“Yuk!” Emil said.
The sounds of hard gunfire reached Emil’s ears. That and the sounds of surrender.
“Don’t shoot no more!” a man’s voice reached Emil. “We give up.”
“Why, you son of a bitch!” Emil muttered.
Emil felt the muzzle of a weapon press coldly against the flesh of his neck. He peed on himself.
And he knew his little scam was over. No more tight, young pussies for Emil. No more young boys to entertain him. No more being waited on and pampered by his flock.
All gone.
“Git on your feet, funny man,” a hard voice told him.
Emil stood up.
“What the fuck is you people, monks?” the man asked.
A light bulb lit up in Emil’s brain. “Why, ah, yes, sir. That is exactly right. We are the, ah, Lightof Life order of monks.”
The unshaven, smelly brute knocked Emil sprawling on his butt. “What you is, little man, is a liar. And what else you is,” he said with a grin, “is our prisoners. ”
“Right nice spread they got here,” another man said, walking up. “Be a good place to hole up for the winter.”
“Oh, shit!” Emil muttered, from his position on the ground.
“Yeah,” another man said. He held one of Emil’s followers in his arms. The young woman could do nothing as his hands crawled over her body. “Lots of grub and lots of pussy. Some of these ... whatever in the hell they is, got away, but we captured a bunch of them.” He lifted the woman’s robes, exposing her naked belly. “Jist look at the bush on this one, will ya? ‘Nough fuckin’ material ’round this place to last us all winter.”
“Father Emil!” the woman cried. “Do something. Evoke the powers of the great god, Blomm.”
“Yes!” some of the other captives cried. “Bring down curses on these barbarian’s heads. Use your mighty powers to call down the wrath of Blomm.”
Emil struggled to his hands and knees. He had a frightful headache where that brute had popped him with the butt of his rifle. “Oh, blow it out your ear,” Emil muttered. “The game is over; the scam is through.”
“Game?” a man questioned. “Scam? Why . . . whatever in the world do you mean, Father Emil?”
“Father Emil!” one of the attackers said with a laugh. “Father Emill”
Emil was jerked to his feet and held there by two brutish looking men. God! it was so embarrassing.
“Point your finger at these horrible men and slay them!” a young woman cried. “Evoke the powers of the mighty Blomm, Father Emil.”
Emil looked at her, disgust in his eyes. “Oh ... fuck you, you ding-a-ling!”
THIRTY-FOUR
The morning dawned clear and cold, with patches of frost where the sunlight had not warmed and the winds of the night had not touched. Lake Chatuge, which lay in parts of what had once been known as North Carolina and Georgia, shimmered under the first rays of sunlight.
Ike and Nina stood on the crest of a hill overlooking the silver-blue waters of the lake. Using his binoculars, Ike scanned the trucks parked neatly on the west side of the lake, just off Highway 76.
“Well now,” Ike said. “Would you just take a look at that. Makes a body feel right at home.”
Nina watched as a huge smile began working its way across his face.
“You see something down there that makes you happy, Ike?”
“I sure do, honey.” He cased the binoculars and took Nina’s hand in his. “Come on. Let’s meet the gang. That’s Ben and his people down there.”
But Nina pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” Ike asked, not understanding any of this.
“I’m afraid of going down there.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what, Nina? Those are my friends down there.”
“Is Mister Raines among them?”
“I sure hope so. Is it Ben? You’re afraid of Ben?”
“Yes. For the past few years I have heard many people talk of Ben Raines. About how he is God. I have seen monuments built in his honor. I have heard talk of how he is immortal. I have heard about all the times he has been shot and blown up and stabbed and all sorts of things. Yet, the person called Ben Raines will not die. He has built nations, and mortal men do not do that. I have heard whispered talk of a man called the Prophet, and what that ageless one has said of Ben Raines. Yes, Ike. I am afraid of Ben Raines.”
Ike squeezed her hand. “Don’t be, Nina. Ben doesn’t want that. You’ll see, Nina. You’re wrong about Ben.”
She shook her head. “I am right about Mister Raines. ”
Reluctantly, she walked alongside Ike, toward the silent camp.
THIRTY-FIVE
Ike and Nina walked to within three hundred yards of the camp before a sentry spotted them coming down the center of the road.
“Halt!” he shouted, bringing his M-16 around to cover the pair.
“Hold it!” Ike shouted, stopping Nina with a quickly outflung arm. “Don’t anybody get trigger-happy down there. This is Colonel Ike McGowen and friend. We’re comin’ in.”
The camp suddenly poured forth all its occupants, all runnig toward Ike and Nina. Ben’s harsh voice stopped them, roaring over their heads.
“Halt, goddamnit!”
The crowd of men and women stopped still as if controlled by one central mind. No one among them moved.
“You all know better than that!” Ben yelled. “What in the hell is the matter with you people? It could be a trap. Guards, get back to your assigned posts and by God—stay put!”
The sentries raced back to their posts and, once there, did not turn around. The others looked at the sky, the earth, the lake, their boots—anywhere but in the direction of Ben Raines.
Ben walked out of the camp area and up the center of the old highway, striding toward Ike and Nina.
“The black gun!” Nina whispered. “I really see it. The enchanted weapon.”
Ike could detect real fear in her voice, and he could feel her trembling as she pressed against him.
Ben was still several hundred yards away from the pair.
“What are you talking about, Nina?” Ike asked. “What enchanted weapon?”
“From the big waters to the north, to the big waters to the south, and everywhere in between, monuments are built not only to Ben Raines, but to the black gun he carries. I told you, Ike, I am afraid of him.”
“But Ben’s not a god,” Ike protested. “I told you, he’s just a man.”
“You say. But many more say he is a god. I’m sorry, Ike.”
Then Ben stood before them, a smile on his face. “I knew no one could ever force you into setting me up, Ike. But a little reminder of discipline is good for the soul.”
“I heard that, Ben.”
Ben held out his hand and Ike shook it. It was much more than a gesture of deep friendship; it was more an act between two brothers.
Nina could not take her eyes from the old Thompson SMG Ben carried. The weapon was a newer model of the old Chicago Piano of gangster days. A. 45-caliber spitter. Ben had taped two thirty-round clips together for faster reloading.
He had carried the weapon, or one like it, since the world blew up in nuclear and germ warfare back in 1988.11
Ben looked at Nina. “And this is?”
“Nina,” Ike said.
Ben extended his hand toward the lovely young lady and she shyly and very hesitantly took it. She seemed surprised the hand did not burn her or strike her dead with some magical powers. Such were the ever-growing myths concerning Ben Raines and his supposed immortality. Ben smiled at Nina and she relaxed just a bit.
Ben released her hand and looked at Ike, his expression hardening. “I just came from the communications truck, Ike. We’ve been in scrambler contact with Base Camp. I’ll ... give it to you straight. Sally’s dead.”
Ike flinched as if hit by an invisible blow. He paled and then cleared his throat. “How ’bout the kids?”
“They were killed with her. I’m sorry. I
ke. Sally was trying to protect them with her own body.”
“I see,” Ike replied. When he again spoke, his voice was harsh. “Who did it, Ben?”
“Captain Willette and his bunch.”
“He’s mine, Ben. All mine. I want your word on that, ol’ buddy.”
“Ike. . .”
“No! Give me your word, Ben.”
“You’ve got it.”
Ike nodded his head. He touched Nina’s shoulder. “She’s had a rough time of it, Ben, and not a whole lot of formal education. I said we’d see to that. But she’s one hundred percent Rebel material. She’ll do to ride the river with.”
And that was the highest compliment Ike could give a person.
“You look like you could use a hot meal and about twelve hours sleep,” Ben said to Nina. “We’ll talk more later.” He smiled at her and this time she responded with a shy smile.
At a nod from Ben, one of the Rebel women stepped from the crowd and walked up to the trio. “Come on,” she said to Nina. “How about a hot bath and hot food and clean clothes?”
“That’d be great,” Nina said. She walked off with the woman.
“Let’s talk some now, Ben,” Ike said, when Nina was out of earshot. “What’re your plans? And why have you stopped here?”
“We’re right in the middle of Ninth Order territory,” Ben said. His eyes found Ike’s walkie-talkie. “But I suspect you already know that.”
“Yeah. The first transmission I heard like to have blown my ear off. So?”
“I’ve sent a coded message to Base Camp. Colonel Gray is sending out teams of his Scouts. I want the positions of all Ninth Order troops pinpointed. While that is being done, this afternoon, we’ll head for the deep timber, up in North Carolina, near Murphy. It’s not that far a jump—about twenty, twenty-five miles, and out of their territory. I’m hoping the Ninth Order will think we’re pulling out and away. When we get there, we’ll pull in deep and lay low, send out Scouts of our own. When we get it mapped out and coordinated, we’ll attack from the north, let the others come in from all other directions.” He removed a map from his field jacket pocket and spread it out on the hood of a truck. “See this highway here, Highway II, with Lake Nottely to its west?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve ordered Juan and Mark’s people to seal this road. When that is done, we’ll have the Ninth Order in a box. I think we can then wipe them out and forget them.”
“I want to pick my own teams, Ben,” Ike said. “Experienced guerrilla fighters.”
“All right.” Ben smiled, knowing what was coming. “I suppose you want to spearhead the attack, too?”
“You got that right, Ben.”
“Done.”
Ike relaxed. “We ran out of grub this morning. I’m hungry. Think I’ll wander down to the mess truck and rummage around some.”
Ben grinned.
“What’s so funny?” Ike asked.
“We have a lot of C-rations left.”
Ike narrowed his eyes. “What . . . kind . . . of . . . C-rations?” he asked slowly, bracing himself for Ben’s reply.
“Canned bacon and eggs.”
Ike shuddered. “Then I reckon I’ll just get me a cane pole and go catch some fish for breakfast. I just can’t eat that crap.”
“Ike? First come along with me. I’ve got something to tend to.”
The men walked to the center of the encampment. There, Ben nodded to James Riverson. “Bring him to me, James.”
James nodded silent understanding.
“Trouble?” Ike asked.
“A traitor,” Ben replied.
James and Captain Rayle walked toward Ben and Ike, a young Rebel between them. The man had been disarmed. His face was pale and he was scared as he faced Ben.
“You remember Larry Armstrong, Ike?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen him around.”
Ben fixed the young Rebel with a cold stare. “Some Indian tribes have a saying, Larry. That it’s a good day to die. You ever heard that?”
“Can’t say that I have, General,” Larry replied. He was sweating and his skin appeared clammy. His eyes were constantly moving from left to right, flitting like a snake’s tongue.
“You didn’t do much accurate shooting from the ridge, Larry,” Ben said. “Matterof fact, you didn’t hit anything except air and trees and grass. Care to explain that?”
“I reckon you already know the answer, General. Else you wouldn’t have brought me here unarmed.”
The camp had gathered around the men, standing silently. The staring eyes were cold and menacing.
Larry looked at the circle of men and women. He blurted, “Ya’ll are following a false god! You got no business comin’ in here, pushin’ people around and tryin’ to make others bend to your will. It ain’t right.”
“Who have we pushed around, Larry?” Ben asked. “And what ‘will’ are you talking about?”
“We got a right to live the way we want to live,” the young man said, his face sullen with anger and fear.
“Yes,” Ben told him. “As long as you don’t violate the basic rights of innocent people. But you Ninth Order folks don’t seem to want that.”
Gale almost dropped her sandwich. Almost. “Ninth Order!” she gasped. “You mean ... Ben, you mean you’ve known he was part of them all along?”
“Since before we pulled away from the main column,” Ben said, not taking his eyes from the young Rebel. “Or at least I suspected. I wanted to see just how deeply Voleta had penetrated our ranks. How long have you been part of her group, Larry?”
The young man sensed the longer he talked, the longer he would live, for he had no illusions as to his ultimate fate. “Since last summer. I was on patrol when I ran into some of the Ninth Order people up in north Mississippi. Got to talkin’ with them. What they had to say sounded pretty good to me. Love and peace and all that. Sure beats fightin’ all the time, like it is with you, Raines.” Sure death had restored bravado.
Ben shifted his bleak eyes to a young woman. “Mary, take this traitor and shoot him.”
The young woman hesitated briefly. That was all that was needed for two Rebels to move close to her, effectively blocking any lethal moves on her part.
“Let her live,” Larry begged.
Mary spat at Ben, the spittle landing on the toe of one boot.
“Why?” Ben swung his eyes back to Larry.
“God, I hate you!” Larry hissed the words. “I hate everything you stand for.”
Again, Ben had to ask, “Why?”
But Larry would only shake his head. He refused to answer any further questions, from any of the Rebels.
Ben looked at Mary. “Why did you switch sides, Mary? That bothers me. What is it that we—the Rebels—are doing that is so ... so repugnant, so evil, that would change you into a traitor? Why would you turn your back on your friends?”
But she would only shake her head.
Ben looked at James Riverson. “Dispose of them, James.”
“With pleasure, sir,” James said.
A minute later, two shots rang out from the edge of the camp.
THIRTY-SIX
Tony Silver had jumped to his feet, his hands balled into fists, his face flushed with rage. “What in the hell do you mean, you killed my boys? And who in the hell are you?”
Captain Jennings lifted the muzzle of his AK-47, the gesture stopping Tony cold.
“Steady now,” Sam Hartline said with a smile on his lips. “That’s a good fellow. You have my deepest apologies, Mister Silver. I assure you, it was an accident. I was operating under the assumption those were the troops of Ben Raines. We all make mistakes. Oh, excuse me. I’m Sam Hartline and this is my CO, Captain Jennings.”
Under the circumstances, there was little Tony could do except stand easy and back off. He calmed himself and looked at the big mercenary standing just inside the open doorway of the old motel. Tony sighed and shook his head. “Well, what’s done is done, I suppose.” Then
he smiled, the smile very sarcastic. “So you and your boys blew it with General Raines, too, huh?”
Hartline caught the sarcasm. He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “That is . . . one way of putting it, yes, Mister Silver. However, I can assure you, there will be a day of reckoning.”
I hope so, Tony thought. He waved the men to chairs. “Coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe something a bit stronger?”
“I never drink during the day,” Hartline said, as primly as a nun confronted with a stiff cock. “But some coffee would be very nice. I take mine black, with one sugar.”
“Hot and black,” Jennings said.
Tony smiled. “I like ’em like that myself ever’ now and then.”
Both Hartline and Jennings smiled at that. They sat down in chairs around a coffee table.
Steaming mugs of real coffee in front of the mercenaries, Tony sat opposite them across the low table. Tony looked at the men through slitted eyes for a moment, then dismissed his own men with a wave of his hand.
Hartline smiled. “Trust is so important between prospective allies, is it not, Mister Silver?”
Tony merely grunted his reply, not sure exactly what the mercenary meant. “Whatever,” he said. “All right, world conditions being what they are, I don’t think you boys came down here just to offer your heartfelt condolences for wasting my people. So let’s cut out all the bullshit and get down to brass tacks, huh?”
Hartline never took his cold eyes from Tony. “A man of most direct action,” he said. “I like that. Very well. How many men do you have left, Tony? Excuse me. May I call you Tony? Thank you. I’m Sam.”
Tony’s years as a streetwise punk in New York City loomed up strong within him. Something about this mercenary fairly oozed confidence. And Tony fought down the bitter taste of fear that welled up within him. “You hit me pretty hard,” he admitted. “Pretty hard.”
“Yes, I suspected that,” Hartline said, after taking a sip of coffee. He smiled. “Just right. I do love good coffee. It’s becoming so difficult to get. You must have a good stockpile.”
It was not a question and Tony did not reply to it.
Hartline’s smile was knowing. “Tell me, Tony. What are your feelings toward black people?”
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