“Calvin might have some trouble with that,” T. J. Hawkins joked. “He’s getting senile.”
“I got your senile, puppy,” James cracked as everyone started laughing.
“Big words from such an old fart,” Hawkins shot back.
“All right, let’s cut the banter and get to business,” Brognola said. “We have a situation and not a whole lot of time, so we’re only going to highlight the details. You can study the files in transit.”
“Where we headed, Hal?” McCarter asked.
“South Africa,” Price answered for Brognola. She nodded at Aaron Kurtzman, who dimmed the lights from a computer console, then a young, handsome face appeared on the wall screen. The man had graying hair and dark eyes, was middle-aged with a slightly ruddy complexion. He was dressed in a military uniform, and there was something pleasant behind the eyes.
“This is, or ‘was,’ I guess I should say, Major Kern Rensberg,” Price began. “Two weeks ago, his body washed up on a beach in the Cape Town suburb of Sea Point. The local authorities estimated he’d been dead three days.”
“He’s South African military,” Gary Manning stated.
Price nodded. “The South African National Defence Force’s Intelligence Division, to be exact. As all of you probably know, the seventies and eighties were choppy water where intelligence services for South Africa were concerned. It wasn’t until 1994 that they established the National Intelligence Coordinating Committee and reorganized their intelligence services.”
“Rensberg was a career guy all the way, people,” Brognola interjected helpfully. “Very dedicated, and well respected by superiors and subordinates alike.”
“Well, I have to believe there’s a little more to our being here than the death of an intelligence agent,” Rafael Encizo said.
“You bet,” Price said, nodding at Kurtzman, who tapped a key.
The next picture displayed two Arab men, one wearing traditional garb and the other dressed in military-style fatigues.
Price continued. “This is just one of the many pictures that were recovered by South African Secret Service officials. The SASS took over the investigation from the military once they realized the impact of these photographs, and rightfully so since foreign intelligence-gathering falls into their jurisdiction. Apparently, Rensberg was on some kind of special thirty-day assignment approved by his superiors. He strongly suspected that there was an international terrorist cell operating in South Africa, one financed by al Qaeda, coincidentally. Based on the evidence found on his body, the SASS now believes he was correct.
“The SASS intelligence liaison to the U.S. Embassy in Pretoria identified the man on the right in this picture as Jabir al-Warraq. He’s practically a legend in Cape Town and a card-carrying member of Qibla.”
Encizo looked puzzled by that one.
“Did you say Qibla? The anticrime protestors headquartered in Cape Town?”
Price nodded.
“That seems very strange to me, too,” Gary Manning chimed in. The burly Canadian was familiar with nearly every terrorist group in the world, and was a sort of aficionado on terrorist activities. He had served as a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police force’s antiterrorist unit, then as an explosives instructor with Germany’s GSG-9 before his induction into Phoenix Force.
“Qibla is an offshoot of People Against Gangsterism and Drugs, an organization started in the sixties. It isn’t large or politically powerful, its members keep pretty much to themselves and are only usually concerned with the domestic crime problems in South Africa.”
“Agreed,” Carl Lyons said. He turned his attention to Price. “Phoenix Force has the bigger experts on matters of international terrorism, Barb, but I know enough to know that Gary’s right. I can’t see any credibility in the theory of a connection between the Qibla and al Qaeda.”
“Maybe not,” Brognola interjected, “but based on this information the South African government is taking that theory very seriously, and so is the Man.”
They all knew to whom Brognola referred: the President of the United States. It was at his discretion and pleasure that both teams served, and all of Stony Man for that matter. If he was concerned about the situation, then Hal Brognola was concerned about it and that meant a mission, plain and simple.
“We haven’t yet been able to identify the other man in this picture,” Price said. “Aaron, please show them some of the others.”
The cybernetics expert did as requested, cycling through the next few. There were images of men offloading equipment from trucks and views of sensitive electronics equipment, their padded cases being opened and inspected, as well as barrels upon barrels of fuel. The quality of the photographs made it very difficult to make out most of it, but they were clear enough to get the general idea.
“We’ve had to enhance many of these so that they’re printed to near opacity,” Kurtzman remarked. “Although the camera Rensberg carried was waterlogged, it wasn’t internally damaged, so the digital images remained intact for the most part. Mostly we think it was just the poor lighting that affected image quality.”
And if that was Kurtzman’s assessment, everybody believed it. Affectionately known as “The Bear” for his gruff exterior and his warm, generous heart, the bullet that had paralyzed him for life had affected neither his brilliance nor his indomitable spirit. Kurtzman headed Stony Man’s cybernetics team, which included Carmen Delahunt, Akira Tokaido and Huntington Wethers. His genius was surpassed only by his devotion to duty, both of which spoke volumes when it counted most. His improvements in information and intelligence-gathering, and his monitoring of operations, had saved the lives of every person in the room more times than any of them cared to count.
“These pictures are believed to have been taken in the same place,” Price said. “What you’re seeing in this picture, in fact, are the notes SASS analysts think Rensberg scribbled in reference to the photographs, and after some analysis of our own, we agree. You see, Rensberg had been smart enough to keep most of his information in this notebook, all of his case notes, the habits and such of this al-Warraq. But what’s even smarter is he wrote in grease pencil.”
Lyons understood what it meant. “Kept it waterproofed.”
“Correct,” Price said. “And according to his notes, these pictures were taken in some caverns near Table Mountain.”
Calvin James whistled. “That’s a big place.”
“The problem is that Rensberg didn’t say exactly where,” Brognola replied. “That’s where Phoenix Force comes in. You guys are going to South Africa to help in the search.”
“My team is already working on ways to use recent improvements to the satellite to track clues that might point to their location,” Kurtzman added. “We’ll have everything on-line by the time you get to Cape Town.”
“Your liaison will be the same one who worked with the Ambassador Volt’s people in Pretoria,” Price said. “Her name is Jeanne Marais. She’s with the SASS and from everything we know, she’s excellent. You shouldn’t have any problems.”
“We’ve already received assurances through the Oval Office that you’ll get full cooperation,” Brognola said. “Sky’s the limit.”
“Oh, goody, a female type,” Hawkins said, rubbing his hands together as Price threw him a flat, unimpressed look. “I wonder if she’s single.”
“Down, boy,” Manning said, patting the youngest member of the team on the head.
“Don’t worry, mates,” McCarter said, noticing Price and Brognola’s expressions. “We’ll make sure his shots are up to date before we leave.”
“Ha!” Hawkins wagged his finger at McCarter. “None for you if she has friends.”
“While I hate to break up social hour,” Lyons said to Price, “I imagine you didn’t call us off vacation just for cake and punch.”
“No, you have an equally important assignment,” Price replied. “You’re getting an all-expenses paid trip to Boston.”
“Come again?” Ly
ons said.
“What gives with Boston?” Schwarz asked. “I’d rather go to South Africa. Maybe pick up my fishing where I left off.”
“Two reasons,” Price replied. “The first is that Qibla has a representative chapter here in the United States, which just so happens to be in Boston. The second, I’m afraid, is a bit more serious. Now while this information is sketchy, it does seem to have some merit. The SASS believes that the equipment you saw being offloaded in those pictures may be used for a terrorist attack. They don’t know on who or where, but they’re convinced that this activity points to something very bad.”
“Yeah, but an attack where?” McCarter asked. “They can’t do much at the top of a mountain. And I don’t think the South Africans believe that, either.”
“We think that this equipment is designed for overseas use,” Price replied. “Recent records show that a large number of start-up corporations have been buying and remodeling Merchant Marine vessels at South African ports. These corporations were recently investigated and it was determined they were dummies set up to protect someone. We just can’t prove it beyond all reasonable doubt, and the South African government’s not ready to move without proof.”
“And you think the someone these dummy corporations are trying to protect is al-Warraq?” Encizo asked.
Price nodded. “Or one of his representatives. And we’re especially concerned about this other man he met with, who as yet remains anonymous.”
“It only makes sense,” Brognola said. “It’s entirely possible this unknown party could be an Iraqi arms dealer, in light of the fact we came up virtually empty in our search for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.”
“We certainly gave them enough warning,” Blancanales interjected.
Rosario “The Politician” Blancanales had earned his nickname for two reasons. First, his ability to suppress a potentially hostile situation with a dose of good-natured diplomacy, and second, the plain fact that he was charming enough to sell an ice cube to an Eskimo. Simultaneously, he was a fierce and cunning ally in a firefight and a force to be reckoned with. Combined with Carl “Ironman” Lyons’s nut-up-and-do-it attitude and Hermann “Gadgets” Schwarz’s skill with electronics, Politician was the perfect complement to Able Team.
“So you think maybe they’re going to launch these floating pillboxes and then disperse them to targets that could really be anywhere,” Blancanales added. “Am I warm?”
“You’re red hot,” Price replied. “If Hal’s theory about this mystery man who met with al-Warraq is true, it’s possible that Qibla acquired some of those missiles we’ve always believed were somehow moved by Hussein before the U.S. invasion. Even if we’re wrong, and they have some other weapons source off the international arms black market, we can’t allow them to just roam the oceans freely.”
“And there’s another possibility,” Brognola added. “We could be dealing with some type of new chemical weapon.”
Brognola could sense the mood change in the room. Without question, chemical and biological weapons were the most frightening to the Stony Man teams. With nuclear weapons the enemy just incinerated you, your body reaching ten million Kelvin in a millisecond. Bullets and bombs also usually did a quick number if applied correctly, but chemical or biological weapons were the equivalent of burning to death. It usually involved slow and painful suffering before sweet death claimed a person.
“Now it’s only a theory, but it happens to fit some facts surrounding Rensberg’s demise.”
“What about Rensberg’s demise?” Lyons demanded.
“Well, most of this will perhaps sound Greek to everyone except Calvin, but here it is,” Price said. “The medical examiner has ruled out drowning, gunshot or stabbing as the cause of Rensberg’s death. He deduced it was trauma from fall from a great height, but that the fall was secondary to the acute and rapid onset of hypovolemic shock.”
“And in English, that means…?” Lyons replied.
“Sudden, severe fluid loss,” James interjected. “And the only thing I know of that causes that kind of reaction is cholinesterase poisoning. The nerves in our body release a chemical called acetylcholine that stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system.”
“As relates to the communication between cranial nerves and the nervous system?” Schwarz asked.
James nodded.
“Until about ten years ago, a number of pesticides containing cholinesterase were freely marketed because they’re very effective in protecting crops,” Price said. “Recently, however, and with the passing of the Patriot Act, there are very stringent controls on this kind of material. Anyone caught illegally possessing pesticides or other chemicals with cholinesterase faces a minimum of twenty years in a federal penitentiary.”
“So what exactly is this stuff?” Hawkins asked.
“Cholinesterase is an enzyme,” James explained. “It turns acetylcholine into choline and acetic acid and when the body is exposed to it in high quantities all muscle control and fluid regulation goes haywire. Victims will go into seizures and simultaneously urinate, defecate and sweat themselves dry. And when third-stage shock sets in, which can be anywhere from three seconds to three hours depending on type and length of exposure, they’ll start bleeding from the eyes as the blood coagulates inside the veins, and soon after they’re dead.”
“Holy cripes,” Hawkins mumbled, eyes widening at James’s effective verbal imagery.
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Brognola said matter-of-factly. “This is some bad stuff we’re getting into, so you guys need to be careful and keep us in the loop. And that goes especially for you, Carl. No cowboy crap this time. I want to know each move, and that’s not negotiable.”
Lyons nodded his understanding.
“Are there any questions?” Price asked.
After a short silence Brognola said, “Good hunting, men.”
CHAPTER TWO
Thomas Jackson Hawkins reviewed the mission information in the manila file folder with feigned interest. The Phoenix Force commando wasn’t into much of its contents, which consisted of a lot of history of South African politics and jargon related to its intelligence agencies. Still, Hawkins knew it was a matter of discipline to review every scrap of intelligence provided, so he’d suffer through the information without complaint and try to make the best of it.
Rafael Encizo suddenly interrupted his reading by waving a cup of hot coffee in front of him. “Man, the expression on your face betrays almost too much enthusiasm. Why not try to tone it down some, eh?”
Hawkins laughed, taking the cup with gracious acknowledgment as Encizo took the chair next to him at the table. They were on their way to South Africa aboard a Gulfstream C-20D. The Gulfstream was a versatile aircraft, being large enough to carry a five-man crew plus fourteen passengers, and one of the first choices in most missions due to its range of more than 3,500 nautical miles.
The C-20D was powered by twin Rolls-Royce Spey MK511-8 turbofan jets. Its electronic suite included a surveillance package with a Westinghouse AN/APY-2 slotted, phased-array antenna and Eaton AN/APX-103 Identification Friend or Foe interrogator that could link directly to the Department of Defense’s Joint Tactical Information Distribution System. These detection arrays were as powerful as anything in the current Air Force arsenal, and provided communications by digital satellite linkup as well as VLF, VHF and UHF channel monitoring and override.
Built into the aft compartment of the craft was a General Instruments ALR-66 threat warning system, and beneath the rather normal-looking nose cone there were tactical targeting systems hooked to a Synthetic Aperture Radar system that used an APY-3 SLAR antenna extending from the left rear of the cone. While the C-20D didn’t have a full-strike military system complete with missiles or bombs, it could be outfitted with a pair of Sidewinder air-to-air missiles or an AGM-65 air-to-ground missile within a few hours. While it didn’t have the speed and maneuverability of a jet fighter, at least it wasn’t totally defenseless.
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Perhaps the greatest weapon of all, however, was the man flying the C-20. Stony Man pilot Jack Grimaldi’s skills were second to none.
Encizo nodded toward the file folder. “Find anything useful in there?”
“Well, I decided to start reading a bit more on this cholinesterase,” Hawkins said, deciding to change the subject. “It’s nasty stuff, Rafe, make no bones about it.”
“Chemical warfare usually is,” the little Cuban replied.
“No, I mean it’s bad and all, but also a little surprising.”
Encizo expressed some interest now and leaned forward to look at the sheet of paper Hawkins was reading. “How so?”
“Well, you remember that Calvin said earlier today that this thing could take anywhere from three seconds to three hours to grab hold of you. But according to what I’ve read here, that’s not exactly true. Normally this cholinergic effect, that’s what they call it here, takes some time to spread through the bloodstream.”
“Well, Cal did say it depended on the method of exposure.”
“Okay, but that’s what got me wondering about Rensberg.”
Encizo studied Hawkins a moment and then shook his head. “Sorry. You just lost me.”
“According to the reports we got from their intelligence people, the ME in S.A. ruled that Rensberg died of a fall from a significant height. The severe fluid loss was secondary. That means he was exposed to this cholinesterase poison before he fell, which also means that it was delivered in the form of either a liquid or gas, since he had no puncture marks and he hadn’t been shot or stabbed.”
“I see what you’re saying now,” Encizo said with a nod. “Yeah, that is kind of interesting.”
“You bet,” Hawkins drawled. “It means that this guy either ingested or inhaled this stuff.”
“Maybe they used him for a guinea pig. Exposed him to the stuff and then after he died they tossed him over a cliff.”
Hawkins shook his head. “With a digital camera full of pictures and a notebook detailing their operations?”
“You aren’t suggesting we were supposed to find him,” Encizo said.
Sensor Sweep Page 2
