Deadly Payload. Don Pendleton

tightened as he looked up to see Carl Lyons standing over him. He held a 9 mm pistol by the barrel, handle presented for the Thai.

      Tso reached up, swallowing. His fingers wrapped around the grip. He turned it over, and there was no magazine in place.

      “You’ve got one shot,” Lyons told him. “Use it wisely. We won’t give you another.”

      Tso nodded. “My people will tear you apart.”

      The ENT commander tilted the barrel of the pistol between his lips and pulled the trigger, getting the hell out of Panama.

       CHAPTER SIX

      The covert conference had reached its conclusion long before, giving McCarter time to report in to the Farm. The Mossad and Unit 777 operators were calling in, as well. All three teams were resting, burning away the morning hours so that they would travel in the heat of the day. It was harder going for all three groups, but fewer people would be out, and Phoenix Force and its allies would be less obvious.

      McCarter’s neck hairs rose and he looked toward Gary Manning who had tensed up at the cavern’s entrance.

      “Drone,” Manning whispered, his HK sniper rifle gripped firmly.

      That awoke the entire group. Squinting, the Phoenix Force commander could barely make out the tiny speck against the sky. Though they were painted white, the Predator drone was difficult to see, the colorless hull blanking out against the halo of sun-blazed sky or clear blue. Manning’s face was set in a grimace of disgust.

      “What’s wrong?” McCarter asked.

      “It’s been following an orbital path around the cave for at least two minutes,” Manning replied. “And it had been following that course when I first saw it. I should have noticed it earlier.”

      “You’re only human,” the Briton said.

      Manning quirked an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to be better.”

      “How did you even notice it?” Mahmoud asked. “It’s keeping the corona of the sun at its back.”

      “Sharp eyes,” Manning answered. He shook his head. “It’s high enough that it can’t be heard, and staying near the sun keeps it secure against thermal imaging. I’d caught odd movement in my peripheral vision, so I used an old eclipse-gazing trick.”

      Manning pointed to his cap. Small, circular vent holes near the crown to allow the seventy-five percent of body heat expelled through the head and shoulders to escape unhindered, was part of most headgear. He took the cap off and held it over a map that he’d put face down. He kept his fingers over all but one of the pinholes, and a disk of light showed on the map in his broad shadow. A dart-shaped object crossed the disk of light.

      “Son of a bitch,” Reiser growled. “How did they know…”

      Rafael Encizo spoke up, “One of your men is missing.”

      “Kohn?” another Israeli asked. “He was supposed to be watching the mouth of the cave from the wash running past.”

      “He’s long gone,” Calvin James interjected. “I don’t see any sign of him anywhere.”

      Mahmoud looked at Reiser, his lips pulled tight. Dark eyes studied the Mossad commander for a moment. “Your suspicions were correct.”

      Reiser sighed. “Let’s move…”

      “We’d be right in the open,” Manning countered. “And our allies tell us that those drones can be armed with anything. One of our teams encountered machine-gun fire from the drones.”

      Mahmoud looked up toward the sun, but the harsh glare made it impossible to see anything. He turned away. “They’ve also attacked with rockets, and this cavern would make a handy tomb with one warhead.”

      “Who did you suspect Kohn of working for?” McCarter asked Reiser.

      “There’s an organization made up of former and current intelligence officers and private citizens,” Reiser began.

      “Abraham’s Dagger?” McCarter prompted.

      “You’ve encountered them before?” Reiser asked. “I lost a good friend investigating those bastards.”

      “Not personally,” McCarter replied. “But I do know of two operations they’ve been involved with. A Palestinian refugee camp, and the attempted assassination of several UN relief workers.”

      “Abraham’s Dagger lives up to all the bad press the Israeli government gets,” Mahmoud stated. “They’ve caused Egypt enough headaches.”

      “We try to do damage control,” Reiser said. “Trouble is, they have the unspoken approval of too many hard-liners in charge. The Dagger did enough to seem legitimate and supportable, but then they go and kill children of terrorists or people who could link them to atrocities.”

      “That explains hitting a terrorist camp in Syria, but a flight of drones was sent toward Israel with bellies full of chemical weapons,” Hawkins reminded them.

      “The Dagger has felt betrayed by the proper government,” Reiser told him. “A major terrorist attack, killing thousands, would give them all the support they’d need to make whatever first strikes they wanted. Naturally, they’d get all of their supporters out of the target area so that the Dagger’s agenda could be hawked in the aftermath.”

      “Scary bastards,” Hawkins rumbled.

      A Mossad commando scurried across the wash and crouched near the mouth of the cave. “We’ve got an unknown force coming toward us.”

      Manning shouldered his MSG-90 and scanned the horizon with its high-powered scope. “Armored personnel carriers and jeeps.”

      “An advance party, commandos on foot, are working their way closer,” the Israeli told them.

      “Kohn’s buddies,” Reiser said with a sneer. “I’m going to kill that little fanatic…”

      “Save it,” Mahmoud told the Mossad commander, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. “We should get out of the cave.”

      McCarter looked at Manning. “Got a good withdrawal route?”

      “Two. The other would take us right down the throats of the advancing force,” Manning stated. “But all have cover against that Predator up top.”

      McCarter looked at the horizon. “We’ll take that route.”

      “You’re going to hold them off?” Reiser asked. “No. We’ll all withdraw.”

      “Actually, we weren’t intending on holding them off,” James said, knowing his commander. “We’ll knock a few answers out of those chumps.”

      “He’s right,” McCarter said. “We might have a chance to interrogate an enemy prisoner or three.”

      “He never takes the easy route,” Manning added. “You two withdraw and go on to your phase of this operation. We’ll contact you if we learn anything.”

      Mahmoud nodded. “Allah be with you, my friends.”

      McCarter’s eyes narrowed, a mirthless grin tightening his lips. “God’s going to sit this one out. We’ve got the devil’s work to do, mate.”

      C APTAIN Z ING H O , a North Korean officer, heard the American woman’s voice on the phone and took a deep breath, his stomach flip-flopping. It had been a while since a mysterious warrior had given him a new lease on life, saving him from a massacre in an illegal chemical weapons lab. The tall man in black protected him, and later, a group of computer hackers smoothed over all the wrinkles left by association with Major Huan. Now, as a military attaché in the North Korean consulate in Beijing, he had been contacted by the tall warrior’s allies, given access to a fistful of information.

      “We need to make certain