Maelstrom. Don Pendleton

watched out for his own kind. Besides, the men of Phoenix Force could take care of themselves. The best he could do was to get the innocents out of the way.

      “Move!” he told the engineers and operators. “Go for that cover over there!”

      Kissinger waved them in the direction of a low-slung building that ran parallel to the bleachers. It was made of heavy concrete and steel, with a small open-air observation window that provided a full view of the field. It was actually a bunker-style observatory, designed for inclement weather and to provide some relative protection during demonstrations similar to this one.

      One of the operators tripped and Kissinger reached down and hauled him to his feet. He practically dragged the guy as he rushed toward the cover of the observation building. They had just reached the door as the second grenade struck the bleachers and sent an explosive blast of sharp, superheated aluminum shrapnel in every direction. A pang of fear stabbed at Kissinger’s heart even as he pushed the operator—whose name he remembered was Randy Wallis—through the door of the building. The armorer turned his attention toward the bleachers and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw they were already empty.

      HAWKINS HAD BEEN the first to spot the team of ATV riders approaching the demo field, and he knew immediately they weren’t an Olympic cross-country team just out for some fun. He’d started screaming orders at the surprised military observers and contractors. A couple of the generals in the crowd had at first acted as if he were nuts, giving Hawkins stern looks that signaled he was violating military protocol. The explosion of the first 40 mm grenade a mere twenty-five yards from their position turned annoyance into pandemonium, ending any further doubts the observers might have had about Hawkins’s maintaining a military decorum. People scrambled down the five rows of bleachers, moving toward the bunker-like building in the rear under the direction of Hawkins and the head of security, a young and inexperienced lad named Thaddeus Kornsby. What the youth lacked in experienced he made up for in enthusiasm and steadiness under fire. His handling of the situation was admirable.

      Which is why Hawkins felt anger wash over him when, halfway to the building, he turned at the sound of the second explosion that blew apart the bleachers and toppled Kornsby, who was now short his left arm. The young security officer stared blankly into Hawkins’s eyes, oblivious to the sound of the woman pinned under him, who was screaming and kicking. Hawkins realized something the woman, covered in the gore that had erupted from the stump of Kornsby’s wound, didn’t. He’d sustained his injuries throwing himself on top of her to save her life.

      Hawkins turned and rushed to retrieve both of them before the situation could get any worse. Although he really didn’t see how that could be possible.

      MCCARTER AND JAMES went prone about the same time they’d warned Encizo and Manning to grab cover. The Phoenix Force leader watched helplessly as a 40 mm grenade sailed over the demo field in a lazy arc and came to land about thirty meters on the backside of where they had set up the new prototype weapons. Less than a minute passed before there was a loud crack and a second grenade landed in the bleachers, although it appeared Hawkins and Kornsby had already cleared the spectators.

      McCarter also noticed that Kissinger had managed to gather the weapons operators and engineers away from the hot zone. With innocents out of the way, it would make it easier for Phoenix Force to do its job.

      McCarter keyed the transceiver. “Blue team.”

      “Go,” came Encizo’s voice.

      “We’ve lost sight of you, mate. Are you clear?”

      “We’re in the range building.”

      McCarter scanned the grounds and quickly found the location. The range building was, in fact, a small wooden structure dug into the earth, its roof and about two feet of uprights actually aboveground. McCarter had seen many like it. It was designed for range cadre to mark distances during live-fire exercises and call back the data to weapons operators. McCarter had familiarized himself with the process long before, when competing in pistol matches all over the world. But that had been a lifetime ago, when he was still with the SAS. Now the enemy seemed to have the advantage.

      McCarter meant to change that.

      “Red team, what’s your status?”

      “We’re inside the observation building,” Hawkins replied.

      “Do you have a clear line of fire?”

      “We did…until they blew up the damned bleachers. Now there’s too much smoke.”

      “Hang tight, mates,” McCarter said, hearing the tension in his teammate’s voice. “We’re coming for you.”

      McCarter and James got to their feet and continued charging toward the demonstration grounds. The group of ATV riders was now inside the fence line and headed straight for the prototypes. The Briton got within what he deemed was a reasonable distance, then knelt and steadied his MP-5K. He delivered another sustained burst, with James following suit. Another rider’s body flipped sideways off the ATV and his machine caromed off that of one of his partners before rolling onto its side and stopping, one handlebar leaving a gouge in the soft dirt-sand mix of the demo grounds.

      James entered the fray, capping one of the several hardmen in a group that had reached the prototypes. Rounds from the MP-5K slammed into the rider’s back as the man dismounted from his ride, and he pitched forward violently and landed face-first.

      McCarter could now see the winking of muzzles from the open slit in the range building. It looked as if Manning and Encizo had them in a cross fire. The Briton grinned. That pair was performing admirably, despite the overwhelming odds. Phoenix Force was neither heavily armed nor prepared for this kind of an assault. They weren’t packing any spare clips, heavy weapons or explosives of any kind. The enemy had every advantage here.

      As if in response to the thought, McCarter heard the unmistakable sounds of two grenade launchers being fired. He yelled at James to get clear as he got to his feet and sprinted toward a large boulder. The natural terrain here was rocky, comprised of heavy dirt and sand. There were plenty of boulders like this around, especially in their area, which is why McCarter had chosen it as strategic for observation. That decision was probably going to prove to be one that saved his life and the life of his colleagues.

      When the grenades struck, he’d managed to get far enough away. The only consequence was the shower of dirt and rocks—the direct result of his proximity to the explosions. As the last of the debris settled, McCarter risked exposure by glancing at the area over the boulder. His heart sank into his stomach when he saw the motionless form of Calvin James lying close to the smoldering impressions left by the twin blasts.

      “I’ve got one down,” McCarter said into the microphone of his transceiver.

      Then he left his cover and rushed for his friend.

      IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING McCarter’s transmission, Hawkins made it a point to find Kissinger so they could discuss their options.

      “This isn’t good,” Hawkins said.

      “That’s an understatement,” Kissinger replied. “You’re the pro here. What do you want to do?”

      “Our first mission is to protect these people,” Hawkins said in a hushed tone. “I can’t very well leave you alone with them, and if I try to get to David, I’ll get my ass shot off.”

      “I can stay here with them.”

      “And do what?” Hawkins asked with disbelief. “You’re not packing. I’ve got the only weapon, and it’s just a pistol. And if we don’t get out of here very soon, Kornsby’s going to bleed to death.”

      “Yeah, we really got caught with our pants down on this one,” Kissinger replied. “But I think we’ll be okay without you. I think whoever the hell that is out there is after the prototypes, and nothing else.”

      “Maybe,” Hawkins replied, gritting his teeth. “But I just can’t take that chance.”

      ENCIZO AND MANNING could barely see through the