The Matarese Countdown (Matarese Dynasty 1)

"Hey, my God, I see what you mean!" exclaimed Pryce.

"There has to be ship-to-shore communication. We take whoever comes in, show them your rocket blaster aimed at their boat, and make it clear that one hostile move and it's exit-city."

"That's the bottom line."

"What's Mrs. Scofield bringing us?"

"Three MAC-Tens would be my guess. They have longer and straighter ranges. Also, they're very special, they have silencers attached; you hear punctuated spits but no loud fire. Our theory is that if we ever have to actually shoot, we could run away and not reveal our positions."

"She knows about that sort of thing?"

"As much as either of us. She keeps up with the world I left far more than I do. She can't forget how long we were fugitives-she still believes we're fugitives now. I think she could put on a scuba tank and blow up a destroyer, if either of us-or Taleniekov-was threatened."

"That's some lady."

"Some lady," agreed Beowulf Agate softly.

"Without her, neither Vasili nor I would have survived.. .. Here she comes!"

"I decided on the Uzi for me," said a breathless Antonia, parting the last low-hanging palms and throwing the weapons down.

"It's lighter and best at close range." She then lowered the canvas bag from her shoulder.

"I've brought sixty rounds apiece for the MAC's; they're in the red-striped plastic pouches; mine are in the blue.. .. What now, my darling?"

"Ah, she softens!" exclaimed Scofield.

"It's like Ajaccio or Bonifacio all over again, isn't it, Toni?"

"It makes me sick, you bastard."

"But you see, Cam, she rises to the occasion. Right, old girl?"

"Old I can accept. Dead, I can't."

"Have you got a flashlight in that bag of tricks of yours, Pryce?"

"Of course."

"Take it out, turn it on, and wave the beam around helter-skelter.

Don't zero in on the boat but weave around it. We don't want our victims to miss it."

"I hope you know what you're doing," said Cameron.

"To paraphrase you, my boy, I both do and I don't. I just know it can be a shortcut, and that's what we always look for, isn't it?"

"No argument there," agreed Pryce, turning on the high-powered flashlight and circling the dark sky, finally arcing over the suddenly approaching silhouette in the distance.

"He changed course!" said Scofield.

"He was heading for Brass Twenty-four, and he turned! Good work, young fellow."

"What now?" asked Cameron.

"They'll send a skiff in," said Antonia.

"I'll head to the right of the beach cul-de-sac, and you go to the left, Cam."

"Then what?" asked the younger man.

"We'll see what scoots in," replied Scofield, his rocket launcher in Place between the rocks.

"I'll also be zeroing in on the craft itself.

Whoever's left on board will be on deck.. .. Then we'll know what foe odds are."

"Suppose they have what you have?" said Cameron.

"Seventy-five millimeters, or something like that. They could blow up your island!"

"If they have it, and I see it, and if I catch anybody running to it, the whole shebang is blown out of the water."

The small ship, a trawler, continued toward Outer Brass 26, and as it came within two hundred yards, a heavy-calibered cannon could be distinguished on its bow, large enough and powerful enough to blow up a Coast Guard cutter. But the few hands on deck-three, to be precise were more concerned with lowering a power-driven PVC boat into the water. The skipper emerged from the bridge, apparently shouting orders to drop anchor, and then stood there, the binoculars at his eyes, a large bolstered weapon strapped around his waist.

"I know that face!" exclaimed Pryce.

"He's a Swede, on Stockholm's terrorist list. One of the suspects in Palme's assassination!"

"He's found a home," said Scofield.

"Now I really want to get on board."

"Be careful, my dear."

"She's still pissed off.... I will, lovey, just get to the right flank.

But for Christ's sake, stay low and use our little jungle. Remember, he's got the same night-glasses we do."

"On my way."

"You, too, Pryce, head left. We'll have the bastards in a cross fire.

But remember, if you have to shoot, the initial rounds go over their heads. We want captives, not corpses."

"I understand, sir."

"Cut the 'sir' bullshit. I'm not your mentor, I'm an accident."

The PVC lapped its way into the beach no more than two hundred feet from Scofield and the launcher. On the right side of the cove's horseshoe configuration, Antonia stood in the shadows of the island jungle, the Uzi in her strong hands. On the far-left flank, Pryce knelt by a large volcanic boulder, the MAC-10 poised to fire. The first of the three men in the rubber raft leaped over the bow, a weapon in his left hand, a rope in his right. The man in the middle was next, gripping a large repeating automatic rifle in both hands. The skipper at the stern shut off the engine and followed the others; he was equally armed.

Their combined firepower was considerable.

In the brief illuminations of moonlight, they appeared to be ordinary fishermen. Two had unkempt beards, attesting to the aversion at sea to wasting warm water and manipulating a razor; the third was clean shaven. This last member was the skipper of the raft and appeared younger than the others, perhaps in his middle thirties, while his companions-rugged, heavyset-appeared to be in their late forties or slightly beyond. Too, the third man was dressed in what could best be described as casual-expensive. Form-fitting white jeans, a loose blue cotton jacket, and a visored sailing cap, as opposed to his associates' tattered shirts and trousers whose only laundering was probably a plunge in the salt water every other day or so. Also, around each neck was a rawhide strap attached to a flashlight.

"You there, Jack," shouted the younger man, addressing the intruder in front, "beach the raft and look around over there!" He pointed in Antonia's direction.

"And you, Harry, check the other side of the beach." It was Pryce's domain.

"There's someone here, that beam of light didn't appear out of nowhere!" The language the search party leader spoke was English, but it was not his native tongue. The accent was middle European, Slovak or Baltic.

"I din no mate," cried Harry, his speech obviously AustralianS trine as it was called.

"These Carib spots can be ruddy loony.

Reflections all over the plyce."

"We saw what we saw. Go on!"

"If we saw wot we think we seen," said the man called Jack, evidently a London cockney, "they weren't bashful about it, now were they?"

"Just look, just look!"

"I ayn't paid to get me bloody head whacked off by some cryzy savages."

"You're paid far more than you're worth, Harry, now hurry up!" It was at this moment that the concealed Scofield saw what he hoped to

see. The search party's superior officer took out a small walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and spoke into it.

"No sign of anyone on the beach and no visible light beyond the trees and the brush. We'll reconnoiter; keep your radio with you."

The comparatively well-dressed leader of the unit lifted the rawhide strap over his head and, looping the flashlight into his left hand, switched it on and swung the beam around, crisscrossing the area.

Scofield ducked as the light shot over his head, behind the rocks and the hidden rocket launcher. Darkness again, except for the erratic moonlight; Beowulf Agate peered over the ragged edge of stone. He was alarmed.

The leader had spotted something and Bray knew exactly what it was: the rows of small sun-absorbing plates that fed the photoelectric cells that were an alternate source of Outer Brass 26's energy. Slowly the man crept forward.

At the far right side of the beach, the slovenly subordinate named Jack cautiously walked through the sand, the beam of his flashlight swinging in all directions. He came within two feet of Antonia, and the moment he did so, she stepped out of the foliage, shoved the short barrel of the Uzi into his back, and whispered, "You utter a sound and you'll sleep with the fishes, I believe is the expression. Drop your gun!"

Over on the left flank, Pryce waited behind the boulder as the Australian approached with his flashlight. When the man came nearer, actually brushing the large rock with his shoulder, Cameron circled the huge stone and stepped out, three feet behind the intruder.

"You raise your voice, you're in kangaroo hell, mate," he said quietly but harshly.

"What the-" "I told you once!" interrupted Pryce softly, angrily.

"I won't say it again. Instead, you'll be a bloody corpse on the beach."

"Don't you worry about me, mate! I didn't come on board for this kind of shit."

"Why did you come on board .. . mate?"

"The screw-the salary. The bastards pay every week what it would take me two months to make!"

"Why are you so far away from home?"

"I worked for 'em in the west territories, way above Perth it was, servicing the Indian Ocean. I'm a good hand and m'morals aren't a priority, if you know what I mean. We're all gon' to that hell anyway."

"Do you know whom you're working for?"