Schwarz rubbed his arm, still chuckling. Even a light tap from the Ironman was enough to raise a painful bruise. “Okay, Mr. Stone.”
“We’ve got a lead?” Blancanales asked, slipping back into professional mode.
“If I know David Lee Haggar, he loves to hang out at biker bars,” Lyons said. “And in San Francisco, he’s rumored to hang out at the Skulls and Chains.”
“Not waiting for Aaron to confirm that Haggar was involved?” Schwarz asked.
“I think the proper terminology in police work is ‘interviewing a person of interest,’” Blancanales offered.
“Saying hi to a perp is still saying hi to a perp,” Lyons said. “You guys wearing your vests?”
“Just like my credit cards. Don’t leave home without them,” Schwarz quipped.
“Then let’s roll.” The Able Team leader grunted. “The sooner we find these murderers, the sooner Carmen…”
He trailed off, aware that Blancanales and Schwarz were smiling.
“The sooner we find the killers, the better,” Lyons concluded.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rafael Encizo kicked up through the black, murky water and glanced around. As soon as the second motor launch disappeared in a flash of orange flame and splinters, he dived into the harbor. Blinking droplets from his eyes, he looked around. He wasn’t concerned about immersion affecting the MP-5 for its brief dunking, but he wanted to know where his partner Calvin James had disappeared to. Johnstone and the rest of his crew had evacuated the boat, as well, and they were popping up through the surface around him.
Something grabbed Encizo’s ankle and he felt himself being yanked under again. In the inky-black waters, he could barely see the outline of a shadowy diver who hung on to him. He let go of the machine pistol and let it float on its sling, and pulled his knees tightly up to his chest. The stocky, Cuban-born Phoenix Force commando somersaulted toward his attacker, head and shoulders ramming into the chest of the enemy swimmer.
The impact and the leverage of Encizo’s tumble combined to pop his ankle free from the underwater killer’s grasp, and the Cuban reached up, hooking his fingers around the hose leading to the diver’s face mask. With a savage kick, he twisted again and hammered his knees into the attacker’s chest, yanking back with all his prodigious strength. While he wasn’t a weight-lifting powerhouse like Carl Lyons or Gary Manning, he was easily the second strongest member of Phoenix Force. His might was enough to tear the mouthpiece from the wetsuited marauder’s lips.
A knife scythed through the water and deflected off his body armor, Kevlar and water resistance teaming up to save Encizo from being instantly gutted. The swarthy Cuban diving expert pulled his own Cold Steel Tanto knife from its sheath and in a single fluid motion raked the chisel-shaped tip across the face of the killer. The enemy diver thrashed violently as the blade carved through one cheek between his teeth and out the other. An explosion of bubbles and black blood spiraled stormily to the surface.
Encizo’s lungs were starting to burn, so he knew he had to finish this quickly. A kick to the underwater attacker’s knife arm jarred the enemy blade loose. A hard tug on the hose connected to the swimmer’s tanks and the Phoenix Force diver pulled his foe closer and plunged his knife deep into the joint between the killer’s neck and shoulder. With a quick twist, he’d gotten his knife free, then wrapped his lips around the diver’s mouthpiece. He exhaled and sucked in a fresh lungful of air, the foul taste of the chemicals in a Draeger bubbleless rebreather filling his mouth.
No wonder the swimmers had snuck up on the boats. He looked around, trying to make sense of the situation, but saw only mayhem as bodies thrashed underwater. Taking another deep breath, he stomped his foot into the chest of the dead attacker and kicked toward the surface, hoping to find James.
As Encizo broke the surface, he noticed that Johnstone’s remaining forces had been halved yet again. The enemy swimmers had taken them by storm, and the one thing that the Phoenix Force pro knew was that he was a sitting duck if he stayed in the water.
“Get on board!” Encizo shouted. He drew his Glock 34 and clicked on the Insight Technologies XM-6 gun light with the rocker switch at the front of the trigger guard. He kicked below the surface again and hoped that the 9 mm rounds would have enough punch to take out an enemy, even through water resistance. James and Encizo had tried out the handguns under water, and they fired and cycled reliably while immersed. That, plus their polymer frame and rust-resistant finish, made them seawater-proof. John Kissinger had left one of their Glocks fully loaded at the bottom of a seawater tank for six months, and when he pulled it out, there was only a slight bit of rust. It worked perfectly, and the rust had buffed out.
But now, using it in underwater combat for the first time, Encizo wondered just how well it would do. He certainly couldn’t swim up to each attacking diver and knife them to death, not before they dragged more of the CIA strike force under to their doom.
He swung the cone of light toward one diver, who stopped, caught like a deer in the headlights. As far as Encizo was concerned, terrorist season was year round, and he triggered the Glock twice. The 9 mm slugs from the long barrel smacked the killer and tumbled him backward, blood reddening his white light’s glare.
So it worked. Encizo was relieved; this meant he could continue to protect the helpless strike force members swimming for the railing.
Another figure knifed into the water downrange and suddenly a separate cone of white light split the inky blackness. More thumps of a weapon discharging underwater reached Encizo’s ears, and he knew it was James entering the conflict.
Encizo was glad he wasn’t going it alone, because in the glow of his XM-6, he spotted three men kicking toward him, knives drawn. One had a speargun and swiveled it toward the stocky Cuban. Encizo kicked forward, making himself a smaller target and spearing his Glock ahead of him. A 9 mm bullet smashed the speargun-wielding diver through his face mask, jolting him to a halt. The launched spear sliced the water, glancing off Encizo’s boot.
However, the shooting-fish-in-a-barrel phase of the battle was about over. One knife-wielding swimmer wrapped his hand around Encizo’s gun wrist, pushing the muzzle away from him. Under the water, the agile Cuban let the momentum of his enemy’s tug swing him around as he kicked both of his heels into the face mask of the terrorist diver. The man’s head snapped back brutally, and Encizo twisted free, kicking as if to go to the surface for a fresh breath of air.
The other rebreather-equipped murderer turned to come after Encizo, but the Cuban jackknifed instead, pressing the muzzle of his long-barreled Glock into the man’s head. As soon as he felt the jolt of the skull against his gun, he pulled the trigger and the water erupted into a blossoming cloud of blood.
The dead diver tumbled backward, disappearing into the murky depths. The remaining member of the trio recovered his senses from Encizo’s head kick. He twisted and plunged after his partner’s corpse. Encizo swung his gun, but the flashlight only reflected so far, and the rebreather-equipped killer had disappeared for now. Encizo twisted and saw that James had extinguished his gun light.
Encizo shut his off, as well, and kicked to the surface, making for the junk.
“Shit,” Johnstone growled. “I’m sorry I gave you boys a hard time.”
The CIA man reached down for Encizo’s hand and helped haul him aboard. James was pulled on deck by other men, as well, and the Phoenix Force pair swiftly reloaded their pistols.
“It was a trap,” James grumbled.
Encizo looked out over the water, wiping his brow clear. “Yeah, but they still got a lot of good people.”
“It’s not over yet, Rafe,” James said.
“I know,” Encizo replied. “We’ll get them.”
“Not that…” James noted.