by Gar Wilson
"Get her out of here," Manning ordered.
Kostov told the woman to leave. She walked to the door and turned to glare at Manning. The woman spat on the floor with contempt.
"Same to you, bitch," the Canadian muttered as he watched her leave. Manning slipped his arms through the straps of the canister harness.
"You have a plan, amigo?" Encizo asked, still aiming his pistol at the tank on the floor.
"I figure the dipshits outside will be reluctant to shoot at us if we're both carrying a tankful of killer enzyme," Manning explained, buckling the harness belt around his waist.
"Especially if we also have Kostov and Krio for hostages," Encizo added with a smile. "Sounds like the best plan possible under the circumstances."
"Using us for shields won't work," Kostov warned. "All of us are expendable. Our mission comes first."
"Of course," Encizo agreed as he picked up the first tank and slid into its harness. "But I suspect the folks outside won't risk killing you two unless they have to. My guess is they respect your leadership, Colonel... to say nothing of Krio's money."
"Besides," Manning remarked. "Nobody wants to die of malnutrition. They won't want to risk puncturing one of these tanks with a bullet."
The Cuban gathered up the discarded Czech M-61 machine pistol. He was familiar with the Skorpion subgun, which was a favorite weapon of European terrorists. Encizo heard the stunned guard groan as he began to recover consciousness. The Cuban kicked him behind the ear to put him to sleep again.
"Face the wall," Manning told Krio and Kostov, gesturing with the AK-47.
The Canadian handcuffed their wrists at the small of their backs. He quickly frisked the pair, paying special attention to the Bulgarian agent. He was glad he did. Kostov had a variation of the hidden-key trick. Manning found a thin hacksaw blade taped to the inside of Kostov's belt.
"Neither of the guards has any spare magazines for these weapons," Encizo stated as he gathered up Kostov's Makarov from the sofa. "We'd better hurry, Gary. That son of a bitch Vitosho is probably planning a reception for us by now."
Manning took Krio's spray tube of the enzyme and slipped it into his own pocket. "Proteus Number Five, eh?" the Canadian said dryly. "We need transportation, Krio. Your people are loading tanks onto boats. The yacht harbor is too far away, so you must have some vessels docked on this side of the island. Right?"
"There is another harbor less than five hundred meters from here," Krio confirmed. "But you'll never make it."
"Then neither will you, fella," Manning warned.
* * *
Captain Igor Vitosho clenched his teeth and cursed softly as he bound his broken index finger to the next digit. A crude splint, but it would have to do. Vitosho accepted the pain as part of his punishment for being taken off guard by the Cuban.
The young Bulgarian had been born in 1956. The Soviet Union had ruled his country for more than a decade. Igor was an intelligent youth and a natural athlete. In a Communist state, this made him the ideal choice for an elite military corps.
Raised on extremist propaganda and exposed only to the "Gospel of Saint Marx," Vitosho felt obligated to be a good citizen and to obey the state. He was selected for the Bulgarian parachute corps. He excelled in languages, weapons' use, military tactics and close-quarters combat. Vitosho was honored to serve the cause of his Communist master, and he was especially pleased to be the second-in-command under the great war hero Colonel Nikolai Kostov.
But he had failed Kostov. Vitosho blamed himself for allowing the two commandos to turn tables on their captors. He vowed to rectify this error and prove himself worthy of the rank of an officer of an elite fighting unit of the People's Republic of Bulgaria.
Vitosho had rapidly prepared his troops to deal with the capitalist swine. He had trained the small array himself. They had been poor material for soldiers. Terrorists were usually undisciplined, unreliable in stress situations and mentally unbalanced. Yet Vitosho had found a handful of promising fighting men among this sorry stock. They would be enough to ensure the destruction of the Phoenix Force pair.
* * *
Dmitri Krio emerged from the officers' quarters first. He stumbled awkwardly across the threshold. Rafael Encizo was behind the Greek, prodding him with the muzzle of the Skorpion machine pistol. Kostov followed, escorted by Manning, armed with the AK-47.
Vitosho watched their progress from the cover of the concrete lab building. The soft dawn sun in a gold-and-lavender sky bathed the island with soft light. The Bulgarian captain grimly congratulated himself for correctly assuming the infiltrators' tactics. He had guessed they wanted the extra gas tank of the enzyme so both men could wear canisters on their backs while they used their hostages for shields.
The captain would not have been disappointed if his guess had been wrong.
Vitosho's troops could not simply shoot the two commandos without risking the release of the Proteus Enzyme. Besides, Vitosho wanted to rescue Colonel Kostov. Krio was a greedy pig and a traitor to his native Greece, but Kostov was a great Bulgarian patriot.
Vitosho hoped to avoid any shooting, although he had stationed marksmen on the rooftops of the lab building and the main barracks. The snipers were under strict orders not to open fire unless they had a clear head shot.
The Bulgarian waited tensely as he watched Manning, Encizo and their prisoners move along the side of the officers' billets. There was only one way to leave the island. The commandos would head for the harbor to steal a boat. Vitosho almost wished he believed in God, as he was tempted to pray. "A little farther," he whispered. "Just a little farther."
Encizo noticed a flash of light on a rooftop. A reflection against glass, he realized. A sniper with a scoped rifle. "Better keep your head down," the Cuban advised.
"I saw it," Manning assured him. "There are also terrorists lurking along the sides of the buildings. Might be some waiting right around the corner."
"Or on the..." Encizo began as he glanced up at the roof of the officers' billets.
He saw several figures poised on the edge. Backs arched, knees bent, they prepared to pounce on the Phoenix Force duo like a pack of hungry hyenas. Most of the terrorist ambushers held knives or hatchets in their fists.
With a bestial battle cry, the barbarians leaped from the roof and attacked.
19
"Shit!" Encizo exclaimed as he raised his Skorpion machine pistol and opened fire.
A spray of 7.65mm slugs slashed into two airborne figures. War whoops became shrieks of agony as their bodies convulsed in midair. Encizo stepped aside to let the corpses crash to earth.
Another attacker managed to avoid the stream of Skorpion projectiles. The terrorist collided with Encizo. The Czech subgun was knocked from the Cuban's hands as both men fell against the wall.
Encizo did not waste time grappling with the man. He rammed a knee into the terrorist's gut. The goon groaned and bent at the middle. Encizo seized his opponent's hair and drove the guy's face into the wall. Bone crunched, and the terrorist slid to the ground. A crimson smear marked his path along the wall.
Gary Manning had also been attacked by two assassins who leaped from the roof. He brought up his AK-47 and smashed the steel frame into a flying form. The blow sent the terrorist hurtling over Manning's head. The man fell to earth in a dazed, bloodied lump.
Another opponent landed beside Manning and grabbed the Kalashnikov with both hands. The Canadian hooked his left fist into the terrorist's face. The guy's head danced from the punch, but he stubbornly held on to Manning's rifle.
Strong fingers seized the Canadian's hair from behind. A knife blade swung for Manning's throat. The Phoenix Force survivalist automatically recoiled from the slashing steel. He powered himself backward. The man clinging to Manning's back grunted when he smacked into the wall. The guy holding the AK-47 was towed forward.
Manning gasped in pain when the knife slit flesh. The blade cut a shallow furrow across the Canadian's chest, ripping through shirt an
d skin. Still holding on to the Kalashnikov with his right hand, Manning managed to pin the wrist behind the knife under his biceps.
He snapped his head back to butt the rear opponent in the face. Manning's left fist battered the front adversary's features. A hook punch, followed by a back fist and a quick jab stunned the terrorist. Then Manning released the Kalashnikov to seize the rear opponent's wrist with both hands.
The Canadian suddenly lunged forward. He pulled the rear attacker's knife arm forward to drive the blade into the front man's chest. One terrorist tumbled to the ground with the knife buried in his heart.
Manning thrust a back elbow stroke to the other man's jaw. The guy's head bounced back, and a projectile hit his exposed throat. Vertebrae shattered as the bullet passed through his neck.
Manning heard the harsh report of a rifle as blood fountained from the terrorist's bullet-torn throat. A sniper had missed his intended target and slain one of his own comrades, instead.
A hatchet-wielding killer charged Rafael Encizo, his weapon raised for a murderous swing intended to split the Cuban's skull. Encizo suddenly pivoted and turned his back to the assailant as he ducked his head. The terrorist gasped and froze before he could carry out the hatchet stroke, fearful of striking the gas canister on the Cuban's back.
The hatchetman did not get a chance to change tactics. Encizo heel-kicked the guy's genitals. The terrorist shrieked and dropped his ax to clutch both hands to his crushed manhood. The Cuban pulled a Makarov from his belt and whirled to chop the pistol into the side of his opponent's skull. Another member of Krio Island's terror army crumbled to the ground.
But the Phoenix Force warriors had little reason to rejoice. Both Krio and Kostov had taken advantage of the battle to flee for cover. Worse, a dozen terrorists had charged from the barracks and lab building.
The Cuban flicked off the safety catch of his Makarov and aimed the double-action Russian autoloader at the closest attacker. He fired two 9mm rounds into the fanatic's chest. The terrorist collapsed in a dying heap, but the others kept coming.
Fortunately the goon patrol was still afraid to shoot back because of the Proteus Enzyme. Encizo drew the other Makarov and fired both pistols at the advancing horde. Manning scooped up his AK-47 and blasted the terrorists with a salvo of full-auto destruction. Bodies twisted, convulsed and tumbled. Only three members of the kamikaze group survived to retreat back to shelter.
A sniper bullet scorched air inches from Encizo's ear. He instinctively ducked. Another slug kicked up dust between his feet. "They're going to try to cripple us," he shouted to Manning. "Shoot out our legs and move in for the kill!"
"Back inside!" the Canadian cried, firing a quick burst of 7.62mm rounds at the enemy to try to encourage them to stay down.
The Phoenix Force fighters retreated to the officers' quarters. A sniper slug splintered the doorway above Manning's head as he scrambled inside. Encizo followed and kicked the door shut. The shooting outside stopped abruptly.
A dull groan caught Manning's attention. The terrorist who had previously been left unconscious in the room had begun to recover. He started to rise to his feet, only to be knocked senseless by the Canadian's fist.
"Just not your day, fella," Manning muttered. "Hasn't been so great for us, either."
"Well," the Cuban said, panting hard. "It seemed like a good plan."
"Yeah." Manning nodded. "We'll have to come up with something else. We sure can't stay here for long."
'You were hit," Encizo said with concern when he noticed blood on his partner's shirtfront.
"Just a scratch," the Canadian assured him. "Would have been worse if the bastard had succeeded at trying to cut my throat."
"Any suggestions on how we can get out of this mess?" Encizo asked wearily.
"Maybe we can't," Manning replied simply.
"Well, none of us figured we'd live to a ripe old age doing this sort of work." The Cuban sighed. "But I hate to die without a fight."
"We've got one rifle, two pistols and damn little ammunition left," the Canadian stated. "How much of a fight can we give a small army?"
"We can still go down swinging," Encizo insisted.
"Or go out with a bang," Manning said as he slid out of the harness to the gas tank.
"What do you have in mind?" The Cuban frowned.
The Canadian unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his trousers. He unzipped the money compartment and removed a strip of C-4 plastic explosive.
"I can use this to explode the gas tanks," Manning explained. "That'll spew the Proteus Enzyme all over the island. Krio, Kostov and all their little helpers will be infected by the virus."
"And we'll be blown to bits." Encizo sighed.
"Yeah," his partner admitted. "But at least we'll die quickly — which beats hell out of wasting away from malnutrition. None of those bastards outside will live more than a week after we're dead."
"That might be long enough for them to carry out their mission," the Cuban remarked.
"They won't be able to complete all of it," Manning said, taking a fountain pen from his pocket. "And don't forget that the rest of Phoenix Force is still on the job in Athens."
"We really don't have many options left," Encizo reluctantly agreed.
"That's a fact," the Canadian confirmed as he dismantled the pen to extract a pencil detonator. "Give me your tank, as well..."
A horrible sound erupted. A whoosh of air and a roar was followed by a fierce wave of heat. Flame burst through the walls and glass exploded from the windows. Manning and Encizo fell to the floor. Within seconds they were surrounded by intense flames and heat, made worse by a nauseating chemical odor.
"Flamethrowers!" Manning exclaimed. "They're using flamethrowers to destroy the enzyme before it can spread."
"And us with it," the Cuban added as the blaze increased rapidly.
20
The officers' lounge became a raging inferno. Encizo and Manning felt as if they were inside a pressure cooker.
The Canadian handed his AK-47 to Encizo. "Move," he rasped, gathering up the C-4 in one hand and the gas tank in the other. "Before this whole place burns."
Both men scrambled to the next doorway. Flames danced in their path. Burning debris fell from walls and ceiling. Smoke clogged their nostrils and slithered through their mouths and into their lungs in deadly snakes of vapor.
None of these obstacles stopped the Phoenix Force pair. They burst into a narrow corridor. Encizo turned to the closest door and smashed its lock with a wellplaced kick. They entered a small room, with a bunk, footlocker and small metal desk its only furniture.
Heat had already shattered a window. Flame licked the sill, and the blaze began to spread along the walls.
Manning tore a chunk of C-4 from the strip. He judged the weight as he rolled it into a tiny ball. "Got about fifty or sixty grams here," he declared, slipping into the harness of the gas tank once again. "More than enough."
"What..." Encizo began. But smoke caught in his throat before he could finish the sentence.
"Blow the wall," Manning told him hoarsely as he inserted the pencil detonator into the C-4 sphere.
The Canadian demolitions expert moved to the wall by the bunk. Manning's head seemed to wobble loosely on the stem of his neck. The room whirled before him as he fell against the cot.
Lack of oxygen, his dizzy brain realized. The fire was burning it up rapidly. He knelt by the wall and placed the explosives in a corner. Tears fogged his eyes. Manning blinked to clear them well enough to see the dial setting of the detonator.
"Gary!" Encizo shouted as the blaze continued to increase. Dense smoke nearly blinded the Cuban. "For Christ's sake, hurry!"
Manning set the timer. He was not certain how many seconds he had selected. Less than ten, he guessed. The Canadian tried to rise. His legs buckled, and he tumbled onto the cot.
Encizo grabbed Manning and pulled him across the mattress. The Cuban helped Manning to his feet. Both men staggered across the t
hreshold into the corridor.
The explosion shook the building. Chunks of wood, plaster dust and pieces of flaming, shredded mattress spewed from the doorway. The Phoenix Force duo waited for the debris to settle before they ventured back into the room.
Twisted metal and burning wreckage littered the floor. A large portion of the wall had been blown away. Sunlight poured through the gap like a ray of hope from heaven.
They headed for the hole. Encizo had left the AK-47 in his desperation to save Manning, and now the Russian rifle was buried under the debris. The Cuban handed a Makarov to the demo expert as they shuffled to the gap.
The pair plunged outside. They pulled the gas tanks loose as they staggered forward. All they needed was a couple of seconds to puncture the canisters with bullets before the terrorists gunned them down. Manning and Encizo prepared to confront the enemy for the last time.
Suddenly the metallic thunder of machine-gun fire pierced the ringing inside their ears, and an enormous shadow flashed across the ground as if a giant eagle swooped overhead. They glanced up to see the underbelly of a helicopter pass.
"My God," Manning whispered in disbelief when he looked down at the enemy corpses sprawled across the parade field.
* * *
The raid had begun before dawn. Colonel Katzenelenbogen had planned the assault based on information given by Theo Xerxes. Calvin James, David McCarter and Manos Draco advised the Israeli on the finer points of a two-prong attack plan.
Katz, Nikkos Papadopoulos and a dozen Greek paratroopers disguised as fishermen had headed for the island aboard an old trawler. Uniformed security guards saw the fishing vessel approach. The sentries met the boat as it pulled into the yacht harbor next to the Argo.
"This is private property," a guard called through a bullhorn. "We must order you to leave immediately."
