In a gruff voice that nearly rivals Grenade’s in terms of its lack of warmth, the agent says, “Sorry about the crude welcome, but we can’t be too safe when it comes to people seeking an audience with the president. We’ve had several assassination attempts against President LeBeau in just the past few days alone.”
“Oh my gosh, really?” Boom Boom says. “We didn’t hear anything on the news.”
“And I wouldn’t expect you to,” the agent responds. “The American people are freaked out enough as it is now that the Chinese are openly provoking us into a confrontation. The last thing we need is to cause widespread paranoia by giving hourly updates on the multitude of attempts on the president’s life. There was actually an attack just this morning on Ms. LeBeau’s convoy. Thankfully she wasn’t harmed in the incident. It was a gang of Canadian terrorists, still pissed off that we annexed their country all those decades ago.”
Krystal blows raspberries. “Typical Canadians. When are they gonna let bygones be bygones? Jeez.”
The lead agent smirks at Krystal before adding, “And just a couple hours ago there was an attempt to fly an explosive-packed flying car into the White House. Thankfully our missile defense system intercepted the vehicle several miles away.”
“Was it another Canadian terror cell?” Grenade inquires.
The agent shakes his head. “Nope. We think it was a Chinese-American secretly working for the Empress. I personally feel we should place all Asian-American citizens into internment camps, but LeBeau won’t allow it.”
Under his breath the agent mumbles, “Her damn empathy is going to get her killed.”
“I agree with you, buddy,” Grenade says with an approving grin.
“Are you serious?” Boom Boom cries. “You would persecute and imprison an entire race just because one or two Chinese-Americans are working for the enemy?”
The agent gets in Boom Boom’s face and snarls, “We don’t know if it’s just one or two, do we, sweetheart? For all we know we could have thousands of Chinese terror cells in our country, just waiting for the right moment to strike. While I certainly deplore Klaxton’s insane plan to ignite a global conflagration, at least she understood that desperate times more often than not require desperate measures.”
I yank the guard away from Boom Boom and say, “Alright buddy, calm down. No use fighting amongst our--- ARGH!”
The agent sucker-punches me in the mouth. I collapse to my knees, clutching my bleeding face. I glance up through watery-eyes to find Grenade grabbing the agent by the neck with his cyborg arm. The guard grunts and kicks his feet as Grenade lifts him a good two feet off the ground. Dozens of agents cock their weapons in our faces.
“Put him down now, Grenade!” one of the agents shouts, placing the barrel of his gun against Grenade’s temple. “Put him down or we’ll shoot!”
Grenade growls but releases his death-grip. The lead agent plummets to the ground, clutching his neck and gasping for air.
Grenade spins around and grabs the gun that was placed against his head. With a jerk of his cyborg wrist he snaps the gun in two. A dozen more guns are thrust into his snarling face.
“Agents! Put your guns down, NOW!!”
The agents immediately lower their arms. We all turn around to find a tall, slender, older man swiftly marching toward us. He’s wearing a dark suit and tie and his mane of white hair whips around behind him in the breeze. A ruby red visor covers his eyes. The man looks to be about Grenade’s age, late 50s or early 60s. And he looks vaguely familiar, like I’ve seen him on TV before.
The lead agent staggers to his feet and, in a hoarse voice, says, “Sir, these bounty hunters attacked my men without provocation. We were merely…”
“Shut up, Bruce,” the man snaps. “I told you our guests are precious cargo and to handle them with extra care. I watched how you treated them with my robotic mosquito…”
The man points to a tiny robotic insect hovering above his head.
“… and you guys acted like your usual asshole selves,” the man continues, sliding his visor up over his head, revealing his intense gray-green eyes. They are the eyes of a man who has seen a lot throughout his lifetime, a lot that he’d probably like to forget.
Bruce the lead agent lowers his head and quietly says, “We were just making sure the president’s life wasn’t in jeop...”
“These bounty hunters are the last people on the planet you need to be worried about,” the man snaps, his voice trembling in anger. “If it wasn’t for them we’d already be at war. Because of their brave actions in unraveling Klaxton’s ludicrous plot, they have bought us something truly valuable… time. Time to defuse this global stand-off and finally bring about a lasting peace.”
The lead agent has no response to that. He keeps his head lowered and backs away, granting the mystery man an unhindered path to us.
The man waltzes right up to Grenade and extends his hand. Grenade grins and grabs the hand with his non-robotic one.
“Dallas, how ya doing?” Grenade says, shaking the man’s hand quite vociferously.
“Doing pretty good, Albert. Long time no see.”
“Albert?” I say with a snort. “That’s your real name? Albert?”
Grenade glares at me and says, “What, did you think my mother really named me after an explosive?”
Grenade theatrically waves his cyborg hand over to us and says, “Allow me to introduce you to my associates, Dallas. The red-headed beauty is
Boom Boom.”
The man smiles and kisses Boom Boom’s hand.
“It is an honor and pleasure, my dear. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for the past several months.”
Boom Boom smiles and says, “Thank you, Secretary Montgomery.”
“Wait, you know this guy?” I ask incredulously.
Boom Boom sighs and replies, “Don’t you ever pay attention to the news? This is Dallas Montgomery, the Secretary of Defense. He’s always on TV giving updates about the ongoing crisis with China.”
As realization sweeps through my cobweb cluttered brain, I shake the Secretary’s hand and sheepishly say, “Oh yeah! I knew I knew you! Er, sorry about that. It’s been a rough couple days.”
Secretary Montgomery gives me an understanding smile. “You’ve had a rough couple months, son. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
After Montgomery and Krystal exchange pleasantries, Boom Boom turns to Grenade and inquires, “So you two know each other?”
“Know each other?!” Montgomery hollers to the high heavens. “We’re practically brothers!”
“We fought together for many years as members of one of America’s deadliest special-forces units,” Grenade says, sounding almost nostalgic. “We had a lot of fun times together shooting up bad guys.”
Secretary Montgomery cackles and wraps his arm around Grenade’s shoulder. It’s kind of a weird sight, as I’ve never seen anyone give Grenade a hug before. Not even his wife!
“We sure did have a lot of crazy adventures. In fact, when I heard about all the crap you guys went through in taking down Klaxton, it reminded me of some of our missions back in the day.”
“So, uh, hopefully there aren’t any hard feelings that we messed up your boss’ plans to destroy the world,” I say.
The Secretary clasps his hand on my shoulder. I’m slightly alarmed by how tightly he’s clamping down.
“No hard feelings at all, son,” he says through gritted teeth. “No hard feelings at all.”
It might be my imagination, but I almost detect a flickering anger deep inside Montgomery’s penetrating gray-green eyes.
The Secretary finally unclenches my arm and turns away. He leads us to an armored tank-like vehicle, which we all pile inside of. It’s a tight squeeze (especially when Montgomery and several agents join us) but we make it work. Once everyone is seated, the tank flies into the air and zooms along at close to 200 miles per hour. During the ten-minute flight to the White House, Grenade and Montgomery engage in so
me small-talk about mutual friends I’ve never heard of. I find their gabbing incredibly boring, so I stare out the bullet-proof windows at the gorgeous Alaskan scenery. While our last trip to Alaska certainly didn’t produce a lot of happy memories, I will never get tired of the Alaskan wilderness. It’s like my soul gets rejuvenated whenever I’m immersed in nature.
About five minutes into our flight, a sharp, stabbing pain suddenly explodes across the base of my skull. I let out a small moan and put my head in my hands. I do my best to hide the fact that I’m in excruciating agony, but I don’t fool Boom Boom.
Touching my shoulder, she whispers, “Lance, are you okay?”
I shrug out of her grasp and quietly groan, “I’m fine. I just… leave me be for a few minutes.”
Boom Boom gives a small huff of annoyance, but she doesn’t say anything else.
I spend the rest of the flight fighting the urge to scream. The throbbing pain in my skull increases in intensity, and my back and legs feel like they’re on fire. My nose also starts running and my eyes get all watery. The few times I glance up, I notice Boom Boom glaring at me. Even Grenade sneaks a few discreet glances my way while chatting with Montgomery. I know what they’re thinking. They’re thinking that I deserve to be in so much pain… that I had this coming. Acting all smug… probably thrilled to death that I’m going through hell. Well fuck em. Fuck em all.
This is really all Boom Boom’s fault. I haven’t had a chance to shoot up in ten hours. I did manage to sneak into the bathroom about five hours into our flight back to America, but Boom Boom knew what I was up to and kept a close eye on me for the remainder of the flight. I wasn’t able to slip away before we landed, and now I’m paying the price. There are few things worse than the debilitating effects of heroin withdrawal. I know I need to get clean… I know that. But I can’t. Not yet, at least. Not with all the shit we’ve got going on. I wish Boom Boom could understand that. I will get clean once things settle down… once we’re finally able to retire from this godforsaken, bounty hunting profession. But now is not the time. I just… I wish someone understood what I was going through. It feels like I’m all alone… that no one understands my pain. It totally sucks.
I still have my head in my trembling hands when our flying tank comes to an abrupt halt. I look up and glance out the window. We’re right in front of the electrified fence surrounding the White House. Several agents begin walking around our tank, waving little flashing gadgets to make sure we’re not smuggling any explosives or chemical weapons. Essentially it’s a safety precaution to make sure we’re not terrorists staging an assassination attempt on the president’s life. Lord knows how many people have tried.
Once the agents are positive we’re not smuggling in a dirty bomb, the electric fence opens up and the agents wave us through. We fly toward the White House, but instead of parking and going straight inside, we enter a small downward-sloping tunnel that leads underground. Once we’re in the tunnel, the door closes shut, enveloping us in darkness. We continue flying down the tunnel for about half a mile. We seem to be going around in circles, like we’re traversing a giant corkscrew. Most Americans don’t realize the White House was really just built for cosmetic and propaganda purposes. The real White House is buried beneath the Earth, encased in an impenetrable underground bomb shelter capable of shielding its inhabitants from multiple nuclear strikes. Rumor has it there’s enough canned food, bottled water, and oxygen tanks down here to last several decades.
We finally reach an illuminated cavern made entirely of steel and concrete. We park outside a massive steel door, where half a dozen heavily-armed agents are standing guard. We all exit the tank and head toward the door, which slides open as we approach. On the other side of the doorway is a sprawling complex consisting of dozens of tunnels branching off in every which direction. Armed agents and military personal rush back and forth, clutching weapons and barking commands through their electronic visors. One almost gets the sense that they’re preparing for war.
Montgomery leads us down a side-tunnel, still chatting animatedly with Grenade. At the end of the tunnel is a steel door with a holographic control panel. Montgomery presses a few holographic buttons and the steel door slides open. Two armed guards walk up behind us and stand outside while we enter the room.
Inside the room are two sofas and several chairs. A holographic TV is broadcasting the news. There’s a fridge and a microwave, as well as what appears to be a fully-stocked mini-bar.
“Feel free to hang out in here for a while,” Montgomery says. “President LeBeau is in an emergency meeting with Congress about the escalating crisis with China. When she’s free we’ll all reconvene in the Oval Office and begin interrogating Blackbird. She specifically stated that she wants you guys there when the interrogation begins.”
“I would hope so,” Krystal says, grabbing a beer out of the mini-bar and popping off the top with her thumb. “After all, we are the ones who went and nabbed his ass. We should get a medal or some shit.”
Montgomery grins and says, “I am sure you will be handsomely compensated. President LeBeau is quite aware how much our country is indebted to you three. She wants you to be a part of the peace process.”
One of the agents standing outside rushes in and whispers something in Montgomery’s ear. Montgomery frowns and glances at Grenade before whispering something back to the agent. He then turns toward us and, with a forced smile, says, “I have to go take care of something. You guys relax and enjoy the bar. I’ll be back shortly.”
And with that, Montgomery spins around on his heels and exits the room, the steel door sliding shut behind him.
I wait a few seconds to ensure Montgomery is out of hearing distance, then turn toward Grenade and say, “You never said you were friends with the Secretary of Defense.”
Grenade pops open a beer and guzzles half of it down before belching and replying, “I know lots of people, kid. What do you expect me to do, name-drop all the famous people I’ve met over the years? I hate it when people do that shit.”
Boom Boom grabs a bottled water and plops down on the couch. “I just hope they’re able to extract Klaxton’s whereabouts out of Blackbird. We went through a lot of shit to bring him here. It would suck if it was all for nothing.”
Grenade plops down next to Boom Boom and says, “Relax, kid. These guys have the most powerful truth serums in the world. They’ll be able to get Blackbird to tell us all kinds of shit.”
“But what if he doesn’t know where Klaxton is at?” Boom Boom asks. “We all just assumed he knows. Maybe he doesn’t?”
“Quit getting all worked up over nothing,” Grenade says gruffly. “Trust me, he knows where she’s at. He wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble of trying to disappear if he wasn’t a part of Klaxton’s deranged conspiracy.”
Krystal and I grab a couple more beers and sit down on the sofa across from Grenade and Boom Boom. We all turn and watch the news, which is currently broadcasting a report about China’s ongoing bombardment of military vessels out in the Pacific. According to the attractive Hispanic journalist giving the depressing report, some of the more hawkish members of Congress want to officially declare war. (These are the members who were, and probably still secretly are, fiercely loyal to Klaxton.) Other members of Congress want to try and resolve things diplomatically. That, of course, is the route our meek new president prefers. The journalist goes on to detail how the Chinese Empire is airing Anti-American propaganda to its citizens, referring to us as ‘the Great Satan’ and essentially gearing its citizenry up for war (basically the complete opposite of what we’re doing).
After a short commercial break, the news broadcast goes on to show a new viral Chinese video that was uploaded onto the internet just a few hours ago. This brutal, sickening video shows the insanely beautiful 17-year old Chinese Empress, Xing, standing over a blindfolded American soldier. Apparently this soldier was found floating in the South Pacific after his ship went down. The Chinese brought him bac
k to Beijing to be paraded around as a captive of war. He was then put on trial (or a show trial, I should say) and condemned to death. The method of execution was ordered to be a beheading, and the executioner was to be none other than the Chinese Empress herself. I watch in disgust as the video shows the Empress looking directly into the camera, her katana sword hovering directly over the American solder’s neck.
Speaking in a cold, clear voice, in perfect English, Empress Xing says, “Consider this a warning, American Devils. If you continue to defy us… if you continue to harbor your criminal president and shield her from justice… then this shall be your collective fate.”
The beautiful teen empress raises her blade and swings it down upon the soldier’s neck. The soldier screams in excruciating agony as the blade slides halfway through his neck, spilling rivers of blood around his shoulders. The blade does not cleanly decapitate the poor soldier, so the empress is forced to deliver another strike. Thankfully this second strike lops the soldier’s head from his shoulders, resulting in a torrent of blood gushing from the severed neck. Empress Xing leans down to pick up the detached head and holds it up in front of the camera. The head blinks several times. The mouth is still open, almost like it’s unleashing a silent scream. I’ve heard rumors that a head can live for several seconds after a decapitation. It would appear those disturbing rumors are in fact a sick, twisted reality.
World War Forever (Highway To Armageddon Book 2) Page 16
