Shadow War. Don Pendleton

of four sound suppressors bearing down on him.

      Manning blinked, stunned by the incredulous imagery before him, then training took over and put his conscious mind in the passenger seat.

      “Freeze!” he shouted in French. Then added, “Secure the room.”

      Hawkins and Encizo immediately stood and pushed deeper into the suite, methodically clearing the room as James rushed toward the intertwined sex partners under the unwavering cover of Manning’s pistol.

      “Don’t shoot!” the woman shrieked in terror, using French as Manning had.

      “Stay down!” James snapped, and shoved her clear of al-Shalaan.

      The featherweight woman tumbled off her partner’s back and slid across the marble tile of the floor. Her riding crop went spinning away. She curled into a terrified ball. James slid his pistol back into its shoulder holster and reached down with his free hand to snatch the loose end of the rope wound around al-Shalaan’s neck.

      He jerked the man to his feet, pulled the auto-injector clear and jabbed it into the side of the terrorist facilitator’s neck. A second dose went straight into the man’s bloodstream. James shoved the man against the wall and let him slide to the ground.

      “You want to dose the woman?” he asked Manning.

      “Clear!” Encizo and Hawkins called in French from deeper inside the room.

      “Yeah,” Manning answered.

      The Canadian holstered his pistol as Encizo and Hawkins came back into the entranceway. Drawing his auto-injector, he moved toward the cowering prostitute. She tried to scramble away from him, but he was too quick and too strong for her. He pinned her against the bar. Her arm swung desperately, knocking a tumbler of ice and gin to the ground where it exploded into glass shards with a pop like a gunshot.

      “I’m sorry, this won’t hurt,” Manning said in French, finding manhandling the woman a distasteful task.

      Mission first.

      He leaned his weight against her body and applied the auto-injector into the soft, smooth flesh of her neck. The woman’s heart was racing in terror, and the drug affected her almost instantaneously. He lowered her to the floor, avoiding the spilled liquor and broken glass.

      Manning rose and surveyed the scene. James was using a tactical folding knife to cut the ropes from around the neck of the unconscious al-Shalaan. Hawkins was quickly shoving the Saudi prince’s attaché case, cell phone and laptop into a black nylon gym bag. Coming across the man’s suit jacket lying on the floor, the Southerner lifted the man’s leather wallet from the inside pocket and threw that in, as well.

      Encizo was at the open door, scanning the hallway for witnesses and bystanders while covering the slumped bodies of the guards. He had collected guns from every man and dropped them inside a waist-high ceramic vase set beside the entrance to the room. Manning was satisfied that the operation was unfolding as smoothly as could be expected.

      “We’ve picked up our uncle and we’re coming home,” he said into his throat mike.

      “Copy,” McCarter and Price echoed.

      “Get the wheelchair,” Manning said to Encizo.

      Encizo disappeared around the edge of the door as he darted down the hall. Manning turned and crossed the room’s foyer to help James hoist al-Shalaan’s limp body off the floor. Behind them Hawkins had methodically made his way around to the woman’s purse, dumping the contents out onto the bar.

      He let out a long low whistle as he shifted through the mess. “Jeez, how much drugs does this woman have?” He shook his head as he pulled up the menu on her phone and read some numbers, quickly scanning for prefixes that might be important. “Nothing.”

      “You got everything?” Manning asked.

      “Yeah. All we have time for. I haven’t found the room safe, but it wasn’t on our op plan anyway.”

      “Let’s go,” James said.

      Encizo came back into the room, pushing the wheelchair ahead of him. Without preamble James and Manning slung the unconscious body of al-Shalaan into the seat. The big Canadian stacked the man’s loose clothing on his naked lap. This was a discreet hotel. If a VIP was being escorted dead drunk and naked to a waiting car by his entourage, then it was best not to make the situation hotel business.

      Phoenix Force moved out of the room and passed the sprawled bodies of al-Shalaan’s guards. They turned down the hallway opposite the elevator bank. They moved quickly in a quintessential VIP protection pattern.

      “Let’s go, guys,” McCarter said in the earjack. “The valet is giving me grief.”

      “Pay him off, we don’t need the heat. The package is naked.”

      “Whose fault is that? Just hurry. This fussy little man out here has numbered days if he blows that goddamn whistle at me one more time,” the ex-SAS commando said.

      “I believe him. We’d better get moving,” Manning said.

      “It’s nice to know cooler heads prevail,” James muttered.

      Phoenix Force reached the end of the hall and opened a door set off to the right of the stair access entrance. They stepped into an Employees Only area where the hotel maids kept their cleaning carts and the bellhops cached folding trays for room service. A freight elevator stood to one side of the long, narrow staging area.

      They moved quickly to the elevator, and Manning pulled a firefighter override key from his pocket and called the lift straight to the floor.

      The elevator door opened with a pneumatic hiss and Encizo pushed the wheelchair inside.

      McCarter’s voice came over the com link. “I’ve got sirens.”

      “Copy,” Manning said. “We’re headed to the lobby now.”

      The doors sealed shut and the elevator jerked as it started its descent. The inside of the freight elevator was deep and wide, big enough for a small forklift to fit into. The walls were dented and painted a flat, institutional white above metal plating that ran about halfway up the sides. It smelled like cleaning products.

      McCarter spoke into the com link. “I’m moving to Route Bravo. The first gendarme has arrived.”

      “Copy,” Manning acknowledged.

      The elevator slowed, then halted and the door slid open. A rail-thin bellhop with slicked-back hair looked up in surprise.

      Manning stepped forward in the manner of an arrogant bodyguard and brushed past the man. “Move!” he snapped in German.

      Behind him Phoenix Force rolled out of the elevator and began to navigate the warren of halls behind the hotel’s lobby, heading toward the loading docks. They caught some stares from janitors and building workers, but no one said a word to the hard-eyed men.

      They hit the back dock moving briskly. As if taking a cue from some off-scene director, McCarter pulled up into the loading bay. He was driving the stretch Hummer as part of the cover, right down to the chauffeur’s uniform. He locked up the independent disc brakes and jerked the heavy vehicle to a stop. Manning heard the sound of the automatic locks disengaging and quickly jerked open the back door on the big vehicle.

      Hawkins and Encizo put their hands under al-Shalaan’s arms and catapulted him out of the wheelchair as James pulled it away, thrusting him through the open limo door. There was a shout from behind them, but the team ignored it as they leaped after the unconscious man and into the vehicle.

      McCarter slammed his foot to the gas pedal before Manning had time to pull the door closed behind him and the big vehicle hurtled out of the loading dock and onto a side street.

      “What’d you do?” McCarter demanded.

      A Fiat suddenly appeared in front of him and he jerked the stretch Hummer into the other lane to avoid