Maelstrom. Don Pendleton

was right—this was a waste of talent.

      McCarter chuckled. “You’re beginning to sound as cynical as Carl.”

      Before James could reply, McCarter keyed up the wireless transceiver attached to his belt, which was no larger than a standard pager. Phoenix Force had recently decided to go with one of Akira Tokaido’s latest inventions—a communications system for the team to use during sensitive or covert operations that might require distance between them, thus splitting up one of the world’s most effective counterterrorist units. This system was quite different from the one they’d used in the past, since these transceivers sent microwave signals. Under normal circumstances, such transmissions would have required line-of-sight, but with a satellite linkup there was no such limitation. A programming algorithm designed by Tokaido to control the burst-rate provided the security. This system had a range comparable to Los Angeles County, and all of those factors made it much more effective and reliable for the team.

      “All units check in,” McCarter said.

      “Red team’s clear,” came the voice of Gary Manning, indicating he and Rafael Encizo, positioned at the other end of the field, had things well under control. McCarter detected the boredom in Manning’s voice, but he didn’t let that bother him. Both the men in red team were as dedicated to their jobs and Phoenix Force as James.

      “Blue team’s clear,” echoed T. J. Hawkins, who had partnered with the liaison of the parade ground security chief.

      Leaving the youngest and newest member of Stony Man on his own with a much less experienced man hadn’t been McCarter’s first choice. After one look, the Briton could tell that the security chief was nowhere close to being as experienced or seasoned as Hawkins. Still, McCarter knew Hawkins was the best choice, since blue team was working the bleachers where the military observers were seated and the younger guy was “best fit” to act as an active Army soldier. Hawkins, a former member of a Delta Force team, had immediately taken to the role since it allowed him to put on the uniform once more.

      McCarter nodded with satisfaction and was about to kill the transceiver when Hawkins added, “Gold team, check that last comm. Looks like trouble in grid six.”

      McCarter checked that direction. It was a large open space comprised of mostly tall, dry grass, scattered trees and the occasional boulder that separated the demo field from a busy uptown street. However, it was a fairly open space and it didn’t make a whole lot of sense that someone would launch an attack from that direction. It wasn’t until he saw the dozen or so ATVs racing toward the demo field that McCarter changed his mind.

      McCarter keyed the transceiver. “Red team, move to defensive posture. Blue team, stand post and watch for alternates in case this is a diversion. First to targets calls the ball.”

      As both teams acknowledged his transmission, McCarter and James burst from their position and sprinted down the slight grassy knoll bound for the center of the demo field. It was long odds they could make it in time to implement a fully effective defense, but what had the Briton more concerned were the intentions of these new arrivals. It was possible they were just a group of crazies who wanted to stir the pot, but McCarter didn’t buy it. They were attired in desert camouflage uniforms and the Phoenix Force warrior was certain he’d seen light reflecting off gunmetal. Kids weren’t so brazen and showy, and they certainly didn’t congregate in those kinds of numbers. McCarter smelled nothing but bloody trouble.

      And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

      RAFAEL ENCIZO and Gary Manning spotted the group on ATVs at the same moment Hawkins reported them, and the pair of Phoenix Force warriors immediately bolted into the fray.

      “First to targets calls the ball,” McCarter had said. Well, Encizo knew exactly what the hell that meant. While the Phoenix Force leader was charged with all final decisions, it sometimes made sense to let whoever was closest to the enemy direct the action. After all, a field soldier’s report of troop movement and direction was much more accurate than that delivered by some armchair quarterback in the rear. Encizo’s and Manning’s position put them much closer to the approaching ATVs, and that meant they would likely reach the perimeter of the demo field before James and McCarter. In that event, Encizo would take the lead.

      The two men reached the demo field and sprinted for the fence line. Encizo could hear Hawkins shouting at somebody from the bleachers, but he didn’t bother to risk a backward glance. The young Texan was probably yelling at the Aussie security team to clear the field of all nonessential personnel. Those weren’t soldiers seated in those stands, they were officers and defense contractors who were slow and well stocked on doughnuts. And the guys by the weapons were nothing but engineers, thereby incapable of putting up a fight with their prototype weapons, except of course Kissinger.

      Phoenix Force would handle this.

      “Definitely hostiles…at least ten…well armed,” the Cuban reported to them as he breathed heavily from the exertion. “We’re engaging.”

      Encizo produced the MP-5K he’d concealed beneath his jacket, and in his peripheral vision he noticed Manning had already drawn a SIG-Sauer P-239 with an extended 8-round magazine. The big Canadian preferred not to indulge in compact machine pistols like the MP-5K, finding them too bulky for a mission of this type. However he was no less deadly with a semi-automatic pistol than Encizo with a machine pistol.

      Encizo was the first to demonstrate that fact as he stopped near the fence, knelt and steadied his sights on the first target. He’d set the MP-5K for 3-round bursts, and the first trio of rounds took one of the ATV riders in the chest. Blood stained the man’s shirt as the impact lifted him from his ride. The ATV careened toward the fence, spinning only at the last moment, the two left wheels striking the fence, which held firm despite the weight of the vehicle.

      Manning missed once in his opening salvo, but round two caught another rider in the gut. The driver keeled over, and his ATV slowed considerably as the man clutched his abdomen. Even from that distance, Encizo could see the agony on the guy’s face. The driver looked up in time to see that he was going to hit the fence and he tried to avoid it, but the ground was still damp from rains that morning and the ATV slid into the fence. The rider was hurled face-first and the impact twisted his head at an odd angle. Encizo could tell the guy was dead from a broken neck before the body hit the ground. The warrior looked for his next target, but McCarter’s voice interrupted the action.

      “Incoming!”

      Manning and Encizo threw themselves to the ground in time to avoid the whistling projectile that passed only yards above them. A moment later the ground shook as a blast erupted. Encizo risked a glance long enough to determine the source of the attack. A few of the ATV riders had stayed back and were providing covering fire utilizing CIS 40GLs. The Singapore-made grenade launcher was almost identical in design to the M-203—it fired 40 mm grenades with a maximum effective range up to 400 meters.

      “That’s some heavy shit we’re up against here,” Manning muttered.

      “Tell me about it,” Encizo replied.

      “Get some cover,” McCarter advised even as the two Phoenix Force commandos were on their feet and converging on their position. “We’ll lay down some fire for you.”

      “Roger,” Manning answered through his transceiver.

      The sounds of James’s and McCarter’s MP-5Ks resounded through the air as they laid down a full-auto onslaught against the enemy troops. Encizo knew there was no way they could hope to repel an attack of this kind, and that the fence would serve only as a minor barrier.

      The best bet was to evacuate the innocents and hope some window of opportunity opened.

      JOHN KISSINGER WASN’T exactly a warrior, but he knew how to take care of himself. Unfortunately he’d been serving in the capacity of VIP to the weapons demonstration and, being that close to the prototypes, he wasn’t allowed to carry a firearm.

      Not that it really mattered. A pistol was no good against high-explosive grenades anyway—at least not when the grenadiers were at the range they were. Staying alive