LeBlanc followed Blunt's example and quickly closed his gaping mouth.
Eli Tripman muttered with a thin smile, "Quit showing off, John."
John turned his head to look at his younger brother and replied with an amused look, "Sometimes you take all the fun away." Then he turned back to Blunt and nodding his head toward Sergeant Sanger, asked, "And who is this man?"
Sanger, who had not uttered a word or even twitched his eyelids since the Tripmans entered the door said, "That blind man scam of yours is really effective until you blow the whole thing by proving you can see. You're among friends here so take off the specks and stop the charade. You don't have to pretend around us."
John reached up and removed his sunglasses, exposing two deep, empty sockets where his eyes should have been. The skin inside the sockets appeared to be a weathered, light brown color.
All Sergeant George Sanger could utter was a slow, "Well I'll be damned!"
Smiling broadly at all three soldiers, Tripman replaced the dark glasses to cover his eye sockets. He knew how disturbing they appeared.
Gathering his composure after the raw demonstration by Tripman, Jim Blunt said, "I would like you to come meet the reason I invited you here tonight. But before we do that, I want to assure all of you what you're about to experience is real. The United States Government is in the process of long range planning against what is without a doubt the single greatest threat to survival the human race has ever faced. You will know I speak the truth in a matter of moments. Please follow me."
Having prepared them as best he could, Blunt turned and led the group toward the end of the bleachers where Diane Hoffman and Whatsit sat waiting.
Diane had been keeping an eye on the gathering at the entryway alcove and as they began to walk towards her, she reached over and patted Whatsit's arm, and concentrating, sent him a gentle thought, "Here they come. Just stay beside me. Everything's going to be okay."
She got the distinct impression Whatsit was distracted for some reason. He seemed to be pondering some issue that took all his attention. He had cocked his head in such a way his sombrero was turned toward her so she couldn't see his face.
Three pairs of evil eyes watched as the targets moved out of the covered alcove and into the kill zone. The kill zone had been chosen for its lack of available cover and the solid brick walls that would bar retreat.
Aamad Rasput had hidden behind the spooled lane lines rolled against the south wall. The spools provided adequate cover and allowed him tactical proximity to the kill zone for the knife throws he would use to take out at least two of the targets. He would go for the military men first since they posed the greatest offensive threat.
Delmar Nicosta was more physical in his approach to violence. Concealed in the shadows behind the bleachers, he waited for the attack signal from Bandulog. A satisfied grin crept across his lips as he thought how easy it was going to be to take out the woman and lizard sitting just a few feet away from his hiding place. His fingers clinched into tight fists as he thought about the most satisfying way to snuff the life out of his targets. Grab the lizard by its scrawny neck and wring it as he would any chicken. He almost laughed out loud as he formed a mental picture of the big lizard running around with its head hanging sideways on its shoulders, neck broken, until its body ran out of energy and flopped dead to the concrete. He would bash the woman temporarily senseless with his ham-like fist. Then he could take his time with her. Snapping a woman's tiny bones was a treat he always anticipated with great pleasure. She would scream with delicious agony until Delmar tired of the noise. At that point he would simply stick her head in the pool and drown the life out of her.
Braggu Bandulog had hidden himself among the steel girders supporting the roof directly over the alcove entryway. His black tactical clothing blended perfectly with the deep black shadows created when the three hanging lights on the south end of the pool were turned on by LeBlanc. The lights acted like spotlights in an interrogation, lighting up the targets brilliantly but leaving him hidden in the dark behind them. Like Rasput, his primary targets were the trained military men. The blind man and his brother could be easily killed after the military targets were eliminated. He quietly snicked back the hammer on his black Colt .45 pistol, confident the silencer he had attached to its barrel would muffle his shots and not give away his strategic location. Reaching into his shirt pocket, Bandulog pulled out a small tin clicker. Holding it in his left hand between his thumb and forefinger, he pressed it twice. Two double clicks from the tin toy was the signal to attack. In the vast, silent expanse of the pool, they were sharp and clear. Instantly, all hell broke loose.
The group led by Jim Blunt had taken about four steps when John Tripman stopped dead in his tracks. Quickly turning his head to the right toward the pool, he lifted his chin toward the ceiling as if he was looking for something which in itself was absurd because he was blind. A couple of seconds later, odd metallic clicks echoed across the building. Jim Blunt heard the clicks and looked back over his left shoulder out of curiosity, moving unhurriedly since he was not expecting any danger. Sergeant Sanger, who was keeping pace with Tom LeBlanc, was focusing his attention on the pretty, blonde woman sitting at the end of the bleachers. He had caught a glimpse of a green figure wearing a sombrero sitting on the other side of her, but hadn't gotten a good clean look at the fellow. Eli Tripman didn't react to the sound at all. He had a grip on the left elbow of his brother, concentrating on helping guide him in the direction Blunt was walking. His face showed only mild surprise when his brother suddenly stopped walking.
Stepping out from his concealment behind the big spools of lane lines just far enough so he could swing his right arm freely, Aamad Rasput let fly his first 7 inch double-edged throwing knife directly at Sanger's chest. Then quick as a snake, he flipped the second knife from his left hand to his right and threw it at Tom LeBlanc's chest. The distance from Rasput to Sanger and LeBlanc was around 30 feet and the speed of the twirling knives meant they would strike their marks less than 2 seconds after they left his hand.
Jim Blunt's eyes caught a movement over at the end of the pool beside the big spools. It looked like a figure had stepped out from behind the spools and thrown something his way. The whole thing happened so quickly and unexpectedly he froze while his brain tried to make sense out of the situation leaving him standing still as a statue as something whirled in the air in his direction. Fortunately for him, John Tripman was already moving. As Rasput had eased out from his concealment, his shoes scratched a bit on some discarded granular chemicals used for pool maintenance. Tripman's chin dropped so it was pointed directly at the gritty noise Rasput's shoes made as he positioned himself for his throws. When Rasput threw the first of his knives, Tripman quickly raised his red and white cane and swung it like a batter hitting a pitched fast ball. His swing was well aimed, and it connected with the first spinning knife, deflecting it into the pool where it sank with a skipping splash. He batted toward the second knife but missed as it flashed by him. The clang of the metal cane hitting the airborne knife broke the spell holding George Sanger as he gazed at the woman sitting at the end of the bleachers. Twisting his body around quickly, he saw a man in black clothing standing next to the spools on the south end of the building. A spinning knife flashed past him, the direction of its path leaving no doubt the man in black had thrown it. Sanger's combat training automatically took over. Dropping to his left knee, Sanger's hand flashed to the concealed holster strapped to his right ankle, and in one fluid motion, he pulled out a .38 snub nose revolver, aimed at Rasput and fired two quick shots. Rasput's eyes turned into two dark holes and his body fell backward against the brick wall behind him.
When he heard the signal to attack, Nicosta silently rose from his shadowy concealment behind the bleachers and moved toward his victims. He didn't consider either of them a threat. Their attention was at the moment directed towards the group walking toward them from the entryway. As far as Delmar was concerned, he had th
e easiest assignment of this operation. A defenseless woman and a big pet lizard wearing a sombrero of all damn things. "This is going to be a piece of cake," he thought.
Nicosta extended his giant left hand to grab the neck of the lizard when suddenly, the sombrero swiveled around and two large, deep black eyes locked on him. Delmar momentarily froze at the unexpected movement. The lizard's mouth curled into a snarl exposing some formidably sharp teeth. Try as he might, Nicosta couldn't move his arms or his legs. His mind was straining, ordering his body to move but not a single muscle twitched. The lizard stood up and turned to fully face Nicosta. Helpless, Delmar watched the blonde woman who had been touching the lizard's arm turn her head to see where it was going. When her eyes fell on the hulking thug dressed in midnight black, arms extended in an obvious move to grab her, she screamed loudly and moved quickly away.
Diane's scream startled Blunt into action. Seeing that Sanger had taken out the man at the south end of the pool, Blunt ordered, "Sergeant, protect the civilians. We don't know how many enemies we're up against!"
"LeBlanc," he shouted as he turned but Tom LeBlanc was down, a knife sticking out of the left side of his chest. Blunt immediately dropped to one knee at LeBlanc's side just as a big hole blew itself into the wood of the bleacher seat just back of where his head had been. Splinters from the impact burst into the air. Ducking his head even further out of reflex, Blunt's experience under enemy fire took over his movements. He shuffled quickly around LeBlanc's body. Another shot blasted into the concourse, pocking the concrete and ricocheting away. Sanger now had an idea where the gunfire was coming from and fired into the ceiling rafters, his shots sparking as they struck the steel girders. Acting on the time given to him by the covering shots from Sanger, Blunt grabbed LeBlanc by his shoulders and dragged him under the end of the bleachers out of sight of the gunman overhead.
"Tom, Tom, are you with me?" whispered Blunt urgently.
LeBlanc's eyes fluttered, and he seemed to be trying to focus. Two more shots blew into the wooden bleachers nearby as the hidden gunman tried to force them out of their hiding place. The return fire from Sanger echoed loudly in the confines of the pool area. A spasm of bubbly coughing shook LeBlanc and a thin stream of bright red blood ran out of the corner of his mouth. Jim Blunt knew from battlefield experience the man's lung, at the very least, had been punctured by the knife blade. The blade had entered LeBlanc's upper chest just a half inch from his sternum, missing his heart by maybe a quarter inch. Jim knew he couldn't pull it out without risking an unstoppable bleed out.
Tom's eyes opened and he seemed to be trying to gather some strength. Coughing up more blood, he whispered, "Flashlight . . . in my pocket."
Jim ran his hands quickly down the sides of the man's body, felt the familiar tubular shape of a flashlight in his right pants pocket and pulled it out. It was a standard light-steel flashlight you could buy at any hardware store. Standard thumb slide on-off switch with a red button above the switch. Jim turned it around in his hand looking for something that might hint at a weapon, but he couldn't see anything unusual. He noticed the light emitting end of the flashlight had two bulbs, a clear one and a black one.
Looking back at Tom, he saw the man had drifted back into unconsciousness. Another shot from the hidden gunman crashed into the bleachers, making Blunt involuntarily flinch. Raising his voice, Jim yelled, " Sergeant Sanger, I need a few undisturbed moments!"
Sanger yelled back, "Doing my best, Sir!" as he squeezed off another couple of rounds at the ceiling. There was just too much darkness in the rafters, and the silencer was preventing him from seeing any muzzle flash to locate the shooter.
Gently shaking Tom, trying to keep him from completely losing consciousness, Jim bent over to whisper in his ear, "Tom, wake up! Stay with me! What about the flashlight? What do I do with it?"
With great effort, Tom opened his eyes and stared up at him. He seemed to be trying to say something but he was out of breath, and it was a struggle to speak. Jim leaned down and put his ear next to Tom's lips in an effort to hear him. All he heard was, ".... red button."
Lifting his head to look down on Tom, Jim saw a small smile curling up on Tom's lips just below his mustache, just like that first day back in the conference room at the Pentagon when it had been revealed he was the man using the alien ray pistol to slice up the side of beef. Then Tom's eyes went dull and a stream of bright red blood flowed out of his mouth. Tom LeBlanc was dead.
Seething anger filled Jim Blunt as he watched his friend die. Another bullet slammed into the bleachers, this one perilously close to his head. Splinters and dust fell into his hair. He'd had enough! Diving out from under the concealment of the bleachers, Blunt tucked into a roll and came up pointing the flashlight at the ceiling. Stabbing his thumb down on the red button, he aimed at the steel framework supporting the roof where he thought the gunman was hiding.
No ordinary white light came out of the flashlight. Instead a coherent beam of orange-red light blazed up against the steel framework. The light beam widened slowly from the moment it left the head of the flashlight until when it met the roof joists it was about 5 feet in diameter. Almost instantly, the support girder he was aiming at over his head glowed light orange. A shimmer of heat waves filled the air around the steel as the temperature quickly mounted. Encouraged by the effects, Blunt played the light slowly across the girders, watching as each in turn quickly glowed with intense heat. Another gunshot kicked up concrete at his feet, but this time Blunt was staring directly at the ceiling as he played his heat beam along the girders. He saw a faint movement and recognized it as the ejected shell from the gun as it fell into the pool with a tiny splash.
"Got you now, son-of-a-bitch," he thought silently to himself as he focused the heat beam on the joist concealing the gunman. It immediately turned a satisfying light orange and as Jim held the beam steady, the light orange quickly heated to a crispy red.
Up in the concealing web of steel supporting the roof, Deacon Braggu Bandulog was feeling trapped and panicky, a new emotion for him. Always the cold, calculating killer, Bandulog had never faced a well-trained, determined and fantastically armed opponent in his entire life. Yet here he was, facing not one but two combat veterans. One with an uncanny ability to accurately place bullets from a snub-nose pistol of all things so close to Bandulog's position he felt like he was standing out in an open field with no concealment. The other was simply pointing a flashlight at him that turned nearby solid steel supports hot as a pancake griddle. Bandulog had been shocked when Rasput was taken out so quickly. Something was wrong with Nicosta who just stood and looked at his targets, doing nothing.
Squeezing off another missed shot at the man holding the flashlight, Bandulog realized the steel support he was lying on was beginning to turn light orange. The heat rose unbelievably quickly, turning the steel into a skillet with Bandulog lying on it like a hamburger patty. He felt his left hand burning, and when he lifted it from its grip on the steel part of his palm tore away where it had cooked onto the frying hot girder. Thinking wildly, Bandulog saw there was only one escape. He leaped off the girder, diving for the cooling water of the pool below.
Blunt realized Sanger was yelling at him and eyeballing the flashlight. "What the hell is that thing?"
Looking quickly over at the man, Blunt replied grimly, "One of the reasons we wanted to meet you, Sergeant!"
Just as his answer left his lips, a man clad all in black fell out of the ceiling into the pool with a tremendous splash. The man sank quickly to the bottom of the pool, weighted down by his armament. Blunt released the red button and ran to the side of the pool. The man in black was swimming underwater towards the other side.
Smiling a death's head grin, Blunt aimed the flashlight at the pool and pressed the red button. The orange-red beam touched the water's surface, and instantly the water in the pool began steaming and bubbling. Blunt kept the light trained on the water, causing it to become so hot it began vaporizing. The water le
vel dropped two feet almost instantly as it boiled away, and the whole pool area clouded up in a dense, steamy fog.
Sanger's sharp eyes spotted a black image lying near the bottom of the boiling pool and grabbing Blunt's arm, he shouted, "Stop it, man, you're boiling him like a lobster! We may be able to get some information out of him if he's still alive!"
Reluctantly, Blunt knew Sanger was right. Turning his head slightly toward Sanger and nodding, he lifted his thumb off the red button. The water kept boiling but visibly calmed down as the flow of heat energy ceased. Sanger looked around quickly and spotted a lifeguard's hook hung on the south wall. Running over to grab the hook, he came back to Blunt's side, and they fished the black clad man out of the bottom of the pool and pulled him onto the deck.
Every inch of the man's exposed skin was an angry bright red, and white blisters of cooked flesh covered his face and hands. Sanger bent over the figure and pressed both his hands rapidly on the man's sternum, pumping up and down in an effort to clear water from his throat and let in life giving air. After a long minute of effort, the man in black coughed violently as water spurted out of his mouth, and he began breathing on his own. A wail of pain escaped his lips as consciousness returned.
Jim heard a faint cry from behind him and whirling hastily, he saw Diane kneeling next to Tom's body, her face ghostly white with shock. Behind her on the pool concourse in front of the bleachers was Whatsit. He was standing very still, and Jim could tell from experience the look in the creature's eyes was one of profound distress. Standing beside Whatsit was a hulking bear of a man clad all in black, his vacant eyes staring straight ahead, arms hanging limply. Blunt knew the look and what caused it. Smiling grimly, he turned his attention back to the human lobster lying next to him.
Roughly slapping the man's face, Blunt snarled, "Who are you? What's your name?"
"Bandulog," was the pained response.
The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Page 14
