Close Quarters. Don Pendleton

elaborate ambush. I mean, road bombs? That takes some real planning.”

      “He makes an awfully good point,” Hawkins said.

      “Well, we’re not going to find out sitting around here on our bloody arses chewing the fat about it,” McCarter said. “Mr. Gold will help you get your electronic systems into place as quickly as possible.”

      Encizo and Russell looked at each other with mutual nods.

      “The rest of us need to do a little recon.”

      “Where?” Manning asked with a furrowed brow.

      “The Peace Corps west of here,” McCarter replied. “Bring your waterproof bags and mosquito repellent, blokes. We’re taking a trip up the Rio Negro.”

      * * *

      IT WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN anybody’s first choice to navigate the winding, narrow road that snaked along the Rio Negro in the dead of night, but Phoenix Force had never been known for taking the easy route.

      It bothered David McCarter being one man short but he understood all too well the importance of giving the body time to rest after trauma. Besides, Encizo wouldn’t lack things to do back at the hotel if things continued on the course they had to this point.

      This mission could’ve been classified as anything but easy, and yet McCarter could only think about the challenges facing Phoenix Force. McCarter had told the Farm in no uncertain terms that he thought sending Able Team into the heart of Iran wasn’t the hottest idea. After all, this was the CIA’s screwup. Why couldn’t they clean up their own messes? Still, he knew orders were orders; they went where they had to and did what they had to. It was this kind of professional ethic that had guided the field teams of Stony Man all of these years, and McCarter wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

      It took nearly two hours to reach the destination of the destroyed Peace Corps camp. As Phoenix Force bailed from the SUV—a loaner from the American Embassy—McCarter ordered them to scout the perimeter. It wouldn’t do to get ambushed again. Until they could figure out how the Hezbollah trainees had managed to track their movements, McCarter had told them to assume their every step remained under observation. Manning had also ensured they weren’t followed and during their entire trip to the site he could have counted on one hand the number of vehicles they encountered traveling in the opposite direction.

      Once they cleared the perimeter, they began to search the scorched remains of the encampment. Manning and Hawkins teamed up and took one half of the camp while McCarter and James scoured the other side.

      As they moved through what remained of the camp mess, the beams from their flashlights sweeping the interior, James said, “So you never really told us what we’re looking for.”

      “That’s because I’m not sure myself, mate,” McCarter replied. “I just have a gut instinct that something here could help us.”

      “I suppose it’s possible.” James squinted as he searched the gloom and said, “I don’t mind saying, though, this place gives me the creeps. It smells like…death.”

      That forced a chuckle from McCarter. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

      “Nah, that doesn’t bother me,” James said. “Besides, it’s always the white chick who—”

      Something caught James’s eye as it glinted in the flashlight beam. James peered at it for a bit, cocked his head and said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

      McCarter stopped searching and turned toward the direction of his friend. “What is it?”

      “Come look for yourself.”

      McCarter advanced on James’s position and shortly the pair stood directly over a small, tubular object several inches in diameter and a half foot tall. At first it looked like a miniature coffee urn but on closer inspection they could see the remains of what appeared to be an advanced electronic gauge set into its face. The most telling thing about the object was that despite the fire the majority of it had appeared to survive the blaze. One thing was certain, it wasn’t any sort of equipment that would be in possession of a Peace Corps contingent and it sure as hell looked out of place in this environment.

      McCarter keyed his radio and ordered the others to join them in the wrecked building. Manning and Hawkins arrived less than a minute later.

      “What’d you find?” Hawkins asked. “Buried treasure?”

      McCarter pointed at the odd-looking device. “Ever see anything like this before?”

      Hawkins gave it a cursory glance and shrugged, but Manning knelt to gain a more detailed appraisal. A few times they heard him grunt to himself as he brushed gently as the soot and ash around the electronic inset. He then looked around the area with his flashlight. After a time, he rose and dusted his hands off.

      “It’s not an explosive device—I’m sure of that much,” he told his compatriots.

      Hawkins appeared to let off a sigh of relief.

      “You think it’s some kind of food processor or something?” James asked.

      “Definitely not,” McCarter said. “And definitely not any sort of luxury afforded most Peace Corps volunteers. A lot of them travel with only the most basic necessities because they want to fit in with the natives, as it were.”

      “So what are we looking at?” Hawkins asked.

      “Well, I’m not expert but I’d say it’s some sort of homing device,” Manning said.

      “Pretty odd thing for a bunch of Peace Corps volunteers to have,” James replied.

      “There’s no identifying marks on its exterior, but I’m betting if we take it back to HQ for a closer inspection Russell can probably determine exactly what it is,” McCarter observed.

      “And likely even who made it,” Manning said.

      “Well, it’s not exactly the X-marks-the-spot you were looking for, boss, but it’s a start.”

      “Indeed it is, chum,” David McCarter replied.

      * * *

      “WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE you were right on the money, pal,” Brad Russell told Manning. “It’s definitely a homing beacon.”

      Phoenix Force had returned with the device and after a couple of tense hours, Russell and Encizo had managed to get enough of their communications system up that the NSA expert could then turn his attention to their prize. Russell made short work of it, figuring out how to disassemble the device and determining its purpose in no time flat. Whatever else Russell might have been, Price had pegged him well when she’d told McCarter that he was an electronics genius to rival some of the best in the business.

      “A homing beacon inside a Peace Corps camp,” James said. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

      They had Aaron Kurtzman on speakerphone and it was he who replied, “It does if you consider this in light of what we learned from Christopher Harland.”

      “Meaning?” Hawkins said.

      “Meaning that they didn’t stumble onto those Peace Corps blokes by accident,” McCarter replied. He scratched at the stubble already forming on his chin. “They had this whole thing planned out. They stalked them and they planned their attack.”

      “And they also managed to get someone to plant that beacon inside the camp,” Russell said.

      “But who?” James inquired.

      “One of the locals. Had to be,” Encizo declared.

      “What makes you think so?” Manning said.

      “There’s little doubt in my mind now they have folks on the inside working for them. I think they have a lot of natives on the payroll, in fact.”

      “Paraguayan citizens helping Hezbollah terrorists?”