next ten seconds seemed to run through Schwarz’s head like a slow-motion replay.

      Two other gunners got Delmico into the SUV.

      The Lincoln’s driver leaned out the window and pumped a volley of rounds into the man Lyons had wounded.

      The Lincoln jumped into Reverse with a roar, churning up a cloud of smoke, dust and bits of gravel.

      Schwarz reached Blancanales just as Lyons pumped out his last two rounds at the retreating SUV.

      Everything after seemed to return to normal time.

      Lyons trotted over to his friends. He crouched, nodded at Schwarz, then looked at Blancanales with mild concern. “You okay?”

      “Got winged,” Blancanales said, breathing a bit heavily as he gripped his arm to stanch the flow of blood.

      Schwarz jerked his head toward the Ford. “There’s a med kit in my satchel. Why don’t you grab it.”

      Lyons rose and trotted for the bag.

      “Hang tough, partner,” Schwarz said. He showed Blancanales a reassuring grin. “You’re going to pull through just fine.”

      ‘Thanks, amigo,” he replied. “But I sort of already figured that. Really, there’s no reason to get all mushy on me. People will talk.”

      I N THE W AR R OOM of Stony Man Farm, Brognola and Price sat and listened as Carl Lyons relayed his report of the past few hours.

      “So Rosario’s going to be okay?” Price asked when Lyons finished.

      “Fine,” Lyons replied.

      “We thought there might be a connection between yours and Phoenix Force’s mission,” Brognola said. “But we sure as hell didn’t expect you to walk into a firestorm like that.”

      “Don’t sweat it,” Lyons said. “That’s why you pay us the big bucks.”

      “The only question now is how this relates to what went down in Germany,” Price said. She directed her voice toward the speakerphone receiver in the center of the conference table. “Carl, we have a theory based on some leads we’ve been pursuing here. It’s still a bit thin, but it may be enough for you to move forward. And we can always fill it out once David checks in.”

      “We’ll take anything you’ve got,” Lyons replied.

      “Well, we started looking into Delmico’s recent activities,” Price said. “We have it on reliable word that while he was in Germany giving that lecture, he became acquainted with a man named Choldwig Burke. Other than a sheet of misdemeanors, Burke seems clean. However, about seven years ago he did an eighteen-month stint in jail. He didn’t have any more run-ins with the authorities, successfully completed his six months of parole as required by German law, so he fell off the radar.”

      “I’ve heard this story,” Lyons cut in. “Suddenly he shows up at a seminar and befriends a microbiologist formally employed by the DOD.”

      “Right,” Brognola said. “We think he was working with inside information. Somebody told Burke who Delmico was and how to contact him.”

      A low buzz sounded for attention from an overhead speaker, followed by Kurtzman’s voice. “I’ve got David McCarter on our secured satellite line.”

      “Conference him in, won’t you, Aaron?” Price asked.

      “Your wish is my command,” Kurtzman replied.

      A moment later McCarter joined them.

      “David, we have Carl on with us,” Brognola said. “What do you have to report?”

      “We found the plane,” McCarter replied. “Cargo was gone, and the entire crew dead except for the captain. We also ran into some friends.”

      “Terrorists?” Price inquired.

      McCarter snorted. “Hardly, although they’d probably like to think they are. We took a prisoner and he did some talking. We got all we could from him, so now we’ll probably need a way to unload him on local authorities.”

      “We’ll make the arrangements,” Brognola said. “I’ll have someone get with Interpol and take him off your hands.”

      “Thanks,” McCarter said. “He’s starting to get on our nerves.”

      “What did he tell you?” Price asked, steering the conversation back to topic.

      “He said he’s a member of some bloody outfit calling themselves the Germanic Freedom Railroad. He alleges to know nothing about any operations there in the States. Apparently he’s just a grunt and has only been with this group for about six weeks.”

      “Aaron, are you still on?” Brognola asked.

      “You bet, and I’m looking it up now,” Kurtzman replied.

      “Go ahead, David,” Price urged the Phoenix Force leader.

      “There were eight men in the squad behind to see who came to find the plane. They were apparently expecting military or police agencies, but when the leader of the squad saw us he panicked. From what we can gather, they thought we were competitors instead of a legitimate agency. That’s when this brilliant lieutenant of theirs gave the order to open up on us.”

      “Big mistake,” Lyons cut in.

      “You said it, mate,” McCarter replied.

      “What’s your current status?” Brognola asked.

      “We’re holed up in Rodenbach. Our ammunition and weapons situation is fine. I’ve got the team cleaning up now, but we could use some food and duds that are a wee bit less, say…conspicuous.”

      “I’ll make it happen,” Price assured him, and she immediately excused herself from the room.

      “Barb’s going to see you get everything you need,” Brognola said. “What about the leadership of this Germanic Freedom Railroad? Did he give any names?”

      “He claims he doesn’t know any, and Calvin’s said he thinks the bloke’s telling the truth about that.”

      “You concur?”