STONY MAN
The Stony Man team of special operators stands ready to go into ultra-covert action whenever the President needs a specific brand of below-the-radar expertise. If the crisis is real and immediate, cybernetics experts with state-of-the-art technology kick into gear from the war room of a secret facility known only to the Oval Office, while the commando soldiers of Able Team and Phoenix Force lead the ground assault. Consummate warriors dedicated to protecting the innocent, Stony Man draws a hard line against enemies of the free world.
PERMANENT SHUTDOWN
A U.S. senatorâs murder and the kidnapping of several children of high-profile government officials leave the President no choice but to call in Stony Man to investigate. But the kidnappings are only the tip of the iceberg. The ransom money and income from a human trafficking ring are being used to fund terrorist activities overseas. Itâs a race against time as Able Team has to track down the kidnappers in Florida before anything happens to the children, while Phoenix Force hunts the ringleader in Morocco. Their goal: neutralize the operation. No matter what.
James tapped his friendâs shoulder. âUm, Rafe?â
Encizo turned and saw the armed men through the front window of the car. âUh-oh.â
Mazouzi was too busy yelling at his informant to realize they were in trouble. The keys were in the ignition so Encizo put the clutch to the floor, started the engine and got them in Reverse. He let out the clutch and took off with a squeal of tires, causing Mazouzi to curse.
âWe have company,â James snapped as he pulled out his Beretta.
The armed men, four in all, fired semiautomatic handguns, but Encizo had put enough distance between the Peugeot and them. One shot hit the corner of the windshield, though, and spider-webbed across the passenger side, blocking Jamesâ view.
As the Peugeot gained speed, James leaned out the window, leveling the pistol in his right hand on the nearest man, and squeezed off a double-tap, taking the intended target in the chest. But the jerky movement of the Peugeot pulled him back inside.
Encizoâs face was screwed up in concentration as he maneuvered along the narrow street. At one point, he sideswiped a parked vehicle, leaving behind a large gouge with the echo of scraping fiberglass and metal.
âWhat are you doing?â Mazouzi demanded.
âSaving your ass,â James replied. âI think.â
Special thanks and acknowledgment to
Matt Kozar for his contribution to this work.
CHAPTER ONE
Maryland
Senator Charlie Maser slowed as he approached the secondary road leading off the scenic byway that ran through Chesapeake country.
The dash clock on his luxury SUV read 2:52 a.m. and with only a sliver of a moon, Maser had almost missed the turn. He couldnât be late...not at this time and this place. He thought of the metal suitcase on the seat behind himâa suitcase that met the specifications heâd been given, down to the last detailâits contents worth a kingâs ransom.
Or at least the prize for a princess.
Charlie Maserâs princess was a thirteen-year-old girl, a girl who may have been through things so horrible Maser couldnât even bring himself to imagine them. They were things the caller had told him might happen if Maser didnât cooperate, but heâd also been assured that so far they hadnât happened. Maser wasnât sure if he could believe his ears when he learned that his only daughter had fallen into the hands of a vile, disgusting lot of kidnappers who had been on a rampage for the past two months.
Only wild and vague rumors had reached his ears about this groupâa conversation heâd overheard here, a secure email brief thereâbut Maser hadnât actually believed most of it. Well, he did now and he still couldnât come to terms with the fact that what had happened to Natalieâas what had happened to the young children, boys and girls, of a number of other politiciansâprobably could have been avoided if heâd been more diligent in finding the truth. There were lots of people he couldâve reached out to and gotten the full story: other senators, members of the house and even connections inside the FBI and CIA, as apparently there were transnational matters attached to these men.
None of it mattered now, though. All that mattered was getting his beautiful girl back into his arms safe and sound. Heâd never let her go again.
Maser had received the ransom call just after a particularly grueling session on the senate floor, one item after another coming across the wire for him to vote yea or nay, more fat pieces of legislation that spent a lot of money and did next to nothing. Maser had considered not running for a second term just eighteen short months ago, but had changed his mind at the urging of his constituents, and the election coffers filled up in no time at all. Mostly they were donations from friends who owned multibillion-dollar companies, or the untapped wealth of special-interest groups from which he had to draw.