Atomic Fracture. Don Pendleton

smile still looked as if he meant every word he said.

      Lyons waited as Arthaud got back in his car and pulled through the gate. As the automobile that had brought them here to this first line of defense made a U-turn, he pulled up to the guard house. The same man in the black beret stepped forward as Arthaud and Taylor drove out on the other side of the guard shack.

      Now, as the uniformed man leaned down toward the open driver’s side window, Lyons could see the patch of the U.S. 75th Ranger Regiment on his beret.

      That slightly surprised the Able Team leader. The 75th had seen its share of action during World War II, Korea, Vietnam and other, smaller wars. But it had been redesigned in 1973 to be a highly mobile light infantry unit capable of operating in any part of the world at a moment’s notice. They’d been active most recently in Bosnia, then Iraq and Afghanistan.

      Guard duty, it seemed to Lyons, even at a nuclear storage facility, was a waste of talent and training. It was like putting an NFL coach who’d won the Super Bowl in charge of training a junior high football team.

      Carl Lyons might have been less loquacious than his fellow Able Team warriors but he had never been the timid sort. As he held up the FBI credentials supplied by Brognola, he said bluntly, “That patch tells me you’re 75th. So I’ve gotta ask. Why are you guys even here? You’re pulling guard duty any rent-a-cop could manage.”

      The Ranger had taken Lyons’s credentials and was studying them. But the comment made him laugh. “We just got here yesterday,” he said. “All we know is that something extraordinary has happened. We’re on high alert. And my guess is it’s the same thing that brings you guys here, Special Agent Coffman.” He handed the credential wallet back through the window. “Care to share that intel with me?”

      “Sorry,” Lyons said as he replaced the black leather case inside his suit coat. “I hate to sound like the typical, pompous FBI jerk-off who wants everything you know, then answers all of your questions with, ‘We’re not at liberty to disclose that information.’ But I’m afraid that’s what I’ve got to do.” He waited for a reaction, remembering how badly he’d wanted to punch out several arrogant FBI agents when he’d still been a LAPD detective. There had been one Fed whose face he actually had smashed in. That had bought him a seemingly endless stream of interrogation by both the FBI and the LAPD Internal Affairs goons, and almost made him wish he’d just knocked himself out instead of enduring the tedium brought on by the cops who go after cops.The Ranger nodded. “No problem,” he said. “That’s pretty much the answer I was expecting,” he said, grinning. “And you’re right.”

      Lyons returned the facial expression with one of his own rare smiles. But he was soon to find out that he’d misinterpreted the other man’s words. “Thanks for understanding,” he said.

      “Oh, I didn’t say I understood,” the Army Ranger said. “I was just agreeing that you’re a typical pompous FBI jerk-off.”

      Lyons didn’t feel the rush of anger he might have expected to overcome him. Instead he felt sympathy—no, empathy—for the Ranger at the gate. He had walked in that man’s combat boots and knew how they felt.

      “Okay, then,” said the Ranger. “You’ve still got retina and facial recognition to go through at the front door of the main offices. But I’ll have a man lead you there.” He straightened and Lyons rolled up his window. The Able Team leader pulled through the gate as a green Army jeep, driven by another man wearing Ranger regalia, pulled out in front of him. Next to him, he could see Schwarz. In the rearview mirror, Blancanales’s face stared back at him. Both looked as if they were doing their best not to laugh.

      “Ever think about switching to the diplomatic corps, Ironman?” Schwarz asked. “You’d be a natural. If I was President, I’d like, make you ambassador to North Korea or Iran or someplace where your smooth and disarming charm would end the world’s problems.”

      “I thought he controlled himself pretty well,” said Blancanales. “Considering what we both know was going through his mind.”

      Lyons shook his head as he followed the jeep. “That’s enough,” he said. “We’ve got a mission ahead of us. Let’s get our minds on that.”

      The dirt road took a sharp curve and suddenly the front of a structure built into the side of a mountain appeared.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      It was hardly a five-star hotel.

      The bedspread was frayed, the walls dirty and in need of paint, and the shag carpet, which had to have been at least thirty years old, was full of holes and unrecognizable stains. The whole room smelled of stale urine, and the box spring and mattress were both roughly an inch too large for the bed frame.