The flight from Central America had gone off without a hitch. The mission had been a tough, violent one. Colonel Phoenix and Grimaldi had been heading home when Brognola contacted Bolan in flight.

The big guy's senses had leveled into a postcombat cool. He could feel weariness pestering to be acknowledged. His soul felt tired, and so did his body. That changed when he and Grimaldi had listened to Brognola's descrambled message.

"We may already be too late, Striker." Brognola had sounded harried. "A terrorist coalition has bankrolled purchase of a top-secret nuclear device from an as yet undetermined European source. A hell bomb the size of a goddamn suitcase was shipped on a Liberian freighter, but the ship went down in a storm. Precautions were taken, and there's a fifty-fifty chance the nuclear device is still intact in a waterproof container."

"Do we have coordinates on the site?"

"We do. The ship's radioman was in touch with the terrorists before radio contact was broken and the ship went down. We were fed the information by a mole in one of the terrorist groups."

"What's the official status on the sinking?"

"Maritime SOP hasn't turned up a thing," said Hal. "The terrorist group already has a salvage operation under way. A Soviet-trained frogman crew set out from Belem on the Brazilian coast yesterday afternoon. We learned of all this only a few minutes ago. The terrorists have their whole network trip-wired for this thing, and the intel came to us secondhand. That's why it took so long for the news to travel. The CIA has lost contact with two of their people inside the coalition. They've already written them off as having been terminated."

Brognola had then given the coordinates to Bolan and Grimaldi.

The Stony warrior and his pilot had briefly touched down at a secret U.S. military air base in Honduras for refueling, equipment and ordnance. Then this fast flight southeast.

It was Brognola's idea to have Phoenix Force flown in to back up the Executioner and Grimaldi.