Cold Snap. Don Pendleton

      

      STONY MAN

      The covert teams of Stony Man Farm battle terrorist threats few know exist. Operating under the President, these elite warriors and cybertech experts are bound by honor and ready to sacrifice their lives to protect the innocent, overseas or on U.S. soil.

      HIDE AND SEEK

      Ecoterrorism becomes the perfect cover for a renegade Chinese and North Korean military group. Striking Japanese whaling and oil vessels on the high seas, the terrorists plan to trigger an economic war between Japan and the States. But when a Japanese delegation is attacked on U.S. soil, Able Team gets the call to hunt down those behind the lethal ambush while Phoenix Force goes in to stop the mass targeting of sailors and fishermen on the Pacific. With the mastermind behind the scheme still unknown, Stony Man Farm can only hope the trail of bodies will lead them to their target.

      BROGNOLA HEARD THE DISTANT CRACK OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES

      He touched the earpiece. “Barbara, what was that?”

      “Grenade and small arms fire,” Price answered. “The protesters who started for the security entrance have been hit. Secret Service is on the lookout for grenade launchers and assault rifles.”

      “Any idea who opened fire?” Brognola asked. He jogged to a nearby window overlooking the scene. Wisps of black smoke curled into the sky, a grisly grave marker for the brutal violence.

      A police car racing to the scene suddenly erupted, bursting apart under the force of a shoulder-mounted missile. Flames blew out the glass on all sides.

      Secret Service guards at the gate took cover as automatic fire sizzled at the guardhouse. Even bullet-resistant glass and built-in steel plating did little to alleviate the incoming torrent of bullets.

      Brognola grimaced as the sudden flurry of violence abated.

      This was not going to be the last shot fired in this war.

      Not if Stony Man Farm had anything to say about it.

      Cold Snap

      Don Pendleton

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Introduction

       Title Page

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      Hideaki Isamu ran along the deck, knowing that Captain Katashi expected nothing less than absolute efficiency and timeliness from his crew. Isamu skirted against the railing, allowing other sailors to rush past him in the opposite direction, and the young man was glad for the perfect paint job. The last thing he needed was a sliver of old paint or rusted metal to rip open his palms as he glided along the rail before turning back and running full speed ahead.

      Isamu stared out over the blue-gray waters of the Ross Sea. It was a magnificent sight. To the south, as far as he could see, was the white crust of the massive Ross Ice Shelf, a V of thick sea ice that stretched from the end of the bay to a mere 200 miles from the geographic South Pole. It was more than 185,000 square miles of ice between 50 and 150 feet thick. The Saburou Maru was miles off of the shelf, but even from this distance, the thin sliver of purest white was an unmistakable horizon, taking Isamu’s breath even on a mere glancing notice. He was looking at a body of ice that someone once said was the size of France. Ignoring something that huge, that magnificent, would take some formidable willpower, but Isamu tore himself away and concentrated on his duty.

      The announcement had spurred the crew to the proximity of a pod of whales. While the water was choppy, whitecaps forming bright scars against the rippling surface, he noticed the breaches of whales in the far distance.

      The Saburou Maru was on its annual research trip down into the Antarctic waters, along with other ships in the fleet, to determine if there were enough whales present to continue sustainable whaling for Japan. Isamu squinted and made out that the humps were from Minke whales, small animals, less than thirty feet in length. As opposed to the other species such as Fin or Sperm, the Minkes were common.

      Isamu recalled a number of more than half a million living within the Antarctic ocean, plentiful enough to sustain Japanese whaling. Those numbers had not diminished significantly in the wake of research catches, some 14,000 between 1988 and the present.

      If they were that plentiful, Isamu didn’t feel bad about going after them. Captain Katashi was the same way. Whaling was central to Japanese culture; it was in the blood of many a young man seeking adventure on the high seas. There were times when Isamu wondered why world opinion was so harsh on Japan when there were cultures out there that treated human beings as property and enforced female genital mutilation.

      Priorities, Isamu thought. Minke whales were not in danger of extinction and human lives were far more important than—

      Something shook the boat.

      “What the hell?” Isamu asked.

      “We need fire control crews to starboard aft!” Katashi said over the announcement system. “Emergency.”

      Katashi was a firm, calm man, but even Isamu could hear the slight tremor of urgency in his voice. Isamu was a member of the on-board fire team and immediately about-faced and started to a causeway that would take him from the port rail.

      Catching a few whales would have to wait. His fellow seamen were in trouble as even now the stench of burning paint, metal and...

      Is that pork? Isamu wondered. Dread flushed through the sailor as he bolted into the passageway and took off. Some part of his mind drifted back to the tales of the south seas and how they likened the cooking of human flesh to the smell and flavor of pork; hence