Anaheim Run

by David Robbins

  “No,” Neborak responded, his voice wavering.

  “Don’t lie to me!” Kraken admonished. “If you had gotten as close to the Federation Leaders as you should have been, you would know which ones were dead! And you wouldn’t have only shot one or two of them! If you’d been as close to them as you are to me, and if you’d used the M-16 on full automatic, all of the leaders would be dead!”

  Neborak retreated another step.

  “And after making your ineffectual attempt, you fled!” Kraken stated.

  “Instead of seeing your mission through to its end or perishing in the effort, you decided your life was worth more than your duty! You’ve placed a higher premium on yourself than on your membership in the Gild.”

  Neborak didn’t respond.

  Kraken’s attitude abruptly altered. His shoulders slumped and he sadly shook his head. “I am very disappointed in you, brother. Very disappointed. I expected much better from you. You knew the rules before you entered the Guild. No one forced you to join. No one was twisting your arm. Foster nominated you for membership because he believed you were proficient at our trade. I’m glad he didn’t live long enough to discover the error he made.”

  “Please, Kraken,” Neborak said. “Give me a break! I never could have pulled it off anyway! There were too many soldiers there! And the Warriors! At least I tried!”

  Kraken straightened. “Any endeavor is a waste if success is not achieved,” he philosophized.

  “I’ll do better next time,” Neborak promised. “You wait and see! I’ll nail those bastards next time!”

  Kraken frowned. “There will be no next time, brother.”

  “What… what do you mean?” Neborak asked iremulously.

  “You know what I mean,” Kraken stated. He surveyed those seated before him. “Brothers and sisters of the Gild! You have heard the testimony. What is your verdict?”

  In turn, each of the men and women extended their right arm, fist clenched, thumb pointing downward.

  “The verdict has been rendered,” Kraken announced.

  “No!” Neborak cried, glancing anxiously about the room as if seeking an avenue of escape from his fate.

  “This isn’t fair! I should get another chance!”

  Kraken looked at one of the seated men. “Nightshade.”

  Hickok saw the man rise. This assassin was of average height and build, but he wasn’t entirely human in appearance. Somewhere along the line his ancestors had been subjected to massive doses of radiation or been exposed to some of the physiology-warping chemicals polluting the environment. His oily hair was coal black, his skin a dark gray. Slanted yellow eyes and a hooked nose dominated his facial features. Prominent cheekbones accented his unnaturally reddish lips. Nightshade was a mutant.

  Neborak stared at the hybrid in undisguised fear. “Nightshade! No! Don’t!”

  The one named Nightshade stood still for a moment, his arms at his sides. Then his right arm swept up, his hand bent vertical.

  There was a streak of silver, and a six-inch needlelike shaft pierced Neborak’s forehead, snapping his head back. Neborak stiffened, his eyelids fluttering, and then pitched forward.

  “Thank you, brother Nightshade,” Kraken said. “Now would you be so kind as to dispose of the coward? Feed the corpse to our saurian friend.”

  Nightshade walked to the body, stooped, and effortlessly lifted Neborak, draping his former comrade over his right shoulder.

  Hickok watched Nightshade exit the chamber through a door in the north wall. His eyes narrowed as he spied a row of weapons leaning against the wall near the doorway. The mystery weapons! They were similar to a conventional rifle, with a stock and a barrel, but they were outfitted with an odd, oblong metal cylinder attached to the underside of the barrel in front of the trigger mechanism. A slender tube, apparently utilized to house whatever ammunition the weapon fired, ran from the cylinder to just shy of the tip of the barrel.

  “Brothers and sisters of the Gild!” Kraken declared. “Our employer would not be pleased with our performance to date! And frankly, neither am I! We have made three attempts to fulfill our contract, and each one has failed.” He paused. “Even discounting Brother Neborak’s dismal inefficiency, we are not earning our commission. This is deplorable! The Gild has never failed to execute an assignment, and we will not fail this time!”

  “Do you have a plan, Kraken?” asked one of the men in a high voice.

  “Of course, Brother Leftwich,” Kraken answered confidently. “I will explain my plan in a moment. But first, I need a volunteer to go to the hotel for me. Who will it be?”

  Leftwich, a skinny man with a sallow complexion, stood. “I’ll go. What needs to be done?”

  “You must contact Emery and instruct him to await further orders. I am concerned he might needlessly expose himself to risk, and we can’t afford to lose him,” Kraken said.

  “Emery wouldn’t do anything stupid,” Leftwich commented.

  “Ordinarily, no,” Kraken stated. “But he might seek to take advantage of Neborak’s blunder. I directed Emery to refrain from becoming actively involved because his inside information is invaluable. But I know Emery, I know his devotion to our Gild. If he thinks there is a chance to achieve our primary goal, he will take advantage of the opportunity. Emery might attempt to terminate the targets himself while our foes are off balance. I want you to take one of the stolen uniforms and go to the hotel. Advise Emery to lay low.”

  “You can count on me,” Leftwich said. He promptly departed through the door in the north wall.

  “I have a question, guv,” spoke up one of the men in a marked accent.

  He had curly brown hair.

  “What is it, Charley?” Kraken inquired.

  “I may be oversteppin’ my bounds, mate,” Charley said, “But I can’t help but wonder why the Gild messes with all this piddlin’ work when we could be callin’ the shots? You know what I mean?”

  “Our English representative has asked a valid question,” Kraken noted.

  English representative? Hickok was startled by the revelation. Except for the Russians, he hadn’t heard of anyone venturing overseas, or coming from overseas, since the Big Blast. Had England survived the war? And what about the rest of Europe?

  “You would like to call the shots, would you, Charley?” Kraken asked the British assassin.

  “Of course, guv. Who wouldn’t?” Charley responded.

  Kraken grinned. “I like initiative in my people. Stick with me and your wildest dreams will come true. We will be calling the shots, as you put it, quite soon. I realize that, on an international scale, the leaders of the Freedom Federation are small potatoes. Very small potatoes indeed. But they are a means to an end. I can’t confide all of the details at this time, but rest assured we will see the Gild’s power grow to new heights as a consequence of the completion of this contract.”

  The members of the Gild exchanged puzzled glances.

  Kraken noticed. “I can say this,” he added to appease their curiosity.

  “We are receiving more than gold in exchange for the elimination of the Federation leaders. In addition to our standard fee, we will acquire certain information, information which will enable the Gild to become a major player globally. We will become the ultimate power brokers.”

  Hickok was striving to comprehend the significance of everything he’d overheard. The Gild was obviously an international assocation of professional assassins, and they evidently sold their lethal services to anyone able to meet their price. Less obvious was the reason someone wanted the Freedom Federation leaders murdered. The gunman debated whether to burst into the room, guns blazing, and get as many of the Gild members as he could, or whether to go warn Blade. Even if he managed to gun down these, what if there were others nearby?

  Kraken raised his right fist overhead. “To the Gild!”

  The Gild members stood and imitated his gesture. “To the Gild!” they echoed.

  Hickok backed away from th
e meeting room. Blade and Plato needed to be informed about the Gild, and he was the only one who could tell them.

  He carefully inched toward the front door, and he was halfway there when his extraordinary sixth sense, developed over the course of years of fighting experience, flared, alerting him he wasn’t alone, that someone else was very, very close. He whirled toward the front door, his hands dropping to his Colts.

  One of the Gild members was framed in the doorway, cradling a mystery weapon in his hands. The barrel was fixed unwaveringly on the gunfighter.

  With a shock, Hickok realized his path was being blocked by the one known as Nightshade!

  Chapter Eight

  “One more time,” Blade said. “Where are you from?”

  “Get screwed!” the assassin retorted angrily.

  “This is gettin’ us nowhere,” Bear commented, hefting his M-16.

  They were interrogating the prisoner in a small room on the second floor. The man in the kitchen worker’s clothes was tied to a chair positioned in the middle of the floor.

  Blade, slowly pacing in front of the chair, glanced at the assassin. “You could make this easy on yourself by cooperating.”

  “Go play with yourself!” was the response.

  “Is your name really Emery?” Blade queried.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know!” Emery retorted.

  Bear, standing to the left of the chair, frowned. “Let me work this sucker over, Blade. He’ll talk.”

  “I’ll never talk!” Emery stated defiantly.

  Blade stopped and faced the assassin. The cross-examination was getting them nowhere and he had important business elsewhere, namely guarding Plato. He didn’t like being away from the Family Leader, not when another attempt could be made on his kindly mentor’s life at any moment. And his anxiety over Plato was compounded by his apprehension about Hickok. The gunman had been gone way too long, leaving Blade to conclude Hickok was up to his neck in hot water once again.

  Hot water!

  Blade motioned for Bear to move away from the chair, and Emery watched them nervously as Blade whispered in the black’s left ear.

  Bear nodded. “You got it, bro. I’ll be right back.” He opened the door and departed.

  “I’m not going to talk!” Emery insisted. “And nothing you do will make me!”

  Blade folded his arms across his chest. “We’ll see, tough guy.”

  Emery attempted to spit at the Warrior, but missed.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you have lousy manners?” Blade quipped.

  “Joke while you can, prick!” Emery taunted. “You won’t be laughing when all of your leaders are dead!”

  “I owe allegiance to only one leader,” Blade mentioned. “And no harm will befall him while I’m alive.” He ran his right hand along the strap of the M-16 slung over his right shoulder.

  “You can’t stop us, Warrior! No one can!” Emery snapped.

  “Thank you,” Blade said.

  “For what?” Emery rejoined.

  “For confirming there are more than one of you left,” Blade stated.

  “If you only knew!” Emery remarked, sneering.

  The sound of a commotion broke out in the hallway outside of the room. Loud noises were raised in argument.

  Blade walked to the doorway.

  The Cavalryman Hamlin and General Gallagher were involved in a shoving and shouting match. The stocky officer was nose-to-nose with the bantam frontiersman, and neither was giving an inch.

  “What’s going on here?” Blade demanded.

  Hamlin wagged his Winchester at the general. “He wanted in. I told him you said no one was to go inside, but the mutton-head wouldn’t listen.”

  General Gallagher glared at Hamlin. “I’ll be damned if a scrawny runt like you is going to tell me what to do!”

  “You did the right thing,” Blade said to Hamlin. He looked at the general. “What are you doing here?”

  Gallagher’s mouth curled downward. “I came to apologize,” he said bleakly.

  “You? Apologize?” Blade studied the officer. “Why?”

  General Gallagher stared into the Warrior’s probing eyes. “Because Governor Melnick just reamed my ass over what happened earlier. He ordered me to apologize. So I’m apologizing.”

  Blade suppressed a grin. He had to admire the general’s honesty.

  Governor Melnick, accompanied by President Toland and two of Toland’s assistants, had arrived a short while ago. Melnick and Toland had immediately repaired to the conference room and joined the other heads of state. Undoubtedly Plato had informed Melnick about the incident with the general, and Melnick had called Gallagher on the carpet.

  “I’m not apologizing for what I believe in,” General Gallagher said. “I still don’t believe in this treaty.”

  “I’m not asking you to compromise your beliefs,” Blade assured the officer. “All I want is for you to give the treaty the benefit of the doubt until it proves itself. The Free State government isn’t committed to any specific course of action by signing the treaty, other than agreeing to aid any other member of the Federation should one of us be attacked. What harm can it do to wait and see how the treaty works out before you condemn it? If, six months or a year from now, you feel the treaty has been detrimental to California in any respect, then plead your case before Governor Melnick. Wouldn’t he be more inclined to hear you out if you possessed hard evidence supporting your dislike of the treaty?”

  General Gallagher appeared surprised by Blade’s reasoning. He slowly nodded. “You are a very persuasive man, for a Warrior.”

  “Thanks. I think.” Blade began to reenter the room.

  “Wait,” General Gallagher said.

  “What is it?” Blade asked.

  “I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind,” Gallagher stated.

  “Is this an official request from Governor Melnick?” Blade inquired.

  “No,” General Gallagher admitted. “The governor has no objections to you questioning the prisoner. This is my request. As potential allies, doesn’t it make sense to work together on this?”

  Blade nodded. “It does. But I’m surprised you’d want to work with a Warrior. After all, according to you we’re not worth shit.”

  “Touché,” General Gallagher said.

  “You really want to work together?”

  “I do,” General Gallagher confirmed.

  “Then let’s get at it,” Blade declared and entered the room.

  General Gallagher grinned at Hamlin and followed Blade.

  “Well look at this!” Emery baited them. “They’ve brought in reinforcements. Where’d you get those bushy eyebrows, general? You look like you’re part ape!”

  General Gallagher marched up to Emery’s chair. “We want answers, and we want them now! Why did you try to assassinate the Federation leaders? We know you were hired to work in the kitchen a week ago. Were you planted here because of the summit?”

  Emery snorted. “You don’t get nothing out of me, asshole!”

  General Gallagher glanced at Blade. “What are we going to do?”

  “Wait,” Blade replied.

  “For what?”

  Blade looked at the doorway. “This.”

  Bear returned, a large pot of steaming water held in his left hand. “Here we go,” he said to Blade. “They had this already on the stove, gettin’ set for supper.”

  Blade grasped the pot handle.

  Emery was anxiously gazing at the steaming water, his mouth working back and forth, his teeth gnashing together. “What’s that for?”

  “Guess,” Blade said.

  “Scalding water won’t make me talk,” Emery declared, hut his tone lacked conviction.

  Blade moved over to the chair. He dangled the pot under Emery’s chin.

  “It won’t?”

  “No!” Emery responded angrily.

  “We’ll see,” Blade commented, leaning down until his eyes were level with Emery’s. “Here’s the
way it is. I need certain information from you, and you will supply the answers one way or the other.”

  “Don’t hold your breath!” Emery scoffed.

  “I’ve questioned a number of prisoners in my time,” Blade informed the assassin. “Experience is a great teacher. For instance, my experience tells me you’re one tough son of a bitch. Am I right?”

  Emery smiled, his chest expanding. “You’ve got that right!”

  “And tough guys like you never, ever talk,” Blade went on. “I could tear your fingernails out and you wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “You’re not so dumb after all!” Emery jeered.

  “I could break your arms and your legs and you wouldn’t talk,” Blade stated.

  “A waste of your time,” Emery pompously agreed.

  “But I wonder what would happen if I poured scalding water all over your balls,” Blade said innocently.

  Emery blanched. “What?”

  “I wonder how tough you would be if I poured this pot of scalding water on your crotch,” Blade repeated.

  Emery looked down and gulped. “You wouldn’t!”

  Blade smiled maliciously. “There’s one way to find out.”

  “You’re bluffing!” Emery persisted.

  Blade squatted, dangling the pot between his legs. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not bluffing. You see, Emery, I learned an important lesson a long time ago. Most men, no matter how much inner strength they may possess, can not tolerate the thought of having their penis injured.” He paused. “How about you, Emery? You’re quite skilled at your trade, I’ll grant you that. But how devoted are you to your superiors? Devoted enough to suffer the agony of having your pecker blistered by scorching water? Devoted enough to have your balls boiled? Devoted enough to risk possibly never experiencing sex again?”

  Emery glared at the Warrior, grinding his teeth.

  “I’m going to ask you a question,” Blade stated. “If you don’t answer, I’m going to pour some of this water on your lap. Ready?”