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Citadel Of Fear
Don Pendleton
STONY MANAmerica's elite black ops team Stony Man Farm is dedicated to protecting the innocent. Acting on orders of the President, these soldiers and cyber techs are the nation's best defense against violence and terror across the globe.COASTAL CRISISAdding insult to injury, terrorists are discovered laundering money through Liberty City, an economic free zone in Grenada, sending Able Team undercover to follow the money trail. It doesn't take long to discover the free city has provided a haven for building homemade ballistic missiles. Phoenix Force arrives just in time to provide backup, but the missiles have already been shipped to a rogue group with their sights disturbingly set on the California coast. Both teams must join forces to avert disaster, because failure could mean the death of the President and thousands of Americans.
America’s elite black ops team Stony Man Farm is dedicated to protecting the innocent. Acting on orders of the President, these soldiers and cyber techs are the nation’s best defense against violence and terror across the globe.
COASTAL CRISIS
Adding insult to injury, terrorists are discovered laundering money through Liberty City, an economic free zone in Grenada, sending Able Team undercover to follow the money trail. It doesn’t take long to discover the free city has provided a haven for building homemade ballistic missiles. Phoenix Force arrives just in time to provide backup, but the missiles have already been shipped to a rogue group with their sights disturbingly set on the California coast. Both teams must join forces to avert disaster, because failure could mean the death of the President and thousands of Americans.
McCARTER TOOK THE FLIGHT RECORDER AND SLID IT ACROSS THE TABLE TO PROPENKO
“Here, this is your first job. Take this and—”
Propenko’s scarred fist slammed down on the flight recorder. Bits of thick plastic armor flew in all directions. He scooped up the little black box’s innards and made a fist around them. Technology cracked and popped.
The Russian went to the sink, turned on the tap and flicked on the garbage disposal. He dropped the shattered remnants down the drain and the flight recorder of Drone 1 met its final mastication.
McCarter noted that the Russian’s leg seemed to be bothering him a lot less.
Everyone froze as the lights suddenly went out and the garbage disposal spun to a grinding, snapping halt. For a moment the only sound was the running tap. The lights of the neighbors on the surrounding hillsides and the lights of the city below didn’t flicker. Someone had cut the safe house’s power.
“Gear up,” McCarter ordered. “We’re about to get hit.”
Citadel of Fear
Don Pendleton
Contents
Cover (#uec71b189-85bd-5e47-a0dd-da2991264914)
Back Cover Text (#u53d97c1d-eb09-52a4-a66b-9fbcc57ca043)
Introduction (#u84b99cf9-612e-5877-8a94-4886782ed226)
Title Page (#u9b0b2cb6-c013-5094-b157-81ebab25c8da)
CHAPTER ONE (#u4e9fd285-751a-5c16-83f4-f81f082f231b)
CHAPTER TWO (#u827d391f-4a95-51c6-abd7-83444089beca)
CHAPTER THREE (#u6ff621a1-8ff2-561d-ba29-ba11c07ef3d5)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u32e91a1d-b6ac-52b8-9b40-660cbc1effcc)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u99ef7aaa-839c-5b72-90b5-49128749c1a5)
CHAPTER SIX (#u3a3dc6c3-f7f1-5dc8-8a59-be37f7f432f8)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_53c7cde2-153e-5dc8-8a15-a64c67477523)
Poland, Gulf of Gdansk
“I have movement,” Gary Manning reported.
David McCarter, leader of Phoenix Force, looked up into the scudding rain of the Baltic Sea in winter. “Able Team gets all the soft jobs…” he muttered. “What do you see, Gummer?”
Manning spoke from his sniper hide three hundred meters back. They were in Baltic marshlands and he held the only high ground, but it was barely ten meters above sea level. “Three trucks, as reported. I make them Russian civilian Zil half-tons. Canvas tops.”
T. J. Hawkins checked his weapon. He mostly approved of the Polish kit. The Beryl rifle was basically a Russian AK but sexier and built to NATO standards. The young soldier peered out into crepuscular dawn across the gulf and took in the lights of Kaliningrad across the border as they came on in the predawn. “You know, I still don’t quite get how that’s Russia.”
Calvin James checked his weapon a final time, as well. “It’s an oblast, Hawk.”
“A what?”
“An exclave federal subject of Russia.”
“You know I love it when you talk all smart ’n’ stuff,” Hawkins declared.
Calvin James waited for it.
Hawkins sighed. “Okay, what’s an exclave?”
James made the young warrior work. “What’s the difference between the Latin prefixes en and ex?”
“Ex! Like exoskeleton! Outside! Like sci-fi body armor, and bugs!”
James nodded grudgingly. “Someone give that Wal-Mart-shopping, cornbread-fed Son of the South a cigar.”
Hawkins beamed. “Yeah, but why is it Russia? I mean, shouldn’t it be part of Poland or one of the Balticstans?”
Rafael Encizo snorted. “Did he just say Balticstan?”
“That piece of property has gone back and forth more than a few times historically,” Calvin James explained. “But the last time it traded hands? The Soviets took it from the Nazis, in World War II, and they didn’t give it back. To anybody.”
Hawkins nodded sagely. “They have a habit of that.”
“That they do. It’s the Russian Federation’s only western seaport that doesn’t freeze over in winter. They aren’t going to give it back to anyone anytime soon.”
Hawkins looked to their leader. “So what are we doing here again?
McCarter watched the trucks approach down the one-lane road through the misty marsh forest. They were a dozen klicks outside the Polish city of Elbag. The land was flat, dank, forested with twisted trees right out of a horror movie and mostly undeveloped. The Kaliningrad oblast was indeed Russia’s westernmost outpost, and had a massive military presence. Not unsurprisingly, the oblast also had a massive Russian organized crime presence, and served as a launch point for Russian mafiya endeavors into Western Europe.
This stretch of coast was a well-known smugglers’ route. McCarter knew that big money was paid on both sides of the border to keep the salty, dark, cold and windswept stretch of wetlands clear of Polish state police and customs.
Phoenix Force had rather neatly stopped a terrorist attack a week ago in Prague. McCarter had been rather pleased with himself and his team. However, Stony Man Farm had picked up some very strange and seemingly related chatter within hours of the strike. Strange enough that Aaron “the Bear” Kurtzman, the Farm’s cybernetics genius, had used the dreaded word anomalous.
The Farm had tracked the weapons through the black market web and their path had led to the Gdansk smuggling route and Kaliningrad. All signs pointed to something going on tonight.
McCarter scowled into the misting rain. Phoenix Force had once again been reduced to sticking their necks out and seeing who tried to chop their heads off. It was the Englishman’s least favorite method of investigation.
“With any luck we’re tying up loose ends, Hawk,” McCarter replied.
“I got a feeling we’re just getting started.”
McCarter nodded wearily into the wind. “And you’re not alone in that, are you, old son?”
“He called me old son.”
“You know? One day you are going to go one right proper Charlie too far.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
James answered. “It means, young blood, that one day, you are going to be all full of piss and vinegar, and say ‘you love it when I talk all black and stuff’ to me, and our fearless leader shall sit back and laugh at what happens to you.”
Hawkins looked back and forth as every senior Phoenix Force member save Manning grinned at him in the gloom. “That’s not right. That’s wrong. I’d never say something like that.”
Phoenix Force, including Manning over the com link, spoke as a unit. “Yes, you would.”
“That’s just wrong—”
Manning interrupted him with, “One mile, within range of my rifle, waiting on green light.”
“Roger that, Gummer,” McCarter replied. “Wait on my signal unless you get sudden inspiration.”
“Copy that.”
Encizo flipped up the sight on his grenade launcher. “Three trucks, how do you want to play it?”
“Well, I suppose I could step down there, step out in front and ask for an inspection.”
The Cuban grunted in amusement. “You don’t speak Russian or Polish.”
“But I do know a lorryful of Russian swearwords, and the word stop. Then it would be up to you lot and we all play it by ear.”
James gave the Phoenix Force leader a bemused look. “Wow.”
“You’ve got a better plan, then?”
“No, not all.” James grinned. “I’m all in.”
Manning’s voice dropped low over the link. “Guys?”
The convoy had stopped at approximately three hundred meters.
Hawkins stared at the three idling trucks. “Now why do you think they did that?”
McCarter’s brows bunched. “Don’t say it…”
Encizo said it. “I got a bad feeling.”
“They know we’re here,” James confirmed.
Manning’s voice grew concerned across the link. “Does anyone else hear that?”
McCarter strained his senses over the sound of the idling trucks in the distance.
Hawkins’s head snapped up. “Aw, hell.”
