Capital Run

by David Robbins

  Voroshilov was filling the hypodermic from a small vial.

  Hickock calculated the risks. If they injected him with the truth serum, he’d probably spill the beans about the Family and the Home and the whole shebang. But if he went along with them for a spell, he might be able to withhold information crucial to the safety of the Family and essential to the Freedom Federation.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov had finished filling the hypodermic needle. He turned and returned to the metal table.

  “You don’t need to go to all this trouble on my account,” Hickok said.

  “It’s no trouble,” General Malenkov assured him.

  “I’ll answer your questions,” Hickok declared.

  “Why have you changed your mind so quickly?” General Malenkov inquired.

  “I’m fickle,” Hickok responded. “Ask anybody. They’ll tell you I never know if I’m comin’ or goin’.”

  General Malenkov smiled, but the smile lacked any trace of genuine friendliness. His eyes were impassive pools of indeterminate intent. He said something in what Hickock assumed was Russian to Voroshilov. The lieutenant retraced his steps to the glass cabinet and replaced the hypodermic.

  Hickok trusted the general about as far as he could toss a black bear.

  He instinctively sensed the general was up to something, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what it might be. General Malenkov had acceded too readily to not using the truth serum. Why? What did the tricky bastard have up his sleeve?

  “Tell us your name,” General Malenkov demanded.

  “Hickok.” He abruptly realized Malenkov wasn’t holding his Colts.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov interjected several sentences in Russian.

  General Malenkov frowned. “Why do you persist in these games?”

  “I told you the truth,” Hickok said. “My name is Hickok. I know it’s a name from the Old West. That’s why I took it. It’s the name of an old gunfighter I admire a lot.”

  General Malenkov reflected for a minute. “All right. I will give you the benefit of the doubt. For now. Where are you from, Hickok?”

  “Montana,” Hickok lied. Actually, the Family resided in northwestern Minnesota.

  “You are far from home,” General Malenkov observed.

  “We were on our way to St. Louis when your men jumped me,” Hickok detailed.

  “Why St. Louis?”

  Hickok hesitated. The general had to know about the Civilized Zone.

  How much more did the Russians know? Were they aware of the existence of the Cavalry in the Dakota Territory? What about the Flathead Indians or the Moles? “We were sent to see if it’s inhabited,” he said.

  “Who sent you?”

  “The Government of the Civilized Zone,” Hickok fibbed again.

  “I have heard of the Civilized Zone,” General Malenkov said slowly.

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Not a bunch,” Hickok replied. “I know the Government of the United States reorganized in Denver after the war, and they evacuated thousands of folks from all across the country into the Midwest and Rocky Mountain area. Later it became known as the Civilized Zone.”

  “And you do not live there?”

  “I told you,” Hickok said, enjoying their verbal sparring, their game of cat and mouse. “I live in Montana.”

  “Why would someone from Montana be on a mission for the Government of the Civilized Zone?” General Malenkov asked.

  “My people have a treaty with ’em,” Hickok revealed. “They sent us because we have the best vehicle.”

  “I was told about your vehicle,” General Malenkov stated with interest.

  “A most unusual vehicle too, I might add. Where did you obtain it?”

  “It was left for us by the man who founded our Home,” Hickok replied.

  “He spent millions building the contraption, then had it secreted in a special vault until we decided we needed it.”

  “I intend to retrieve your vehicle,” General Malenkov declared.

  “It won’t be easy,” Hickok said. “Didn’t your men tell you about the fight we had with your helicopter?”

  “One of our helicopters,” the general corrected the gunman. “Another of our helicopters transported our commando unit to the site and captured you, a larger version than the one you saw. I am having one of our bigger helicopters outfitted to bring your vehicle here.”

  “What are you aimin’ to do?” Hickok joked. “Take it apart, fly the pieces here, then put it back together again?”

  “No,” General Malenkov said. “Our helicopter will use a winch and a sling and fly it here.”

  “Fly the SEAL?” Hickok laughed. “You’re crazy! It weighs tons.”

  “The SEAL? Is that what you call it?” General Malenkov inquired.

  Hickok wanted to sew his lips shut. Of all the greenhorn mistakes! He’d gone and blurted out the name of the SEAL without realizing what in tarnation he was doing! What an idiot! “Yeah,” he had to agree. “We call our buggy the SEAL.”

  “Interesting,” General Malenkov remarked. “And I am not crazy. Our tandem helicopters can transport over fifteen tons. By tomorrow morning, my crew will be at the site. Believe me, our helicopters can easily bear the load of conveying your SEAL. You don’t seem to know much about helicopters.”

  “I don’t,” Hickok admitted. “I never even saw one before the fight we had with that copter of yours.”

  “Odd. Don’t they utilize helicopters in the Civilized Zone?” General Malenkov innocently inquired.

  What was the general up to? Probing for secrets concerning the Civilized Zone’s military capabilities? “I wouldn’t know,” Hickok answered, “I haven’t spent a lot of time in the Civilized Zone. But I did see a flying contraption of theirs once,” he added. “Something called a jet.”

  General Malenkov’s interest heightened. “A jet? What type of jet?”

  Hickok shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t know jets from turnips. It flew real fast, and it could fire machine guns and rockets.” He didn’t bother to mention the jet had been destroyed, downed in a battle with the SEAL.

  General Malenkov and Lieutenant Voroshilov exchanged looks. The obviously considered the news of the jet important.

  “Did you see other military hardware in the Civilized Zone?” General Malenkov queried.

  Hickok repressed an impulse to laugh. The general was totally transparent; he was milking the gunman for critical tactical information.

  But why? Were the Russians planning to invade the Civilized Zone? If so, why now? Why had they waited so long after the war? “I saw a heap of trucks and jeeps and a tank,” Hickok stated.

  “Do you know any more?” General Malenkov goaded him. “How large a standing Army they maintain, for instance? What shape their weapons and equipment are in? Where their outposts are situated?”

  “Nope,” Hickok replied. “Like I told you, I haven’t spent much time in the Civilized Zone.”

  General Malenkov studied the gunman for a moment. “You said your people live in Montana?”

  “Yep,” Hickok said, confirming his lie.

  “Do they have a name?”

  “No,” Hickok fibbed again.

  “What about the name of the town you live in?” General Malenkov pressed the issue.

  “We don’t live in a town,” Hickok said, telling the truth for once. “We have our own compound and we keep pretty much to ourselves.”

  “Could you pinpoint its location on a map?” General Malenkov asked.

  “Sure,” Hickok responded.

  “We will bring one here later,” General Malenkov informed him.

  “Do you mind if I ask a question?” Hickok politely inquired.

  “What is it?” General Malenkov asked.

  “Who are you guys? Where do you come from? And where am I?”

  Hickok swept the medical room with his right hand. “Where is this place?”

  General Malenkov nodded. “Fair is fair,” he said.
“You have answered me, so I will answer you. Perhaps you will the better understand the nature of your dilemma, and you will realize why resistance is futile. You must continue to cooperate with us. You have no other choice.”

  Hickok sat up on the metal table.

  “As you have undoubtedly guessed,” General Malenkov declared, “we are professional soldiers in the Army of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”

  “You’re a long ways from home too,” Hickok quipped.

  General Malenkov paused. “True,” he said sadly.

  “We are far from the Motherland.” He sighed and stared at red drapes covering one of the walls. “As to your location,” he said slowly, “a demonstration will be far more eloquent than mere words.”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov and the third soldier moved aside, clearing a path between the metal table and the drapes.

  General Malenkov beckoned toward the drapes. “Go ahead. Take a look.”

  Hickok slid from the metal table. He noticed the general had placed his Colt Pythons on a wooden stand about four feet from the table.

  “Open the drapes,” General Malenkov directed the gunman.

  Hickok walked to the right side of the drapes and found several cords descending from the traverse rods. He gripped the first cord and pulled.

  Nothing happened.

  Hickok tried the second of the three cords.

  The drapes didn’t budge.

  What the heck was going on here? Some of the cabins at the Home were outfitted with drapes, and he knew how to work them. He pulled on the final cord.

  With a swish, the red drapes parted, opening wide, revealing a picture window and a spectacular view.

  It took a minute to register. Hickok had seen pictures of the scene in the photographic books in the Family library. But he’d never expected to actually be there.

  It was impossible!

  It just couldn’t be!

  But there it was!

  General Malenkov noted the astonishment on the gunman’s features.

  “Your eyes do not deceive you,” he said.

  “It can’t be!” Hickok exclaimed. “It can’t!”

  “But it is,” General Malenkov said, beaming. “It’s the White House.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What kept you?” Terza demanded.

  Blade gaped at her, scarcely aware he was responding. “Cardew took a potty break,” he wisecracked. “Must of read War and Peace while he was in the bathroom.”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about no War and Peace,” Terza said. “But I do know Cardew can’t read.”

  Blade scanned her room, which was located on the top floor of the library. Plush green carpet covered the floor, in excellent condition despite the passing of a century. The walls were covered with mahogany paneling.

  An easy chair and a couch were positioned directly in front of the Warrior.

  Beyond them, reached by climbing two small steps, was an elevated section incorporating a huge bed as its centerpiece. Terza, attired in a skimpy white-lace garment, reclined in the middle of the bed, her legs spread out, resting her head on her left hand.

  “Do you like it?” Terza asked.

  “I had no idea libraries in the old days were so extravagant,” Blade commented.

  Terza laughed. “Stupid. This was an office once. I had some of the men fix it up for me, scavenging from the abandoned stores. You’d be surprised what you can find.”

  “I guess I would,” Blade admitted. He was perplexed by Terza’s behavior. She was exhibiting none of the habitual hostility he’d observed earlier. In fact, she was going out of her way to be nice, to be friendly.

  To be attractive.

  Blade walked to the steps leading up to the bed. “We must talk,” he told her.

  Terza grinned, reached out her right hand, and patted the brown bedspread. “I didn’t have you brought here to talk.”

  “We must talk,” Blade stated.

  Terza sat up. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I have the hots for you? I don’t get a craving for a man very often. You should be flattered.”

  “I don’t seem to be getting through to you,” Blade said. “I already have a wife.”

  “So?” Terza giggled and patted the bed again. “I’ll never tell!”

  Blade pondered his next move. He saw her eyes raking his body from head to toe. Something was inconsistent here. This wasn’t the tough-as-nails woman he’d met. The way she was staring at him, with her nostrils flared and her eyes dilated…

  Her eyes dilated?

  Blade moved to the edge of the bed.

  “Come on!” Terza urged him. “I ain’t waitin’ all day!”

  Blade leaned over and peered into her pale blue eyes. Her pupils were expanded and unfocused, and her entire demeanor verged on inane giddiness. What was she on? Alcohol? He doubted it. Her breath lacked the telltale odor. What then? Drugs? He straightened, frowning. The Family deplored the use of drugs. For the Warriors, any addicting substance was strictly taboo. With their lives on the line daily, only a moronic jerk would distort the senses and inhibit the reflexes. Survival was frequently a matter of split-second decision-making and timing; no one on drugs would last more than a minute if confronted by a mutate, one of the monstrous giants, or any other Terza said, eying left hand between him her deviate.

  Drugs were plain stupid.

  “Come on, handsome!” lecherously. She slid her thighs. “I want it!”

  “You want it?”

  “Ohhhh! How I want it!” Terza cooed.

  “Are you sure you want it?” Blade asked.

  Terza sat up, smiling, weaving slightly. “I’m sure! Give it to me!”

  Blade grinned. “If you insist.”

  “Do it, damnit!”

  Blade hauled off and slugged her on the jaw.

  Terza collapsed onto the bed, unconscious, her mouth slack, blood dribbling from her lower gum.

  “Sorry about that,” Blade remarked. “But I tried to warn you. Marriage without loyalty is nothing more than disguised prostitution, as our spiritual mentor, Joshua, would say. And I will never violate my oath to my mate.” He shook his head, feeling foolish conducting a conversation with an unconscious woman.

  Time to get the hell out of here!

  Blade crossed to the door and paused. There should be a pair of guards outside the door to Terza’s room. They had escorted him to the room from the basement cell. He would need to catch them by surprise. Putting a broad smirk on his face, he slowly opened the door.

  There they were. Cardew and one other.

  Blade glanced over his right shoulder and laughed. “Okay,” he said to Terza’s unresponsive form. “I’ll tell them.” He smiled at Cardew and the other man. “Terza wants to see you.”

  Cardew chuckled. “What’s the matter? Can’t you find where it goes without help?” He snickered and motioned for the other man to follow.

  Blade, beaming, stepped aside.

  Cardew and the other man had taken several steps into the room before Cardew awoke to the danger. He saw the blood on Terza’s chin and grabbed for his Browning. “Damn!”

  Blade pounced. He kicked with his right leg, connecting on Cardew’s left knee, and heard a distinct popping sound as Cardew screeched and dropped to the floor.

  The second Leather Knight, a tall, lean black, went for the knife he wore in a sheath on his right hip.

  Blade drove his right fist around and in, catching the black on the nose, crushing the cartilage and driving fragments into the Knight’s forehead.

  He swung his left fist, boxing the Knight on the ear.

  The stud started to drop.

  Blade rammed his elbow into the man’s jaw, then turned his attention to Cardew.

  Still on the floor, wobbling on his right knee, Cardew was drawing his Browning.

  Blade lashed out with his right foot, his toes smashing into Cardew’s chin.

  Cardew’s head snapped backward. His teeth crunched
together, and crimson spurted from his mouth.

  “This is for last night!” Blade said, and hammered his left fist down on the right side of Cardew’s face. Once. Twice.

  Cardew groaned and sprawled onto the carpet.

  Blade took the knife from the black and Cardew’s Browning and hurried to the door.

  The hallway was empty.

  Blade closed the door behind him as he took a left. Reaching Rikki and Lex quickly was imperative. There was no telling how soon Terza and the others would be found.

  Every moment counted.

  The hulking Warrior reached a flight of stairs and hastily descended.

  Surprisingly, he reached the bottom level undetected. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising, he told himself. Except for Terza, Cardew, and the guards, why would any of the Leather Knights be hanging around the library? From what he’d gathered, very few of them could even read. He cautiously opened the stairwell door and peeked outside.

  The hallway leading to the holding chamber passed by the door. No one was in sight.

  Blade took a right and ran down the hall. If all went well, he would reach—

  A door up ahead opened and two Leather Knights, one man and one woman, emerged.

  No!

  “You!” the woman bellowed, clutching at the pistol she carried on her left side.

  Blade shot her in the chest.

  The woman twisted and fell to the floor.

  Undaunted, the stud was trying to clear his revolver.

  Blade planted a slug in the stud’s head.

  There was no use trying to conceal his movements now! Every Leather Knight in the building had heard the gunfire and would come running!

  Blade ran faster. He reached the door he’d used last night and flung it open.

  Rikki and Lex were hanging from the far wall, still in chains. Both were gagged.

  Blade raced across the dirt floor. He tore the gag from Rikki’s mouth.

  “Where are the keys to your shackles?” he asked.

  “The one called Cardew has them,” Rikki replied.

  Damn! Blade glared at the chains. Why hadn’t he thought to search Cardew for the keys? After all, Cardew had unlocked his chains!