“Send him in, Sally.” Cody leaned back in his chair. It would be good to see someone he trusted; someone who was normal. Tommy Levant was a good man, a man Cody knew he could trust. Top agent.
Wish I had more like Levant, he thought.
Eleven
“Something troubling you, General?"
Ben turned at the sound of the voice. He had been standing beside a huge old tree, really gazing at nothing, thinking about nothing of any importance.
“Not really, Ms. Bellever. I was letting my mind stay in neutral, so to speak."
“I do that sometimes,” she said, stepping closer to him. She wore some type of very light perfume, and the scent played man-woman games in Ben's head. “Or I used to, that is."
“Having some regrets, Ms. Bellever?"
She fixed blue eyes on him. “Are you serious? God, yes, I have regrets. Don't you?"
“No,” Ben said, his tone leaving no room for anything other than truth. “This is something that has to be done, so we're doing it.” He smiled, the gesture taking years from him. “Satchel Paige once said ‘Don't ever look back; something might be gainin’ on you.’”
She laughed as the dusk of late evening was casting purple shadows around the park, cloaking them in darkening twilight, seeming to make the moment more intimate, pulling them closer.
“And is that your philosophy, General?"
“Well, I've heard worse."
“I've seen you looking at me several times."
“You're nice to look at,” Ben admitted. “I enjoy looking at a beautiful woman.” He smiled in the dusk and she saw the flashing of his teeth against a deeply tanned face.
“Something amusing, General?"
“I think you know what I was thinking."
“You saw the Penthouse spread?"
“Oh, yes."
She returned his smile. “Like what you saw?"
“You on a fishing expedition?"
“Everyone likes to be stroked from time to time."
He laughed at that. “Yes, Ms. Bellever, I liked what I saw very much."
She waited, and Ben had a hunch he knew what she was waiting for. It had been several months since he had been with a woman, and Ben was a virile man; but he wondered about this lady. Her motives, in particular. So he waited.
After a minute had ticked by in silence, Dawn chuckled softly. “You are a very suspicious man, General Raines. Are you always this suspicious?"
“Suspicious might be the wrong choice of words. Try careful."
“Despite what you might think, General—and I don't blame you for thinking it—I'm not in the habit of throwing myself at men."
“I shouldn't think you would have to throw yourself at anybody."
“If that's a compliment, thank you."
“It was."
A night bird called plaintively, its voice penetrating the settling gloom. Somewhere in the distance, the call was answered. The asking and the reply touched the man and woman with an invisible caress.
“Nice to know I'm not the only one who wants company this evening,” Dawn said wistfully.
“I can assure you, you are not."
“You make it hard for a lady, you know that, General Raines?"
Ben fought back a chuckle, not quite succeeding in muffling his humor.
“Damnit! that's not what I meant."
“I know."
“You don't like for people to get too close to you, do you, General?"
Ben smiled again in the darkness. The lady was no dummy; but then, he thought, she wouldn't be a highly successful photojournalist if she was stupid. She had pegged him quickly enough. Either that or she had been observing his movements in camp closely for several months.
Maybe suspicious was right, Ben, he thought. Maybe you are.
“I'm not a kid, Ms. Bellever..."
“Dawn."
“...Dawn, then. I'm past middle age. You're what ... not yet thirty?"
“That's close enough,” she said evasively. “But what has age to do with it—unless, of course, you're proposing to me."
“I don't believe I shall ever do that again,” Ben said flatly.
“Your wife was killed in the battle for Tri-States, right?"
“Yes. Salina. She and the unborn child. I also lost an adopted son, Jack. My adopted daughter, Tina, is ... in another camp."
“Gray's Scouts,” Dawn said. And Ben was again amazed at the underground pipeline that ran through any military unit. There really were no secrets; just men and women who knew how to keep their mouths shut around people not of their stripe.
“We'll be working very closely together, Dawn—for the next several months."
“Yes."
“So is this a good idea?"
“We're both adults, aren't we?"
He took her hand and together they walked around the fringes of the camp. And Dawn was one very surprised lady when Ben stopped in front of her tent.
“Good night, Ms. Bellever,” he said. He bent his head and kissed her mouth.
Before she could reply or respond, he was gone, the shape and form of him melting into the darkness.
She stood for a moment outside her tent. Then the humor of it all struck her. She laughed. “Shit!” she said.
“You'd better set your sights a bit lower, honey,” a woman's voice spoke softly from the confines of the canvas. “That one is off-limits."
“Says who?” Dawn said without turning around.
“Common sense,” another female voice cut through the darkness.
“If I had any common sense,” Dawn said, turning around, looking into the darkness of the big eight-person tent, “would I be here?"
* * * *
The residents of Fort Wayne, Indiana—those that remained alive, that is—slowly put their guns on the ground and walked out to Hartline's men. The mercenaries waited just past the northeastern city limits sign, on old Highway 37. Behind the rag-tag staggering knot of men and women, the city burned, dancing colors and dark plumes of smoke formed a kaleidoscope of tones against the sun, just rising above the horizon.
A mercenary pointed to a line of military trucks parked on the shoulder of the road. “Get in the trucks,” he ordered. Then his eyes found a very attractive teenage girl. “All but you,” he said with a grin. “You wait in the car over there,” he pointed.
“You leave my daughter alone,” a man spoke, his voice filled with exhaustion.
Hartline's man looked at the father, the grin still on his lips. “All right,” he shouted to the fifty or so survivors of the shelling. “You people gather around me. I got something I want you all to hear."
The men and women gathered in the road, lining up in ragged rows. Some kept their heads bowed, eyes downcast, defeated, beaten, whipped—no more fight left in them.
Others glared defiantly at the well-armed, well-trained mercenary army, surrender the farthest thing from their minds.
“All right, people,” the mercenary captain spoke, his words no longer harsh and demanding, taking on a gentler tone. “You may find this hard to believe, but I'm an American, just like you people. I was born in Havana, Illinois; and I don't, repeat, don't want any more killing.” He waved his free hand toward his men. “None of us do."
“Okay, you folks hate us, fine, we can live with that. We're soldiers, and we have a job of work to do, and we're doing it, distasteful as it might be. And that job of work is to restore order to America.” He pointed to the greasy smoke filling the sky behind them. “There was no need for that. None at all. All your friends, your loved ones—they died for nothing."
“They died for freedom!” a woman shouted.
The mercenary laughed. “Do you really believe that? If so, then you've been brainwashed. You people are being used—can't you see that? Ben Raines is using you. That's all he's doing."
“He's going to free us!” the same woman shouted, her voice filled with conviction.
“Really?” the mercenary said, moving close
r to the rows of defeated citizens. “Well ... where is he? He's got thousands of Rebels under his command. Why weren't they here, fighting alongside you people? Why didn't his guerrilla fighters come here, or up in Warsaw yesterday, or down in Marion or Muncie? You people are being tossed to the dogs and don't even know it. Raines knows you people aren't fighters; he knows you're going to die—and he doesn't care. He's buying time, that's all. Time."
He shook his head sadly as he walked down the rows of citizens, some wounded, bloody. All tired, some so exhausted their legs trembled, threatening to tumble them to the road.
“How long has it been since you people had a good hot meal? A T-bone steak? A good cup of hot coffee? Well, you can bet Raines and his Rebels aren't going hungry. They're eating three squares every day! Sleeping soundly at night ... while you people are starving and dying. Think about that for a while."
He walked back to the teenager, waiting beside his car. Cleaned up, she would be very attractive. “What's your name, honey?” he asked.
“Lisa."
“How long has it been since you've had a good hot meal? Clean clothes? A nice bed with clean sheets on it?"
She was reluctant to answer.
“I won't hurt you, Lisa. I promise,” the mercenary said with a smile. “Come on, tell me."
“Long time,” she finally said.
“Would you like to have those things? I bet you have friends who would like to have them, too—right?"
She slowly nodded her head.
“Look, I don't want to hurt anyone else. Please believe that.” He worked his best I'm-so-misunderstood-but-so-lovable expression onto his face. “I'm going to disobey orders and not take most of these folks to the camps. I think I can talk my way out of trouble. Now, here's what I want you to do for me. I want you to get your friends together ... young people of your age, and talk to them. These aren't all the survivors, right?"
Her hesitation in replying told the mercenary captain he was right. He waited for her to tell him.
“No, sir,” she finally spoke.
“My name is Jake, Lisa. You call me Jake. Okay, now. I want you to get a couple of your buddies from the group that just surrendered, and I want you to go to your other friends, tell them about Ben Raines ... what I just told you, and bring as many of them that will come with you back here."
Her young-old-wise eyes grew suddenly dark with suspicion.
“Lisa ... let me finish before you conclude I'm up to something no good, okay? Fine,” he said when she nodded her head. “Tell you what I'll do just to prove to you I'm on the level. I'll be the only one here—or anyplace you and your friends want to meet me. An open field, a warehouse—you name it, and I'll be there, alone, waiting for you. I'll be an easy target, Lisa; but I trust you, and I hope you trust me."
It had been a long time since the teenager had found any reason to trust anyone not of her immediate peer group. But she found herself—to her amazement—trusting this tall, pale-eyed soldier.
“All right,” she said.
“Good! Good, Lisa.” He turned to a sergeant standing nearby. “Sergeant Staples, take the survivors to Decatur, see they are fed and their wounds taken care of. Give them shelter."
“All of them, Captain?” the sergeant questioned, careful to phrase it so he would not be guilty of disobeying an order.
Captain Jake Devine looked at Lisa, then at the tired group of survivors. “Yes,” he said. “All of them. I want this fighting and killing to stop."
When Jake turned to the girl, all suspicion was gone from her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, putting a hand on his muscular forearm.
“Trust me, Lisa,” Jake said. “That's all I ask of you."
“I ... think I do, Jake."
“Good. You won't regret it, I promise. When can you meet me, and where?"
“Right here. In...” she looked at her watch “...five hours."
“I'll be waiting for you."
When the survivors had been loaded onto the trucks, and Lisa and her two friends were gone, a mercenary walked up to Jake. “You slick-talkin’ bastard,” he said. “How do you do it, Jake?"
“I was raised in the church, Tony. It's my life of clean living. Besides, wouldn't you really rather fuck than fight?"
“Any day."
“Okay. We just keep on doing it my way. Hartline don't give a shit how it's done—just as long as it gets done. It's easier this way."
“Damn sure can't deny that,” the merc said. “How about them survivors we picked up down in Marion?"
“Why ... Tony,” Jake smiled. “We're their friends. Friends don't hurt friends. Friends care for friends. Make sure they're comfortable, have enough to eat, a warm place to sleep. In two weeks, Tony, they'll spit in the face of Ben Raines. Bet on it."
“You'll get a promotion out of this, Jake."
“Oh, I intend to get that, Tony. Don't ever doubt it. Oh, and Tony? Those people we picked up from that cell in Kokomo?"
“Yes, sir."
“They are still isolated, aren't they?"
“No one knows we got ‘em."
“Have you interrogated them fully?"
“I think we've gotten all we're gonna get out of that bunch."
“Well, after you get this group all settled in and comfy...” He paused to light a cigarette. “...take that bunch out and shoot them."
* * * *
Dawn had expected her first full day of work at the camp's main CP to be uncomfortable—after the events of the previous night. But she found just the opposite to be true. General Raines was friendly, but not forward; he was the boss, but without being overbearing about it.
He fascinated her.
She had heard so many stories about the man: about how tough he was (he seemed like a pussycat to her); about how fierce he was (he was mending the broken wing of a bird when she reported for work that morning); all the whispered and rumored things about him just didn't hold true in the presence of the man.
“Sleep well?” Ben asked.
“Fine, General. You?"
“Like a baby. You look very nice this morning, Ms. Bellever. What is that fragrance you're wearing?"
She smiled. “Soap."
“I beg your pardon?"
“Soap. Perfume is rather a short commodity in this camp."
“Umm,” Ben said. He handed her a list of things he wanted her to do and left the tent.
When she returned from her lunch break, there was a bottle of Shalimar sitting on her desk.
Twelve
True to his word, Captain Jake Devine was standing alone, leaning against his car, parked on the shoulder of the highway. His M-10 was nowhere in sight; he wore only a holstered pistol at his side.
“You see,” Lisa said, smiling at Jake but directing her remark to the crowd of young people with her. “I told you he'd be here and be alone."
“The ditches are probably full of government agents and mercenaries,” a young man said, looking furtively around him. “We're probably all going to be taken and tortured."
Jake laughed at this. He jerked his thumb toward the back seat of the car. “You young folks want a Coke?"
“A real Coke?” a young lady asked. “I mean, like a real Coke?"
“The real thing,” Jake said, chuckling. “But I bet you're too young to remember that slogan."
“I kinda remember it,” a young man said. “But it's hazy-like."
“Well, you young folks help yourselves to all the Coke and sandwiches you want. Then we'll go wherever you want to go and talk about some things."
“You serious, man?” a very pretty brunette asked. “You alone—with us; wherever we want to go?"
“You got it, young lady. You want my sidearm as a gesture of trust?"
“You're joking, man!"
“No. I'm very serious."
“All right!” the suspicious young man said. “Maybe you really are on the level after all."
“I am. Go on,” Jake gestured to the car. “Eat an
d drink—I know you're all probably famished."
“You're too much, Captain,” one of the older of the crowd said, taking in the captain's bars on Jake's shoulders. He was all of twenty-one. “You're not like a government man at all."
Jake's smile was sad. “Some of the agents are a bit ... shall we say, overzealous in the performance of their duties. If I had my way, I'd dismiss those men. But,” he shrugged, “it's really no worse than Ben Raines's people assassinating fifty FBI agents and then strapping them in the seats of an airplane, blood and guts and brains hanging out, and shipping them back to their wives and girlfriends and mothers and fathers. I think that is rather ... gruesome, don't you agree?"
“If he did it,” a young man said.
“Oh, he did it,” Jake replied. “I have the pictures of that ... sight. I'll be more than happy to show them to you."
“Gross!” a young lady said. “I think I'll pass, man."
“Anytime you wish to see them."
“Where do we go to talk?” Lisa asked.
Jake shrugged. “Anywhere you like."
“Can I have another sandwich?” a boy asked.
* * * *
“You smell very nice, Ms. Bellever,” Ben said, entering the tent.
“Thank you for the perfume, General."
“You're more than welcome.” His eyes drifted over her olive-drab-clad body, taking in all the curves. “I think you ladies must do something to those field clothes."
“Guilty, sir. We take in a tuck here and there."
“Very nicely done, Ms. Bellever. Keep up the good work...” He looked up as Cecil entered the tent.
“Bad news, Ben."
“Oh?"
“It appears Hartline has changed tactics in the field. We've lost the entire northern half of Indiana. Some mercenary by the name of Jake Devine is in command, and he must be one smooth talker."
“Captain Jake Albert Devine,” Ben said, leaning back in his chair. “I've never met him, but I've read intelligence reports on him—back when the Tri-States existed. The young folks love him; and you can just bet ol’ Jake is popping the cock to a number of young girls. He likes that teenage pussy."
Cecil glanced at Dawn and was embarrassed at Ben's vulgarity. “Uh ... Ben,” he said.
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