Buzz jammed his gloved hand into his mouth and bit down hard.
“That’s more like it,” said Reaper.
Stitch ran over and plopped down beside the man, examining him quickly. Grasping the knee and ankle, he jerked sharply downward. Buzz screamed again, but the medic ignored him. He placed flat boards on four sides of the calf and wrapped it tightly in bandages. He then yanked up one of Buzz’s sleeves and administered a high-calorie drip.
“How is he?” Reaper asked.
Stitch laughed. “He’ll be fine in a few minutes. Eden Plague has practically put me out of work, except for making sure the bone doesn’t set crooked. He’ll be good to go soon.”
“Fine,” said Reaper looking down at Buzz. He no longer screamed, but his face was pale. “What the hell happened?”
“I slipped,” Buzz whispered. “Tried to catch myself, only made it worse. Sorry.”
Reaper nodded. “It happens. Hulk, Spirit, get over here and help Buzz. Carry him if you have to until his leg heals enough to walk. We need to move out before the heat arrives.”
The big man and the tall, athletic woman ran over, but Hulk waved her off and grasped Buzz by the front of his uniform, lifting him and throwing him over his shoulder. “Get my rucksack,” he said.
Spirit nodded, adding it to her own load without apparent difficulty.
Buzz looked at Reaper from atop Hulk’s shoulder, his face chagrined. “Sorry, boss.”
“No problem,” said Reaper. “We’ll give you lots of shit later to let you know it’s okay, but right now we need to cover some miles.”
Buzz nodded as Hulk carried him off.
“Quite strange,” said Spooky softly.
“What is?” Reaper asked.
“That man. Conlan O’Malley. Buzz. He scored amazingly high on dexterity tests.”
“What are you implying?”
Spooky smiled. “Just making an observation.”
“Everyone slips now and then.”
Spooky nodded. “But this is twice. The pallet was his screw-up as well.”
“You chose him.”
“So I did. But he isn’t one of mine. He’s a regular that I selected from a review of files.”
“So what do you want to do about it?”
Spooky’s eyes flicked sideways. “Perhaps he should have a third accident, at a time and place of our choosing instead of his.”
“You’re saying he’s not just a screw-up? That this is deliberate?”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re willing to kill a man for perhaps?”
“Better than letting him kill us.”
Silence reigned for a long moment. “I’ll handle it,” Reaper finally said.
“You do that,” said Spooky. “Or I shall. If he steps out of line again, he’s done.”
“I said I’ll handle it.”
“So you did. I believe we should go.”
Reaper shouldered her ruck and headed for the ATVs.
Chapter 17
Skull had to admit there was a lot to appreciate about the Netherlands. In neatness, following the rules and appreciating order, they sometimes seemed more German than the Germans. They lived in one of the richest, safest, and best-educated countries in the world.
Also, nearly everyone spoke English and seemed friendly to Americans despite the U.S.’s recent swing toward fascism. This should greatly facilitate Skull’s planned reign of terror within their tranquil oasis.
Riding a well-engineered bicycle down a street filled with quaint homes, he slowed slightly in front of the one he’d been looking for. The curtains were open, but that didn’t mean anything. Culturally, the Dutch seldom closed them, leaving views inside their homes open to the public all the time. Some said this went back to the country’s staid Protestant roots, proof to their neighbors that everything going on inside was aboveboard. Others claimed it was about a love of light, or a desire to observe who was walking by.
Skull wondered again if his contact, the Europol officer, had lied to him and this was a trap, but dismissed the idea. The man’s explanation about who was working with the CIA had connected all the dots and made too much logical sense. Besides, his eyes had been those of a man desperate to tell the truth and make the tall wraith of death go away.
Checking his watch, Skull saw he didn’t have much time. Usually he would’ve simply killed the Europol officer after he was done with him, but instead the man was expertly trussed up in the trunk of his own car in an abandoned lot. Within a day he’d be reported missing and someone would notice the car parked in its odd spot. In a nation this size, anything out of place tended to get noticed.
A dangerous loose end, Skull thought. If he gets out earlier or I need more time, I’m going to go from the hunter to the hunted. Would have been smarter to just get rid of him.
“Because he wasn’t one of the bad guys,” Skull whispered to himself. He winced at the corniness of it, but recognized its truth. He tried not to waste time analyzing the past, but he did have regrets at times over some of the innocent people he’d killed for convenience sake. Each time the actions had seemed necessary, but like rocks in a shoe, they irritated his soul.
So, no more rocks if he could help it.
Pedaling past the target house, Skull spotted a small park up ahead where he could leave the bicycle. He pulled up and chained it to one of the ever-present racks, law-abiding Dutch notwithstanding. Then he strolled casually back along the path.
He’d have preferred to come at the house from the rear or side, but the homes were so tightly packed, his options were limited.
“Pardon me, sir,” said a stilted voice to Skull’s right. “Excuse me.”
Skull turned to see a small thin man in a suit crossing the street toward him, a large smile on his face.
“Perhaps you could assist me,” the man continued in a British accent. “You see, I’m not entirely familiar with this area.”
“Sorry, old chap,” said Skull. “Not from around here myself.” He maintained his course toward the home.
The man fell in beside him. “A Yank!” he cried with a smile. “I can tell by the accent.”
“Not any more. Now you might call me a citizen of the world.”
“Oh, I see. What is it that brings you to the Netherlands?”
“The tulips, the windmills, the pot. What’s not to like?” Skull sped up, hoping to lose his unwanted guest, but the fellow didn’t lag.
“That is true. Holland has its charms,” the man nodded philosophically. “Have you visited the Rembrandt Museum in Amsterdam?”
Skull stopped walking and turned to face the small man. “Look buddy, not that I don’t appreciate good conversation, but bugger off. I’ve got somewhere to be and I’ve already told you I can’t help you with directions.”
The man reached out and touched Skull’s arm with a manicured hand. “Yes, I know. But I’m going to need you to play along with me a little bit longer.”
Skull stepped back, belatedly wary. “Play along?”
“At least until we can get you off of this street and away from the National Police Chief’s house just up the street. I believe that was where you were headed?”
Skull scanned his field of view without turning his head.
“You won’t see them,” the man said, “but be assured they see you.”
“You trying to snatch me? Not going to work if you don’t want to cause a scene. I won’t go quietly, and you’ll be the first to die.”
“I am familiar with your methods, Mister Denham. If it were my intention to capture or harm you, I’d never come at you this openly, on a public street. And though they see us, they haven’t yet identified either of us as a threat to them. They’re merely…security.”
Skull thought quickly. He could snap this man’s neck and be away in five seconds, but if there really were others nearby, he might be in the crosshairs already, regardless of his words.
“What do you want?” Skull finally asked.
Skull turned to follow. As he did, he spotted a man watching them closely from inside a parked car. There was another up the street sitting on a bench. Possibly the man playing with a dog was one too. “So, who the hell are you, old chap?”
“You can drop the feeble Mary Poppins Cockney routine. You’re even worse than that Van Dyke fellow. My name is Cameron. I’m a diplomat assigned to the British Embassy. I’m also one of His Majesty’s eyes and ears.”
“MI-5? MI-6?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have mutual friends.”
“Friends?”
“One friend, at least. A prophetess of some distinction.”
Skull chuckled. “Cassandra.”
“Unlike the original, her predictions are often believed.” Cameron smiled. “Miss Johnstone is a friend of my boss, and she asked us to keep an eye out for you. To keep you out of trouble, if we could.”
“Who said I was here to cause any trouble?”
“Were you not intending to visit the house of the Chief of the National Police?”
“News to me,” said Skull.
“Of course it is, my mistake. But...if you were going to that house, the home of a man who has been secretly cooperating with what many this side of the pond consider a troubling American administration in order to assist them in their unlawful efforts to encourage worldwide genocide of Edens...”
“Why would I do that?”
“Perhaps to obtain information you need?”
“What information would that be?”
Cameron put his hands behind his back. “Information about this aforementioned conspiracy, funded by the Unionist party and consisting of anti-Eden extremists in every nation.”
“You make it sound like some vast global network. The world seems far more chaotic to me than that.”
“Hate to disagree with you, old chap, but I think maybe you underestimate the resolve of the gentlemen of the American firm. We often question their methods, but cannot argue with their level of effort and their ability to throw vast quantities of money around. You might be surprised to learn that their program to infiltrate the FC with turncoat Eden moles is quite extensive. That network also seeks to hinder governments or institutions that might be sympathetic to Edens. That’s why it was used to grab Mister Nightingale before he could perform his work here.”
They had nearly reached the park and Skull could see his bicycle. A man and woman stood nearby, casually talking, glancing at the two approaching men.
“Go on,” Skull said to Cameron.
“I presume you’re looking for Lawrence Nightingale.”
“Maybe,” Skull said, continuing to survey his surroundings. “Among other things. There’s so damn much to do here. You know, like the Rembrandt Museum in Amsterdam.”
“Doing whatever you want to do to that police chief may give you some personal pleasure, but it will not help you find Mister Nightingale.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. The policeman knows much, and he was complicit in the rendition, but he wasn’t informed of Nightingale’s destination.”
“Perhaps I’d like to ask him myself.”
“I’m sorry,” Cameron answered, “but I cannot allow that to happen.”
“What’s the alternative? He’s my only lead.”
“Suppose I give you what you need so you can be on your way.”
Skull smiled. “Just like that? Now, why would you be so helpful?”
“Because, like I said earlier, I know your methods, Mister Denham. You are anything but subtle. My primary job here is to serve His Majesty and the British people in any way I can. I currently have several very sensitive efforts of my own in critical stages.”
“I see,” said Skull. “So if I come along and start kicking ant hills it could interfere with what you’re trying to do.”
“Precisely.”
“Thanks for the leverage. So, you can tell me where Larry is?”
“I can tell you where he was, and where he is headed.”
“What was his mission, exactly?”
Cameron put his hands behind his back and bounced on the balls of his feet as if discomfited. “You’ll need to talk to a representative of the FC for that information.”
“I’m talking to you,” Skull said, his mien darkening. “I suspect you didn’t come by the information from an FC representative, so why not just go ahead and tell me before I get agitated and cause that public spectacle you’ve worked so hard to prevent.”
Cameron closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again. “No good deed goes unpunished. Very well. He was here to complete a deal with certain members of various governments within the European Union. The deal involved the FC providing money and resources in exchange for organizing a secret exfiltration network for Edens, especially those who are not EU citizens, who have difficulty travelling officially. They would leave the EU and resettle in FC territory.”
“Why would the EU risk the ire of one or more of the Big Three?”
The man’s face softened. “Not everyone would; but like myself, many are resolved to stand firm, because it’s right. There must be some principles, some decency. Some things simply aren’t done. A hundred years from now, when they write the history of this time, our descendants will read of the heroes and the villains, much as we do about World War Two. And, even if they do not stand on principle, politicians tend to have an eye toward their place in history. No one sets out to be the villain. Additionally, sending the Edens away would seem to reduce the problem for us, in the short term at least.”
“Was Nightingale’s mission successful?”
Cameron shrugged. “He probably didn’t have enough time. We don’t know his specific contacts, but there are indications he met with at least one of them before he disappeared.”
“So where is he?”
“Our intelligence indicates he’s been transported to an Eden testing and experimentation center in the United States. It lies along the border of Tennessee and North Carolina. A place ironically called Camp Pleasant. It is ostensibly a government facility for studying soil erosion. You Yanks come up with the thinnest cover stories. I’ve often thought they must be intended as jokes. Perhaps it’s enough to fool your woefully apathetic citizenry.”
Skull felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “The United States? He’s already left?”
“Yes.”
“It would have been much easier if you’d told me before they got him out of the country.”
“I only learned this recently.”
“Seems convenient, though, now both me and Larry will be out of your hair.”
“You may believe what you like, but we’re on the same side in this matter. Let’s focus on what we can do, rather than might-have-beens. For example, we can provide you the coordinates of the camp, and some imagery.”
Skull thought and nodded. “Okay.”
Cameron waited, but Skull said nothing, letting himself glare at the little man. “So you’ll be on your way soon, I suspect?”
“That’s all you care about.”
“Not all, but it would simplify my life. You tend to leave destruction in your wake, and if I can get you out of here without an incident, that will be one of the crowning achievements of my rather undistinguished career.”
“You know what would really help me get out of here quickly?”
“Do tell.”
“A quick, clandestine flight to the States,” said Skull with a tight smile. “I could find a way into the U.S. eventually, but it could take me some time to arrange it. Time where I’ll be stuck here. You know, in your backyard. I might find myself with too much time on my hands and not enough to do. I’m sure there’s someone around here who deserves to die.”
Cameron closed his eyes and sighed once more. Opening them, he shook
his head. “Come on then.” He walked toward a dark sedan parked along the curb.
Skull tossed the key to the man still standing near his bicycle locked in the rack. “All yours, mate.”
Chapter 18
Sydney Bauersfeld waited for the cargo plane to come to a complete stop before she stood and stared out one of its few windows. She saw a one-strip airfield in the middle of Nowheresville, USA. At the whine of the large rear door opening, a black panel van started rolling toward the aircraft.
“Signal for them to stop!” she yelled at the guards on the plane. “We haven’t confirmed their identity nor told them to approach. Why the hell can’t anyone follow the goddamn procedures?”
Two men jumped to the tarmac and aimed assault rifles at the van. Its nose dropped as it braked suddenly. Other guards still in the plane readied their rifles while one of the men on foot approached the vehicle.
After nearly a minute speaking to the driver, the lead guard jogged back to the plane. He motioned for the personnel steps to be dropped so he could board. “Ma’am, they check out. Papers are in order and they know the passwords.”
“Tell them to proceed.”
The man nodded and waved the vehicle forward. Soon, the driver of the van climbed up the steps and approached her. “Miss Bauersfeld, I’m here to transport the prisoner to the facility. Please sign the release documents.” The man held out a clipboard.
She looked at it, and then at him. “I’m not signing that, because I’m not turning him over to you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re transporting both of us to Camp Pleasant. Your job is merely to get us there, safely and securely.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“That’s how it’s going to work. You know who I am. Do you really want to test me on this?”
The man thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. The rules require two guards up front, though. The only other space is back with the prisoner.”
Bauersfeld smiled. “Finally, someone who follows proper procedures. Let us proceed.”
***
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