Reckoning

by James Byron Huggins

  Roaring, the stranger twisted the neck imprisoned within his grip, the blood force of some primordial rage shattering, breaking, driving death into death. Then he flung the body savagely to the side, smashing the dead man’s head into the desk as if to kill him again and again.

  Books and papers scattered as the hulking man's limp body slid heavily to the floor.

  Sarah looked up, wide-eyed and breathless, as her rescuer swayed in the gloom, seemingly overcome by the power and rage that he himself had used to overcome.

  Staggering and gasping hoarsely, the stranger lifted his face to the ceiling and Sarah thought for a moment that he might collapse. Then he seemed to find balance in the madness and turned toward her.

  The voice that escaped her was a cry, a sob, as he leaned down and she rose, reaching out to the strong arms that reached out to her.

  "Gage!"

  *

  NINE

  His hands touched her face, her shoulders, seeming to search for injury. He leaned close to her, sweat glistening silvery on his face.

  "Are you alright?" His voice was coarse with exhaustion.

  "Yes," she answered, still trembling. "What's happening?"

  He shook his head. "There's no time. Your father's outside."

  Sarah turned wildly to the door. "Where's the other—"

  "He's dead. I've got to get you and your father to someplace safe."

  “But why?”

  “No time. Let’s go.”

  Sarah She leaned against Gage, reached out, and felt something wet on his arm. In the half-light of the library the dark stain on her hand was clearly visible.

  "Gage! You're bleeding!"

  Gage nodded, "I'll take care of it. Is there another way out of here besides the stairs?"

  She tried to think. "The elevator."

  "No good. We'll have to take the stairs." He moved her across the room. "Come on. We don't have much time."

  One of Gage's hands held hers and Sarah saw that he gripped a semiautomatic pistol in the other. He paused at the doorway, looked cautiously into the hall.

  "We've got to move fast," he whispered.

  Sarah looked into the lean face that was inches from hers, saw blood and sweat and fatigue and remembered the long nights, the days and weeks of recovery when she had watched over him, praying as he had hovered between life and death. Somehow, in the surreal terror of the moment, the nights seemed like yesterday and not lost to the desert three years past.

  She nodded, gripping his hand.

  He led her into the hall, and she averted her eyes as they passed a massive figure. The second man who had stood in the doorway moments before, lay in the corridor. They reached the stairs and, with Gage leading with the gun, they moved fast up the steps to the first floor landing where he hesitated, looking carefully out the door. He leaned back into the stairwell.

  "Your father is in the trees east of the building. If I don't make it, get to him and contact William Acklin in the Washington FBI office. Tell him everything. No lies. Tell him what I did and he'll do what he can for you. Do you understand?"

  Sarah felt a violent and uncontrollable surge of emotion that she had denied until this moment. She couldn't manage to speak. She simply nodded in response to Gage's instructions.

  "Good," Gage smiled.

  Sarah remembered the smile, the warmth, and she longed to reach out to him. She wrapped both hands around the hand that gripped hers.

  "Ready?" Gage asked softly.

  She found strength. "Yes."

  "Let's go."

  He put his hand with the gun into the pocket of his waist-length coat as they left the stairwell and moved quickly across the lobby of the hall. His head turned left and right, scanning, and he led her down a corridor, away from the front entrance. At the end of the hall was the office of the Dean of Ancient Languages. Gage hesitated, looking back. Then he removed a small case from his coat and bent down, working on the lock.

  "Is this alarmed?" He inserted a single black pick into the keyhole, and then another, working both picks together.

  "I don't know." Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. "I think so."

  "No time to find out," he muttered. "Tell me if you see anybody coming."

  Sarah looked back down the hall. The lobby, what she could see from her angle, was deserted. She heard Gage picking at the lock, seeming to have trouble. She sighed. Her father was safe, but she knew this would all lead back to whatever it was that was found, that discovery in the Negeb that had changed their lives forever. Increasingly nervous, she watched Gage. At least three minutes had passed.

  "I was never any good at this," Gage whispered harshly, shaking his head. His hair was damp with sweat. He wiped a forearm across his eyes, concentrated on the lock.

  Two more minutes.

  The lock turned and Gage opened the door as an alarm instantly sounded outside the hall, blaring across the campus with a siren-like wail.

  Gage moved quickly now, stealth forgotten. He hurried across the room, raised the window, and pulled a long, narrow double-edged knife from his belt. He jammed the knife into each side of the bracket that secured the storm window to the window frame and twisted, breaking the molding. The window clattered onto the grass, and he quickly lowered Sarah to the ground, then jumped after her.

  Outside, the campus seemed to sleep. A few students visible on the square continued to walk through the late night with easy calm, oblivious to the wailing alarm. Sarah remembered how many times she had heard and ignored the sound, but her hands still found Gage's arm.

  He touched her face with his free hand.

  "We're almost clear," he said. "Your father is over there." He nodded to a cluster of trees isolated from the rest of the campus.

  Sarah's heart quickened with concern, and she followed Gage into the trees beside the building. Gage led her through the darkness, along a path she knew during the day but couldn't see now in the gloom. She held his hand for guidance, lost in the dark as he moved quickly forward. In moments they stood at the edge of the shadows, beside a sidewalk. She saw that they would have to follow the pavement for about fifty yards to reach the woods where her father waited.

  Outside Saint Matthew's Hall of Ancient Languages a campus security guard pulled up in a patrol car. They watched, hidden, as the relaxed, burly form exited his vehicle and approached the building in a leisurely stroll.

  Gage was motionless, scanning, studying an area about two hundred feet to their right—a forested section that seemed impenetrable to light. Trees, only dimly illuminated by streetlights and the building entranceway, left deep zones of darkness.

  He scowled.

  No good way to do it.

  Sarah's voice was close beside him. "What is it?"

  "We've got to cross this street to reach your father."

  Gage looked at her, saw her jade green eyes catching the light, keen and distinct. Already, she had regained her balance.

  Remarkable ... and beautiful.

  Gage almost smiled, but then looked away, concentrating on the square. He didn't like the line of retreat but it was the best he could come up with in the shortness of time. So now they would have to cross this street, exposing them to the light, in order to escape.

  The night visor’s power was exhausted or he would have scanned the surrounding trees. As it was, he couldn't tell if anyone was hiding in the distant darkness. For once they left the safety of the trees, anyone with a rifle would have a clear shot.

  Time was running out. He still had to find the translator, the last one that had been in the desert on that cursed night three years past.

  Unable to read anything in the shadows, Gage shook his head in frustration. He looked back toward the Hall of Ancient Languages and saw the security guard round the nearby corner containing the broken window.

  Time to move.

  Gage leaned down slightly, looking once again into the intelligent green gaze. "If I go down, run. Your father is in those trees. Remember t
o contact Acklin in Washington."

  Her almost indiscernible nod communicated far more than speech. Though fearful, it was steady and trusting and strong. A strength created, demanded by something within her – a strength that was the servant of the intellect, not the master.

  Gage gently took her hand and together they walked into the street.

  The bullet that ripped past their heads was so close that Gage felt the wind torn apart. Then the rifle shot thundered over them and Sarah was on the ground screaming. Gage fell to his knees beside her, firing as the ground exploded beside their heads once, twice, showering them in dirt and grass.

  Gage rose, moving towards the direction of the shots, firing and shouting, "Run! Reach the woods!"

  And then Sarah was on her feet, staggering and then running, not looking back. She reached the woods in seconds as a tree exploded beside her with the impact of another rifle shot. Then she was in her father's arms and the old man was shouting something as the trees around them were riddled by the assault of automatic rifle fire. Together they stumbled, reeled, and fell into the cluster of trees as the forest and the campus echoed with horror and chaos.

  Sarah raised her head, saw Gage down, the gun lost from his hand. At the Hall of Ancient Languages she saw the security guard crouched behind a building, heard him screaming incoherently into a radio.

  Gage jerked to one side. Was he wounded? Another rifle shot tore a chunk of wood from a tree near Malachi.

  She saw the familiar white van and remembered her phone call at the same time sirens began closing on the campus. Screaming wildly, she ran to the edge of the woods, ignoring the rifle fire, signaling with her arms. Two more bullets struck beside her and she leaped desperately back, using the trees for cover, still screaming.

  "Barto!"

  The dilapidated van skidded to a halt outside the cluster of trees. From inside, a heavyset, balding language student with thick glasses and a bushy beard, mouth hanging agape, stared at her in shock.

  A pause.

  Then a rifle shot and the front windshield of the van exploded.

  Barto bellowed and the van spun its wheels in a long, thin screech, hanging a tight turn that blasted it wildly over the sidewalk and grass to slide precariously into the cluster of trees beside Sarah. The right front fender smashed into an oak as it came to a stop. Two more shots ripped through the white panels, and then the door was jerked open from inside.

  "Come on!" Barto screamed.

  Sirens entered the outer perimeters of the campus.

  Sarah and Malachi scrambled inside and Barto spun out, Sarah's fingernails digging into his shoulder. She pointed toward Gage, lying motionless on the sidewalk.

  "Get him!"

  A volley of rifle fire tore through the side of the van, and Sarah was thrown wildly as Barto, still in reverse, spun across the grass. He slammed on the brakes and the van stopped beside Gage. The body of the van separated Gage from the volley of incoming rifle fire.

  Barto was shouting. "Get him! Get him! Hurry it up!"

  Sarah leaped out and tried to lift Gage. But he only stirred at her touch, rolled over. His eyes fluttered open. In a daze he rose, staggering, and fell into the open side door that she quickly closed behind him.

  The van howled as they roared up the street, but New York City police units, lights flashing and sirens hot, skidded to a stop, blocking the exit.

  "Police!" Barto yelled. "They can—"

  "No!" Sarah shouted above the protesting van and the screamin code equipment. "Not now! Get us out of here!"

  The van skidded wildly as it caught a narrow alley and charged into the night. Gage was semiconscious, and she wrapped her arm around his neck, holding his head off the bumping panel floor. Behind them blared the code equipment of police in pursuit, and then Gage stirred, seeming to rise toward consciousness. His bloodied right hand reached up to grab the seat. Half-awake, he rolled his head.

  "Hang on!" shouted Barto.

  Sarah screamed as the van left the ground, pitching forward at the front before blasting its way through a wooden wall. The van crashed to the ground once more and beneath the floor panels she felt the tires spinning on loose gravel, fishtailing, and then climbing, rising on a steep incline. Behind them, the sirens fell back.

  Barto killed the headlights, and the van spun chaotically through the darkness, trees scraping and limbs thumping off the side panels. Sarah knew that he had somehow gotten them off the campus, as well as any semblance of a road. Then the van hit a summit, left the ground and came down again, the windows shattering completely at the impact to shower the interior in a thousand flying shards of slicing white light.

  The freezing night roared through the interior, and Sarah pulled Gage closer.

  Barto hurled the van into a wild downhill run, twisting, sliding, spinning the wheel with the dexterity of a true virtuoso. Then the vehicle bottomed out, wheels rebounding forever between the van frame and ground, until the tires finally found purchase and entered another roaring, leaning climb.

  Barto floored it, quickly ascending through the smashing, grinding gears. Sarah saw lights growing nearer, then the van swayed, hit smooth pavement, and they were in traffic again. Barto leaned forward, smiling, eyes bright with excitement.

  Sarah turned her face from the icy rush of wind, skin already numb. But she felt Gage stir, awakened by the cold air. He struggled to raise himself, to watch.

  Barto didn't seem disturbed by the wind in his face. He continued to lean forward, eyes narrow and peering, hands clutching the steering wheel. His round shoulders were bunched, aggressive, focused.

  He didn't look back, didn't slow down.

  For half an hour they raced through the night. In her arms Sarah felt Gage relaxing, even as he lay against her, her back against the door. Finally the lights along the highway seemed to grow thinner until they were driving through the darkness, away from the city.

  Gage shifted, studying Barto.

  "You're the translator," he rasped.

  Barto executed a smooth lane change, exiting the highway. Busy.

  Malachi spoke loudly. "Yes, Bartholomew was our translator in the desert. He was the last of the three. Now we are together."

  Gage said nothing, stared at Barto.

  "Where'd you learn to drive?" he managed.

  Barto looked over his shoulder, smiling insanely, clearly enjoying his job. "Beirut," he yelled back, eyes gleaming.

  Gage shook his head, leaned back against Sarah, sighed.

  "We've got to ditch this thing," he said.

  "Good idea," Barto called back, nodding, squinting into the wind. "Where?"

  Gage licked his lips, shifted, moaned in pain. "Go east ... I've got an LTD in storage ... at Patterson."

  Barto looked back over his shoulder and nodded. Gage was struck by the excited eyes that glared down at him through the thick, tinted glasses.

  Malachi bent over Gage, moved the coat aside, and studied his chest. A large patch was torn from his shirt, and Sarah saw that a white, fibrous cover, a ballistic vest, was also torn from the impact of the bullets. The old man helped lift him up, and Gage slowly removed the vest, rubbing his chest. Even in the darkness Sarah saw the bloody patch of skin.

  Reflexively Gage placed a hand on his chest, examining his wounds by feel in the shadows of the van. There was no penetration; the vest had held.

  Remarkable.

  Must have been using subsonic 9mm rounds …

  He rubbed his chest, looked at Sarah, and nodded. She was close, and he felt Malachi's hand on his shoulder.

  Barto called back. "Does, uh, anybody wanna tell me what's going on?"

  "Not now, Barto," Sarah answered.

  "Whatever." A moment more and he called out again. "Do I need to take the interstate?"

  "No," said Gage, drawing a deep breath to focus. "Where are we now?"

  "East Rutherford."

  "Alright. Go over the bridge. Take Central to Lakeview. Keep it... slow."

&nbs
p; "Got ya," replied Barto, bunching at the wheel, eyes scanning.

  Leaning back against Sarah, so soft, Gage stared at the ceiling, trying to concentrate, to forget the strong, cherishing arms embracing him. But he shut down his emotions as best he could, organizing. Things were changing fast, and he couldn't go with his original plan. New York City was too hot. Automatically he selected his second safe house. He heard Barto asking, "Where do we go from there?"

  Gage looked at Sarah, her soft green eyes touching him.

  "North," he said weakly, feeling a slow shock settling beneath his fatigue. "To the Catskills. I've got a cabin ... at Panther Mountain."

  Barto sailed the van into the night, and they were alone and silent, with shadows passing over them. Gage shut his eyes, weary from his wounds as the cold dark rolled over them in an endless sea, smothering them, dominating them, stronger than all of them together.

  *

  TEN

  White fluorescent lights illuminated the massive oak table in the lower-level chamber situated beneath the visible complex at Langley, Virginia, but the light contrasted harshly with the mood that darkened the room.

  Nathaniel Kertzman, civilian investigator for the Department of Defense, leaned back in his chair, staring at the grim faces surrounding the oval desk. He listened intently, wondering at what cruel twist of fate had brought him into this deplorable and sorry situation.

  "We are not responsible!" United States Army Brigadier General Sol Tessler shouted.

  Again.

  "These were not our men! They were not on any special assignment! They were not on some rogue mission! Both of them had been out of Special Ops for over six months!" He pounded a fist on the desk and half-rose from his chair. "You will not put any of this on us! The Army will not be blamed for this fiasco!"

  "Just settle down, General," said a severe, calm voice.

  Kertzman shifted his eyes to Jeremiah Radford, briefer and special investigator for the Deputy Directorate of Operations for the National Security Council.

  Radford's impeccable gray Seville-Row, chalk-stripe suit was impressively well-fitted, as always. A perfect complement to his wide, darkly understated tie and his white, spread-collar shirt and hand-made leather, lace-up Oxfords.