Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  It took him nearly five minutes more to translate it. When he was finished, he sat back, his face grim. Finally he shook his head, stowed the radio, and walked swiftly back to the tent where Paul Adams lay sleeping.

  “You must go,” Paul said firmly. “He leaves you no option.”

  “No!” Leslie cried. “What if something has gone wrong? What if this is a trap?”

  Bryce read the message again by the faint light of the lantern. “Urgent that we meet tonight. Six miles west of Quaid’s Crossing on road to Richwood. Small bridge over Charlie Creek. Two A.M. Create whatever cover required but absolutely imperative that you come. Blue Goose.”

  He sighed. Blue Goose was Elliot Mannington’s personal code name. He reached over and took Leslie’s hand. “It will be all right. If it was a trap, he wouldn’t pull me out at night like this. He knows where we are. He can get me anytime.”

  “I agree,” Paul said. “And we can’t have him getting suspicious now. You’ve got to go.”

  Vera reached over into the corner of the tent to a pile of clothing and retrieved a black sweater that belonged to Paul. “Here,” she said with quiet practicality. “Your jacket is too light colored. This will be better.”

  He smiled at her gratefully, took off his jacket quickly, and donned the sweater. He got up into a crouch, reached out and squeezed Leslie’s hand.

  She forced a smile, then kissed him hard. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “I will.” He straightened and slipped out the tent flap. Paul followed.

  “I think you’ll be okay, but watch him.”

  Bryce nodded. They gripped each other’s hands firmly.

  “Good luck.”

  Bryce swallowed, feeling the queasiness in the pit of his stomach. “Thanks.”

  He parked over a mile away from the bridge, cut left through the fields and meadows until he struck Charlie Creek. Then, keeping low, he moved back toward the highway, searching the night for any sign of others besides himself. By 1:30 he was hidden in a patch of wild raspberry bushes underneath the bridge.

  Twenty minutes later he heard the sound of an engine and slipped up the bank to look. There was little moonlight but Bryce could still see the gleam of the car about a hundred yards down the road. Three shadowy figures got out, but only one started toward him. By the time the figure reached the bridge, Bryce was satisfied that it was Elliot Mannington. He swung up and over the guardrail and onto the road.

  Mannington stopped, peering forward into the darkness, then Bryce heard an audible sigh of relief. “Bryce?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank heavens.” He stepped forward and gripped Bryce’s hand, pumping it vigorously. There was a short pause, and Bryce could feel the urgency in Mannington. “Look, I’m sorry to pull you out like this. I know it heightens your risk, but something has come up. I didn’t dare communicate it over the radio.”

  “I think I’m okay. The camp was asleep. The car is far enough down the road, and I let it coast out for some distance before I started the engine.”

  “Good.” And then he plunged right in.”Bryce, it’s imperative that you get things moving,” he said bluntly.

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “The prime minister.” Mannington swore. “That stupid idiot!”

  Bryce tried not to show his surprise. Coming from one of his loyal cabinet members, that was pretty strong talk.

  “He’s been under increasing pressure in the last few months,” Mannington went on. “There are some on the Central Committee who are quietly starting to talk about the need for new leadership. Not in front of him, of course. But he knows.”

  Bryce waited. This was hardly what he had come down expecting to hear.

  “He’s decided that this operation holds the key for consolidating his position, solidifying his power.”

  “We do?”

  Mannington gave a scoffing sound, completely disgusted. “Yes. And if we don’t help him save his tail, we—and I mean you and me, Burkhart, all of ISD—could face serious consequences.”

  “But what? How?”

  “October twenty-first is National People’s Day.”

  “Yes.” Whatever the heck that was, Bryce thought. Founders’ Day, perhaps. Or something like May Day in European countries. He’d have to ask Paul.

  “The prime minister is scheduled to give a speech on national television.”

  Again Bryce just nodded, still totally baffled.

  “He wants to use that speech to announce the arrest and capture of the major leaders of the resistance movement. In fact, his plan is to parade them on national television, put them on trial right there for all to see.”

  “What!” Bryce’s jaw had dropped open.

  “That’s right.” He sighed wearily. “And in one fell swoop he will have silenced the criticism, put down his opposition.”

  Bryce leaned over the bridge railing, not hearing the soft murmur of the water below him. His mind was racing.

  “There is no option, Bryce. By October nineteenth we have to move in and take whomever we can get.”

  “But that’s not even three weeks from now. Lewis and Wes Quinn aren’t even back yet.”

  “They should be back today.”

  Bryce started. They had received word of that in the camp, but how did Mannington know? To cover his dismay, he said quickly, “But even then, three weeks!”

  “I know. That’s what makes me so angry.” He slammed one fist against the railing. “We’ve worked too hard to let it unravel now. But come the twentieth, I’ve got to hand him someone. His power may be weakening, but he can still be a very powerful enemy. He’ll take us down with him.”

  He took Bryce’s arm and swung him around. “Push them, Bryce. You’ve got to get those resistance leaders here before the twentieth, or everything you’ve worked for will be lost.”

  “I…” Bryce thrust his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know if I can. Three weeks! That’s not much time.”

  Mannington grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him gently. “You’ve got to, Bryce. You’ve got to!”

  Chapter 29

  Bryce was back before dawn. Not too surprisingly, Paul Adams was waiting for him on the dirt road below the camp. They walked slowly, talking softly, their breath leaving frosty clouds in the air as they moved through the trees and out onto a ridge overlooking the valley below. The sun was fully up and comfortably warm by the time they came back down, and Bryce greeted a much-relieved mother and daughter with an enthusiastic hug.

  But after breakfast, the two men left again, heading up for the same ridge, talking as quietly and as earnestly as before, as the outline of a daring plan began to take shape in their minds. That was where Leslie found them two hours later.

  “What?” Paul said in alarm, standing quickly at the sight of his daughter coming swiftly up the trail toward them.

  “They’re back,” Leslie said, a little out of breath. “Lewis and Mr. Quinn are back.”

  It turned out to be more than Lewis and Quinn who had arrived. They had brought with them Quinn’s control officer. A control officer not only served as an espionage agent’s immediate superior officer, but he also directed the agent in the field. He was the communications link between the AIS and the field agent, procurer of needed supplies, provider of a safe escape route should the cover be blown. In short, the control officer was supervisor, nursemaid, emergency fallback, and, when necessary, psychiatrist and counselor. Hal Hoffman certainly didn’t look the part of a senior officer of the United States intelligence service. He was thin, balding, and soft spoken, and he wore steel-rimmed bifocals that gave him a bit of an owlish look. And yet, almost instantly, he conveyed a feeling of tremendous competence and confidence, and it quickly became obvious that the position of leadership in the group had shifted to him and to Paul Adams.

  Seven people were present—Hoffman, Wes Quinn, Lewis, Paul, Bryce, and Jessie and Neal Lambert. As the introductions were finished and they settled back, Pa
ul spoke up. “I think there is one thing we need to hear from Bryce before we go any further,” he said.

  Hoffman nodded. “Okay, shoot.”

  And so Bryce proceeded to reveal to them who he was and of his relationship with Elliot Mannington. At first there was stunned surprise, then sharp questions about why he had not revealed this sooner. He talked earnestly and quietly, showing them the advantages of having a double agent who was directly connected to the minister of the interior.

  Surprisingly, it was Lewis who reacted most bitterly. Jessie very quickly believed him. Neal followed her lead as well. The others were taken aback, but it was obvious that Hoffman instantly saw the possibilities. But Lewis was furious that Bryce had not told them sooner.

  Hoffman listened to it all, let the feelings all come out, then finally spoke. Bryce’s revelation was accepted. They would now use that strategic position to their advantage. Lewis grumbled a little more, but when Hoffman moved right on, he gradually calmed down and seemed to accept it.

  “We are here,” Hoffman began, “not to plan a single battle or even a campaign. What we are facing is long, drawn-out, protracted warfare. For the most part, it will be waged here in the Confederation of North American States. But it could erupt and draw the Western Alliance into open conflict with CONAS. We are prepared for that eventuality—in fact, some would welcome it. But because of that, we must do more than outline tactics. We are here to plan strategy—long-range, well-thought-out strategy.”

  He turned to Paul. “We have already taken one of the most important first steps in that strategy. Mr. Adams—Paul—I cannot tell you how pleased we are that you have agreed to join us. Word of your coming is already sweeping this country like wildfire. America too.”

  Now everyone was nodding. Quinn expressed the feelings of all. “Your name stands high in the minds of the people. Your example is known to us all. To stand with you in this effort is a great honor for me and for us all.”

  “The honor is mine,” Paul said softly, his voice tinged with emotion. “I had almost given up the fight. It seemed so pointless, as though all I had done was for nothing.” He turned to Bryce and smiled. “Until this stubborn young firebrand came into my life and reminded me of my duty. And now to be here with you. To hear you speak of strategy and long-range plans. To talk as though we may actually win someday. I don’t know if this old heart can stand the joy I feel at this moment.”

  For a moment no one spoke, each touched by the humble commitment of this battered old man. Then Hal Hoffman broke the silence. “We are pleased that your wife and daughter are here too.” He laughed and looked at Bryce. “Though we understand that half the fire in this young firebrand happens to be kindled by your daughter.”

  Bryce flushed as the others laughed.

  “Your wife has already cornered me and asked if she can be of help,” Hoffman said, turning back to Paul.

  “My wife is a woman of great courage.”

  “We think she can,” Quinn said quickly.

  Jessie was nodding vigorously now.

  Paul was a little surprised. “What? What could she do?”

  Hoffman leaned forward. “Bryce has told you of our plan to send Jessie to America to start a fund-raising drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let Vera come with me,” Jessie broke in eagerly. “Think what it will mean if the wife of Paul Adams is actually there to speak to them.”

  Bryce was nodding now too, the kernel of an idea growing.

  “Will she go?” Lewis asked.

  Paul slowly looked from one face to the other. “I will ask her. It would be difficult to see her leave, but she is so eager. Last time, when I was arrested, she could do nothing but sit at home and worry.” His face was suddenly determined. “I will ask her.”

  “If she agrees,” Hoffman said, “we’ll send them tomorrow. The sooner they begin, the better for us.”

  “How will you get them out?” Lewis said.

  “We’ve already got the route set,” Quinn answered. “We’ve used it before. It’s safe. There would be little danger.” He stopped, obviously not wanting to give any more than that.

  The need to know, Bryce thought with a sudden chill. Information was given only as needed, for one never knew when he or she would be caught and put under interrogation.

  “What about sending Leslie too?” Bryce suddenly asked.

  Paul turned slowly to stare at him, then understanding came into his eyes. “You would do that?” he asked softly.

  Bryce took a quick breath. “What we talked about today, you and I? It will add greatly to the risk here.”

  The deep-set eyes were grave as Paul considered that and then sighed. “Yes. Yes, it would. We will ask her too.” He sighed again. “But you know Leslie.”

  “Yes, I know Leslie.”

  “What do you mean?” Hoffman broke in. “What increased risks are you talking about?”

  Bryce and Paul looked at each other, and Bryce nodded his encouragement. “Tell them.”

  Paul sighed, then looked around the circle. “We know that Elliot Mannington wants us to lure all of the resistance leaders into a trap.”

  They nodded solemnly.

  “Suppose,” he said slowly, “suppose we use his trap to set a trap of our own.” He leaned forward now, almost eagerly. “Earlier, Mr. Hoffman, you spoke of war and strategy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you agree that the more dramatic and successful the beginning blow of any war, the more likely it is that you marshal the will of the people behind you?”

  Hoffman barely moved his head up and down, but Bryce could see that his mind was racing.

  “Well, suppose we let Mannington do just exactly what he plans?”

  Wes Quinn and Lewis snapped forward at the same instant. “You mean let him capture the resistance leaders?” Quinn blurted.

  Paul and Bryce were both nodding. Bryce picked it up now. “We’ll not bring the actual leaders in, but others from their movements. People who will volunteer to be captured and put on trial.”

  “But why?” Neal asked, shaking his head. “What do we gain by that?”

  “Well,” Paul continued, “still supposing, suppose that when the prime minister goes on national television on the twentyfirst of October, to have his little show, just suppose that we had a team that took over the station at that point.”

  The others were staring at him wide-eyed.

  “And,” Bryce finished, “just suppose that at that point Paul Adams were to go before the cameras and give his own speech to the nation?”

  The moment Bryce saw Leslie coming, he knew he was in trouble. She came up to the group of men in which he was standing and slipped her arm through Bryce’s. “I’d like to talk with you, if I may,” she said, as she smiled prettily at the others. But he wasn’t fooled. He could hear the sound of battle in her voice, and as they walked away, he tensed.

  “Don’t I at least get a hearty meal before the execution?” he finally said soberly, as they moved out of earshot.

  She gave him a dirty look but just shook her head and led him into the trees where they could no longer be seen. Then she stopped and turned around to face him.

  “All right,” he said glumly, “let me have it.”

  She suddenly went up on tiptoes, throwing her arms around his neck. Her kiss caught him completely off guard, and for a moment he didn’t respond to the soft warmth of her lips. But he recovered quickly.

  “I love you, Bryce Sherwood,” she whispered.

  Thoroughly surprised, he searched her face. “And I love you too,” he said tentatively. He had come expecting an explosion. He liked this much better.

  She stepped back, looking at him gravely. “Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of sending me off to a safe place to trail after my mother and Jessie Lambert so that you don’t have to worry about me?”

  He winced, knowing he had relaxed a moment too soon. “Leslie, I…Did your father tel
l you about our proposal to the council?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “The risks are going to be—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “I understand, and I love you for trying to do what you did. But we’ll hear no more of my leaving. Not if you really know that my heart is now your heart. Agreed?”

  She took her hand away, but he grabbed it again, and kissed it gently, searching her face over the top of it.

  She cocked her head, giving him a warning look. “Agreed?”

  “I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you,” he said softly, pressing her fingers to his lips.

  “Then why don’t you come with us too? Jessie and Mom can give the speeches while you and I go up and down the aisles with handkerchiefs and collection plates. That way, we’ll both be safe.”

  He pulled a face. “Ouch!”

  “Okay, then, we’ll hear no more of my leaving. Agreed?”

  He sighed. “Agreed.”

  “Good,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now, is it true you’re going to be leaving the camp?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes dropped, then came up again. “When?”

  “Tonight. We’ve got to meet the resistance leaders face to face. It’s going to take some hard selling.”

  “I understand.”

  “I sent another message to Mannington. I’ll meet him again tonight and give him the news. Then Neal and I will leave directly from there. Your father and Hal Hoffman are the second team. Lewis and Quinn are the third. But we’ll all be back by the fifteenth.” He brightened. “And come the twenty-second of October, you and I are going to go into the nearest village, kidnap us a pastor, and give this camp the best darn wedding they’ve ever seen.”

  She managed a smile, but there was no heart in it. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and anxious. “Where have they asked you to go?” she asked, faltering for the first time.

  “To the New England Confederation. Neal knows the people there.”

  “Where they are looking for the murderers of an ISD captain.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Bryce,” she cried softly, “help me to be brave.”