by Len Levinson
Butler was beside Allesandro in the main trench, with a Colt .45 in one hand and an entrenching tool in the other. An army captain charged him with a rifle and bayonet, but Butler neatly dodged to the side and crowned him with the entrenching tool. A sergeant aimed his rifle at Butler, but Butler drilled him through the chest with his Colt .45. A lieutenant crept up on Butler and tried to bash him from behind with his rifle butt, but Jorge Allesandro shot the lieutenant between the eyes.
The trenches were filled with squirming bodies locked in mortal combat. Blood flew everywhere and corpses fell on top of corpses.
“Stop them!” President Santiago del Pisco shouted from within his bunker.
The front door of the bunker was blown off its hinges and the rebels poured in.
“We surrender!” Pisco screamed, throwing up his hands.
“Mercy!” cried Brigadier General Caputo.
The other military officers and millionaires waved white handkerchiefs in the air and surrendered. In the confusion, Phillip Noble ran out the back door of the bunker and fled toward the jungle. His lungs were heaving and his heart chugged in his chest, but he ran in a wild panic, because he was afraid of what the rebels would do if they got their hands on him.
Butler stood in the middle of a trench, dead bodies piled all around him. He was bleeding from a bayonet wound on his arm, and was loading his Colt.45, when something told him to look up. He saw a man dressed like an officer in the Halvados Army, running toward the jungle. Then sun glinted on the rings on the officer’s hand. Butler realized that only one man wore so many rings; that man was Phillip Noble of Noble Oil.
Butler jumped out of the trench and ran after Noble. He jumped over trenches and dodged boulders, holding his Colt .45 in his hand. Noble looked over his shoulder, saw someone coming after him, ducked into the jungle. He pulled out his revolver and fired wildly behind him as he ran screaming through the foliage. Branches scratched his face and mud filled his shoes. This can’t be happening to me, he told himself. This must be a dream. He found a narrow path and ran along it, gulping air, stumbling and weeping, firing his revolver at the person crashing through the woods behind him. “Somebody save me!” Noble bellowed. A chimpanzee in a nearby tree cackled madly.
Running in total desperation, he fired his pistol again, but nothing happened. It was empty. With a curse he threw the weapon away and rounded a bend in the road. Ahead was a stream, with an inflatable boat beside it with oars inside.
Noble stumbled down the incline to the boat, got in and pushed away from shore. He rowed frantically, because if he could get to the other side he could get away. Looking behind him, he saw his pursuer appear on the path and descend the incline. Noble’s jaw dropped open and his eyes goggled when he recognized the man as Butler.
“Butler!” Noble screamed in mad fury.
“Come back here!” Butler called out, standing at the river’s edge.
“Never!”
“I said come back here!”
“Let me go, Butler! I’ll give you anything—oil wells, millions of dollars, choice real estate, factories, beautiful women—let me go and I’ll give you whatever you want!”
Butler watched Noble sweating and rowing like a maniac. “I want you, you filthy bastard!”
“Please!” Noble begged.
Butler raised his Colt .45. “If you don’t come back I’m going to shoot!”
Noble set his jaw and rowed harder. He was a wealthy powerful man, he was accustomed to having his way, and he was sure that somehow he would make it to the far shore.
“This is your last chance,” Butler said, taking aim at the inflatable boat.
Noble said nothing, just kept rowing like a madman. The shore was coming closer and closer.
Butler fired his Colt .45, the pistol kicked in his hand, and his bullet zipped through a rubber wall of the inflatable boat. Air began to hiss out. The boat sank into the water. Noble shrieked and rowed furiously, his eyes bulging and saliva dripping out of his mouth. The water came over the sides of the boat and his knees were wet. The water around him began to boil peculiarly. He looked and saw thousands of tiny fish swarming about him, their needle teeth glinting in the sunlight.
“No!” Noble screamed as he began sinking into the water.
The fish came at him with their sharp little teeth, and the river churned around him. All his billions and all his oil wells couldn’t save him from the hungry piranha fish. It was his moment of truth. As his flesh was torn off his bones, he saw for a brief moment what a foolish, selfish, vain man he’d been, but it was too late. People like Phillip Noble always find out when it’s too late. Screaming and shrieking, going into bloody convulsions, his body disappeared beneath the raging waters.
Butler watched from the shore as Noble went under. He saw the flash of fins and gills and the water turning blood red as it foamed about. Then gradually the activity diminished; the water became still again. A white skeleton floated to the top of the river and began to drift downstream, the jeweled rings still on its fingers.
Butler shoved his Colt .45 in its holster and walked away.
Chapter Forty-Six
The helicopter fluttered down the California coast to Big Sur, and Butler looked out the window, still wearing his jungle fatigues. He was unshaven and there was a bandage on his shoulder covering a not very serious bullet wound. He looked like an old soldier coming back from the wars. Through the window he saw the Pacific Ocean kissing the craggy mountains, and then the helicopter descended into the parking lot behind the headquarters of the Bancroft Research Institute.
The helicopter landed on the gravel and the motors were turned off. Lieutenant Kelley came out of the front cabin, removing her flight helmet and letting her wavy blonde hair fall out. “We’re home, Butler,” she said with a smile.
“Why don’t you and me get together sometime, Lieutenant Kelley?” he asked as he stood up.
“For what purpose?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you can show me how to fly.”
“I think you want to get into my pants, Butler.”
“They’re awfully good-looking pants, Lieutenant Kelley,”
She opened the door of the helicopter, and outside were three men and a woman, all of whom Butler never had seen before. Butler realized it would be inappropriate to continue his conversation with Lieutenant Kelley in front of them.
“After you, Mr. Butler,” Lieutenant Kelley said, pointing to the door.
“No, after you, Lieutenant Kelley.”
“I’m the captain of this ship and I’m supposed to be the last one to leave. It’s regulations. Sorry.”
“Ah, it’s so difficult for me to keep up with this changing feminist world,” Butler sighed as he jumped out of the helicopter.
“Congratulations, Mr. Butler,” said one of the men waiting outside, shaking his hand.
“Good work,” said another.
“We’re proud of you,” said another.
“Good show,” said the woman.
“Thanks a lot, folks,” said Butler.
“Mr. Sheffield is most anxious to see you,” said the woman.
“I’ll report to him immediately.”
Butler entered the mansion and traversed the corridors, accepting congratulations from everyone he passed. Finally he approached Mr. Sheffield’s office.
“Go right in,” said one of Mr. Sheffield’s secretaries. “He’s expecting you.”
Butler entered Mr. Sheffield’s office and closed the door behind him. Mr. Sheffield stood behind his desk and held out his hand. “My deepest and most heartfelt congratulations,” he said.
Butler shook the hand that glowed in the light, and in the shadows he could make out Mr. Sheffield’s eyeglasses and white mustache. “Thank you, sir.”
“Have a seat.”
“Yes sir.”
They both sat down. Mr. Sheffield was in the darkness behind his desk again, but Butler had been most impressed by the hazy glimpse of him that he’d cau
ght. Mr. Sheffield had looked like a man of deep intellect and great character, the type of man who would be President of the United States if there was any justice in the world.
“How do you feel, Butler?” Mr. Sheffield asked.
“Fine, sir.”
“Looks like you’ve got a wound on your shoulder there.”
“It’s nothing, sir.”
“You’d better have it looked at by one of the doctors.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
“Someday when the annals of the Institute are written, Butler, you can be sure that your mission to Halvados will occupy a prominent chapter. You probably saved the world down there.”
“I hope it was worth saving, sir.”
“I’m sure it is. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I’m sure you must feel the same way.”
“I do, sir.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll want to rest up a bit.”
“That would be nice.”
“You may take a little vacation of course, but I hope you realize that we don’t have many master spies like you in our organization, and we might need you again for something in the near future.”
Butler took out a cigarette and lit it up. “I’m at your service, sir.”
“I hope you won’t regret saying that.”
“It’s an honor to be of service to my country and the world, sir.”
“You’re a good man, Butler.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Sheffield dismissed Butler, and he left the office, making his way through the corridors and halls to his room on the second floor. Butler felt good, as though he was a useful human being. He was filled with a sense of triumph and accomplishment. On the spiral staircase leading to the second floor, he moved to the side to let a woman pass him on the way down, and as her full figure came into view he realized with joy that she was none other than Wilma B. Willoughby with her lustrous black hair and flashing green eyes.
“Hi Wilma,” he said happily.
“Don’t talk to me,” she said icily as she passed him by.
“Huh?”
She continued walking down the stairs, and he looked at her for a few moments in hurt astonishment, then went after her.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked, catching up with her.
“I said don’t talk to me,” she replied, walking briskly along the corridor.
He kept up with her, walking sideways like a crab. “Why are you mad at me?” he asked.
“You know very well why I’m mad at you.”
“But I don’t-I really don’t!”
“What if I were to mention the name of Nora C. Morrissey?” she asked, shooting him a glance that would stop a freight train.
“Oh, oh,” Butler said.
“Are you getting the picture, you bastard?”
“How did you find out about that?”
“People talk, especially red-headed floozies like Nora C. Morrissey.”
“But Wilma, it didn’t mean anything.”
“On the contrary, it meant everything.”
“We were in a desperate situation.”
“So you had to screw?” Wilma asked with poisonous sarcasm.
“You know how it is.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. And I simply refuse to have anything to do with a man as promiscuous as yourself.”
“But Wilma, don’t be a prude.”
“Butler, if you ever talk to me again I’m going to smash you right in the face.”
“But Wilma…”
She raised her fist and attempted to smash him in the face, but he ducked and her blow went over his head. However he got the message. He retreated, prepared to fend off additional blows.
“But I’m a wounded man,” he protested.
“Then go cry on Nora C. Morrissey’s shoulders,” Wilma replied, turning on her heels and walking away in a huff.
Butler watched her go, puffing his cigarette. Her cute little ass was swinging from side to side under her beige skirt, and he swore that someday in some way he’d get her goodies. She was only a woman, after all. She’d have a moment of weakness someplace, and he’d be right there to take advantage of it. And it’d be wonderful, because things are always better when you have to wait a little longer for them.
Some people just don’t appreciate heroes, he thought as he walked toward his room.
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