The Black Alchemists

by Gar Wilson

  "The nation is in trouble, Hal. We're desperate." The President closed the file folder on his desk.

  "My people specialize in handling desperate situations, sir."

  "This one is different. Are you familiar with the rash of incidents recently involving the tampering of food, drugs and cosmetics?"

  "Just what I've heard on TV and read in the newspapers. A couple of families in Frisco and Houston were killed with cyanide poison last September, wasn't it? Then some guy in Dayton was blinded by acid-laced eyedrops, and nine seniors in Tampa were hospitalized after using some sort of powder in a whirlpool at a health spa. Six died, if memory serves. Have there been other incidents?"

  "Aren't those enough? The powder in the health spa contained sodium cyanide, by the way," the President stated, handing Brognola the file from his desk. "And that's just the tip of the iceberg, Hal."

  "You mean these incidents are all related?" Brognola stared at the President.

  "That's right," the commander-in-chief nodded. "It's probably the most insidious, cowardly conspiracy of all time."

  The Fed flipped through the file, then looked up. "Who the hell are the Black Alchemists?"

  "That's what you have to find out," the President replied. "Whoever they are, they claim to be responsible."

  "This folder isn't very thick, sir. Is this all you have on these people?"

  "You'll have to take the investigation from there."

  "Our research department will do what it can, but Phoenix Force and Able Team aren't criminal investigators."

  "Phoenix Force has done some successful investigative work in the past, hasn't it? From what little I've seen in those sketchy reports you send me, I'd say it did some pretty shrewd investigating in Germany and Japan before it located terrorist headquarters in both countries. Probably in Israel, as well."

  "Phoenix Force is basically a strike team."

  "Fine," the President stated. "When they find these terrorists who call themselves the Black Alchemists, that's exactly what I want them to do: strike and strike hard."

  "Terminate?" Brognola raised his eyebrows. "We're not an assassination force."

  "I didn't say that," the President told him. "But we can't allow this sort of thing to happen again. We've got to make certain the Black Alchemists are put out of business. Anyone who slaughters innocent people and expects this country to reward them by surrendering to blackmail will know they face swift and terrible retaliation. Naturally, I'd rather see these animals stand trial, but justice doesn't always come in a courtroom. Tell Phoenix Force to stop the Black Alchemists and use any and all methods necessary to accomplish its mission."

  "And if it succeeds, you won't have any more doubts about Stony Man?"

  The President rose, indicating the meeting was coming to a close. "If Phoenix Force succeeds, it will prove that it and the entire Stony Man organization is too valuable for dealing with matters that can't be handled via ordinary channels. To even consider dissolving your operations force under those circumstances would be out of the question."

  "Understood," said Brognola, rising. "And thank you, Mr. President."

  3

  On the screen, two attendants briskly carried a stretcher from an ambulance into the building, the human cargo covered by a blanket. "Mrs. Elaine Simms was rushed to Cook County General Hospital following the incident," the anchorwoman for Chicago's Channel Five news reported. "Her condition is reported as critical."

  Hal Brognola switched off the videotape machine and turned to the three members of Phoenix Force seated at the conference table in the War Room of Stony Man headquarters.

  "That's the most recent incident," he said. "Mrs. Simms's face was eaten away by a couple of unlisted ingredients in her cold cream — ground glass and hydrochloric acid."

  "Cristo," Rafael Encizo muttered. "What kind of vicious scum would do something like that?"

  A muscular, handsome Cuban, Encizo was no stranger to "vicious scum." He had been captured by the Communists at the Bay of Pigs invasion and held in Cuba's most notorious political prison, where Castro's goons had interrogated and tortured him but could not break him.

  Encizo escaped from the island hellhole and became a naturalized American citizen. An expert frogman, survivalist and combat veteran, he found use for his skills when the CIA recruited him for missions in Central America. Later he worked for an insurance company as an investigator, specializing in maritime claims.

  An ideal choice for the elite antiterrorist unit, the Cuban warrior relished the adventure and the opportunity to strike out at the dark forces that he perceived were victimizing and enslaving people everywhere. When Phoenix Force was created, he finally found a home.

  "They call themselves the Black Alchemists," Brognola explained, handing the men copies of the file he had been given at the White House.

  "Is the President certain these incidents are connected?" Colonel Yakov Katzenelenbogen inquired.

  A heavyset middle-aged Israeli who looked more like a college professor than a commando, Katz was one of the most experienced and deadly fighting men in the world. His career began when as a teenager in France he joined an underground resistance group against the Nazis. After the war, he saw little reason to remain in Europe as his entire family had died in Hitler's death camps, so he moved to Palestine, where he was soon involved in the war for independence. After the nation of Israel was established, Katz fought in the battles with her Arab neighbors; in the Six Day War his right arm was injured beyond repair and had to be amputated at the elbow. This did not prevent him from becoming an espionage agent with Mossad, Israel's main intelligence organization.

  A brilliant linguist who spoke five languages fluently with smatterings of several others, Katz was recruited to serve as the team commander of Phoenix Force.

  "He's sure," Brognola assured him. "The Black Alchemists aren't just capitalizing on a series of unrelated Tylenol-killer copycats to bluff their way through an extortion scheme. The White House received a cablegram from them that contained a list of stock numbers and other information to prove they had tampered with the products involved. The bastards even marked out letters and numbers on some of the labels. The FDA checked their claims. They aren't bluffing, Yakov."

  "What do they want?" Keio Ohara asked.

  The tall dapper Japanese was the youngest member of Phoenix Force. His quiet, gentle personality and polite manners concealed a fierce warrior, not unlike the fabled samurai knights of Nippon's past.

  Though a seasoned veteran of eleven incredible missions with Phoenix Force, Ohara was still the least experienced of the five-man army. His special skills included a mastery of electronics and expertise in martial arts. A black belt in both judo and karate, Keio Ohara was a living weapon.

  'They sent a list of demands," Brognola replied, consulting his copy of the President's folder. "The terrorists want $1 billion in cash. They've requested small denominations, unmarked bills, naturally. They are willing to accept diamonds as part of the payment."

  "No demands that political prisoners be released?" Katz asked. He deftly held a Camel cigarette between the curved hooks of the prosthetic device attached to the stump of his right arm.

  "None," the Fed answered. "But they also want twenty-five-thousand M-16 assault rifles with ten times that in 5.5 ammo. And they want twenty LAW anti-tank rocket launchers plus one-hundred-thousand M-26 frag grenades."

  "Insane! Sounds like a shopping list for a small army," Encizo burst out.

  "That's unusual," Katz agreed, firing his cigarette with a battered old Ronson. "Most large terrorist organizations are controlled or at least supported by the Russian KGB. Moscow generally supplies them with plenty of weaponry."

  "The Irish Republican Army has gotten more than half its weapons and explosives from sympathizers here in the United States," Ohara commented.

  "Yeah, but that gravy train doesn't run so smoothly anymore," Encizo said. "The FBI conducted a big investigation of the Noraid organization a
couple of years ago, and some of the IRA's American supporters stood trial for gun smuggling."

  Brognola unwrapped a cigar. "But they were found not guilty on the gun-smuggling charges, weren't they?"

  "True," said Katz. "But the incident certainly hurt the IRA's connections here."

  "Where do the Black Alchemists want the money and hardware delivered?" Encizo asked. "That should give us some idea who's involved in this."

  "They haven't specified locations yet," Brognola explained, tossing his file folder onto the table. "They say that first they want to give us a few more examples of their ability to sabotage consumer products."

  "Haven't they caused enough misery and taken enough lives already?" Ohara shook his head.

  "Apparently they want to demonstrate that they can strike anywhere, anytime."

  "Madre de Dios," Encizo muttered. "Anyone who doesn't live in the wilderness, eating roots and berries, will be vulnerable to those bastards."

  "No wonder the President is so concerned about this matter," said Katz.

  "He's also concerned about Stony Man," Brognola said dryly. "And he's still debating whether to keep us operational or not."

  "Because of that business with Bolan?" Encizo asked.

  Brognola nodded. "And your little adventure in Israel a couple months ago."

  "It had to be done, Hal," said Katz.

  "None of you bothered to notify Stony Man," the Fed declared. "We didn't even know you guys were in the Middle East until you returned and made reports. If Rafael hadn't been wounded, I wonder if you would have bothered to tell us anything."

  "Of course we would have," Katz assured him. "You would have found out anyway. American intelligence and Stony Man both have sources in Israel. Right?"

  "The President wonders if we've got any control of you men." Puffing on his cigar, Brognola exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Well, your mission in Israel is ancient history," he said. "Providing we can get into the President's good graces again. For the sake of the entire Stony Man complex, Phoenix Force had better be able to take care of these Black Alchemists."

  "We intend to," Katz declared. "But we'd better have the entire team. Where are Manning and McCarter? I thought they arrived yesterday."

  Gary Manning, one of the two missing members of the five-man army known as Phoenix Force, was a Canadian demolitions expert and rifle sharpshooter. A workaholic, he tackled every task with bulldog determination. The other absent member, David McCarter, was a veteran of the British Special Air Service, an ace pilot and an exceptional pistol marksman. He was totally fearless in combat and a true believer in the SAS motto: He Who Dares, Wins.

  "Gary and David are in San Francisco trying to recruit a new man for the mission," said Brognola.

  Encizo frowned. "A new man? You're not planning to put me on the shelf because of my leg?"

  "Of course not," the Fed assured him. "But I want you to avoid direct combat this time, Rafael. I've seen the medical reports. Your ankle was virtually shattered by a bullet. You've got a steel pin in there and the bones probably haven't finished knitting yet."

  "I'm fine," the man insisted. "I don't really need this cane. It's just sort of nice to have." He pointed the cane at a bulletin board on a far wall, then pressed a trigger hidden in its handle. The walking stick hissed like a serpent, and an eighteen-inch spear jetted from its shaft and slammed into the board, its steel tip buried in the cork.

  "Jesus," Brognola whispered. "Where'd you come up with something like that?"

  "I made it for him," Keio Ohara answered, a bit sheepishly. "Simple, really. I installed an extruded seamless aluminum tube in the cane. It's the barrel for the spear, which is powered by a cartridge of carbon dioxide."

  "Sort of a concealed harpoon gun," Encizo remarked. "With my experience as a frogman and a spear-fisherman, this weapon suits me fine. So you can see I'm not exactly a helpless cripple."

  "I didn't say you were," Brognola assured him. He glanced at Katz: the word "cripple" had apparently not upset the one-armed Israeli. Katz believed that only those people who don't adjust to their physical disabilities are handicapped. This most certainly did not apply to him.

  "Hal has a valid point, Rafael," said the Israeli. "As you know, I also have a steel pin. It's in my left knee. Occasionally, the joint locks and I limp about for a couple days. Bloody nuisance, but I've never gone into combat when this happens. I have no right to risk the lives of my teammates by trying to prove how tough I am."

  "As if any of us need proof.'' Encizo grinned. "All right. If I can't handle it, I'll stay out of action."

  "To set your mind at ease, Rafael," Brognola said, "I'm not recruiting anyone to replace you. The fellow just happens to be uniquely qualified to assist in this particular mission."

  "Who is he?"

  "His name is Calvin James." The Fed tossed another file folder on the table. "There's the material we put together on him. Take a look."

  "Are you certain he'll be willing to join us for something like this?" Katz asked, reaching for the folder.

  Brognola grinned. "Read his file. I've got a feeling Calvin James has been waiting all his life for something like this to happen."

  4

  Sergeant Calvin James looked down. He had not intended to. He knew it would not make the task any easier to see the pavement twenty stories below. Both ends of the street had been blocked off by police barricades. Cops dressed in flak vests and riot helmets, resembling fat beetles, lurked behind what looked like toy squad cars from where James stood.

  "Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth. "And I volunteered for this."

  James and another SWAT officer, Don Rambo, carefully lowered themselves down the side of the Hilldale Pacific Bank building, their booted feet braced against the concrete wall, their gloved fists gripping strong nylon ropes.

  The pair were not engaged in a training exercise. A gang of terrorists called the Arma de Liberation de Puerto Rico had seized control of the Hilldale Pacific office tower. The fanatics were holding one hundred five people hostage. They threatened to kill the executives, secretaries, computer operators, even the janitors, unless their demands were met within twenty-four hours.

  But they could not agree on their demands.

  They wanted "freedom for Puerto Rico" — whatever that meant.

  They wanted the release of six ALPR members held in federal prisons for attempted destruction of several national monuments including the Statue of Liberty and the Washington Memorial.

  They wanted $2 million to "finance the revolution against American imperialism."

  Finally, the ALPR fanatics wanted a plane to return them to Puerto Rico. Later they changed this and demanded a flight to Cuba instead.

  The San Francisco Police Department does not believe in rewarding criminals for assault, kidnapping and murder. Nor does it endorse surrender to blackmail. Its Special Weapons and Tactics unit had been created to deal with such situations. One of the best in the country, it was called in to defuse the ALPR before the hotheaded terrorists could explode.

  Rescuing the hostages and capturing the terrorists would not be easy. The doors to the building were booby-trapped with explosives wired to the inside. Terrorist sentries were posted at several windows. Most of the ALPR hoods were armed with rifles equipped with sniper sights.

  Only the roof appeared to be vulnerable and unguarded. A police helicopter had passed over the building and confirmed that no terrorists were stationed there. However, there was only one entrance, and the door was probably booby-trapped as well.

  The SWAT team could have handled the situation in several ways. An outright siege would further endanger the hostages but of course they were already in extreme danger since the terrorists had already displayed their viciousness by slaughtering all security personnel in the bank. Due to the position of the booby traps, the only way SWAT officers could safely deal with them would be to blast the doors. This would alert the ALPR lunatics and probably result in a massacre.

 
SWAT commander Captain Reed decided the best choice of action would be to lower two men from the chopper to the roof. The pair would then go down the wall to an unguarded window and enter the building. From inside they would attempt to locate an entry for the rest of the SWAT strike force.

  James and Rambo volunteered for this risky assignment. Reed had slight reservations about using either man for the job. Rambo was somewhat inexperienced and James tended to favor unorthodox methods. A tall lanky black man who had formerly been a medic with the SEALS in Vietnam, James was probably the best trained and most highly skilled officer in the outfit. Although Reed admired the sergeant's ability, he suspected Calvin James was better suited for seek-and-destroy missions in combat than civilian police work.

  Another reason Reed had been reluctant to send James was that he was in demand elsewhere. Reed had received a radio message from the police commissioner. Apparently two agents from the Treasury Department had inquired at headquarters about "borrowing" James for some sort of special duty, probably with Justice or the American branch of Interpol.

  Well, Reed thought. Uncle Sam can have Calvin James later. Providing he does not get himself killed now.

  * * *

  When James and Rambo reached the eighteenth-floor window of the Hilldale Pacific building, they were eager to climb inside. Although M-16 automatic rifles were slung across their shoulders and .357 Magnum revolvers holstered on their hips, these would be of little help if the men were discovered outside the building with their hands clinging to ropes.

  Rambo braced his feet on the windowsill and removed a glass cutter from his utility belt. James slid a suction handle from his gear. The device was a footlong plastic tube with a suction disc attached to each end. He clamped both discs firmly on the glass.

  "I hope this doesn't trigger a burglar alarm," Rambo whispered as he moved the cutter to the pane.

  "No sweat," James assured him. "I asked Reed about that before we left. This place has a silent alarm which sets off an alarm at the police station. It's already been deactivated."