STONY MAN
Operating under covert Presidential directives, the elite black ops group known as Stony Man is bound by honor to risk the ultimate price to uphold freedom.
MENTAL MELTDOWN
Following a series of suicide bombing attacks along the U.S.-Mexican border, the relatives of a dead female bomber attack Able Team, descending from social to homicidal in a matter of seconds. Clearly these bombings are far more than random killings. Searching for an answer to the seemingly psychotic episodes, the black ops group discovers someone is controlling these peopleâs minds with a new drug that leaves them catatonic or dead, after first giving them the extraordinary urge to kill. While Able Team follows leads in the U.S., Phoenix Force heads to investigate similar bombings in the Middle East. With numerous civilians already infected by the drug, they must eliminate the source before the body count of unwilling sacrifices mounts.
âROCKET! ROCKET! ROCKET!â
Small arms began crackling and popping outside. Lyons heard the distinctive thud of an RPG launching off its tube and the hiss of the rocket motor igniting. He rolled behind the couch, covered his eyes and jammed his thumbs into his ears. By some miracle the rocket-propelled grenade hit the doorjamb rather than the door itself. The house shook and windows shattered.
âEnough of this less-than-lethal garbageâ¦â The Ironman snapped in a drum loaded with lead.
James bounced up but immediately dropped back down. âIncoming!â
Pol dived to put the kitchen between him and the blast. Lyons and James leaped for the hall. The grenade hit the front door, which dissolved in an orange flash. Superheated gas and shrapnel expanded to fill the living room and the heat wash rolled through the house. Lyons sat up, yawning against the ringing in his ears. Gadgets spoke from his concealed position. Heâd set up a small suite of minicameras to watch the house perimeter.
âYou got twelve guys hitting the front. Five more are breaking off and flanking for the back.â
âCopy that, Gadgets. Hold position, wait for the shot. Polâ¦donât let âem in.â
CHAPTER ONE
Ciudad Juárez, Mexico
Rosario Blancanales came out of the coronerâs office shaking his head. Carl Lyons sat behind the wheel of a bottle-green Renault 12 Estate and rolled his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses. âGoddamn wild-goose chase.â
It was July. It was noon. And it was 110 degrees. The city was a blast furnace and felt ready to blow.
Carl âIronmanâ Lyons, the leader of Able Team, had to give Juárez some credit. The city had managed to fall from being the number-one murder capital of the world to number two. Yet violent turf battles between the Juárez and Sinaloa cartels still rocked the barrios, and there was genuine war in the streets between the cartels and the army and state police.
Juárez had managed to drop to number two in murder overall, but the city still managed to be the number-one murder capital for women in all of the Americas. Juárezâs profoundly disturbing and mostly unsolved strings of kidnapping, torture, rape and murder of its young women continued unabated. Throw in total governmental corruption from top to bottom and the Paso Del Norte had just about seen it all.
But it had never before encountered suicide bombers, which was why Able Team was on the scene. The supersecret US covert operations team was dispatched only for the most urgent and dire situations. Only the President and a very select few of the Manâs advisers even knew of the existence of the highly trained, deadly team based out of Stony Man Farm, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of rural Virginia.
Hermann âGadgetsâ Schwarz, the third member of Able Team, sat quietly in the backseat watching their six, but Lyons could just about hear him thinking the same thing.
Blancanales put on his happy face as he climbed into the car. âHow you boys doing?â
Lyons peered over his mirror sunglasses. âIâm in Mexico. In July. Driving a French station wagon without air conditioning.â
Blancanales grinned. âWell, at least itâs a dry heat!â
âCarl?â Schwarz rolled a sweating grape Fanta bottle across his brow. âShoot him.â
Lyons considered it. âWe got nothing?â
âIt makes no sense.â Blancanales sighed. âNone of the bombers has any connection that I can find. They come from all walks of life. Different ages and sexes, different parts of town. Go to different churches. The only thing they seem to have in common is that theyâre all Mexican nationals. I swear itâs almost like they were picked at random.â