Choke Point. Don Pendleton

      The statement didn’t surprise anyone in the War Room. Aaron “Bear” Kurtzman hadn’t been defeated by the bullet in his spine that had confined him to a wheelchair. Lesser men would have suffered an irreversible psychological trauma, adopting an attitude of self-pity that would have crushed them for the duration of their lives. Not Kurtzman. The man’s spirit was nearly as indomitable as his wrestlerlike upper body, a physique he kept in prime condition through exercise and, as his best friend and confidante Barbara Price had pointed out on more than one occasion, “sheer orneriness.”

      As soon as they had notified Stony Man of their intelligence gleaned from James’s interrogation of the prisoner—intelligence that the outfit they were fighting actually operated on an international scale—Brognola had ordered a full-alert status for the remaining members of Phoenix Force. They now sat around the table, most in various modes of dress indicative of their actions.

      Rafael Encizo had been volunteering for diver duties with the D.C. police in search of a missing mother who’d gone out for a jog as she did every night and never returned home. David McCarter and T. J. Hawkins had been at a local gun-club event, participating in a regional shooting match. Gary Manning had actually been the farthest one out, embarked on a hunting trip with some friends in the deep, rugged forests of the southern Smoky Mountains.

      “What’s the general lay of it, guv?” McCarter asked.

      Brognola looked at Price. “Barb?”

      Price, the Stony Man mission controller, nodded and began, “This group calls itself the Red Brood. At first we thought it was a kidnapping ring with a radical agenda aimed at internal politics. Now, with the information courtesy of the man Able Team managed to take alive, we’re convinced there’s a lot more to it than that.”

      “Isn’t there always,” Hawkins interjected in his Texan drawl.

      “Look on the bright side,” Schwarz said. “Job security.”

      “All right, pipe down and you might learn something,” Brognola said.

      As if on cue, Kurtzman entered the War Room and proceeded to his reserved spot. He brought up the computer projector—one much older than the modern facilities in the Operations Center of the Annex—beginning with the picture of a very young and handsome Arab in his twenties.

      “I’ve run the gambit on the intelligence you brought back,” Kurtzman told the group. “It’s mind-boggling.”

      “That’s serious coming from Bear,” James said.

      “All, I would like you to meet Abbas el Khalidi, head of the world news outfit known as Abd-el-Aziz and suspected by Interpol as one of the biggest drug kingpins ever.”

      “Drugs?” Lyons shook his head. “I thought we were dealing with a white-slaving group.”

      “We are,” Brognola said. “But white slavery’s just the tip of the iceberg. And it’s plainly obvious the Red Brood is only a front for Abbas el Khalidi’s international drug transshipping pipeline. Now that Aaron’s identified Khalidi as a player in this, there’s no doubt left in my mind that we’ve stumbled onto the real threat.”

      “Seems a little crazy that someone as high-profile as Khalidi would dabble in drug and human trafficking,” Encizo said. “I don’t get the connection.”

      “There’s a big connection,” Price said. “And don’t assume that Khalidi’s a mere dabbler in this thing. Abbas el Khalidi’s been on our radar for quite some time, but up until this point we had no reason to think he posed any serious threat to the United States. Mostly he was suspected of trafficking narcotics out of his home country of Morocco and into areas all over Europe.

      “Now it’s plain to see he’s up to much more than that, including using the Red Brood as a way to funnel additional funds to support his main effort.”

      “And he’s decided to target American kids to do it,” McCarter said.

      His voice edged with quiet anger, Lyons said, “I think I speak for all of us when I say I want a shot at bringing this guy down. Hard.”

      “Well, you’re going to get it,” Price said. “Although I’m afraid you may not get a personal meeting. Khalidi is a known recluse and rarely travels outside of Morocco save for the occasional appearance at one of his satellite companies. He’s been known to travel to Spain rather often, but in all cases he manages to operate outside the jurisdiction of either U.S. officials or Interpol.”

      “So he sticks to places where Americans are effectively persona non grata,” Hawkins ventured.

      “Correct.”

      “There are a number of allied intelligence organizations who’ve attempted to assassinate Khalidi,” Brognola said, “but they’ve always somehow managed to miss the target. Mostly because he doesn’t stay in one place long enough to establish a pattern, and his travels are typically kept secret until he’s actually headed to his destination.”

      “And as previously indicated,” Price said, “he’s not posed any direct threat to this country. Now the situation has changed and we’re pulling out all of the stops. We have the full cooperation and direction from the Oval Office to handle this in whatever manner we see fit. The assassination of American citizens and kidnapping of their children for the purpose of drug trafficking is unacceptable on any level.”

      “What’s the game plan?” Manning asked, obviously itching to join the fight with the rest of them.

      “We’re sending Phoenix Force to Morocco. We’ve secured the cooperation of a local policeman there named Zafar Mazouzi. Officially, Mazouzi’s an employee of the police force in Casablanca, headquarters for Abd-el-Aziz, but we have reliable intelligence he’s been cooperating with Interpol officials to pass whatever information he can on Khalidi’s activities. If he’s managed to stay alive this long, we’re confident he must know quite a bit of Khalidi’s movements and should be an excellent liaison. Your mission, David, is to penetrate the country, disrupt Khalidi’s pipeline operations between here and Morocco and, if the opportunity presents itself, terminate with extreme prejudice.”

      McCarter nodded, as did the other members of his team.

      Price turned her attention to the trio of Able Team warriors anxious for their own assignment. “As for the three amigos, you’ll board a commercial flight for Florida. Your first stop is Daytona Beach, the district in which Congressman Acres maintained his home and headquarters. Acres is our only lead, not to mention the prisoner you took is from that area. The fact they managed to snatch his son means they had him under observation for some time, knew where he lived and where he worked. That’s the most logical starting point.”

      “What are we supposed to do once we find them?” Blancanales asked.

      “Yeah, do we get to terminate with extreme prejudice, too?”

      “Be careful what you wish for,” Brognola said. “Your mission is to run this group to ground, closing the pipeline from this end while Phoenix Force handles the Moroccan angle. A two-headed spear is what we’re shooting for.”

      “And we’re not concerned so much about the drug trafficking into Europe,” Price said. “That’s of a secondary concern. The first is to cut the pipeline off at the knees, which will have the effect of not only securing the safety of the American public, but also of removing a major source of funding for Khalidi’s organization. Any questions?”

      The men shook their heads nearly in unison.

      “Then let’s get it done,” Brognola said.

      As the group broke up, the members of the team saying their respective goodbyes or taking a minute to engage each other in lighter conversation, Lyons took the opportunity to grab McCarter, who had stepped outside for a smoke.

      “I know exactly what you’re going to say,” McCarter said to his friend. “You wish you were going with us.”

      “That’s