Harvest Hell

by Gar Wilson

  "Didn't break any bones, did you?" the Cuban inquired as he helped Manning rise.

  "No," the Canadian replied, rubbing his sore arm. "But I sure got enough bruises."

  "You didn't do badly for your first time," Encizo told him as he gave Manning his Sterling autoloader.

  " 'First time'?" Manning glared at him. "You mean you've done that before?"

  "This was my third time," the Cuban confirmed. "Of course, each drop is different because each building is designed differently. It's not always this easy."

  "I'll take your word for it," Manning muttered. "I see your ankle has certainly healed."

  Encizo winced slightly at the thought of the shot he took in the leg during a previous mission in Israel. He'd still been limping on the last assignment but was thankful he had recovered since. Encizo tapped Manning on the shoulder and the pair headed away from the mansion toward the opposite side of the island, where the terrorist camp had to be located.

  "Do you have any brilliant ideas about how we'll get back through that window later?" Manning asked as they hurried from the house before the sentries could complete their rounds.

  "Of course I do," Encizo replied. "But I don't think you want to hear about it."

  "I don't think so, either," the Canadian admitted.

  They found the barracks section easily enough with the help of the light from the moon. Two large billets-style buildings and a smaller structure made of concrete covered an area as big as two city blocks. Three sentries patroled the area. Each was armed with a Russian AK-47 assault rifle.

  "What do you think, Gary?" Encizo asked as he and Manning crouched in the dense shadows under a tree a quarter of a mile from the barracks.

  "I think we'll have to take out the guards," Manning replied grimly.

  "That's what I think, too." The Cuban sighed. "That means we'll have to get off this island fast after we finish the recon mission. Any bright ideas about that? It's your turn to come up with some."

  "We'll have to leave by boat." The Canadian shrugged. "Think you can handle Krio's yacht?"

  "The Argo?" Encizo smiled. "Now that would be sailing away from here with style."

  "First we have to finish our job," Manning remarked. "Now let's take care of those sentries."

  * * *

  Guard duty must be the dullest, most monotonous chore in the world, thought the sentry. Hours of walking around the same area in the same pattern, seeing the same buildings, the same shadows, hearing the same crickets chirping in the night, is boring.

  The sentry paused and looked up at the sky. He was rehearsing what he would say to his wife when he told her he wanted a divorce. He muttered to himself and shook his head as he strolled to the corner of one of the billets. Suddenly his guts seemed to explode.

  Gary Manning had lashed the side of his hand into the fellow's colon when he started to turn the corner. The guard doubled up with a groan. Manning quickly clasped his hands together and chopped them into the base of his opponent's neck. The vulnerable seventh vertebra cracked. Bone popped and the spinal cord snapped. The sentry fell. He was vaguely aware he was dying before the world seemed to be swallowed up in a black hole.

  Another sentry heard his comrade's groan and headed toward the sound. He passed right by Rafael Encizo, who was hidden among the shadows between the billets and the concrete structure. The Cuban pounced like el tigre and attacked the man from behind.

  Encizo clamped a palm over the guard's mouth and promptly thrust the point of his Gerber into the man's left kidney. Sharp steel pierced the vital organ. The sentry convulsed violently. Encizo held him firmly and drew the knife across the man's throat. Blood vomited from the hideous wound. The Cuban felt his opponent's muscles relax. Only then did he allow the corpse to fall to the ground.

  The third sentry saw Encizo kill his comrade. The man unslung his AK-47 and prepared to work the bolt. Manning rushed up behind the guard and quickly lashed out with the barrel of the rifle he had taken from the first guard. Steel crashed into the man's skull.

  Dazed, the sentry fell to the ground. Manning kicked the Kalashnikov out of the man's grasp. The guard made a feeble grab for the Canadian's ankle. Manning's foot swung into the man's face, and the guard sprawled on his back with a groan. The Phoenix Force fighter stamped the edge of his shoe into the sentry's throat, crushing the thyroid cartilage. Blood bubbled from the man's open mouth.

  Manning dragged the corpse into the shadows and searched him. The Canadian found two extra magazines for the AK-47 and a .45 Government Issue Colt automatic. Manning preferred large-caliber handguns. He did not trust anything that did not have enough stopping power to knock a man on his ass with one slug. The Canadian thrust the Colt into his belt and stuffed the spare magazines into his pockets.

  "Gary," Encizo called softly as he approached. The Cuban also carried an AK-47 he'd confiscated from a dead sentry. "Nobody else is wandering around, but there are lights on in a couple of windows."

  "Think anyone saw or heard us take out these guys?" Manning asked.

  "Looks like we're okay for now," Encizo replied. "I just hope we don't have to do any shooting. I figure we'll be outnumbered about fifty to one if that happens."

  "Yeah." Manning nodded. "I wish we had silencers for these weapons. Let's get to work before somebody decides to check on the guards and finds them lying down on the job."

  The Phoenix Force pair moved to the concrete building. Since this was the only reinforced structure, they decided it must contain the most important materials. Encizo took one look at the door and cursed softly in Spanish.

  It was made of steel and had no handle or keyhole. A push-button panel was installed beside the door. One would have to press a numeral code in sequence in order to activate the computer-programmed lock. An incorrect sequence would probably trigger an alarm.

  "Can you crack it, Rafael," Manning whispered tensely.

  "Not with just a set of lock picks," the Cuban replied. "Looks like we're..."

  An electrical hum startled the pair, and the door slowly swung open. Manning and Encizo quickly moved behind it. A lone figure dressed in a laboratory smock stepped outside. He inhaled deeply, sighed and reached into a pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

  Gary Manning grabbed the man from behind and delivered a solid seiken punch to the mastoid bone behind his left ear. The man in white groaned softly and slumped unconscious into Manning's arms.

  Rafael Encizo charged through the open doorway, AK-47 held ready. He nearly collided with a large beefy man who had drawn a pistol from the button-flap holster on his hip. The Cuban rapidly swung his Kalashnikov and chopped the barrel across the man's wrist. Bone snapped, and the pistol fell from the terrorist's fingers.

  A backhand sweep rapped the AK-47 across the gunman's face. The blow knocked the guy against a wall. Encizo stabbed the muzzle of his rifle into his opponent's solar plexus. The terrorist doubled up, and Encizo brought the stock of his Kalashnikov down on the base of the goon's skull. He dropped like a sack of shit at Encizo's feet.

  Manning hauled the man in white across the threshold. He glanced about the room. It seemed to be a foyer, with a field desk facing the door. Apparently this was a guard station for the man Encizo had knocked unconscious.

  "Rafael," Manning whispered, pointing at a trio of television monitors mounted on the wall above the desk.

  "I see them," the Cuban replied. "They've got a goddamn closed-circuit television surveillance system."

  "But we didn't find any cameras outside," the Canadian remarked.

  "They must be out there somewhere," Encizo said. "Or why would they have this tv system? We're in a hell of a lot of trouble, amigo."

  The door suddenly swung shut like the lid to a steel coffin. It locked automatically. The two Phoenix Force commandos felt as if they had just been sealed inside a tomb.

  15

  Rafael Encizo stepped toward the TV monitors and examined the screens. The Cuban sighed with relief when he discovered the surve
illance system was not connected to cameras posted outside the building. Images of three emaciated men in separate rooms were being transmitted to the television receivers.

  "The closed-circuit system isn't to watch for intruders," Encizo remarked. "It's to spy on prisoners."

  "Yeah," Manning agreed. "Looks like they've got those poor devils locked in padded cells. The kind used in mental institutions to confine violent psychos. Wonder who those guys are?"

  "Let's find out," the Cuban suggested as he moved to the man in the white lab coat.

  Encizo rubbed the carotid artery in the guy's neck. The Cuban had once seen Keio Ohara use this technique to revive an unconscious person by stimulating the flow of blood to the brain. The man groaned weakly.

  Still imitating Ohara, Encizo grabbed the guy's hand and applied pressure to his fingernails. Unfamiliar with the finer points of the Japanese art of atemiy, Encizo could not recall the second part of the technique.

  He decided to use the Occidental method, instead. Encizo slapped the man's face and shook him hard. "Qui la chigada!" the Cuban snapped. "Wake up, you bastard."

  The man's eyes popped open. He saw the muzzle of a Sterling M-302 aimed at his face. Encizo thumbed off the safety.

  "You want to die?" Encizo asked in his clumsy Greek.

  "Yah n'yeponimahyu," the captive rasped fearfully. "Vee guvaritey po-rooski?"

  "Cristo," Encizo muttered. "This guy isn't Greek. He's a goddamn Russian."

  " 'Russian'?" Manning frowned. "Well, you speak Russian, don't you?"

  "Not fluently," the Cuban admitted. "My Russian isn't much better than my Greek. Sure wish Yakov were here."

  "You're the best we've got right now," the Canadian told him.

  "Okay," Encizo turned to the Russian. "Kak vas zavoot?"

  "My name is Chekov," the man answered. "Dr. Chekov."

  " 'Doctor'?" Encizo narrowed his eyes. "Did the KGB send you to help produce the starvation substance?"

  Chekov knitted his bushy eyebrows. Encizo had mispronounced several words in Russian and he had constructed the sentence incorrectly. Chekov was not certain he understood the Cuban.

  "You refer to the Proteus Enzyme, yes?" the Russian inquired.

  " 'Proteus Enzyme'?" Encizo raised an eyebrow. "That's what you call it. Yes, Citizen Doctor. We know about your project here, but we want to know more."

  "I am not a biochemist," Chekov explained. "Dr. Petrov can tell you how the enzyme is produced. That is not my field."

  "What is your field?" the Cuban asked. "What is your job here?"

  "I am a nutritional consultant," the Russian replied proudly. "Once I served as an official dietitian to the cosmonauts."

  "Impressive credentials for a prison doctor," Encizo remarked, jerking his head toward the tv screens. "Those men are your patients, yes?"

  "They are subjects for experiment and research," Chekov answered stiffly.

  "Human guinea pigs," Encizo remarked in English. He switched back to Russian. "Where are these 'subjects' being held?"

  "The cells are located in this building," the Russian answered. "I'll take you there."

  "Are there any more guards or doctors like you lurking around here?"

  "No," Chekov assured him. "The guard stationed here and I are the only persons on duty in this building."

  "No tricks, Doctor," the Cuban warned. "I know the propaganda campaigns in the Kremlin try to convince all the Soviet people that Americans are murderous gangsters. It is not true, Doctor. We won't kill you unless you fail to cooperate."

  "Would you admit it if you intended to kill me?" Chekov asked dryly.

  "Probably not," Encizo confessed. "But I wouldn't promise to spare your life unless I intended to do so."

  "There is another guard stationed at the cell block." Chekov sighed.

  "Continue to cooperate and you'll stay alive, Doctor," Encizo told him.

  Manning had bound and gagged the unconscious sentry. Encizo explained his conversation with Chekov to the Canadian. Manning cast a suspicious glance at the Russian. "You think we can trust him?" he asked.

  "I don't think he's KGB," Encizo replied. "I wouldn't go so far as to say we can trust him, but I don't think he's lying. Frankly, he's the only guide we've got."

  "Great," the Canadian muttered. "Well, I guess we don't have much choice."

  Encizo turned to Chekov and nodded. The Russian led the Phoenix Force pair to another door. Manning and his Cuban partner stiffened when Chekov reached for a panel of buttons identical to the one at the front entrance. The Soviet doctor pressed several buttons.

  No alarms betrayed them. The door opened with an electrical hum. A man, seated at another field desk, gazed up at the trio. His eyes expanded with shock when he saw the two armed strangers with Chekov. The guard reached for a pistol on his hip.

  "Nyet, Illya!" Chekov cried. "Nyet!"

  The sentry ignored him and drew his pistol. Encizo's Sterling M-302 cracked twice. A pair of tiny holes appeared in Illya's forehead. Twin streams of blood squirted from the exit wounds at the back of his skull. The sentry collapsed across his desk.

  "I had no choice, Doctor," the Cuban told Chekov.

  "I know," the Russian replied sadly.

  "Where are the prisoners?" Encizo asked.

  Chekov led the Phoenix Force commandos to a corridor. The Russian moved to yet another wall panel and pressed several buttons. Three doors slid open in response.

  Manning advanced first, his AK-47 held ready. He cautiously peered into the first room. A skeletal figure lay on a cot. He barely raised his head to look at Manning.

  The Canadian moved to the next cell. Another emaciated figure sat on a cot. He wearily turned his head to face Manning. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes were as expressionless as the glass orbs of a mannequin.

  The man in the third cell was too weak even to raise his head. His diaphragm rose and fell slightly.

  Manning heard the soft wheeze of labored breathing. The Canadian's face was hard with anger when he turned to Encizo and Chekov. "Ask the 'doctor' if he's proud of his work," he said angrily.

  The Cuban nudged Chekov with his Kalashnikov and ushered him into the corridor. Encizo's stomach knotted with the same kind of anger and revulsion expressed by Manning. "Why are you doing this?" the Cuban asked Chekov. "How can you justify this kind of research?"

  "Previous experiments were conducted in Siberia," Chekov replied. "But we had to be certain the Proteus Enzyme would work in a warm climate on healthy subjects.'*

  " 'Subjects'?" Encizo spat. "You mean, victims."

  "Yes." The Russian nodded. "I agree it is horrible. These men are innocent victims of a war between your government and mine. I do not understand politics. Pravda prints lies. Moscow distorts truth. Yet is this not true of Washington, as well? I simply follow orders. The same as you, yes?"

  "No," the Cuban told him. "I wouldn't obey an order to kill innocent people. I wouldn't agree to conduct experiments such as these.*'

  "Rafael,** Manning began. "We're running out of time. Better ask Doc Ivan where the laboratory is."

  "What do we do then?" Encizo asked. "Destroy it?"

  "Why not?" The Canadian shrugged. "I've got enough C-4 in my belt to blow up half this building."

  "And what if the Proteus Enzyme is carried by the wind, or multiplies when exposed to oxygen or light?" the Cuban inquired. "They sure as hell don't have such tight security just to hold three half-dead prisoners in their cells. Who can say how fast the virus might spread if it leaks out of here."

  "I'll just use enough explosives to destroy the lab," the demolitions expert assured him. "Then we'll seal this place up. We'd better take a sample of the enzyme with us for our scientists to analyze."

  "Voitha'o," a voice called weakly from one of the cells. "Parakalo, voitha'o..."

  "He's begging for help," Encizo told Manning.

  "They're too sick to travel," the Canadian stated grimly. "I hate the idea of leaving them here, but I don't s
ee how we can help them."

  "Madre de Dios," Encizo whispered. "I hate this mission."

  Without warning, an orange mist spewed from air vents in the ceiling. It poured into the cells and through the corridor. A strong, sickly sweet scent similar to almond extract assaulted their nostrils. The Phoenix Force pair realized instantly what the strange odor meant — cyanide gas.

  Manning and Encizo bolted from the corridor. Chekov followed. They dashed past the corpse of Ilya and fled to the foyer.

  The door to the front entrance stood open. Half a dozen figures waited at the threshold. Some were shirtless, clad only in fatigue trousers, but all wore gas masks and carried rifles. Three men had adopted a kneeling stance, while the others stood. All six aimed their weapons at the Phoenix Force duo.

  The gunmen did not give Encizo and Manning a chance either to defend themselves or surrender. The terrorist troops immediately triggered their rifles. Bullets crashed into Manning's upper torso. The impact hurled him backward into a wall. Stunned by the throbbing pain in his chest, Manning slid to the floor. He saw Encizo double up and fall beside him.

  The Canadian tried to raise his AK-47. A figure stepped forward and stamped a boot on the rifle to pin it to the floor.

  The terrorist leaned forward and aimed a Russian Makarov pistol at Manning's head. "Bang, bang, American," he announced in broken English distorted by the filters of his gas mask. "You're dead."

  16

  "This is a disaster!" Andrew McCullum said angrily. "Two full-scale gun battles in the streets of Athens. More than a dozen men killed — including one of my people."

  Yakov Katzenelenbogen quietly sat in a wicker chair in the front room of the operations' safehouse. He did not interrupt McCullum. The Israeli could not blame the guy for being upset. Katz was not terribly happy about the results of the mission thus far, either.

  Officially Andrew McCullum was a member of diplomatic corps for the United States embassy in Athens. In reality he was the control officer for CIA operations in Greece. Paul Kalvo had been one of his field agents.