Primary Directive. Don Pendleton

those were terrorists crossing onto U.S. soil?”

      “I’d wager my next paycheck on it,” Lyons replied.

      He turned to Schwarz. “How we fixed for armament, Gadgets?”

      “We’re good. Kissinger packed all our usual fare, plus a little extra just in case.”

      “I’d say this qualifies as a ‘just in case’ moment,” Blancanales said.

      Lyons grunted his agreement. This smelled of a terrorist plot from the get-go and Lyons could feel a conspiracy at the very center of his gut. The al Qaeda terrorists had been spouting off for years about launching another catastrophic attack against America, and maybe they saw their chance in the recent tensions between Mexico and the U.S. concerning illegal immigration. Leave it to a pack of radical terror-mongers to exploit an already hot issue. There were issues about the 9/11 attacks that had driven wedges between the divisions on issues totally unrelated to al Qaeda and its unquenchable hatred for the United States and her allies. Why should this be any different?

      Well, it would be different in one way. This time Able Team and Phoenix Force would be prepared for it. This time they’d be waiting for al Qaeda to make its move. And when it did, the terrorists would encounter a force unlike any they had faced before.

       CHAPTER THREE

      The men of Phoenix Force stepped onto the tarmac of the heliport in Gamboa as the blades of their Sikorsky H-19 wound down. The humid air brushed over them like oil paint on a canvas and the mugginess made it difficult to breathe.

      A man with a long, thin nose and bushy mustache stood at the edge of the tarmac wearing a lightweight linen suit of white over a pink silk shirt and a wide-brimmed hat. The first thought that came to McCarter’s mind was that of Panama Jack, and as he drew closer to the man he noticed the facial features only reinforced his first impressions. The ends of the man’s mustache tapered off curlicue style and he had a smooth, swarthy complexion with mild crow’s-feet.

      “Mr. White?” The man spoke English with a heavy mestizo accent. He extended a hand and McCarter shook it. “Robert Nativida. I am the Panama province secretary of the interior to President Espino.”

      “Pleased to meet you,” McCarter replied easily. He introduced the others in turn by their aliases; they shook hands all around.

      “Welcome to Panama, gentlemen. If you’ll follow me, please.”

      Phoenix Force accompanied Nativida to a pair of Jeepneys waiting at the edge of the road. McCarter took one with Encizo and Nativida, while James, Hawkins, Manning and their driver manned the other. They turned onto a road that led from the heliport and headed in a westerly direction.

      “Where we going?” Encizo asked casually.

      “There is an activity center near here,” Nativida replied over his shoulder from the front seat. “I will need to stop there and pick up some important documents. I apologize for running errands but as I’m sure you’re aware we’re trying to keep up appearances and this information deserves my attention.”

      “No need to worry the tourists, eh, mate?” McCarter gibed.

      Nativida nodded emphatically. “Precisely. From there, we will take you to the hotel. We have rooms booked for you at the Historical Villa. The apartments there are adjacent to the main resort. We assumed you would wish to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

      “You assumed right,” Encizo replied.

      “Although we’d like to see the site of the engagement first, if it’s all the same to you,” McCarter added.

      “We can arrange that,” Nativida said.

      They arrived at the activity center and Nativida ran inside. McCarter and Encizo could hear the buzz of unstilted dialogue between their comrades in the other Jeepney. McCarter couldn’t make out what his friends were saying but he trusted their professionalism and abilities to be discreet in their subject matter. Nativida returned a minute later with a large accordion binder in his hand, climbed into his seat and ordered the convoy to proceed.

      They rode to the riverside docks in silence. When they arrived, a boat awaited them and all of the men save for the drivers climbed aboard. Nativida spoke briefly under his breath with the captain, then they set off on a journey along the river. Under other circumstances it would have been a nice, leisurely boat tour, but in this case grimness weighed on the minds of the Phoenix Force veterans as they considered the aftermath of the violence that had occurred here less than forty-eight hours ago.

      They rounded a deep bend in the river, which Nativida identified as the Chagres, and off to their left the river opened onto a wide body of water. Nativida gestured to it and said, “That’s Gatun Lake. And over here is where Lieutenant Horst and his men encountered the alleged submarine.”

      “Why do you put it that way?” James asked.

      “Excuse me?”

      “You said ‘alleged,’” Encizo said. “As if for some reason you don’t believe what they reported.”

      Nativida seemed a bit embarrassed by their retorts. He smiled and said, “Gentlemen, as you can probably see, the water is very shallow here and it was still rather dark. We cannot be sure that it was an actual sub they saw.”

      “That’s funny,” Hawkins said. “Because we heard the tape of their final communications, and I’m pretty sure I heard ‘submarine’ real clearly.”

      McCarter noticed Nativida suddenly express defensiveness and decided to step in with some damage control. “It doesn’t really matter what kind of boat it was. The point is, there’s no mistaking their intent or the fact they were hostiles.”

      “Right,” Manning agreed. “What we should focus on now is who and why.”

      “I’ve been giving that some careful thought,” Encizo said. “I don’t think any one of us would disagree that whoever attacked that boat crew did so because they were surprised. Obviously they weren’t expecting the crew to be there at that particular moment.”

      “Meaning they had probably been watching the place for a time,” James concluded.

      Encizo nodded. “And now seeing the location where it happened, it seems pretty apparent they were here to move one thing, and it wasn’t drugs.”

      Hawkins furrowed an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

      “Look at that spot,” Encizo replied, jerking a thumb at the site. “They had to have been a good forty meters or so offshore. And if we assume this was a sub, they would have been surfaced. Seeing as there aren’t any docks here, boys, I have to wonder exactly how they would have off-loaded drugs or any other type of contraband for that matter.”

      “What about a boat?” Manning asked.

      “No dice, mate,” McCarter answered. “The intelligence reports said the local authorities arrived within ten minutes after the shooting started.”

      Manning tendered a conciliatory nod. “There wasn’t time.”

      “Maybe they never even got that far,” James proposed.

      “Doubtful,” Encizo said. “They took a great risk getting in here, and I can’t believe it was solely for reconnaissance purposes. I think the more plausible explanation is that whatever they dropped here didn’t require any mode of transportation other than the sub. In other words…”

      “People,” McCarter concluded.

      “So this was a personnel delivery of some sort?” James asked.

      “In the lack of any other evidence at this point,” Encizo replied, “it seems like a logical conclusion.”

      Manning crossed the boat and leaned close to McCarter’s ear. “What do you have in mind for our next move?”

      “Let’s