This might be his chance! Boone hurried as quickly as he could, hoping to ambush the figure when the man emerged from the building. He attained the porch safely and stealthily climbed the wooden steps.
The interior of the building was cloaked in darkness.
Boone positioned himself to the right of the door. He holstered his left Hombre and tensed, waiting.
There was a thud from inside the building, close to the door, as if someone had bumped into a piece of furniture.
Boone glanced down at his right Hombre, debating whether he should use the barrel or the butt, and in the instant his attention was distracted from the doorway the figure appeared.
The man was looking to the north, away from Boone.
The Cavalryman reacted automatically, pouncing and wrapping his left arm around the figure’s neck even as he raised his right Hombre to deliver a smashing blow to the head. Only the blow never landed.
The assassin’s reflexes were uncanny. As Boone’s arm clamped on his throat, he bent over at the waist and twisted his left shoulder.
Before he quite knew what was happening, Boone was airborne, flying over the assassin’s shoulders and tumbling head over heels down the porch. He slammed into the ground on his stomach, temporarily dazed, but he managed to heave to his hands and knees, knowing he was dead if he didn’t get up.
A hard object was suddenly pressed against the back of his head, and there was the sharp click of a hammer being cocked.
“Say your prayers, you polecat!”
Chapter Nineteen
Blade and Gallagher were questioning Frank Ebert in the privacy of Room 212 when there was a knock on the door and Bear poked his head inside.
“What is it?” Blade asked.
“They want to see the general and you in the conference room,” Bear said.
“What about?”
Bear shrugged. “Beats me, bro.”
Blade noticed General Gallagher was grinning. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“Who, me?” Gallagher responded innocently.
Blade looked at Bear. “Will you stay here with Ebert until I return?”
“No problem,” Bear replied, coming into the room.
Blade exited 212 and headed for the elevator, the general walking to his left.
“I wonder why they want us,” Gallagher commented, smiling.
“You know what this is all about, don’t you?” Blade demanded.
“Nope,” Gallagher replied, shaking his head.
“You don’t lie very well,” Blade remarked.
General Gallagher laughed.
They took the elevator to the ground floor, then crossed the lobby to the conference room. The two Flathead Indians, Red Cloud and Lone Bear, were on guard. Red Cloud nodded at Blade and opened the door.
The Freedom Federation leaders and Governor Melnick were seated at a large circular table in the center of the conference room. Plato was on the far side, facing the doorway. To his right sat Kilrane, the Cavalry leader, then Zahner, the head of the Clan. Star was next, followed by the haughty Mole, Wolfe. Then came President Toland, while Governor Melnick was seated on Plato’s left.
“Come in,” Plato greeted them.
Blade entered, the general on his heels.
Red Cloud closed the door.
“You wanted to see us?” Blade mentioned.
“Yes,” Plato said. “Governor Melnick has made an interesting proposal, one involving the entire Federation.” He paused, his blue eyes studying his protege, “One possibly involving you.”
“What do you mean?” Blade queried.
Governor Melnick cleared his throat. “Perhaps, since this was my idea, I should explain the concept and the ramifications.”
“Be my guest,” Plato said.
Governor Melnick sat back in his plush chair. “Although I won’t be making the formal public announcement until tomorrow night at the banquet, everyone in this room already knows that California will become a member of the Freedom Federation.”
General Gallagher frowned.
Governor Melnick observed the general’s expression. “Not everyone agrees with my decision, but I believe the years ahead will validate my judgment. As we all know, change is inevitable. Nothing ever stays the same. Either we adjust to the constant changes and grow, or we refuse to accept them and stagnate.” He deliberately stared at General Gallagher.
“The face of the world is changing from day to day. Slowly but surely we are recovering from the awesome destructiveness of World War Three. We must cope with dangers the prewar society never encountered. A polluted environment. Mutants, both bestial and humanoid. And there are organized threats to our existence as well, threats from those who would conquer the globe in their insane quest for domination. Enemies like the Soviets in the east, the Technics in Chicago, and the Androxians in Houston. Those are the ones we know of. Who can tell how many more enemies may be out there somewhere, awaiting their opportunity to attack?”
Blade noticed every eye in the conference room was fixed on him, as if they were gauging his reaction to Melnick’s speech.
“As allies in the Freedom Federation,” Governor Melnick went on, “we will be ready to band together should any one of us be besieged. We will stand united against any invader. Whether it’s the Russians, the Technics, or the Androxians, they will know that to launch an assault upon any one Federation member will incur the wrath of the entire Federation.”
Blade’s forehead creased as he speculated on what all of this had to do with him. He stared out one of the two windows at the storm.
Melnick scanned the room. “Our policy of mutual defense will deter anyone from declaring war on us. Our treaty should serve to deter any aggression on a widespread scale. But what about isolated incidents?
What about localized problems within the boundaries of each Federation member? The Civilized Zone, the Cavalry, the Flathead Indians all control extensive areas, and trouble spots arise from time to time within the boundaries of each. The Cavalry has been unable to solve a series of mysterious disappearances. And the Flatheads have been raided by the Bear People from Idaho. Neither of these episodes justify massing the military might of the Federation, yet each has posed a major problem for the respective Federation members involved.”
Blade was beginning to understand why Melnick was a politician. The man could talk rings around a tree.
“I consider California to be honored at being admitted into the Federation,” the governor was saying. “I wanted to show my gratitude somehow, and after due deliberation I hit on a practical idea.” He looked at Blade. “And this is where you come in.”
“How so?” Blade inquired.
“I propose establishing a special strike force,” Melnick explained.
“A strike force?” Blade repeated quizzically.
“Yes. A mobile force organized with one purpose in mind. Namely, to deal with just such trouble spots as we’ve been discussing. If a localized problem develops anywhere within the Freedom Federation, or outside our boundaries for that matter, this strike force will be dispatched to deal with the situation. Any request for aid from a Federation member will be sufficient to have the strike force sent out immediately,” Governor Melnick elaborated.
“The idea is commendable,” Blade commented. “But there are drawbacks.”
“Such as what?” Melnick asked.
“The Freedom Federation members are scattered over the western half of what was once the U.S.,” Blade said. “Considerable distances are involved. Where is this strike force going to be based?”
“Right here in Los Angeles,” Melnick said.
“Okay. Do you realize how long it would take this strike force to reach the Flatheads from here? Or the Dakota territory? Overland travel is extremely hazardous and very time-consuming. Weeks could elapse between the request for aid and the arrival of the strike force,” Blade stated.
“Using conventional vehicles, yes,” Melnick concurred, then smile
d.
“But not if we use the VTOL’s.”
“Your jets?” Blade queried.
Governor Melnick nodded. “Their vertical take off and landing capability make them ideal for our purpose. They could transport the strike force anywhere in the Freedom Federation, or the Outlands, within a span of hours.”
“They could,” Blade admitted.
“By the same token,” Melnick detailed, “if we set up a weekly shuttle service for the VTOL’s to carry messages back and forth, we can insure requests for aid are relayed relatively promptly.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve thought of everything,” Blade complimented the governor. “But I don’t see what all of this has to do with me.”
Melnick glanced at Plato.
Plato gazed around the table, then at Blade. “We have been discussing the organizational requirements for the strike force,” he said slowly, “and we have reached agreement on the best method.”
“You’re going to use soldiers from California,” Blade guessed.
“No,” Plato said. “We have another idea.”
“What is it?” Blade probed.
“We believe the best method entails having the strike force comprised of seven members,” Plato revealed. “One from each Federation faction.”
“One from each?” Blade said, and suddenly he saw where the conversation was leading. A tight sensation developed in his gut.
“Precisely,” Plato confirmed. “Each Federation member will volunteer one person to become part of the strike force. We have decided, by the way, to call this strike force the Freedom Force.”
“And you say you’re going to call for volunteers?” Blade asked.
Plato nodded. “Our idea is to have each volunteer serve in the Freedom Force for a period of one year. Volunteers would be rotated annually.”
Blade relaxed a bit. “Sounds great to me.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Plato said. “Because by the unanimous concensus of all the leaders, we would like you to volunteer to head the Freedom Force.”
Blade had seen the request coming, but he was still stunned. “Me?” he blurted out.
“You,” Plato reiterated. “You would be responsible for training the seven members of the Freedom Force and shaping them into a cohesive fighting unit. General Gallagher would be your liaison with Governor Melnick.”
“Gallagher?” Blade glanced at the general.
General Gallagher nodded, grinning impishly. “Surprised, huh?”
“I thought you didn’t like the treaty,” Blade mentioned. “Why would you want to get involved with the Freedom Force?”
“I don’t like the damn treaty,” Gallagher stated, “but I’ve agreed to give the treaty a chance.”
“And General Gallagher is a good soldier,” Governor Melnick interjected. “He follows orders, whether he likes the orders or not. And he always performs one hundred percent.”
Blade looked at Plato. “But why me? There must be dozens of equally qualified candidates to head the Freedom Force!”
“Name one,” Plato said.
“Hickok,” Blade suggested.
“Too impetuous,” Plato remarked.
“Then how about Rikki, or Yama, or Spartacus,” Blade said, mentioning other Warriors. “Or someone from the Cavalry, like Boone? Or an officer from the Civilized Zone Army? Or General Gallagher himself?”
“Not one of them has your experience,” Plato stated. “Not one of them is as ideally suited for the task.”
“But what about the Warriors? Who would be in charge of them during the year I’m away?” Blade asked.
“The Family Elders will select a temporary head Warrior,” Plato replied. “Someone to fill in while you are gone.”
“A year is too long,” Blade objected. “I won’t stay away from my family for that long.”
“And you wouldn’t be,” Plato mentioned. “Governor Melnick will fly your wife and son out here. Jenny and little Gabe will live in L.A. with you.”
Blade fell silent, emotionally shocked. Leave the Family? Leave the Home? Live in California for a year! All his truest friends and loved ones were in Minnesota.
Plato rose and walked around the table to Blade. “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. “If there was anyone else as competent as you, I wouldn’t be making this appeal. We all feel your presence is essential to the Freedom Force’s success. You have traveled extensively throughout the country, and you have firsthand experience with our enemies. Whether you like it or not, you are famous. You have acquired a reputation as a fighter, a man not to be trifled with. This reputation would work in your favor in your new capacity.”
Blade stared at the floor. “I just don’t know,” he said bleakly. “I don’t want to leave the Home.”
Plato’s features saddened. “And I don’t want to see you leave. You are like a son to me.” He paused and sighed. “You have served the Family nobly as the head Warrior for almost a decade. Now you have an opportunity to serve the Freedom Federation on a much broader scale.
Untold millions will benefit from your work. All I ask is that you give the matter serious deliberation.”
Blade looked up. “How soon do you want my answer?”
“As promptly as possible,” Plato replied.
“I need to be alone,” Blade said. He wheeled and stalked from the conference room, heading for the front entrance. Absorbed in his concentration, he was at the glass doors before he realized the rainstorm had not abated. Annoyed, craving solitude, he shoved the doors open and marched outside. The wind lashed his hair and the cool drops of rain peppered his face.
“Are you okay, sir?” one of the soldiers guarding the entrance inquired.
“Fine,” Blade snapped. He bore to the left, following the sidewalk, his inner feelings matching nature’s onslaught. How could Plato ask him to do such a thing? After all they had meant to each other!
The sidewalk wound along the front of the hotel, then branched off. One path led to a parking lot on the east side of the hotel, while the other continued around the hotel to the gardens in the rear.
Blade took the branch leading to the gardens, oblivious to the inclement weather. The very notion of leaving the Family was intolerable.
How would Jenny react? His wife was as attached to the Home as he was.
How could he ask her to sever her roots and move to Los Angeles, even if it was for only a year?
A year!
A year without seeing Hickok or Geronimo or Joshua! A year of uncertainty, a year of one deadly mission after another. Was it fair to subject his wife and son to such a strain, never knowing if he would return from the latest assignment? He never had liked leaving the Home on extended runs in the SEAL. Every moment he was away from Jenny and Gabe caused him anguish.
The wind was howling like a banshee.
Blade stopped and gazed skyward, closing his eyes, letting the rain pelt him. Dear Spirit! What should he do? Was he really essential to the operation of the Freedom Force? Plato must be mistaken. Surely Rikki-Tikki-Tavi could handle the job. Or Yama. He opened his eyes, gazing absently at the landscape, buffeted by the gusts.
Someone was approaching from the direction of the gardens.
Blade distinguished the forms of four soaked soldiers coming his way.
They were advancing in single file, evidently patrolling the grounds. He stepped to one side so they could pass.
The trooper in the front spotted the Warrior and seemed to hesitate for an instant, then proceeded. “I didn’t expect to find anyone out here,” he remarked when he was two yards off.
“I needed some fresh air,” Blade said.
The soldier grinned. “Nice night for a stroll.”
Blade, hands on his hips, chuckled. “You’ve got that right.”
“Be seeing you,” the soldier said.
Blade idly watched the four pass him. He didn’t envy them. Spending hours patrolling the grounds in this weather would be sheer drudgery.
Their drenched uniforms were plastered to their bodies. Two of them tucked their chins into their chests as they passed him, futilely endeavoring to keep the rain from their faces. Their weapons were slung over their right shoulders and partially protected by their arms. Even the hair protruding from under the helmets of two of them was slick with water.
Blade saw them round the corner and head toward the front entrance.
He hoped they were due for relief. Shrugging, he resumed his walk.
Now where was he?
Oh, yes. There had to be someone else capable of heading the Freedom Force. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the Family’s supreme martial artist. If anyone was competent, Rikki was. And Yama was one of the deadliest Warriors.
True, Yama had never held a position of leadership, but he was thoroughly reliable in every respect.
There was a loud snap to the right as a tree limb broke and fell to the ground.
Blade walked to the rear of the hotel and surveyed the gardens, his mind a confused jumble of disturbed thoughts. His ambivalence was distressing. If he told the leaders no, what would they do? Select someone else? Abandon the idea? Would they hold his refusal against him? How he wished he was back at the Home, in bed with Jenny in their cabin, snuggling with her and forgetting all the cares in the world! He became lost in thought, strolling for another 20 yards.
His right boot bumped something.
Blade halted and glanced down, his eyes taking a second to identify the inky form at his feet as that of a soldier.
The trooper was flat on his back.
Blade knelt, feeling for a pulse in the soldier’s neck. His right hand made contact with a gaping cavity in the trooper’s throat. The man was dead.
The assassins must be on the hotel grounds! At least one of them!
Blade stood, his hands on his Bowies, peering into the night, searching his immediate vicinity, and suddenly he stiffened, startled, remembering the patrol he had passed just a couple of minutes ago. The hair sticking from under the helmets of two of them had been slick with water! But the soldiers in the California army were all required to wear their hair cut short! He had not seen one with shoulder-length hair!
Anaheim Run Page 17
