Oceans Of Fire
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Stony Man is the last line of defence in a new age of terror. The covert ops teams that make up the clandestine antiterrorist group are the elite in the field.
Backed by superior cybernetic and real-time intelligence, the men of Phoenix Force and Able Team strike with relentless precision, fi ghting the worst the world has to offer, whenever and wherever it leads them.
The trail to recapture stolen Russian nukes puts Stony Man on a mission that's turning suicidal. Using covert and hardball tactics, the nukes are traced to a source inside the Middle East, but it's soon discovered that the Arab extremists are merely financiers in an operation laced with wrong turns, double-dealings and the changing face of an enemy clever enough to stay one step ahead. Stony Man is up against a deadly chimera: Russian mafiya, Afghan warlords and a mysterious German corporate magnate whose desire for revenge threatens to wipe America's eastern seaboard off the map.
his room was bugged. He couldn’t afford to be caught on the phone or sending smoke signals from the roof. But he had the collected minds of Stony Man Farm on his side. James took out his toothpaste and squeezed. About five inches of minty-fresh, tartar-control dentifrice squeezed out and suddenly the tube ribboned forth clear gel. He stuck his arm out of the small bathroom window and began crudely writing on the side of the casino with infrared luminescent gel. NUKES HERE DPT 2O MIN DST
McCarter’s wounds. McCarter’s glare stayed fixed on the ragged holes in the sleeve of his jacket lying on the table. “Seven hundred dollars of Italian leather. Kopeck owes me.” The Briton scooped up the two scarlet-stained silver coins and jingled them in his palm. “And he’s bloody short.” IT WASN’T A NICE PART of Moscow, but it appeared Kopeck could afford to take the entire upper floor of a warehouse by the river for his base of operations. McCarter watched the old building through the
ten minutes.” “Ten min—” Kurtzman glowered. He sat back in his wheelchair while he frowned mightily. “All right, Carl. I guess it will have to be a blacksuit.” That was the way Carl had figured it. “Who do you want?” “I want Tino.” “Tino?” Lyons rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he’s not going to stick out in the Caribbean.” “Like you’re not, Blondie, and Tino can pick up Akira and swim him home if it comes to it.” “Well, there is that. Okay, Bear, you got it. Call Tino and tell him you got a job for
on a deadman’s switch for insurance.” Price was thinking the same. “All right, let’s assume it. All twenty-five thermonuclear demolition charges are on the platform and each device has been dialed to the maximum ten kilotons and is on a deadman’s switch. We either assault the platform or hit it with a strike and the devices detonate. What’s the worst-case scenario?” Price cocked her head. “Bear?” Kurtzman was furiously typing. “What? Oh.” He looked up distractedly and swiftly did the math. “Two
Lyons snarled. “How can I convince you?” Deyn mockingly queried. A woman screamed. Johan Mahke rose up from behind an overturned steel worktable and bodily flung Franka Marx into the middle of the hangar. He quickly dropped his bulk behind cover again. Lyons’s eyes narrowed. The German woman was a bloody mess and her clothes were torn, but it looked to be little more than a beating so far. “Throw down your weapons!” The knuckles of Lyons’s good hand went white around the grips of his shotgun.