Oath of Office

by Michael Palmer

  “What the—?”

  The guard’s words were cut short when Lou, head turned to one side, hit him like a cannonball. Lou’s knees slammed into his midchest. An older man might have had his sternum or collarbones snap, but the blond was solid and fit. He went crashing over backwards with Lou on top. His hefty pistol clattered away.

  Lou’s breath exploded out of him, and his right elbow hit with numbing force. His body momentarily went limp from the pain, and he rolled to his side. He was relieved to see there were no other guards. From where he lay, it seemed as if his sudden appearance hadn’t registered with either Cap or George. In fact, he wasn’t even certain George was breathing.

  “Cap, can you hear me?” he said in a harsh whisper. “It’s Lou.”

  A moan and movement of the fighter’s head were the response.

  The men were suspended from a beam by a single heavy chain, secured by a padlock.

  To Lou’s right, the stunned guard was groaning and struggling to roll over. He kept pressing against his ears with his huge hands, perhaps trying to muffle the continued explosions in his head. With any luck, the man was out of commission.

  Lou crawled to his friends and cringed. Cap’s eyes were nearly lost within mounds of swollen bruises. There were cuts on his cheeks and arms, and his lips were split and caked with dried blood. Chester’s thugs had accomplished what no opponent in the ring had ever been able to do.

  “What took you so long?” Cap rasped, his words thick and barely discernible.

  “I’m going to get you guys out of here,” Lou said. “Just hang in there.”

  “Very funny,” Cap managed.

  Lou was on his feet now, checking George. Gratefully, he was breathing, albeit shallowly and slowly. Lou lifted his head and checked his pupils as best he could. Wide but equal in size. Better than they might have been. George’s hands were pitifully swollen, and folded over like rags. Lou wondered if there was any function left in them.

  “Lou!”

  He was scanning the dark corners of the car for the guard’s gun, when Cap grunted a frantic warning and kicked his feet to get Lou’s attention.

  The guard was on his knees, propping himself up with a hand on each side. He was a beast, Lou realized—huge hands, broad shoulders, and the neck of a linebacker. His platinum blond hair was smeared with blood, probably from a gash at the back of his head. Still, he looked far more lucid now.

  Lou scanned the boxcar once more, searching for the gun or some other sort of weapon. The walls and grimy floor beneath him seemed bare.

  Where in the hell was the gun?

  The guard was quickly regaining his senses and had to be dealt with. If he woke up much more, it would be like being trapped inside a metal box with an angry tiger. Lou had never kicked anyone in the face, but this seemed like the time. He took two steps and swung his right leg up toward the man’s chin, as viciously as he could. The guard reacted much quicker than Lou had anticipated, batting Lou’s foot aside with the swipe of a meaty arm, and the kick barely connected enough to throw the man off balance.

  Trouble.

  Lou knew he had only seconds to act. Another kick was probably not the answer. His eyes were drawn to a large amount of excess chain, dangling from George and looped loosely on the floor.

  The guard was wobbly, but readying himself to stand. Lou’s only hope was that the man’s concussion was still slowing him down.

  Diving headfirst, Lou grabbed the chain about four feet from the end, and swung it with all his might at the guard’s face, connecting with much more force than he had with the kick. The blond reeled as Lou was wrapping the end of the chain around his own fist, creating in effect a set of brass knuckles. A right hook connected solidly enough to send the man spinning onto his face.

  Lou leapt on his back and in an instant had the chain wrapped around his throat. Kicking frantically, the guard rolled over, forcing Lou onto his back. But Lou, now beneath him, was still able to keep maximum tension on the chain.

  The man, on top, facing upward, was thrashing wildly, trying to break free of Lou’s hold. Lou responded by pulling even tighter on the chain.

  “Stop fighting,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

  For emphasis, he used up what felt like his remaining strength to increase the tension.

  The guard continued to thrash. Lou kept the chain taut, but the task was getting harder. His own muscles were battered and burning, and he doubted he could hold on much longer. The beast had to black out. Turning his head for better leverage, Lou held on.

  At that moment, where the floor met the wall, in the darkest corner of the car, he spotted the gun. There was no way the guard could have seen it there yet.

  Was the man losing consciousness? Getting foggy? It certainly didn’t feel like it. Could Lou beat him to the gun and get set to shoot it? Close call.

  Lou’s arms were on fire now. If anything, the guard’s struggles seemed to be intensifying. His weight, pressing down, was making it hard for Lou to take in a full breath. He felt his strength beginning to go.

  This was it.

  Somehow, he had to get the beast off him and go for the gun.

  At that moment desperation took over, and with absolutely no idea what he was about to do, Lou tilted his chin down, released the chain, and with all his might, bit the man at the base of his neck. At the same moment, he shoved upward as forcefully as he could. The guard, wrestling with the chain, and now in intense pain where his shoulder joined his neck, offered no resistance.

  Lou shoved him aside and scrambled for the gun. The guard actually managed to grab him by the ankle, but it was too late. Lou spun around and leveled the pistol at the man’s chest.

  “One more move and you’re dead!” Lou snapped.

  The guard, the chain loose around his neck and blood flowing freely from the deep bite Lou had inflicted, sank back exhausted and beaten.

  Painfully, gasping for air, Lou struggled to his feet. “The key … now!”

  The guard unwound the chain and let it fall. “I don’t have the key,” he said, barely able to be heard over his hoarseness. “Mr. Chester has the key. He’s the only one.”

  “Stand up and pull your pockets out.”

  The man did as he was ordered. Nothing but a wallet. Next Lou warily retrieved his jacket from where it had been laid over a folding chair. Nothing in the pockets but what seemed like a full magazine of ammunition.

  Lou flipped open the wallet. “Dolph, that your name?”

  “You fucking bit me, you bastard.”

  “I’ll look for some soap to wash out my mouth. Okay, Dolph, where’s Chester?.… I said, where in the fuck is Chester? Tell me now or I swear I’m going to shoot you in the knees.”

  “He should be at the silo, waiting for you.”

  Lou turned the man around and jammed the muzzle hard up against his spine, noting with some satisfaction the continued bleeding from the deep gouge he had created.

  “Nice going, Doc,” Cap managed. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Just be strong.… George?…”

  No response.

  An idea had begun to take shape.

  “Where to?” the guard asked.

  “On your face, Dolph. Right here. Dammit, I’m in a very bad mood, and I won’t hesitate to shoot. Now on your face!”

  The guard complied.

  Lou wrapped the jacket around the pistol and, closing his eyes tightly, shot the padlock twice—once on the bottom and once on the side. The jacket did a lousy job of muffling the sound, and the lock fell in two beside the prostrate gunman. Lou undid the chain and kicked it aside as both George and Cap crumpled to the floor, groaning.

  “Cap, can you stand?”

  “If my arms don’t fall off. You are a piece of work, Doc. An absolute piece of work. I think now you just been carrying me in the gym.”

  “Aw, shucks,” Lou said, helping his friend up while keeping the gun leveled at Dolp
h. “Okay, Cap. Can you get down from here? Good. Just stand close to the car and keep your eyes out for trouble. Now, Dolph, this guy’s name is George. If he doesn’t make it, you don’t make it. Got that? I said got that?”

  “You bit—”

  Lou swiped the muzzle hard across the back of the man’s neck. “Up, let’s go.”

  Glaring at Lou, Dolph pulled George to the doorway, jumped down, and hoisted the young botanist onto his shoulders as if he were a doll.

  Then Lou followed, knelt down, and peered beneath the train. The last of the cars of the black CSX train had picked up speed, and were just rolling off toward the east.

  “Almost home, Cap,” he said. “Kneel down and tell me if you think you can make it across.”

  “Piece of cake,” Cap said.

  “Okay, then, we’re going to slide underneath this car and across the tracks. Dolph, you do exactly as I say, and none of those pretty women out there will have to go looking for another guy. My friend, here, looks like he can handle George, and that makes you expendable.”

  “No, you’re the one who’s expendable.”

  Lou whirled to the voice.

  William Chester was standing beside an empty grain car, shielded by a wall of half a dozen beefy men, each with a gun trained on Lou.

  “Drop it, Welcome,” Chester continued, “and get inside this car. We need to have a chat.”

  “Let these men go, and I’ll chat all you want,” Lou said.

  “You had your chance,” Chester said. “I only give one. Company policy.”

  Before Lou could respond, pain exploded from the back of his skull, and his world went dark.

  CHAPTER 52

  Lou could hear himself groaning, but did not have the strength to open his eyes. There was an intense throbbing from the back of his skull. Gradually, he was able to blink. His surroundings were blurred. The smell, a dusty, heavy farm odor, was much stronger than the one inside the boxcar where Cap and George were being held. Maybe some sort of grain car, he thought.

  He brushed his hand over a huge knot on his scalp. Stupid! He had let one of Chester’s goons get behind him. Things came into focus and he rolled onto his side. The car’s interior was alarmingly dim.

  Directly overhead, twenty feet or so, a round hatchway in the roof, not totally sealed, let in the only light. Lou pushed himself upright and walked his hands around the metal walls. No steps, no ladder. No way out. The rectangular space was not the full size of one of the cars. It was half as large, maybe a third—a full-sized car partitioned off, he guessed.

  From nearby he heard moaning and crawled toward the noise, trying to ignore the shell bursts from the back of his head. As a doctor, he would often ask his patients to measure their discomfort on a scale of zero to ten, with zero being none and ten being the worst pain imaginable. Taken as individual injuries, his head and the bullet wound in his thigh hovered around a seven each. Bearable. When he finally located the source of the moaning, his own discomfort all but vanished.

  Cap and George lay huddled together on the floor of the grain car, hidden by shadows and propped up against one of the walls.

  “Hey, pal,” Cap said weakly. “You okay?”

  Typical of the man.

  Lou’s vision adjusted even more. Neither of the two was restrained—a bad sign.

  He stood, shakily crossed to Cap, and gave him a hand up. Cap’s grip was all but gone. He had absorbed more beating. Aside from swollen eyes and a freshly split lip, Lou saw that he was also missing two front teeth.

  “Oh, Cap…” Lou’s anguished whisper echoed in the empty chamber.

  “Two on one, I’d bet on me any day. Four on one, it’s still gonna to be close. But five or six? Bad odds, brother.”

  “You’re a lion, buddy,” Lou said. “They really did a number on you.”

  Cap shrugged. “Hey, like they say after those horror stories at meetings, at least I’m sober.”

  George had absorbed another pounding as well, but he actually seemed more conscious. He cried out when they tried to move him.

  “I think they busted him up inside,” Cap said. “Maybe some ribs.”

  Instinctively, Lou checked George over. He was battered, but his pulse was holding.

  “We’ve got to find a way out of here,” Lou said. “There’s nothing resembling a ladder.”

  “What about this hatch?” Cap asked, tapping his foot on a spot on the floor.

  Lou felt around the edges of a square hatch in the floor, three by three, that lay directly beneath the round portal above them. He was looking for a handle or lever of some sort, but it appeared the hatch opened only from the outside.

  “Fill from the top, empty from right here,” he said.

  “A giant steel coffin,” Cap replied. “I think Chester’s not taking any chances.”

  Lou sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about this, Cap. It’s my fault you’re here.”

  “Nonsense, I don’t remember you forcing me into tailing those guys to Kings Ridge.”

  “Thanks for saying that.”

  “And don’t you start thinking you’re not going to see Emily again. Because that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch, it ain’t. We’ll think of something.”

  Before Lou could respond, the portal above fully opened, and artificial light from the mammoth granary brightened the space.

  “Well, hello, down there,” Chester called out.

  Lou could see the man, backlit from above. “Let us go, Chester!” he yelled up to him. “It’s over.” Echoing in the chamber, Lou’s punchless order made him feel infinitesimally small.

  “First things first, Doctor,” Chester replied. “Who knows?”

  “Who knows what?”

  “Don’t play me for the fool,” Chester said. “Who knows there might be trouble with our corn? Who have you told?”

  “I haven’t told anyone,” Lou called out.

  “That’s bullshit!”

  Lou knew their situation was hopeless. Desperately, he searched his thoughts for something—anything—he could say to change matters.

  “Okay,” he tried, “every major newspaper and network is going to run stories about you and Chester Enterprises mutating termites and engineering poisonous corn, and then shipping it off for sale before testing it properly. If I don’t get out of here to recant my story and explain that you aren’t responsible, you and your company are finished.”

  “You did no such thing!” Chester yelled down. “I know precisely when you killed my son and when I text messaged you that photo of your friends, there. You didn’t have the time to do anything. Nice try, though.”

  “I didn’t kill your son, Chester. Your flunky Gilbert Stone did. Edwin saved my life when Stone was trying to kill me. Now, what do you want?”

  “I told you,” Chester said. “I want to know who you’ve told.”

  “Nobody, that’s the truth.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Lou hesitated. “You’re right,” he said. “I did tell somebody. Somebody very important, who will destroy you. Agree to let us go, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “No,” Chester said. “Let me show you what I’m going to do if you continue to mess with me.”

  He reached beside him. A mechanical whirring heralded a grain chute being lowered into the mouth of the porthole.

  “Chester, don’t do this!” Lou screamed.

  “Tell me who you told.”

  Chester pulled on a lever next to his shoulder. There was a thunderous whoosh accompanying a storm of corn kernels. Instantly, dust filled the compartment, blocking out much of the light and sucking up nearly all the air. Lou managed a small breath and then held it. The dust thickened as corn continuing pouring down. Lou had rafted the powerful New and Gauley rivers in southern West Virginia. The roar of the corn was like riding down a Class V rapid. The kernels struck like BBs.

  All at once the rush of corn seed stopped. Lou and the others were gagging and coughing. For a few moments,
it seemed as if George had stopped breathing altogether. Lou’s eyes were afire. Dust continued billowing, filling the steel coffin, which now seemed oppressively small. Some of the dust, but not nearly enough, swirled upward and flowed through the open portal. Like an emphysemic, Lou put his hands on his knees to assist his breathing. Dust covered his face and hair. The back of his throat felt raw and dry. In what seemed no time, the level of corn had already reached his ankles.

  “Cap,” he wheezed, “we’ve got to get George.”

  The two men stumbled and slipped as they worked over to where George lay in half a foot of kernels. On three, they hoisted him to his feet. George cried out in pain.

  “Who did you tell?” Chester called down again.

  The three prisoners were standing on the hatch—George, unable to lift his head; Lou and Cap, peering up at Chester’s silhouette. The swirling dust made the man appear to be hovering within a cloud.

  “The president,” Lou said. “President Mallory knows, but I don’t think he believes me. You have my word. Let us go and I’ll tell him I was wrong.”

  Chester jeered. “Of course the president knows,” he said. “This is his corn as much as it is mine.”

  Lou and Cap exchanged bewildered looks.

  “Chester,” Lou called up, trying another tack. “You don’t want to do this. This isn’t what Edwin would have wanted.”

  “You have no right even speaking my son’s name,” Chester said, spitting in disgust.

  “I told you, I didn’t kill him. Stone did.”

  “Bullshit! You know what? I really don’t care who you told. You killed my son. That’s enough.”

  “Your son was trying to stop you from sending this shipment. He was trying to get Russell Evans reinstated and have him make you test this poison more carefully.”

  The seed baron’s silence brought Lou a jet of hope.

  Then, without warning, Chester pulled the lever again.

  More deafening noise, more spattering corn, more dust, more choking, more stinging. Breathing again became virtually impossible. Lou’s chest constricted. His throat closed altogether. They were suffocating—drowning in dust. Together, he and Cap were forced to their knees. They sucked air through their dust-coated shirts, but the maneuver was of little help.