Oceans of Fire by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Berlin, Germany

“Skorpion machine pistol.” Carl Lyons stood at the ten-meter line of the German border patrol’s indoor firing range. He held up a short, stubby, brutal-looking implement that was too big to be a handgun and too small to be a submachine gun. Lyons and Tokaido had the range to themselves. “The Cowboy sent it out special, just for you, kid. It’s .32-caliber, just like the PPK he gave you, but this bad boy rocks and rolls at 850 rounds per minute and has a 20-round magazine.”

Lyons suddenly shoved the Skorpion out at arm’s length. Tokaido jumped as the little weapon ripped into life. A diagonal line of twenty ragged holes buzz-sawed up from the crotch of the silhouette target to the head. Lyons reloaded and slapped the twin wire struts along the top of the weapon, and the folding stock snapped down into place. “This is your shoulder stock. You get better accuracy and control with it deployed.” He shouldered the weapon and pulsed off three quick 5-round bursts to the belly, heart and head of the ravaged target. “Use it whenever possible.”

“Shoulder stock,” Tokaido noted. “Got it.”

The Able Team leader handed over the weapon. “It’s a little underpowered for my tastes, but I’ve bet my life on Czech steel before. They know something about gun design. It’s lightweight, concealable, and its gonna fit in one of your laptop cases. Like I said, a little underpowered, but it’s going to send out those little .32s in swarms. You burn a burst into somebody’s chest with this bad boy and you might as well have caught them with a pattern of double-aught buck.”

Tokaido held the smoking Skorpion machine pistol. Again he felt conflicting emotions. But after burning through two mags of ammo under Lyon’s tutelage, he’d achieved a solid degree of accuracy. He was ready.

“SO, HERR…BROGNOLA?” Laurentius Deyn sat back in his chair. “You wish me to betray my company and quite possibly give away technological secrets important to German national security.”

Brognola measured the man in front of him. In person his body language and bearing read like his résumé. “Mr. Deyn, national security is exactly what we’re talking about.”

“Ja.” Deyn shook his head slowly at the file Brognola had given him. “It is bad enough that you tell me Circulado Corp is hiring assassins and Treibstoff-Chemikalie von Bonn is in bed with known supporters of terrorists, but Herr Brognola, twenty-five nuclear bombs? This I find hard to swallow.”

“Thermonuclear demolition charges,” Brognola corrected.

“Ja, nuclear devices, not bombs. I do understand the difference, I assure you, and I do realize, as well, that potentially millions of people could die if these devices fall into the wrong hands.” Deyn sighed. “But this still leaves the question of why. Many of my fellow directors are ruthless men, Herr Brognola. The activities of the Circulado Corp proves that, and while I find this disturbing, and I give you my word, it shall be rectified, it does not lead me to conclude that any member or members of the board are nuclear terrorists.

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