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Leaning against the ATV for support, Manning slowly limped forward to the edge of the precipice. With both hamstrings out it felt as if his legs had turned to jelly, and each step was an agony. By the time he reached the edge and peered downward, the driver had landed in a contorted, bloody heap at the base of the cliff.
“That’s one down,” Manning murmured.
He turned and headed back toward Encizo. The Cuban had pulled himself to his feet. His shirt was soaked with blood where he’d been stabbed. He ripped the fabric aside and inspected the wound. “He took a nice chunk out of me.”
“Let me take a look,” Manning said.
“Later.” Encizo moved past his teammate and slid into the front seat of the ATV. “Come on, let’s go get David.”
“Easier said than done,” Manning replied, struggling to pull himself into the passenger’s seat. Encizo reached out with his good arm and helped him up.
“Hammies?”
“Yeah,” Manning groaned. “Messed them up playing tug-of-war with the truck here.”
“That sucks,” Encizo told him. “What happened to the good old days when we came through these firefights without a scratch?”
“Times change, I guess,” Manning said. He started to tell Encizo about the gunshot wounds Calvin James had sustained in the meadow when the next stream of gunfire rained on them from the mountains. The crate blocked most of the shots, but a few bullets found their way to the front hood, leaving navel-sized holes. The men knew if they didn’t move they would end up sitting ducks.
Encizo quickly keyed the ignition. The engine turned over several times but wouldn’t catch.
“Come on, you freaking piece of garbage!”
He tried again; this time the engine turned over.
Encizo was shifting into Reverse when their attackers fired another mortar round their way. Manning caught a fleeting glimpse as it whizzed by, missing the ATV by a few yards. It wound up exploding in the gorge behind them, and the sound of the blast echoed through the mountains like a death knell.
“I guess the good news is we must not be carting those nukes after all,” Encizo speculated. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to blow us up.”
“In other words, they don’t have to pull any punches going after us,” Manning replied.
“That’s the bad news,” Encizo said. “Hang on. Here goes…”
The ATV’s front end had been knocked out of alignment during its downhill plunge, and as Encizo guided the vehicle backward, it crabbed sharply to one side. He worked the steering to compensate, and with each turn his wounded shoulder felt as if it were about to fall off.
Encizo backed up the ATV a few more yards, then put on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a stop several yards short of the pine tree Manning had used to winch the ATV from the edge of the precipice. One of the Sikorsky’s main rotor blades extended out over them, and smoke drifted past the front of the vehicle.
“Okay,” Encizo said, shifting the ATV into neutral. “Let’s try to get to David before he gets fried.”
Manning tried to climb out of his seat. He couldn’t. “No good,” he told Encizo.
“Take the wheel, then,” Encizo said. “I’ll go.”
“I can manage that,” Manning stated.
Encizo climbed out of the driver’s seat, leaving it drenched with blood, then disappeared from view. Manning drew in a deep breath, then braced himself and struggled to duck under the front end of the crate. The effort drained him.
Beretta in hand, Manning scanned his surroundings, looking for signs of the enemy. The gunfire, which had stopped, at least for the moment, had all come from behind him, and all he could see to his right were rock formations, trees and the occasional shrub. As he was turning to his left, he rammed his cheekbone into the crate’s front end.
Muttering an epithet, Manning grabbed the top of the box and pulled himself up until he was sitting on the seat’s headrest. He could see Encizo now. The little Cuban had grabbed hold of the downed chopper’s rotor blade and was swinging his way, hand over hand, toward the cockpit, feet dangling just above the limbs of the charred pine. The tree had been set aflame by burning debris and the flames were crawling along the trunk, racing Encizo toward the aircraft. Manning could see fuel leaking from a rupture in the boom tank. It would take a miracle for Encizo to get to the cockpit and rescue McCarter before the flames reached the fuel and turned the chopper into a fireball.
Manning knew he had to do something. He prepared to fling himself to the ground, hoping he could crawl to the flames and hopefully smother them. Before he could dive forward, however, another volley of gunfire ripped through the pines and pinged along the side of the ATV, forcing him to crawl back behind the cover of the crate. In the process he wrenched his back and a fresh wave of pain shot through his lower torso.
“Son of a bitch!” he growled, pounding the crate with so much force the lid jarred open slightly.
Manning eyed the lid, then glanced back at the fire. It was a long shot, but he figured if he could pry to lid off and heave it far enough, it might be able to snuff out the fire, or at least divert it away from the chopper.
The lid was nailed shut, but Manning had opened a wide enough gap for his fingers, and he tugged upward, ignoring the pain in his back, as well as the bullets slamming into the far side of the ATV. After a few agonizing seconds, the lid finally came free.
Manning glanced into the container, then whistled low and muttered, “I’ll be damned.”
ENCIZO WAS as mindful of the creeping flames as Manning, and when bullets began zipping past his head, he finally let go of the rotor blade and dropped down onto the burning tree. He tore at his blood-soaked shirt, ripping it from his back and then using it to slap at the flames. It worked at first, putting out the part of the fire closest to the fuel spill. He couldn’t get any other of the burning branches without putting himself back into the line of fire, however, and soon it became clear that he was fighting a losing battle.
Pressing the shirt against the gash in his shoulder, Encizo made his way back toward the chopper, half climbing, half stepping over the brittle branches of the pine. Finally he reached the Sikorsky’s ladder and climbed up to the cockpit. Peering in, he saw McCarter struggling to get to his feet, still bleeding from his scalp wound.
“Over here!” Encizo called out.
McCarter glanced up, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Come on!” Encizo jerked the door open and reached out to McCarter. “We’ve got to get out of this firetrap, quick!”
McCarter hesitated, then took Encizo’s hand. The Cuban pulled hard, helping the Briton to the doorway.
“They really pulled the rug out from under you that time, didn’t they?” he wisecracked.
“Rug?” McCarter said dully.
“Let’s go,” Encizo told him. “Gary’s waiting in the ATV.”
“Gary,” McCarter repeated.
Encizo climbed back down the ladder, then dropped to the ground. He was waiting for McCarter to catch up when he heard a loud crash behind him. Turning, he saw the wooden crate tumble over the side of the ATV, spilling its contents onto the ground. Instead of the missiles and warheads the men had been concerned about, the crate had been filled with weapons: LAW rocket launchers, assault rifles, submachine guns and boxes filled with ammo clips. As for Manning, he was beside the vehicle’s rear cargo bay, in the process of setting up a Barrett .50-caliber machine gun on its tripod stand.
“Thought I’d lighten our load,” he called out as Encizo and McCarter made their way to the ATV. “Let’s get the hell out of here before we get toasted!”
“I’ll drive,” Manning told McCarter, pausing to snatch up one of the assault rifles. He handed the gun to McCarter. “You can ride shotgun.”
McCarter stared at the rifle, entranced, as Encizo bounded into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Come on, David, dammit!”
McCarter looked up, then moved around the ATV and took a seat next to Encizo.
“Glad to see you in one piece, David,” Manning called out from the rear of the vehicle.
As soon as McCarter climbed in, Encizo geared the ATV and popped the clutch. The vehicle lunged forward, still listing to one side as it raced clear of the downed Sikorsky. Moments later, there was a resounding explosion and shards of flaming shrapnel erupted in all directions. Manning ducked low in the vehicle, aiming the Barrett into the hills. Triggering the gun, he sent an autoburst streaming at their attackers. He couldn’t see if he’d hit anyone, but there was yet another lull in the gunfire coming their way.
Encizo veered the ATV sharply to the right, heading up a slope that led back to the trail it had strayed from earlier. Just as they reached the path, a pair of fleeting shadows passed over the ATV. Glancing up, Encizo and Manning spotted a pair of Cobra gunships heading toward the enemy positions in the hills.
“Hot damn!” Encizo said. “It’s about time we got some help!”
Once he reached the trail, Encizo quickly realized the ATV’s front wheels were so misaligned he was in danger of crashing into the rocks flanking either side of the path. After a few yards he gave up trying and brought the vehicle to a stop.
“Stay put,” he told Manning. “David and I’ll go help mop up, then we’ll come back to get you.”
Manning nodded.
Encizo was halfway out of the ATV when he noticed that McCarter was still in his seat.
“David?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
McCarter stared at Encizo. He looked confused. “David,” he said. “Is that my name?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stony Man Farm, Virginia
“Amnesia?” Carmen Delahunt was floored by the news Akira Tokaido had just delivered after a briefing with Aaron Kurtzman. “David has amnesia?”
Tokaido nodded. “All these times we’ve accused him of being out of his mind, who’d have thought we’d wind up being right?”
“Not funny,” Delahunt snapped. Anger flushed her cheeks just a shade lighter than her fiery red hair.
“Hey, just a little gallows humor, all right?” Tokaido countered.
“I repeat,” Delahunt said. “It’s not funny. What’s next? Are you going to start making wisecracks about Calvin being a holey man because he took three bullets?”
“Okay, I got it.”
Tokaido shrugged and pitched his bubble gum into a trash receptacle as he made his way to the far corner of the Annex Computer Room, where steam rose from Kurtzman’s legendary coffeepot.
Along with Tokaido and Huntington Wethers, who was due to arrive any moment, Delahunt rounded out Kurtzman’s cybernetics team. The members of the group had never joined Able Team or Phoenix Force on the battlefield, yet within the confines of the Computer Room they played an equally important role in helping to stem the tide of global terrorism and high crime both at home and abroad.
Both Tokaido and Delahunt had been on duty for the past ten hours. Carmen had planned to go on break as soon as Wethers arrived, but in light of recent developments, she figured her usual midday catnap would have to wait. Stifling a yawn, she cursored across her screen, calling up a messaging program that would allow her to stay on top of any communications coming in from the field teams. There was one new message, from Rafael Encizo, under the heading “Med Update.” Delahunt was opening up the message when a cup of coffee suddenly materialized at the edge of her desk.
“Peace offering,” Tokaido said when she glanced up. “You were right. I shouldn’t have been smarting off like that.”
Delahunt picked up the cup and offered a tentative smile. “If this stuff’s fresh, you’re forgiven.”
“The spoon didn’t get stuck when I was stirring the cream,” Tokaido said.
“Close enough.”
Delahunt was taking a sip when the doors behind them opened and in walked a tall, crisply dressed black man with traces of gray in his short-cropped hair.
Huntington Wethers, a former cybernetics professor at Berkeley, had the most analytic mind of anyone working at the Farm, and when it came to sorting through the constant stream of information filtering into the Computer Room, Wethers was more often than not the first to glean the patterns and connections that transformed raw data into useable intelligence.
“I just heard Phoenix Force ran into some difficulties in Spain,” Wethers said to Tokaido and Delahunt as he made his way to his workstation.
“There’s an understatement,” Tokaido said.
Delahunt shot him a warning glance, then quickly told Wethers about the ill-fated mission outside Bilbao.
“Terrible,” Wethers said once Carmen had finished. “What’s everybody’s medical status?”
“I was just working on that,” Delahunt said. “Give me a second.”
Wethers and Tokaido stood by watching as Carmen read through Encizo’s e-mail. “Actually, David’s in the best shape of them all, at least physically,” she reported. “He’s got a mild concussion and needed some scalp stitches where he struck his head. They’ll be giving him a CAT scan soon so they can come up with some kind of prognosis on his amnesia.”
“Hopefully it’ll be only short-term,” Wethers said. “That’s usually the case in situations like this.”
“That’s what we’re banking on,” Delahunt said. “As for Calvin, he’s still in surgery. A field medic managed to stop the bleeding from his gunshot wounds, but they’re going back in for one of the bullets because it’s positioned too close to one of his arteries.”
“But he’s going to pull through, yes?” Wethers asked.
Delahunt skimmed through the rest of Encizo’s note, then said, “Rafe says it’s touch and go. The surgeons told him it was a miracle they were able to bring Cal in alive, given all the blood he’d lost. He got a couple units from two of the guys in that commando outfit that flew in with David and Gary.”
“And Gary? How’s he?”
Delahunt shook her head. “Partial tear in his right hamstring, and a strain in the left. That plus he pulled the muscles in his lower back. He can barely move.
“And with Rafe, the knife nicked a tendon and sliced into his right deltoid. He’ll be in a sling and full-arm cast for at least a few weeks.”
“Bottom line,” Tokaido interjected, “is that they’re all out of commission except for T.J.”
“This is quite a blow,” Wethers said. “First we lose two guys from Able Team, and now this.”
“I know,” Delahunt concurred. “And what’s really upsetting is that it looks like this was just a wild-goose chase.”
“Not entirely,” Tokaido reminded her. “I mean, we did manage to take out an BLM cell that was trying to set up a base in the mountains there.”
“Maybe so,” Delahunt conceded, “but if you ask me, I think the Basques deliberately tried to make it look like they were carting those stolen missiles.”
“Diversionary ploy?” Wethers queried.
“Exactly,” Delahunt replied. “Look at all the manpower that went into that mission. Not just on our part, but Spain, too. With everybody focused on those mountains, it gave the BLM a better chance to smuggle the missiles out of the area. Not to mention this supertank.”
“The needles have left the haystack, you’re saying,” Wethers replied.
“That would be my guess,” Delahunt said. “And the more time that passes without us finding them, the wider the search area’s going to get.”
“And on our part, we’re down to Pol and T.J.,” Tokaido said. “And Pol’s not even expected to reach Spain for another few hours. The trail’s just going to get colder.”
“Fortunately, it’s not up to just us,” Delahunt reminded Tokaido. “The Spanish are pouring as many resources into this whole thing as they can, and they’re getting help from the French and NATO, too.”
“Yeah, but they’re not as good as us,” Tokaido said. “You’re talking boys going out to do a man’s job.”
Delahunt managed a smile. “Do I detect a little home-team prejudice?”
