Frank Ebert’s right shoe swept upward, catching the Warrior in the groin and doubling him over.
Bear straightened, grabbing for his M-16.
Ebert was faster, his right hand streaking under his green jacket and reappearing with a small automatic. “Don’t move!” he barked, pressing the pistol against Blade’s forehead.
Bear froze in the act of unlimbering his M-16.
“Drop the gun,” Ebert commanded, but Bear didn’t move.
Blade, his face a deep scarlet, was gasping and covering his crotch with his hands. The agony in his testicles was excruciating.
Ebert stood, keeping the automatic touching Blade’s head. “Drop it or I will shoot.”
“You don’t have no silencer on that peashooter,” Bear noted. “You shoot Blade and you’ll have all the soldiers in ihe world in here.”
“But Blade will be dead,” Ebert rejoined. “And his death will be on your hands. Now drop the damn gun!”
Blade looked at Bear and nodded.
“You’re callin’ the play,” Bear said, and allowed the M-16 to fall to the carpet.
“Now I want yours,” Ebert instructed Blade.
The Warrior grimaced as he unslung his M-16 and handed the weapon over.
Ebert took the gun in his left hand and flicked off the safety. He moved to one side and leveled the M-16 at Blade. “Okay. You’re going to be my passport out of here.”
Blade grit his teeth and rose to his full height. “You’ll never make it,” he predicted.
“You let me worry about that,” Ebert snapped. “We’re going to walk out of the hotel together. I want you to stay three feet in front of me the whole time. One wrong move, if you make a peep, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
“I understand,” Blade said.
“Drop your Bowies,” Ebert directed, then abruptly changed his mind as the Warrior gripped the hilts of the knives. “No! Keep them! Just don’t touch them on the way out!”
“You don’t want them?” Blade asked in surprise.
“Everyone knows how attached you are to those Bowies,” Ebert stated.
“If you were to walk through the lobby without them, one of your friends in the Federation might become suspicious. So just keep your mitts away from them and you may live long enough to see your wife and son again.”
“You seem to know all about me,” Blade observed.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ebert responded. He wagged the M-16 in the direction of the door. “Move your ass.”
Blade shuffled toward the door, his movements awkward because of the lingering torment in his gonads.
Ebert slid his pistol under his jacket. “Move out of the way,” he ordered Bear.
The Clan member moved away from the door, his hands in the air. “I don’t want no trouble. Just don’t shoot Blade.”
“Your loyalty is touching,” Ebert commented sarcastically. He cautiously skirted the black and walked to within a few feet of the Warrior.
Blade took hold of the doorknob.
“Wait!” Ebert commanded.
Blade turned.
“We’re going to close the door behind us,” Ebert said to Bear. “Keep it closed. I’ll keep looking back, and if I see the door open I’ll kill Blade. Understand?”
Bear nodded.
“I’d shoot you now, but like you said, the soldiers would be here in seconds,” Ebert remarked.
“I hope we meet again some day, sucker,” Bear said. “And you don’t have no guns.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Ebert retorted. He looked at Blade. “Remember what I said. Keep your hands away from those knives. Act natural. We’ll go downstairs and cross the lobby. I’ll release you once we’re outside and I’m safe.”
Blade was feeling his strength return as the discomfort in his privates subsided. “I’m ready,” he said.
“Then let’s go,” Ebert declared.
Blade exited the room.
Ebert followed, lowering the M-16 to his side and closing the door shut after casting a meaningful warning glance at Bear.
Hamlin, the Cavalryman, was on guard, standing to the right of the doorway. “Everything okay?” he asked Blade.
“Fine,” Blade said, walking down the corridor.
Ebert smiled at the frontiersman and strolkd after the Warrior. “Head for the elevator,” he said when they were out of earshot from the Cavalryman.
Blade nodded, moving down the hall to the elevator located on the north side of the building. Although several soldiers were lounging in the corridor, none were near the elevator doors. He reached out and pushed the down button.
“No tricks once we’re in the lobby,” Ebert warned.
“I wouldn’t think of trying something,” Blade lied.
The elevator arrived, the doors swishing open.
“After you,” Ebert said.
Blade entered and stepped to the rear.
Ebert, warily watching the Warrior, came inside and stood next to the control panel. He punched the white button marked with an L.
“You surprise me,” Blade said as the elevator began to descend.
“Why?”
“I guess I expected you to allow yourself to be tortured to death before you’d admit to being a Russian spy,” Blade stated.
Ebert made a snorting noise. “Where’d you ever get a dumbass idea like that?”
“I read this book when I was a kid,” Blade divulged. “A spy book from the fiction section of the Family library. I can’t recall all of the plot, but it had something to do with this spy called Bond. He was tortured, but he didn’t talk.”
Ebert snickered. “You Family types will believe anything, won’t you?
That prewar nonsense doesn’t apply to real life. I’m not about to die for the Russians!”
“You’re not willing to die for the greater glory of Communism?” Blade quipped.
“Don’t make me laugh!” Ebert snapped. “I’m in this for two reasons. One of them is the money.”
“The Soviets are paying you to spy?” Blade asked.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Ebert responded. “The Russians want to destroy your Freedom Federation, and they will go to any lengths to achieve their goal. They need inside information, so they prepped me and sent me into the Civilized Zone to infiltrate President Toland’s administration. It was easy as pie! Qualified personnel are hard to come by, and the Russians made damn sure I was qualified, complete with a phony background, before they sent me out.”
“Wasn’t your background checked?” Blade inquired.
“Are you kidding? Toland’s personnel director asked me a few questions, gave me some tests, and that was it! They never suspected a thing.”
“What were you before you became their spy?” Blade queried.
“None of your business,” Ebert responded.
The elevator reached the lobby.
“Not one false move,” Ebert warned, hefting the M-16.
The elevator doors slid open. Blade walked out, heading across the lobby toward the front entrance. Clusters of soldiers, bureaucrats, and others were engaged in conversation here and there, but not one gave him more than a passing glance. The Federation leaders and Governor Melnick were already back in conference.
Ebert stayed to Blade’s right, two strides away, the M-16 at his side, his finger on the trigger.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Blade mentioned, wanting to draw out their discussion. The more he talked, the more he distracted Ebert, the more likely the spy was to slip and give him the opening he needed.
“What?”
“Why didn’t the Soviets send in one of their officers to do the spying?” Blade asked.
“How do you know I’m not an officer?” Ebert rejoined.
“You don’t impress me as the military type,” Blade said.
“I’m not,” Ebert conceded. “The decision to send in a spy was made after your buddy, Hickok, escaped from General Malenkov in Washingto
n, D.C. Malenkov wanted to learn all he could about the Federation. The Soviets could have used one of their own officers, but let’s face facts. The Russian officers, even those they raise and educate after impregnating American women, are real stuffed shirts. They can follow orders blindly, but they’re not known for their imagination and inventiveness. And Malenkov wanted someone devious, someone who was your basic sneaky type, someone familiar with life on both sides and able to mingle undetected. Back in the old days he could have used an expert, someone trained in one of the Russian spy schools. But they don’t have those schools here, not yet anyway. So Malenkov decided the best candidate would be a professional smuggler.”
“You were a smuggler?” Blade said.
“That’s right,” Ebert affirmed, his expression saddening. “One of the best. There’s a big market for scarce commodities, goods you can hardly find anywhere because of all the shortages. Neither the Russians or the Civilized Zone have much of a manufacturing capability. The people can never get enough of what they want. And that’s where I come in. Or came in. I supplied customers on both sides with whatever I could get my hands on. I was doing real well too. I had scores of contacts, I knew all the safest points to cross the borders, and I was accumulating quite a hoard of gold and silver.” He sighed. “And then the Russians pulled the plug.”
“They caught you?” Blade deduced.
“They caught me,” Ebert said. “Not only that, they traced me to my home in the Outlands, the area between the Civilized Zone and the Soviet-occupied territory. They captured me and my whole family. My wife and three kids,” he revealed in a melancholy tone.
“What happened then?”
“The Russians offered me a deal,” Ebert disclosed. “Malenkov offered to spare the lives of my family if I’d spy for him. He also agreed to pay me more gold than I could make in ten years of smuggling. There was nothing I could do but say yes. What choice did I have?”
“And you expect General Malenkov to honor your deal?” Blade queried skeptically.
Ebert frowned. “Not really. He’s a lying bastard! But what else could I do? He has my family!”
They were almost to the front entrance. Blade glanced over his left shoulder at the novice secret agent. “Don’t you miss your wife and kids?”
“Of course!” Ebert snapped. He morosely, absently gazed at the floor.
Which was the opening Blade was waiting for. He spun and leaped, executing a flying tackle, his muscular arms encircling Ebert’s waist, his momentum carrying both of them to the carpet with the spy on the bottom.
“No!” Ebert cried.
Blade straddled the former smuggler, pinning the man’s wrists to the floor with his powerful hands.
“No!” Ebert thrashed and kicked. “Don’t! The Russians will kill my family if they find out I’ve been caught!”
“How do you know they haven’t already?” Blade asked. “When was the last time you talked to them?”
Ebert ceased resisting, releasing his grip on the M-16. “Sixteen months ago,” he said softly.
Soldiers were running toward the pair, and one of the fleetest was General Gallagher. “Blade! What’s going on?”
Blade scooped up his M-16 and stood. “We’ve caught a spy.”
“What?” General Gallagher drew a pistol from a flapped holster on his right hip.
Ebert made no attempt to move. “I’m dead,” he stated dejectedly. “And so’s my family!”
“Maybe not,” Blade said.
Ebert rose to his elbows. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever killed anyone for the Russians?” Blade queried.
“No,” Ebert replied with conviction.
“This man is a Russian spy?” General Gallagher interrupted.
“Stand up,” Blade ordered, ignoring the general.
Ebert complied.
“Why have the Russians hired the Gild?” Blade asked.
“The Gild? I never heard of it,” Ebert answered.
“You’ve never heard of an organization of assassins known as the Gild?” Blade elaborated.
“Never,” Ebert replied. “If the Soviets hired this Gild, no one ever told me about it.”
“How would you like a chance to see your wife and children again?” Blade inquired.
Ebert’s forehead creased in confusion. “What are you talking about? You know I want to see them again.”
“If you’ll cooperate with us,” Blade said, “I’ll see that you’re released from custody. The rest will be up to you. You’ll have to find where they’re holding your family and free them yourself. You might be able to pull it off if the Soviets don’t know you’re free, if they think you’re still in the Civilized Zone spying for them.”
“You’d let me go?” Ebert responded in amazement.
“Now wait just a damned minute!” General Gallagher interjected. “If this man is a spy, you don’t have the authority to release him.”
Blade stared at the general. “Must we go through this again?”
“But you can’t simply let him go!” Gallagher protested.
“I’m not just letting him go,” Blade stated impatiently. “I said I would release him if he cooperates with us.”
“In what way?” Ebert asked.
“You were a smuggler for years, right?” Blade questioned.
“For seventeen years,” Ebert replied.
“So you must know the Soviet territory better than most people,” Blade noted. “And you also know all the best spots to cross the Soviet borders undetected. Did you spend time in Washington?”
“Yes. When they were preparing me for this assignment,” Ebert responded.
“Then you must be familiar with the Soviet chain of command,” Blade observed. “Not to mention other valuable information.”
“I know a little,” Ebert stated.
“Then here’s the deal,” Blade said. “If you’ll agree to cooperate, if you’ll let General Gallagher and myself interrogate you, if you’ll honestly answer every question, then I’ll persuade President Toland to release you as close to the Russian territory as possible. What do you say?”
Ebert’s face was a curious contrast of commingled hope and doubt.
“You’d do this for me? Why?”
“Because I have a family of my own,” Blade declared.
Ebert nodded. “All right. You have a deal. I’ll help you if you’ll help me.”
He paused, peering into the giant’s grey eyes. “And I want you to know I’ll never forget this. If there’s ever anything I can do for you—anything—just say the word.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Blade said.
“One thing,” Ebert mentioned quizzically. “How did you know I was a spy? What tipped you off?”
“You did.”
“Me?”
Blade grinned. “I had no idea you were the spy until you kicked me in the nuts.”
Ebert was flabbergasted. “Well I’ll be damned!”
“He kicked you in the nuts?” General Gallagher queried.
“Yep,” Blade responded.
Gallagher shook his head. “I’m beginning to wonder about you Warriors.”
“Wonder about what?” Blade asked.
“First you get all misty-eyed over Emery taking poison, and now you’re all set to let a spy go. And he kicked you in the nuts, yet you don’t do a thing to him!” Gallagher shook his head again. “I’m beginning to wonder if all you Warriors are nothing but wimps.”
Chapter Seventeen
The storm struck southern California with a vengeance. Hickok, exposed to the elemental fury, was seething inwardly with an intensity equal to the storm’s. Ever since he’d arrived in California, there had been one setback after another! First, he’d missed the clown on the terminal roof at the airport. Then he’d nearly been blown to smithereens when the limo was hit. He’d almost been caught by the Gild, and to top everything off he’d gone and gotten captured by a group of illiterate cannibals!
&nb
sp; Why did everything always happen to him!
The cannibals had taken shelter in the barracks. Driving sheets of rain pelted the ground and smacked against the fort. The gusting wind was whipping the trees surrounding the fort, bending the saplings almost in half.
Hickok swayed and rocked, soaked to the skin, vowing to get even with the varmints responsible for his latest humiliation. He glared at the barracks, wishing one of them, just one, would come outside and walk up to him so he could kick the crack-brained moron in the head!
One did.
Then another.
Hickok squinted, striving to see through the wall of rain. The landscape was plunged into a watery gloom by the combination of the storm and the twilight.
Two of the cannibals were walking his way.
Hickok tensed expectantly. What was up? Were they coming to kill him for the evening meal? He recognized the one called Tab, and he restrained an impulse to yell with delight when he spotted the pearl handles of his Colts sticking from Tab’s belt. He shifted his attention to the second cannibal, his eyes blinking in astonishment.
Was that a chicken?
The second cannibal was wearing torn, ragged jeans, a faded blue shirt with large white buttons on the front, and some kind of bizarre headgear.
He looked for all the world like a fuzzy white chicken with a yellow bill.
Only this bird was carrying an axe in his right hand.
Just when you think you’ve seen everything!
Tab and the second cannibal halted a yard from the swinging gunman, Tab with a carving knife in his left hand. He smirked at the Warrior.
“Guess what time it is?” he shouted above the wind and the rain.
“Time for your diaper to be changed?” Hickok yelled back.
Tab scowled. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Not as funny as your face!” Hickok retorted.
Anaheim Run Page 15
