Capital Run

by David Robbins

  Chapter Nine

  He thought he was going to puke!

  The gunman felt as if he were bobbing on the surface of a lake. Nausea engulfed him. His stomach was contracting, threatening to expel the venison jerky he’d consumed earlier.

  Where the blazes was he?

  What was that weird noise?

  His eyelids fluttered open, and he glimpsed men in uniform seated on both sides of him. Brown uniforms with red stars on the collars. Who were they? He couldn’t seem to focus, to concentrate. Why? He closed his eyes and drifted into dreamland.

  Chapter Ten

  Dear Spirit! How he hurt!

  Blade’s senses responded sluggishly as he struggled to regain consciousness. He vividly recalled being clobbered by the Leather Knight called Cardew, and as his eyes opened and a wave of agony washed over his head he inadvertently flinched, expecting to be struck again.

  But Cardew was gone. And so were the others. The circular chamber was empty except for the nylon net in the middle of the dirt floor.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” said someone to his left.

  Blade slowly turned, discovering his arms in chains.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was shackled to the brick wall not four feet away. He had succeeded in slipping the gag from his mouth. Beyond him hung a redheaded woman with her gag still in place.

  Was she the woman named Lex?

  Rikki scanned the balcony to insure it was unoccupied. “Is Hickok with you?” he asked in a low voice.

  Blade shook his head and immediately regretted the movement. The right side of his face was lanced by an acute pain. “I came alone,” he mumbled through swollen lips.

  “I noticed you found my katana,” Rikki stated.

  Blade looked down. The Leather Knights had stripped all of his weapons: the Bowes, the Commando, the katana, everything.

  “They took them last night,” Rikki revealed, accurately deducing Blade’s train of thought, “after Cardew knocked you out. I saw them carry my sword away.” He paused, his jaw muscles taut. “I intend to retrieve it.”

  Blade tried to speak, but his throbbing mouth balked at the effort.

  What had that bastard Cardew done to him? He licked his puffy lips and mustered his resolve. “Do you…” He said haltingly, “have… any idea what they plan to do with us?”

  Rikki nodded. “Their leader, Terza, wants to know who we are and where we come from. She wants to question us.”

  “She’ll be wasting her breath,” Blade muttered.

  Rikki glanced at the closed doors. “Why did you come in alone?” he inquired. “Why didn’t you use the SEAL?”

  “It’s out of commission,” Blade said.

  “What?” Rikki asked in surprise. “How?”

  “A Red copter,” Blade explained.

  “Can the SEAL be salvaged?” Rikki queried.

  “I think so,” Blade said. “It’s lying on its side, but otherwise seems to be in working order. I left Hickok behind to watch over it.”

  “At least he’s out of danger,” Rikki commented.

  “Now all we have to do is get our butts out of here,” Blade remarked.

  Rikki rattled the chains secured to his wrists. “Easier said than done.”

  One of the recessed doors abruptly opened, and in walked Terza, Cardew, and six other Knights, four of them women. All of them bore handguns.

  “Morning, Turkey!” Terza greeted Blade, her attitude cheerful, her bearing haughty.

  Blade glared at his captors.

  Terza walked up to the strapping Warrior and grinned. “My! My! Didn’t you wake up on the wrong side of the sack!” She cackled. “Didn’t you sleep well?” She reached up and slapped his right cheek.

  Blade recoiled in anguish.

  “What a wimp!” Cardew said disdainfully.

  Blade lunged at the biker with the blue Mohawk, but his chains prevented him from moving more than a few inches.

  Cardew retreated a step and reached for his Browning.

  “Cardew!” Terza barked. “I want him alive.”

  Cardew’s mouth curled back from his teeth. “Okay,” he hissed. “But I want the honor of wasting this creep when the time comes.”

  “You’ll have it,” Terza assured him.

  Cardew snickered maliciously.

  Terza moved over to Rikki. “So? Are you ready to spill the beans yet?”

  “What kind of beans did you have in mind?” Rikki countered. “Lima or string beans?”

  “Funny boy, ain’t you?” Terza said. “Okay. I tried to be nice about this.

  But if you won’t tell me where you come from, then I’ll have to persuade you to talk.”

  “I will not answer your questions,” Rikki assured her.

  “We’ll see about that, lover boy.” Terza turned and nodded at two of the women. They crossed to Lex, and one of them unlocked her shackles while the second kept her covered with a revolver.

  Lexine rubbed her sore wrists, then removed the gag from her mouth.

  “You bitch!” she snapped at Terza.

  Terza motioned toward the center of the chamber. “Set her up.”

  The two women grabbed Lex by the arms and hauled her from the room.

  “What are you going to do to her?” Rikki asked.

  “You’ll see,” Terza replied.

  Blade surveyed the chamber, lit by a dozen lanterns positioned at regular intervals along the balcony, affixed to metal brackets. Where did the Knights obtain the fuel for the lanterns? From the Technics? The ceiling was vaulted, constructed of polished wood. Evidently this chamber had been under construction at the outset of World War III and never finished.

  Lex and the pair of Knights appeared on the balcony on the far side of the room. One of the women was carrying a coiled rope.

  “You sure you don’t wanna tell me everything I want to know?” Terza asked Rikki.

  Rikki remained silent.

  Terza shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I think you’re about to change your mind.”

  One of the Knights on the balcony tied the rope to the balcony railing, then turned and said something to Lexine.

  Rikki saw Lex shake her head.

  The second Knight shoved her revolver into Lexine’s stomach.

  Lex walked to the edge of the balcony. She held her arms straight out.

  The Knight with the rope used it to bind Lex’s wrists.

  “Last chance,” Terza said, mocking Rikki.

  Rikki resembled a granite statue.

  “Do it!” Terza shouted to the two women on the balcony.

  The Knights seized Lex and forced her to the edge of the balcony. Lex fought them, striving to wrest her arms free, but she was unable to avert their intended design; she was rudely jerked off her feet and pushed over the balcony railing. She dropped like the proverbial rock, her descent brutally terminated when she reached the end of the rope, her feet dangling five feet above the earthen floor. She gasped in torment as her arms were wrenched upwards, her head snapping back, whiplashed, and her teeth jarring together.

  “The fun’s just getting started,” Terza said to Rikki. “You can put a stop to it by telling me where you come from. What do you say?”

  Rikki looked Terza in the eyes. “If it’s the last act I live to perform on this planet,” he said calmly, “I am going to eliminate you.”

  “Tough talk!” Terza said, chuckling. She slowly drew the Llama Super Comanche V’s belted around her slim waist. “You know what to do!” she yelled to the Knights on the balcony.

  The pair of Knights leaned over the railing, gripped the rope, and started moving the rope in wide arcs, back and forth, causing Lex to swing like a human pendulum.

  Terza aimed her left Comanche and fired.

  The brick wall beyond Lex sprayed chipped mortar and brick onto the floor.

  “Damn!” Terza said, laughing. “I missed.” She stared at Rikki. “One more time. Where do you come from?”

  Rikki frowned and lo
wered his gaze.

  Terza pointed the Comanches in the direction of Lex. “I thought you had the hots for Lex, lover boy,” she said. The Comanches boomed, the twin shots narrowly missing Lex’s swaying form. “I guess I was wrong.”

  Rikki stared at the dirt floor, struggling to restrain his seething emotions. Maintaining his self-control was of paramount importance: self-control was the essence of a Warrior’s character, and exhibiting self-control during a crisis was the critical test of anyone dedicated to the martial arts. He quivered from the intensity of his fury, but his inner discipline was superlative.

  “Sooner or later,” Terza said, baiting him, “one of my shots is bound to hit her. Won’t it bother you knowing you’re responsible for her death?”

  Rikki’s fists were clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms.

  Terza’s right Comanche thundered, but again Lex was spared any injury.

  “Let me try,” Cardew interjected eagerly.

  “What do you say, lover boy?” Terza asked Rikki. “Should I let Cardew have a go at it? He’s not as good a shot as I am. He’ll probably put a bullet right between her eyes.”

  Rikki glared at Cardew.

  “Still the tough guy?” Terza said to Rikki. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She looked at Cardew. “Have some fun.”

  “Thanks!” Cardew drew his Browning.

  “Enough of this!” declared a deep voice.

  All eyes focused on the muscular giant.

  “Did you say something?” Terza asked.

  “Enough of this,” Blade reiterated. “I’ll answer your questions.”

  Terza studied him quizzically. “You will, huh?”

  “I will answer whatever I can,” Blade said.

  “Just like that?” Terza remarked skeptically.

  Blade nodded toward Lex. “Release her first.”

  Terza snickered. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got the hots for Lex too? What’s she got that I ain’t got?”

  Blade straightened. “I do not have the… hots… for her. I already have selected my mate for eternity.”

  “Eternity?” Terza laughed. “Who said anything about eternity? I figure you want to jump her buns for a one-nighter.”

  Blade’s mouth curled downward disdainfully. “I also have no desire to jump her… buns. I have pledged loyalty to my wife, and I will not violate my vow.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Terza tittered. “Big words, mister. But they don’t mean crap! Are you tryin’ to tell me you would say no if a fox wanted some fun in the sack with you?”

  Blade nodded. “The only fox I want to have fun with is my wife. We are loyal to one another because we love each other.”

  “Loyalty?” Terza said angrily. “Who the hell cares about loyalty?”

  “Loyal couples are growing couples,” Blade stated. “Without loyalty, love withers and dies.”

  “What the hell are you? Some kind of poet?” Terza shook her head in wonder.

  “Sounds like a real wimp to me,” Cardew commented.

  “What’s it going to be?” Blade demanded. “Will you release Lex?”

  Terza holstered her Comanches. “Sure. But remember one thing. I can have her strung up again if you give me any grief.”

  “I have given my word,” Blade reminded her.

  “Your word don’t mean diddly to me,” Terza said. She raised her face to the two Knights on the balcony. “Cut her down! Then chain her on the wall next to lover boy!” She grinned at Blade. “Satisfied?”

  “Ask your questions,” Blade said.

  “Not here,” Terza said. She glanced at Cardew. “I want you to bring him to my room after Lex is chained. I’ll be waiting.” She wheeled and stalked from the chamber.

  Cardew walked up to Blade and winked conspiratorially. “Ain’t you the lucky one!”

  “What do you mean?” Blade inquired.

  “Don’t play innocent with me!” Cardew nudged the Warrior in the ribs.

  “I think Terza wants you for herself. You should be flattered.”

  “Wants me?” Blade repeated, puzzled. “But I just told her I already have a mate.”

  “Terza could care less about your mate,” Cardew disclosed. “If she decides she wants a man, she ups and takes him.”

  “And the man doesn’t have any say in the matter?” Blade queried.

  “A man can’t refuse a woman,” Cardew said. “That’s the law.”

  “Not where I come from,” Blade informed him.

  “You ain’t there now, are you?” Cardew teased the Warrior. “You’re here. And what Terza says, goes. If you give her any lip, you’ll never see your wife again. No man has ever refused her. Am I getting through to you yet, asshole?”

  “Loud and clear,” Blade responded. He watched the Knights lowering Lex to the ground. How were they going to get out of this fix? Would Terza want to be alone with him? If so, would it be to his advantage to escape while Rikki and Lex were still being held? Terza might execute them out of sheer spite. He closed his eyes and sighed. At least Hickok was free. He hoped he could rely on the gunman’s customary impatience. Let’s see.

  Hickok had agreed to stay with the SEAL for three days. But would the gunfighter wait that long? Highly unlikely. One day, definitely. Two, possibly. But never for three. Hickok would come looking for them, but not for another day and a half, minimum.

  A lot could happen in a day and a half.

  Blade opened his eyes and stared at Cardew’s leering expression.

  Yes, sir.

  A whole lot.

  And none of it good.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Not now, honey,” Hickok mumbled. “I’m plumb tuckered out.” He rolled over and started to fall asleep again, but Sherry wouldn’t leave him alone. She was insistently shaking his right shoulder. Funny thing about wives. Before the marriage, they were all over your body and couldn’t seem to get enough. Then it was “I do,” and “Whoa, there, buckaroo!”

  “Not tonight! I’ve got a headache!” Except when they were in the mood.

  Then the man had best be able to get it up, or it was cold stares and leftovers until the woman decided the man had repented enough for another go. Contrary critters, those females! Sherry was shaking harder now.

  Hickok eased onto his back and opened his eyes.

  Uh-oh.

  It wasn’t Sherry standing over him. It was three men, all wearing brown uniforms with red stars on their collars and other insignia.

  Hickok suddenly remembered everything in a rush, and he automatically reached for his Colts. But his fingers closed on empty holsters.

  They’d taken his Pythons!

  One of the men, a burly man with sagging cheeks, a protruding chin, and bright blue eyes, held the Pythons aloft in his right hand. “Are these what you are looking for?” he asked in clipped, precise English.

  Hickok started to rise, but the other two men had already drawn automatics from holsters on their right hips.

  “Please,” said the first man, evidently an officer, “don’t do anything foolish. We have no intention of harming you.”

  “Then what am I doin’ here?” Hickock demanded. “And where the blazes am I?” He rose on his elbows and scanned his surroundings, finding himself on a metal table in a well-lit room. Four overhead lights provided ample illumination. A row of equipment-medical equipment, if he guessed right—was lined up along one of the walls.

  “We will ask the questions,” said the burly officer. “What is your name?”

  “Annie Oakley.”

  The officer’s blue eyes narrowed. “That is a woman’s name.”

  “Would you believe Calamity Jane?”

  “Another woman’s name,” the burly officer remarked. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Poker,” Hickock said.

  One of the other men began speaking to the burly officer in a foreign tongue.

  Hickok listened intently, but couldn’t make hide nor hair of the
ir babble.

  “Ahhh. I see,” the burly officer said in English. “Lieutenant Voroshilov informs me you refer to a period in American history hundreds of years ago. Is this not true?”

  Hickock glanced at Lieutenant Voroshilov, a youthful officer, in his 30s, with green eyes and crew-cut blond hair. “Don’t tell me. Voroshilov is partial to readin’ about the Old West!”

  The burly officer shook his head. “Not exactly. But Lieutenant Voroshilov does have what you call a…” He paused for a moment.

  “Photographic memory. He read a book once about the history of cowboys and Indians, or some such silliness, and never forgot what he read.”

  “Photographic memory, huh?” Hickok said. “Then he should have smarts enough to know who you jokers are and where the dickens I am.”

  Burly Butt smiled. “Please forgive my rudeness. I should have introduced myself. I am General Malenkov.”

  “Malenkov. Voroshilov. With names like that, it’s a cinch I ain’t in the Civilized Zone,” Hickok quipped, alluding to the area in the Midwest and Rocky Mountain region occupied by the remnant of the U.S. Government after World War III.

  “Are you from the Civilized Zone?” General Malenkov asked.

  “Didn’t you ever hear about what curiosity did to the cat?” Hickok countered.

  General Malenkov’s facial muscles tightened. “I have tried to be polite, but you will not cooperate. If you will not supply the information I need willingly, then I will use other methods.”

  “Give it your best shot,” Hickok taunted him.

  General Malenkov smiled. “I will.” He barked a series of orders at Lieutenant Voroshilov. That worthy wheeled and stalked to the row of medical equipment. The third, unnamed, soldier kept his pistol trained on the man in buckskins.

  “What are you aimin’ to do?” Hickok inquired nonchalantly.

  “We will inject you with a substance our chemists developed for recalcitrant subjects,” General Malenkov answered. “What’s it do?”

  “It is a truth serum,” General Malenkov explained. “Once injected, you will divulge everything we want to know.”

  Hickok watched Voroshilov remove a hypodermic needle from a glass cabinet. He didn’t like this one bit. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who these bozos were. He’d attended the history classes in the Family school, and he knew about the Russians and the part they’d played in the Big Blast. Who else could these clowns be?