The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1]

by Jerry Kokich, Teel James Glenn

  "Yes?"

  "What we feared has happened, Ma'am,” The Veteran said.

  "A third party?” she asked. There was some trepidation in her voice as she contemplated what that could mean. “What exactly has happened?"

  "I'm intercepting police reports and our people sent me a short direct update: The three principals were intercepted, some civilians were killed and our principals were taken by the Four Horsemen."

  "The Four Horsemen!” she exclaimed. “I had no idea things were that bad. How are—uh—the three principals? Are they all right?"

  "There seems to be a dead end for information right now, but our guys will get on the trail like a cavalry rescue."

  "Do you think they need any help?” the President asked.

  "Nah,” he reassured her. “They got my wheels; that's all the help they'll need. You don't have to worry."

  "Thank you,” she said. “This means a lot with all that is developing."

  "These things have a way of working out,” he said with all his experience behind his confidence. “We still on for golf on Thursday?"

  She laughed at his certainty and the confidence it gave her.

  "Yes,” she said with a smile, “if I don't have to meet with UniPol about the Bacchanal and that Caligula thing again."

  "I'll keep you up to date, Ma'am. Don't worry.” He hung up; feeling a little guilty for lying to his commander in chief by being so sure it would all work out. He had very little confidence it would, just a deep-seated hope and a belief that the good guys would win because they were supposed to. It was the only thing that had gotten him through so long a career in law enforcement after seeing so many times when the good guys didn't win and the sleaze bags and their lawyers came out on top. When the thin blue line was stretched so thin it snapped.

  He went to the fridge, popped another beer and resumed watching his action show. “Wish I could take my own advice about relaxing,” he said to the view screen. “Or that you were here, Special Agent Erskine."

  * * * *

  "You're a genius, Caesar,” Skorpion said. Her nimble fingers once more flew over the computer keyboard. “This really might work."

  The team had dealt with the local authorities, supplying what information would not compromise their kidnapped teammates’ real mission. The Federal Police took over the case, both because the Exceptionals were involved and the fact that the Four Horseman had committed the crime. After the Police arrived, one phone call to the Pentagon's Exceptional Liaison Command had freed The Bodyguard to leave the scene.

  On the Journey back to New York, it was Echo, responding to Matthew's despondency at being able to do nothing for their friends, who had innocently said, “Too bad you can't trace The Horseman's Stealth Hover like you did the Medical Info."

  There had been a moment of silence, then all three of them had screamed: “Why Not?"

  Skorpion hit the computer and all three of them began the trace.

  "We know they have a hover-car—” she began.

  "I found the Lift burn marks over the hill by some trees,” Goldstrike chimed in. “And it was an AR2000, or 2003 by the pattern of the marks."

  "Which means Stealth capable,” Echo finished.

  "So,” Skorpion continued, “as per our brilliant bronze brother's suggestion—” she quipped and Caesar took a little bow, “—we look for the little ship that isn't there."

  She put up a grid map of the hundred miles around the spot where the ambush had taken place.

  "Now we do satellite overlays—” The image seemed to shiver as she had the computer lay images from five-minute intervals from before the estimated time of the Four Horseman's attack. “—going to thermal images.” The view changed to show the contrail/heat signatures from hover-cars, green cars, planes and even the heat images of power boats on the nearby rivers.

  "Now I input known registered planes, hover-cars and major roadways—they won't be tooling down the interstate—and have the computer eliminate those signatures."

  The image blinked and most of the cuniformed heat trails vanished from the screen.

  "Still an awful lot of heat trails,” Goldstrike said, his voice betraying his sagging hopes.

  "Ah,” Skorpion said. “But now we plug in the heat signature of an AR2000 or ‘03 model specifically in both open and stealth mode—” she tapped a key, “—and voilà.” The trails on the screen all disappeared, save two.

  "This one is us and—” she pointed, “—this one is—"

  "That one has to be them!” Goldstrike exclaimed.

  "They are heading off the grid toward that mountain range,” Echo observed.

  "I can program the computer to track that signature no matter what they do with their engines now that we have true characteristics on it,” Skorpion said. “Since they were running stealth, they have to keep it powered down—they can't open the engine full up in stealth."

  "Got it,” Goldstrike said, turning the hover-car toward the mountains and kicking up the speed to full out. “We can run open and at flank speed with this light a load in non-stealth mode and overtake them."

  He suddenly got a western twang to his voice. “Just give me the exact heading, Ma'am, and this old posse will head them off at the pass."

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  Chapter 45

  "What the hell kind of a man are you, Conner?” Eddie Winter yelled as Conner Le'Schott pushed himself to cross the rope course with full pack and field kit. The heavy hemp dug into the calluses on his hands and his uniform was sodden to him in the heat of the Louisiana Swamp.

  "Are you a quitter?” Winters yelled. “I don't think so, boy. So if you are a quitter, you're saying I'm lying. Are you gonna make me a liar?"

  They were on a full live-fire training mission and it had been two weeks of slogging through the swamp with a pursuer force chasing them. Le'Schott pulled himself across the rope and sat by, catching his breath for a second, before he forced himself to his feet. “I'd never even think to make you a liar, Big Wolf,” LeSchott said with a tired grin.

  "So, why are you all worried about what and who you are, boy?” Le'Schott looked up at Winters with a puzzled expression.

  "What the heck does that mean?"

  "A man is what he does, boy,” Winters said. “Don't let anyone tell you different.” Winters suddenly got older, his skin wrinkled and his eyes got hollow.

  "You are what you do.” His skin started to flake off and soon he was a skull talking to Le'Schott. “Just don't forget me, boy. The Big Wolf will always be watching out for you."

  Lastshot realized he was hallucinating, dreaming a meeting that never happened. It frustrated him that he could not remember what Winters actually looked like in Cambodia, that the memory was denied him. All his memories of what went on the entire mission were based on his teammates’ after-action reports.

  He fluttered his eyes open and realized he was bound hand and foot in the cargo compartment of the Four Horseman's Hovercraft. He felt like a truck had hit him. He could still feel the dried blood on his face. He was pretty sure his nose was broken and possibly the sub orbital ridge of his left eye socket.

  He opened his eyes and could see Firststrike, still unconscious, lying on his side near him and Temper, herself just coming to consciousness. She came alert at once, surveyed the situation and saw that he was also awake.

  "This is pretty pathetic,” she whispered. “Tied up twice in a year by the bad guys."

  "Could be worse,” Lastshot said. “I could get killed twice in a year."

  She smiled. “I missed you too much the first time, Conner,” she said. “I'd prefer if you didn't do it again."

  "I'm with you on that, Tori,” he said. “Don't lose hope; we'll get out of this.” They felt the Hovercraft shudder.

  "They're going out of stealth mode,” Lastshot said. “Must be approaching their destination. We'll know what's going on real soon."

  * * * *

  The Four Horsemen's hover-car approached
their mountaintop headquarters across broad pastures and rolling fields that sloped gently toward a sheer cliff wall. The craft dropped out of stealth mode so it could gain height and flew upward, directly at the cliff face. At the last second, a section of the cliff slid aside and the craft hovered into the hangar space adjacent to The Four Horsemen's lair. The wall section slid back and it would have been impossible for anyone to detect that entranceway, if they did not know it was there.

  Fortunately, Goldstrike had watched the whole procession on a long-range scanner and had the whole thing on digital format. The Veteran's hover-car had followed behind The Horsemen's hover-car the last forty miles after intercepting them. They held back at the edge of scanner range, content to follow the criminals by satellite instead of choosing to fly directly at their heels.

  "Not too late to follow them,” Goldstrike said. “Engaging stealth mode.” He giggled like a schoolgirl. “I love saying things like that."

  He threw a switch and the Hovercraft shuddered and slowed as it all but went invisible. The same technology as the Regen imaging defeating systems, the craft was invisible to all electronic media. In addition, with the optic bending properties of the LCD skin in play, from any distance, it would go unseen by human eyes as well.

  The hover-car carrying the three Exceptionals sped ahead and crested the gentle slope of the hill that opened onto the fields before the cliff face. Abruptly, the hovercraft stopped in midair, went silent and dropped to the ground to rest on the air skirt/bumper at a dead stop. Goldstrike, Echo and Skorpion were thrown forward as the hover-car stopped.

  "What did you do, you maniac?” Skorpion yelled at Goldstrike.

  "Nothing!” he said. “It just stopped by itself!"

  "Why?” Echo said, picking himself up off the floor.

  "I don't know,” Matthew said. He flipped switches frantically, frustrated that everything had gone dead. “But I'm willing to bet that this constitutes a real emergency.” He opened the button cover that protected the red button marked Laverne and punched the button. Nothing happened for a moment then a nasal; female voice came out of nowhere.

  "You have engaged the Laser Activated Vehicular Experimental Reasoning Neural Entity,” the voice said. “If you have done this willingly, the situation must be an emergency."

  Goldstrike stared at the control console with a befuddled expression. “Why the hell would the Veteran install something like this?"

  "Because I'm smarter than you are,” the nasal voice said.

  "Who said that?” Goldstrike said, looking around.

  "I did,” the voice reiterated.

  The three Exceptionals looked around them. The voice spoke again with a decided attitude in the unaccented speech, “I, LAVERNE. I, the hover-car's integrated computer system, spoke, you dolts."

  "We should have known he'd have something like this,” Echo said. He shook his head in defeat and sat down. “I'll bet it has the voice of one of his ex wives."

  "Why'd you slam on the brakes?” Goldstrike asked angrily.

  "Because even in subconscious mode, I could ascertain that we had been detected. There is an energy-dampening field surrounding that compound.” The voice now seemed to have acquired a distinctly snarky tone. “We would've gone down like the Dow."

  The three Exceptionals looked at each other.

  "So what do we do now?” Skorpion asked.

  "Ooo, are you really asking for help?” LAVERNE said. Skorpion looked as if she would grab a fire axe any second and adjust the computer's attitude.

  "He programmed you, didn't he?” Goldstrike asked.

  "Hey, nobody programs me, pally!” LAVERNE insisted.

  Goldstrike put his head in his hands. “Why, why, why?"

  "So, LAVERNE,” Skorpion said with a shrug of her shoulders, “what do we do? The situation is that our teammates Lastshot, Temper, and Firststrike are in there. Any suggestion of how we get them out?"

  "I'll never live this down...” Goldstrike moaned to no one in particular.

  "I have a possible plan,” LAVERNE said. “But you bipeds aren't going to like it."

  Ten minutes later, Goldstrike, Echo and Skorpion were pushing the hover-car across the ground of the open field on its landing wheels.

  "I can't believe we're doing this,” Goldstrike said between gasped breaths.

  "I can't believe we're getting away with this,” Echo said.

  "We're not; we're being scanned,” LAVERNE said.

  "So, why don't they just frag us right now?” Skorpion asked in her best cheerful voice.

  "Because they don't see us here,” LAVERNE said. “I'm able to jam their scanners enough so they think that the hover-car they scanned is still circling their perimeter. I can't keep it up forever, so keep pushing!"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 46

  In the Four Horseman's headquarters, War and Pestilence were watching several monitor screens intently. They were trying to find the hover-car that had been scanned by the automated security system while they were docking their own craft. They'd barely had time to secure their prisoners before they raced to their computer center to attempt to locate the craft.

  Pestilence sat in a control chair in front of a massive computer complex that filled an entire wall of the main room. Pestilence was watching the scopes, his eyes darting frantically from screen to screen. “Whoever they are, they're not on any of my scopes!” he said with growing annoyance in his voice. “I'm switching to infra-green scanners."

  "Maybe it was just a pleasure hover and they were cutting across the park,” Famine offered. “It may have nothing to do with us."

  The Four Horsemen had chosen their lair's location in the middle of national protected wilderness area because it was a very little traveled area. The likelihood of an accidental incursion was very small, so the others ignored Famine.

  Pestilence swiveled around and almost hysterically punched several buttons. “Nothing!” he cried. “I'm gonna have to try something else. Accessing Global Positioning Assessment!” He pushed more buttons, like Liberace playing a concerto.

  War put his head in his hands and moaned.

  Pestilence was exasperated to the point of tears. “Damn! I'll try painting the area with a designating laser!"

  Famine rolled her eyes and went back to reading Vogue.

  "War!” Pestilence cried. “Get me the hydro—"

  War shook his head, picked up Pestilence, and carried him to the large one-way picture window beyond the computer wall. He set him down and pointed out at the grassy field in front of the mountain headquarters. Down below, Goldstrike, Skorpion and Echo could clearly be seen pushing the hover-car.

  "Oh...” Pestilence said quietly. “My."

  Famine was still looking at Vogue, slowly turning the pages as if they were made of lead. “My vote is we wait for them to walk in on their own power,” she managed. “I'm just so tired."

  * * * *

  Goldstrike, Skorpion and Echo pushed the hover-car up to a low stone wall at the base of the cliff face.

  Goldstrike leaned against the car, breathing heavily. “Okay, intrepid team, now what?"

  Echo was not breathing nearly as heavily as his gold-clad compadre and somehow had managed to keep from getting grime on his tunic and trousers. “We need to breach the security system.” He thought for a second, considering the rock face above them. “Skorpion, work your way around to the other side; Matthew you create a diversion—"

  "Hold on!” Goldstrike protested, “I always end up being the diversion."

  "You like showing off,” Skorpion observed.

  "I do not show off, “Matthew insisted. “I shine at what I do."

  "So that's what I'm asking you to do,” Echo said.

  "What do you mean?” Goldstrike said, holding his head. “What are you asking me to do?"

  "I want you to shine,” the black Exceptional stated. “Just do it where the bad guys can see you and shoot at you instead of us."

 
"What a minute—” Goldstrike began, but a hum from the Hovercraft stopped them.

  "Can I make a suggestion?” LAVERNE said.

  * * * *

  Temper was shackled to a wall in the Four Horseman's training room with electronic wrist and ankle manacles. She was recovered from her bout with Famine and had her healthy color again. She also had her fatalist sense of humor.

  "Well we have them just where they want us; doesn't look good!” she said aloud.

  Lastshot and Firststrike were on either side of her, also hanging from shackles. Lastshot had a broken nose, bruises all over and his battle tunic was torn badly, but he had somehow managed to avoid getting his eyes blackened despite how he felt.

  "It's looked worse,” Lastshot said with no tension in his voice. He tested his bonds with a few half hearted tugs, but was pretty sure they were calculated well to hold onto the Exceptionals.

  "It's not the idea of it, of dying in action,” Temper said in a quiet voice. “I've faced death before, but, never felt so very helpless about it, having to just wait for it.” She looked at her teammates. “Know what I mean?"

  "Yes, the actuality is not quite the same as the possibility. We, despite my wonderful Zen-like calm—” he laughed softly at himself, “—are not passive people. Even death we want to meet head on, like we meet life, not waiting for it to happen,” Firststrike said. He showed no visible signs of his battle with Death, but he could feel the lump on the back of his head and had a throbbing headache.

  "I know it's not certain,” Temper said, “and I will do all I can to avoid it becoming certain, but still, it feels—hopeless."

  "You're wrong about it, Tori, the thing to remember it that death is certain, so why fear it?” Lastshot said with a serious, but not concerned, tone, “Maybe not now, not this time, somewhere, sometime ... clones or no clones.” He looked over at Firststrike when he added, “If you have a good accountant, death is more certain than taxes."

  "Until now,” the one-eyed Exceptional said without venom.