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PROLOGUE

Ho’s Island, North Korea

“Did I hear that right?” Rafael Encizo asked.

David McCarter pushed to his feet.

“Yes. You heard it right. It sounds as if our friend Khariza has just gone nuclear.”

“Can we discuss this later?” Gary Manning suggested. “I have a feeling company is on the way.”

McCarter raised his head and listened, picking up the approaching sound. He heard voices, too, shouting orders back and forth.

“Back off,” he said.

Covering one another, they retreated, moving back toward their entry point.

Rafael Encizo helped himself to additional magazines for the Kalashnikovs they had acquired, handing out others to McCarter and Manning.

“Here they bloody well come,” McCarter announced.

The distant sound became movement, dark shapes flitting in between the packing cases and pallets of merchandise. Light glanced off weapons. The clatter of autofire sounded. Bullets thudded into boxes. Wood splinters sprayed the air. Some zipped dangerously close to the Phoenix Force.

McCarter paused to pull the pin on a grenade. He hurled the bomb in the general direction of the advancing hostiles. The explosion echoed within the confines of the building, the flash showing the men of Phoenix Force there were approximately eight armed pursuers. The grenade took out one man, who went down screaming, arms flailing as he fell.

Encizo moved into view, a rocket launcher, armed and ready, over his shoulder. He swung the muzzle of the weapon toward the advancing hostiles and pulled the trigger. The missile burst from the tube, trailing a tail of flame. It streaked across the interior and struck a heavy steel-support girder. The explosion sheered the girder, the blast deafening within the confines of the building. Metal creaked and groaned overhead as the girder fell away.

“Hit them again,” McCarter ordered.

Manning had lifted another launcher from its box. He swung it to his shoulder and fired, sending the missile in the same direction as Encizo’s. The explosion spread its deadly effect across a wide area, scattering the Korean hostiles in bloody heaps.

“We got any more of those?” McCarter asked.

“Here,” Encizo said.

“Lay one on those bloody M-1983s.”

Encizo followed through, the rocket launcher drilling the missile at the metal pallet holding the heavy machine guns. The damage left the 14.5 mm quads twisted and out of commission.

In the lull that followed, Phoenix Force backed away, still armed with the Kalashnikovs they had acquired from the weapons supply. They helped themselves to more of the grenades.

Manning opened the door and pushed it wide. From where he was standing he could see their plane. He checked out the immediate area and saw no one. The big Canadian knew how quickly that situation could change.

“Let’s go,” he said over his shoulder.

As the others followed, Manning turned and headed for the parked vehicles they had spotted on the way in. The closest was one of the Jeep-type utilities. Manning leaned in and scanned the layout. He dropped onto the driver’s seat and flicked the ignition switch. He jammed his foot on the floor starter. The engine turned over and caught. He pushed the gas pedal down and the engine roared. Manning felt the Jeep sway as McCarter and Encizo clambered in behind him.

The Brit clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, mate, our plane’s waiting.”

Manning put the vehicle into first gear and released the handbrake. He stepped on the gas and let out the clutch. The Jeep lurched forward, picking up speed with surprising ease. The ride was hard. The vehicle wasn’t fitted with very sophisticated suspension, and every bump and dip in the ground was transmitted through to the passengers. That, plus the still rising wind, made for an uncomfortable ride.

Manning swung the Jeep in under the main wing, turning it so the vehicle stood sideways-on, providing a degree of cover.

Smoke was rising in thick columns from the holes in the weakened roof of the building they had just evacuated, and armed hardmen were starting to appear.

“Keep them busy,” McCarter yelled as he jumped from the Jeep and headed for the plane.

The side hatch of the Anatov An-26 was open and the Briton swung himself up into the body of the aircraft. He made his way along the aisle toward the cockpit and had almost reached it when the door swung open and the pilot charged through.

The Chinese was about McCarter’s height, broad and heavy. He slammed into the Briton, knocking himself back a couple of feet. The impact also sent McCarter crashing into the seats close to him. He fell back, losing his grip on the assault rifle as he sprawled across the seats. The pilot followed him, large hands reaching out to grab hold of his adversary’s throat. McCarter rolled off the seats, landing on his hands and knees. The pilot swung around and made another lunge at McCarter, bending over him. The Briton dropped, turned on his back and swung up his right foot. The sole of his boot caught the pilot under the chin, snapping his head back with enough force to break bone. The pilot let out a strangled yell.

McCarter, pushing upright and avoiding the pilot’s lunging blows, grabbed hold of the man’s thick black hair. He yanked the pilot off balance, then pulled the man’s head down, hard, onto his rising knee. The blow was brutal, caving in the front of the pilot’s face, shattering bone and splitting flesh. Dazed and in pain, blood streaming down his face, the pilot tried to hit back, but McCarter had neither the time nor the inclination to continue. He leaned in close, encircled the pilot’s neck with his right arm, and put on the pressure, twisting hard. He felt the neck snap. The Chinese went limp in his grip. The Phoenix Force leader let the man drop to the deck. Snatching up his rifle, McCarter pushed through the door into the cockpit. He dropped into the pilot’s seat and began the startup procedure.

MANNING HEARD the first of the plane’s twin turboprop engines start to turn, coughing as it spit out thick clouds of smoke from the exhaust vents.

“Doesn’t he love waiting till the last second,” the Canadian muttered.

“They don’t,” Encizo said.

He was watching the tight group of armed men moving in their direction. The North Koreans were carrying assault rifles, and they started to fire once they were in range. The first shots fell short. The following volley was closer, some of the slugs hitting the Jeep that Manning and Encizo were crouched behind.

As the plane’s second engine fired up, Manning fisted one of the grenades. He pulled the pin, exposed himself for a brief moment, and hurled the grenade in the direction of the advancing force. The moment it detonated, scattering the group, Encizo followed up with one of his own. The Phoenix Force pair went through their store of grenades, then dropped back behind the Jeep.

Four Koreans had been savaged by the grenade barrage, and another two were nursing wounds. As the sound of the final blast faded, the surviving Koreans began to regroup, opening fire again as they broke into a run.

McCarter slid open one of the cockpit windows and yelled over the rising roar of the engines, “Let’s move it, ladies!”

Manning and Encizo ran for the open hatch, hauling themselves inside. The An-26 was already moving, McCarter boosting the power with little regard to any strain he might be putting on the engines. It was to his advantage that the plane hadn’t been too long on the ground, the engines were still warm and less likely to stall. He worked the foot controls, using the rudder to swing the craft around in a circle so it was facing back the way it had come. Once the Briton had the plane set on the runway, he pushed the power up and felt the craft moving off. The entire airframe vibrated as the plane fought nature and the drag of the howling engines.

The Koreans opened up with their assault rifles, bullets peppering the fuselage, but none hitting anything vital to the performance of the aircraft.

Out the corner of his eye McCarter could see the heavy swell of the water bordering the edge of the runway. The wind was sending waves crashing against the craggy extremes of the rocky island. He could feel its grip on the aircraft as it picked up speed. Too slowly, he thought as it bounced and hopped its way along the makeshift strip. There was nothing he could do about the weather or the crude runway. It was all he had, that and the aircraft itself. McCarter coaxed and cursed and threatened the plane.

The end of the runway was coming so fast it was on McCarter almost before he knew it. He hauled back on the controls as the last few yards rushed toward him. The aircraft left the island behind, cruising only feet above the cold, dark waters of Korea Bay. McCarter’s arm muscles ached from his efforts to hold the controls back, fighting the drag of the air over the flaps. For a moment even the optimistic Briton imagined he was going to end up in the inhospitable waters.

The plane began to lift, gradually, seemingly with agonizing slowness. The black water started to sink below them and the straining engines settled to a steady beat. McCarter held the climb, then leveled off, letting the craft have its head.

“Close,” Manning said. “Too close.”

Standing behind McCarter during the takeoff, he had witnessed the near miss.

“That’s what you get for creeping up behind people,” the Phoenix Force leader said.

“Just to satisfy my curiosity, who is the guy back there?”

“The flight attendant. Pushy type.”

Manning dropped into the copilot’s seat, studying the bank of dials.

“Can you read these? Just asking because they’re all in Chinese.”

“Most of them.”

“How about this one?”

“Fuel. Why?”

“Because the gauge is in the three-quarters empty section.”

“Or a quarter full,” McCarter suggested.

“Where are we heading?”

“South Korea. Once we get over the border we should be on safe ground. When we land, I mean.”

Manning made a sound in his throat, stood and backed away. As he turned, he saw Encizo leaning against the bulkhead. The Cuban had a grin on his face that said he had heard the whole conversation.

“What did you make of that?”

“Nada,” Encizo said. “I am only a poor peasant, señor.”

“You’re as bad as he is.”

“Shouldn’t we try to contact someone on the South Korean side. Let them know who we are so they don’t shoot us down?”

“Good thinking, Rafe. Initiative like that could get you a field promotion.”

“Jesus, why don’t you two get married?”

“Out of the question,” McCarter said. “I’m British and he’s only a lowly peasant.”

“Sí, and I know my place.”

“And right now it’s working that radio, so get to it.”

Encizo took the copilot’s seat and pulled on a set of headphones. He picked up the hand mike and began to work his way through the frequencies on the radio.

Peering through the windshield, Manning checked out the coastline on their left.

“How the hell do we know when we’re over South Korean territory?”

“It’s the part that has electricity,” McCarter said cheerfully. “We’ll be able to see the lights.”

“Tell you what I can see,” the Canadian said.

“What?”

“That MiG-23 coming up starboard.”

McCarter checked it out. He watched as the drab-colored jet, showing North Korean markings, slid in alongside them, the pilot cutting his speed to match that of the turboprop An-26.

“You don’t figure he’s come to escort us to safety?”

Manning shook his head.

“I don’t think so. The way he’s wagging his thumb, I’d say he wants us to land.”

“Fat chance,” McCarter muttered. “I’d sooner square up to him.”

“What with?”

“I’ve got an autorifle.”

“He’s got a 23 mm cannon and probably heat-seeker missiles.”

“Did I miss that?”

Encizo raised a warning hand. He began to speak into his handset.

“You have? Good. What about our North Korean escort?”

“That better be the good guys he’s talking to.”

“David, don’t be so pessimistic.”

“The way things have been going recently, can you blame me?”

Encizo leaned across to tap McCarter on the arm.

“U.S. military command. They’ve had contact with Stony Man. Apparently they have been monitoring the airwaves for hours. The guy I’ve been talking to is a Major Yosarian. He’s making contact with a South Korean air patrol. They have a couple of jets close enough to be with us fairly quickly. They’ll have orders to escort us to friendly territory.”

Manning punched McCarter on the shoulder. “Told you.”

“Has anybody told that bloke out there?”

“They’re aware of his position,” Encizo said. “The patrol will warn him off.”

“Why aren’t I happy about that last remark?” McCarter said as he watched the North Korean MiG slide away.

The pilot rolled the jet and made a sweep that would bring him up on the An-26’s tail.

“That bugger isn’t going to wait,” the Briton chided. “A few bursts from his cannon and we’ll end up shredded.”

Manning turned and vanished from sight.

“Where’s he gone?” Encizo asked.

McCarter shrugged. He was too busy flying the plane to worry about Manning.

Curious or not, McCarter was alerted by the crackle of the internal com system. He picked up the handset.

“What?”

“This observation blister is quite handy,” Manning said.

McCarter had forgotten about the Perspex bubble built into the left side of the An-26’s fuselage just behind the cockpit.

“David, he’s coming around now. Lining up to hit our tail.”

McCarter glanced across at Encizo. The Cuban had a wide grin on his face.

“Always said Canadians had more in them than just the ability to chop down trees,” McCarter said.

“I can still hear you.”

“Tell me when that sod is steady. And stop moaning.”

“Wait…wait…now.”

McCarter worked the controls and the An-26 went into a steep dive, dropping away from the MiG a second before the pilot opened fire. McCarter increased power, the turboprop sweeping down in a long curve that ended only yards above the choppy waters. He leveled out and held the aircraft on the same course.

“Pretty good,” Manning said over the speaker. “But what about next time?”

“Bloody hell, you’re never satisfied. Where is he, anyway?”

“Can’t see him at the moment. No, wait a minute. Coming in from your side.”

McCarter turned to look out the cockpit window and spotted the dark shape of the MiG leveling out and coming in for the kill. He thought quickly, well aware that evasive action against the jet was not going to keep them out of trouble much longer.

“Okay, chum, try this,” the Briton muttered as he hauled back on the stick, kicking on the rudder and bringing the plane around in a turn that set it on a direct course for the hurtling jet. He hammered the throttles wide open and trimmed the controls to get the best speed he could.

“Oh, shit,” he heard Manning breathe through the speaker.

The Canadian’s exclamation brought a chuckle to McCarter’s lips.

“Exactly what I thought,” he said.

The seconds flashed by. McCarter held his course, aiming straight for the MiG. He knew that the North Korean pilot might decide to fire anyway. Might even loose off a missile. But at the close range the MiG might easily run into the spinning debris and bring himself down.

“Make your play, sunshine,” McCarter said evenly.

The MiG suddenly broke, flashing off to the side, vanishing from McCarter’s field of vision.

“That,” Manning said, “was daring.”

“Bloody mad.”

“You are loco,” Encizo said.

“That’s what it says in my job description. Right next to where it says I’m a clever bugger and prone to being inspired.”

“Inspire something else then,” Manning suggested.

“How about conjuring up a pair of South Korean F-16s?”

They all watched two F-16s burn the air as they streaked in to confront the MiG, which held out for a time before breaking away and heading back toward North Korean territory. The F-16s fell in alongside the An-26 and one of the pilots broke in on McCarter’s com set.

“Please stay with us, gentlemen, and we will escort you in.”

“Thanks, mate,” McCarter acknowledged. “I was running out of ideas.”

The South Korean pilot laughed.

“From what I saw, you were doing fine. I wasn’t sure whether you really needed us.”

“Oh, we needed you, pal. Your timing was spot-on. And don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

“BEFORE YOU ASK, we don’t have a damn thing,” Aaron Kurtzman said.

“Phoenix has dropped off the map. If they’re in North Korean territory, we’re going to be hard-put getting any fix on them.”

“I’ll save my breath, then,” Hal Brognola said.

The big Fed crossed the Computer Room to stand in front of the main wall screen as if he were going to receive some kind of cerebral message that would answer his silent questions.

“All this damn technology and we can’t locate our own people.”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” Kurtzman growled.

Brognola turned to look at the man in the wheelchair. He knew Kurtzman had been at his station without a break since the China incident. He had refused to give in, relentlessly working at his keyboard and utilizing every sliver of his computer genius. This time it hadn’t worked. Kurtzman looked tired. It showed in his face, his movements and his responses. The man was only awake through sheer stubbornness.

“Okay, listen up,” Brognola announced to the entire room. “Being the big boss of this facility, as you are always telling me, gives me certain policy-making rights none of you can refuse to accept.” He waited as his words sank in. “At least you don’t disagree. So I’m making an executive decision here and now.

“You,” he said, pointing at Kurtzman, “are relieved of your position and won’t get it back until you’ve had at least twelve hours’ sleep. This is nonnegotiable and you aren’t allowed to protest. If you do, that coffeepot goes out the window and we get a new one.”

“That’s hitting below the belt,” Carmen Delahunt murmured as she glanced across at Barbara Price.

“I can do worse than that,” Brognola said, throwing a withering glance in Price’s direction, daring her to put up any kind of protest.

“Hate to think what that might be,” Akira Tokaido said.

Brognola lowered his eyes to the CD player Tokaido always carried with him.

“I’d keep quiet,” Huntington Wethers suggested.

“You still here?” Brognola snapped at Kurtzman.

Kurtzman held up his hands in surrender. “Just leaving.”

He spun his wheelchair and made for the door. No one spoke until he had gone.

“Okay, you know what to do,” Brognola said. “Do it. If Aaron shows his face before his twelve hours are up, call in Buck Greene and have him taken back to his room.”

“That wasn’t a joke, was it?” Wethers asked.

“No, I mean every word. Look, I understand how you might feel I’ve overreacted. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I’ve been watching Aaron, and the man is exhausted. If he wasn’t sitting in that chair, he’d fall down. If he works himself into the ground, he’s no good to me or the job.”

Brognola had attempted to make his decision one that had been based on his concern over Kurtzman’s work. He’d failed. The cyberteam looked beyond his tough words to Brognola’s genuine feelings for Kurtzman.

“We understand, Hal,” Delahunt said.

Without another word, the team turned back to their workstations.

Brognola and Price moved across the room.

“Military Command in South Korea is on alert for anything they can pick up from over the border,” Price told the big Fed. “The word has come down from the President that we have a team in the north. He’s told Military Command to cooperate with us all the way down the line. I have a contact there. Major Chuck Yosarian.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough. Anything from Able in Hong Kong?”

Price shook her head. “Nothing since their last call. It looks as if they’ve come up against hard times. They know as much as we do. David’s team was taken by Kim Yeo and went off the chart.”

“Damn.” Brognola ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing worse than no contact. Yeah, I know it’s happened before. That doesn’t make it any easier. I hate standing around with my di—” Brognola grinned self-consciously. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”

Price smiled. “Don’t go all coy on me, Hal. I know how you feel.”

“Any feedback from Gadgets and Jack?”

“They’re running traces on Gardener, Justin and the CIA guy, Rod McAdam. High-profile individuals like Gardener and Justin aren’t easy to get to without them being aware.”

“Call coming through for you, Barb,” Delahunt said, holding a phone in her hand.

Price crossed the room and took the handset. She listened for a moment, then smiled. “That’s great news, Major. We’ll wait for them to contact us. And thanks again.”

Price replaced the phone.

“Well?” Brognola asked.

“Phoenix is being escorted into South Korean territory as we speak. That was Yosarian. Apparently his communication team picked up a radio call coming from an unknown source. Turned out to be Phoenix asking for backup. They were airborne but being threatened by a North Korean MiG. There was a South Korean patrol already in the air on routine patrol. They rendezvoused within minutes and the North Korean backed off.”

“We need to talk to Phoenix once they’re on the ground,” Brognola said. “Debrief for both sides.”

“Major Yosarian is setting that up now. He’ll have a secure connection ready as soon as they touch down.”

“Apparently the South Korean pilots were singing the praises of the pilot in the plane they escorted. Just before they made contact they saw him evade the MiG’s attack. Twice.”

“David,” Brognola said without a trace of surprise in his voice.

“Our man McCarter.” Price smiled at the thought of the Briton facing off a well-armed jet fighter. “And I’ll bet he never even broke a sweat.”

MCCARTER’S CALL came just under two hours later. He didn’t waste time being polite. Just got down to the facts.

“Henry Lee is dead. But to even the score, so are Kim Yeo and the bloody North Korean who sold Khariza his weapons. The really bad news, and this is going to piss everyone off, is that Sun Yang Ho sent off Khariza’s main cargo just after we arrived. According to Kim Yeo we have three nuclear devices en route to Khariza. Just to add to the problem, we don’t have any ID on the plane or where it’s heading.”

Price took in a sharp breath, unsure how to respond.

The rest of the cyberteam paused in its tasks as McCarter’s pronouncement reached them over the speakers.

Hal Brognola felt in his pockets for a cigar. He didn’t find one.

“I’m bringing you back, and Able from Hong Kong. We need to get together on this, David. Airlift as soon as I can arrange it.”

“We’ll be ready. Right now I’m off for a meal and then I’m getting my head down. Talk to you later, mate.”

Brognola cut the connection and glanced across at Price. “Travel arrangements for both teams.”

She nodded and reached for a phone. The big Fed turned to face the rest of the team.

“You all heard that. Let’s see what we can pick up. Use all your contacts. Anything and everything. Let’s see if we can pinpoint that camp in Chechnya.”

“What about Gadgets and Jack?” Price asked, punching in phone numbers.

“Leave them. The more I think about it, the more I get a funny feeling about Gardener, Justin and this CIA guy. Let’s see what their muddying the waters brings up.”

Washington, D.C.

“THAT WENT WELL,” Jack Grimaldi said.

They were in the car that was parked on the street just beyond Senator Ralph Justin’s town house. Earlier in the day they had paid an unannounced visit to the senator’s office, doing a little probing and pushing with Justin’s staff. The senator had walked in during their visit and had reacted just as they’d expected. Showing up at his house later in the day was just putting additional pressure on the man.

Hermann “Gadgets” Schwarz loosened the tie he had been forced to wear along with his suit as part of his role as a Justice Department agent.

“I didn’t think that manservant was going to allow us inside. That guy was so stiff he was ready to fold in the middle.”

Grimaldi started the car and eased away from the curb. “You think Justin was fooled?”

“Hard to say, but I think we rattled him asking questions about his relationship with General Chase Gardener.”

“Just enough of a suggestion that concerns had been raised in certain quarters. Nothing specific. Hints and rumors, but enough to get him interested.”

“All we were doing was following up as protocol demanded,” Schwarz confirmed.

“He didn’t take it too kindly when you told him we couldn’t divulge any information Justice had on file.”

Schwarz took out his cell phone and contacted the Farm.

“Our friendly senator got a little frosty. I got the feeling he didn’t like being spoken to by a pair of lowly Justice agents,” he told Brognola. “My guess is he’ll be talking to Gardener as soon as he can get in touch. Which is just what we wanted.”

“What next?”

“We figure a little desert air is in order. A trip out to Arizona and Leverton.”

“The town near Gardener’s base?” the big Fed suggested.

“Fort Leverton, home to Gardener’s command. We’ll do a little prowling around. See if there’s anything to stir up.”

“Stay sharp,” Brognola warned. “If there is something going on, Gardener won’t be such a soft mark if he gets wind you’re checking him out.”

“What’s he going to do? Court-martial us?”

“Arizona. Big, lonely place. Lots of sand and desert. Easy to get lost out there. Accident or design.”

“Come on, Hal, stop dressing it up. Tell us what you really mean.”

“Call in when you get there,” Brognola directed.

“Will do.”

Grimaldi glanced at Schwarz as he put his phone away, noticing the faint smile edging his partner’s lips.