Close Quarters. Don Pendleton

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      STONY MAN

      An elite covert special ops team, Stony Man acts only under presidential directive. Backed by a sophisticated unit of cybernetics and weapons experts, Able Team and Phoenix Force fight terror across the globe. They operate with impunity, driven by grit and the instinct of true warriors dedicated to protecting the innocent.

      TERROR TRAIL

      When Peace Corps volunteers working in the jungles of Paraguay are kidnapped and brutalized by a mysterious new Islamic terrorist group—and political maneuvering fails—Stony Man gets the call. Its dual mission: an under-the-radar jungle rescue and a hunt along the Iranian shores and backstreets of Tehran for the terrorist masterminds. With the enemy’s hard-line agenda poised to fuel the powder keg of Middle East instability, Stony Man moves in against long odds that are only getting longer. Surrounded and outgunned, they’re willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to succeed.

      “We’re talking a religious coup of incomprehensible proportions.”

      “Do I smell a change in plans, then?” McCarter asked Price.

      “Not for you,” she replied. “But we wanted you to have a better idea of what you’re up against. We’ll be taking care of the rest of this through Able Team.”

      “And how exactly do you plan to do that, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”

      “We’re sending them to Tehran to handle the matter personally,” Price said.

      “Wait. Let me make sure I just heard you correctly. You’re sending Able Team into Iran?”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, bloody hell,” McCarter said. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

      “Well, the decision’s already been made by the President, and Hal’s in complete agreement. I had my own reservations, but it didn’t seem like the issue was up for debate. Not now anyway.”

      “Have you told Able Team yet?”

      Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Guenther for his contribution to this work.

      Close Quarters

      Don Pendleton

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      Contents

       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

       EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      Paraguay, South America

      Sweat stung his eyes.

      The collar of a khaki shirt chafed his sunburned neck.

      The stifling, oppressive heat of the jungle threatened to overtake him.

      His lungs burned and his legs ached with every stride.

      Christopher Harland had been running through the dense jungle for the past half hour as if his life

      depended on it—because it did. He didn’t know the identity of his pursuers, but there was no doubt about what would happen if they caught him. That was all the incentive he needed to run this race—giving up was tantamount to a prolonged and painful death. Or worse, even, as his pursuers might actually subject Harland to the same things to which they had subjected his trusted colleagues, his friends, even a woman he loved.

      Who the hell knew about their fates? He couldn’t even be sure of his own at this point.

      Harland’s lungs threatened to give out on him. He heard the crash of the small armed unit as they closed the distance. He couldn’t keep this pace forever. No amount of track and field at Rutgers could have prepared him for it. He could only thank his coaches now for the training, although the repeated wind sprints at the time hadn’t seemed all that useful to most of the members on his team.

      Harland’s flagging endurance ceased to be a concern as he felt something snag his ankle. He stopped and turned to see what it was, but got no further in his inspection—the sensation of his body leaving the ground proved as distracting as it was disconcerting. The world around him seemed to swirl in a haze of reds and blacks, stars popping in front of his eyes from the abrupt change in orientation.

      Harland coughed as he fought for air. It felt as if his heart might explode in his chest. Would that be such a bad way to go? Not as bad as the way he’d exit this world at the hands of the figures who emerged from the jungle shadows. Most of them were dark-skinned but not in a mestizo way. These faces implied a more exotic place of origin, most likely somewhere in the Middle East or northern Africa. Harland had learned quite a bit from his ethnic studies in college.

      Harland’s head hammered as he dangled helplessly from the tree. As he spun he could see that at least a dozen men had been chasing him. Why? Was he really a target of that importance or was it merely that they didn’t want him