O’Malley tried hard to control his emotions. He swallowed a deep breath and looked intently at the young couple. A shudder shook his body. After several tries, he finally spoke in a low voice, his head down.
“I wish Book Liberators had been around in Dallas as my dear partner and I tried to protest the law. It most certainly would have been a great encouragement to us. I am glad you are doing this. There are a lot of us hobos, a great many of them former teachers, military and engineers, who now live up and down rail lines who are unhappy with what the empire did to destroy our livelihoods and our freedoms. I will do what I can to send word to them to help you. You just mention my name if you need help.”
He straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat and pulled out his watch, looking at the time.
“Bill, it is only about 30 minutes before the Houston to San Antonio train is scheduled to come through. It will stop for ten minutes over at Johnson culvert to load cargo. We need to hustle to get these young people over there in a timely manner.”
“Wait,” Brogan said, “If you want to help the Book Liberators, you need to know how we communicate with each other.”
“I am honored to help,” he said firmly, “And Bill will help, won’t you, my friend?”
Bill nodded. With their agreement, Brogan hastily drew the basic BL communication symbols in the dust, telling them where to post them on the closest building to a rail line and a little bit about where and how books were to be stored. Confident the two hobos at least understood the rudiments, the four of them quickly moved down the rail in the twilight, with Herman following,
O’Malley gave them instructions on how to board the train. “The train only stops for 10 minutes. Bill and I will distract the security guard while the two of you sneak around back. Crawl under the last rail car. You’ll see an opening underneath. Climb up into the car and hide yourself among the produce. Don’t move around or make a sound until the train makes its next stop on the outskirts of San Antonio. As the train starts to slow, jump out the same way you came in. Roll down the embankment. I will draw you a map to show you where to find the Alamo prison intake center, located on the campus of the UT Health Science Center, northwest of Alamo Mission. But be careful, it is heavily guarded.”
He pulled out a piece a scrap paper on which he sketched a rudimentary map. Before they said their goodbyes, they heard the train coming, so they crouched on the side of the embankment while Bill and O’Malley boldly walked toward where the train would be stopping, arguing loudly. When the train pulled to a stop, Bill took a swing at O’Malley, and O’Malley fell with a holler. A security guard came running as Bryan and Brogan quickly ran toward the back of the train, following O’Malley’s instructions. They managed to get Herman to jump into the train ahead of them and pulled themselves up into the car. As they hid among the produce, they heard the two men screaming at each other with the guard ordering them to stop even as the train pulled away.
They huddled together among boxes of apples and oranges, allowing the rhythm of the rails to lull their exhausted bodies to sleep. They didn’t awaken until they felt the train slowing down outside San Antonio.
Brogan and Bryan climbed out of the train car, Herman jumping after them. They quickly scrambled down the embankment even before the train came to a full stop in the rail yard. The trip had taken less than an hour, much less time than if they tried to walk. They moved behind a supply shed and tried to get their bearings.
They hid at the dark end of the rail yard. Millions of stars filled the clear sky. They stopped for a minute to admire the sight; not something they often saw in the constant light of the metropolitan area of Austin City. As they turned to look toward the suburb, they saw few city lights dotting the skyline.
San Antonio gave visitors the impression of a sleepy Mexican town sprawled aimlessly across the southern Texas desert, as it had before the war. No skyscrapers interfered with the view. Only the old Alamo mission and ruins of a few Catholic churches were tall enough to catch the eye above hundreds of barrios, or Spanish-speaking districts.
Bryan pulled out the professor’s map and the ancient compass. Enough moonlight allowed him to figure out where they were as he looked down at the map. He traced his finger from the top of the famous Alamo mission to where the professor said the prison was. It was probably less than a mile from where they stood.
“You’ll find it easily because of tall guard towers jutting up on four corners of each of two towers,” the professor told them. “It is located northwest of Alamo Mission.”
Looking northwest by using their compass, they saw the dark edifice lit at each guard tower. Green lights of a laser fence were very visible in the night sky. Now they just had to figure out how to get into the prison, rescue Brogan’s parents and get out.
“Simple, right? Bryan mumbled under his breath.
Herman, sitting quietly at their feet, started to growl. The couple quickly crouched down and Brogan laid her hand across his muzzle. They heard footsteps of someone walking toward the shed not too far from where they hid. Bryan carefully looked around the corner and watched as the person looked around, appearing to read something on the bottom corner of the shed. He walked rapidly away.
Waiting a few minutes, to make sure the coast was clear, Bryan slid around the shed, shocked to see in the moonlight some Book Liberator communication codes. He quickly wrote the code on his palm with a pencil he always carried and went back to where Brogan and Herman hid behind the shed. By moonlight they deciphered most of it, but the tombstone symbol did not mean anything at first. Finally, Brogan said she thought she figured it out.
“Bryan, I think it is a representation of the old Alamo mission! If I’m correct, the message is: ‘meeting, Alamo mission, 11 pm’.”
It made a lot of sense, so they headed in that direction, staying away from lights. If they interpreted the message correctly, there was a BL meeting scheduled right under the noses of the OCB authorities and they needed to attend. Maybe cell members could help them get into the prison. The message might have been placed near the rail yard because the professor somehow sent the word through the hobo grapevine to the San Antonio cell, or maybe it was just a regular BL meeting. Either way, it was a relief to think help could be nearby.
Brogan suddenly stopped in her tracks, putting her hand on Bryan’s arm.
“Bryan, what if it is a trap? OCB might have figured out the code. Or somebody talked. We might be walking right into the arms of authorities.”
“Anything is possible, honey, but what choice do we have? The watch Scotty gave us shows it is only 9:30 pm, so we have plenty of time to arrive at the mission and watch to see who shows up. Hopefully we can tell if it is a trap.”
“Okay, makes sense. I can’t think of any other way, so it is probably the best plan.”
She squared her shoulders, reached down and gave Herman a reassuring pat and headed off into the darkness, her partner and Herman by her side.
Chapter Eleven
Prison Agonies
Frank lay on the hard cement of the dark Alamo prison floor, trying to find a comfortable spot between bruises covering his body and the two dozen prisoners crammed into a 10’ x 12’ concrete cell. He wasn’t sure of the time, probably around midnight. He couldn’t sleep. There was very little ventilation and no toilet facilities. The group designated a far corner for people to relieve themselves. The smell and humidity were almost unbearable. He heard groans from the rest of the prisoners in his cell, but also in the cell next to his. Maybe that’s where Emily was. The guards made no attempt to separate men from women, but Emily wasn’t in his cell.
It had been two days since he and Emily arrived; he hadn’t seen her since. He was worried, not about himself, but about Emily, who was very sick. The Van Horn doctor told them a couple of months ago she had leukemia. She would die if she didn’t go to Austin City for expensive treatments for a possible cure.
“Honey, I’d rather just die at home with you by my side,” she told him sof
tly after they left the doctor’s office.
They spent hours discussing it. He’d tried desperately to convince her to go for treatments. How could he keep on living without her?
“If it is the money you are worried about,” he pleaded with her, “Don’t. We have plenty saved up.”
“No, dear, that’s not it. I just can’t bear to go through all those treatments.”
They had seemingly endless discussions about it prior to the arrest until she finally said, “Frank, I know you want to do everything you can to make me better. But ultimately it is my decision. And I’m just so tired and ready to go home to heaven. Please, let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? Let’s just enjoy our remaining time together. And let’s not say anything to Brogan.”
The next day, as Frank arrived home from work, he saw a large black robo-car he didn’t recognize parked in front of the house, and no welcoming bark from their large Golden Retriever, Teddy. He knew immediately something was wrong. He quietly walked in the back door and into the kitchen. Emily sat in a chair with her hands tied behind her back, one eye turning black and blue, and beside her the body of their dog, his throat slit, blood in a large pool under his head. A very big man stood behind her wearing an empire uniform of gray trimmed in red and a big grin on his face. Immediately his heart leaped into his throat and Frank’s fists clenched as he started to rush forward.
Before he could do anything, another big man stepped from behind the kitchen door and shot him with a stun gun. The only thought he had as he hit the floor was, “Emily,” before everything went black.
When he came to he still lay on the floor, his hands now handcuffed behind him. His head was pounding, and he ached all over from the effects of the stun gun. The two men roughly picked him up and shoved him on to a kitchen chair, adding restraints around his ankles and arms.
“What’s this all about?” he managed to ask the man who ambushed him.
The man was almost as big as Frank, his head bald and his muscles bulging in his uniform. The way he moved told Frank he was probably ex-military.
“I think you know,” bald guy said. “We belong to Major Riley’s Operation Close the Book Task Force. One of the prisoners in your work gang told us you head the Book Liberators cell responsible for confiscation of unlawful books, contrary to provincial and imperial law.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Frank replied indignantly. “And how can you trust the word of a prisoner? I am a respected member of this community. And before we go any further, please release my partner. She is not well.”
As soon as he said it, Frank realized his mistake. He saw the gleam in the man’s eyes. Now he had leverage against Frank to make him talk. Frank looked across the table at Emily, his eyes reflecting the agony he felt for her. She managed a serene smile.
“I’m okay, Frank,” she said. “I’m in God’s hands now.”
The man standing behind her, grabbed her hair and jerked her head back.
“No talking, bitch,” his somewhat handsome face twisted into an ugly snarl.
Frantically trying to think how to get them out of the situation, Frank tried to stay calm. He cleared his throat and shook his head trying to clear the fuzziness.
“Sir, what is your name?” Frank asked quietly, directing his question to the bald guy who seemed in charge. “Just tell us what you need and I’m sure we can correct any mistake.”
The man smiled wickedly, “You and your partner are not getting out of this, Frank. But for your information, I’m Capt. Mason and the pretty boy behind your partner is Second Lieutenant Haug, and we are operating undercover. And there is no mistake. We’ve already rounded up about 300 other members of Book Liberators among the energy grunts, thanks to more than one informant. After some persuading, one of them told us about you. You think you can hide your face behind a mask, but there is no way you can hide your size or your voice. It seems everyone knows you are the BL cell leader and organizer for all energy grunts here in Texas Province. And, don’t worry, your betrayer put up quite a fight before finally giving us your name. But, like all traitors he didn’t live long enough to ask for your forgiveness,” laughing as he said it.
“The major is going to be delighted when I tell him about all the lovely fish I caught. In fact, I think I’ll call him and tell him right now. But first, let’s see if we can get you and your partner to talk about the founders of the Book Liberators so I can catch some even bigger fish.”
Frank looked over at Emily and saw panic in her eyes. He, too, thought the same thing: Brogan and Bryan. He gave an imperceptible nod and a smile, while he silently began to pray for strength and courage for both.
“Lieutenant, I know how much you appreciate beautiful women. So why don’t you start with a conversation with Frank’s partner while he watches?” Mason asked.
Frank tried to lunge for Haug, lifting the chair with him, but the sergeant was ready for him and slammed him and the chair down so hard the chair tipped over and Frank hit his head on the floor.
“Come here, Lieutenant, and help me lift this lout back up so he can watch while you talk to his partner.”
Frank and Emily now sat away from the table, facing each other but about three feet apart. The lieutenant stood Emily up, since she had no ankle restraints and brought her close to him. His hands began to roam her body. Suddenly, and without warning, Emily turned and started to run toward the front door.
“Catch her, you fool,” the captain yelled.
She almost reached the front door before the lieutenant grabbed her, turned her around and slammed a fist into her face, breaking her nose with a loud crack. Blood splattered everywhere as she fell to the floor, unconscious. Frank desperately tried to move, but the captain forced him to stay put.
“You don’t understand,” Frank pleaded desperately, “She has leukemia. If you don’t stop the bleeding, she’ll bleed to death in a matter of minutes. How will you explain it to the major?”
The captain grabbed a towel from the kitchen counter and rushed over to Emily. He pressed the towel against her nose while instructing the lieutenant to go to the car for a First Aid kit. When he returned, the captain pulled out some sterile dressings which he shoved up her nose, stopping the bleeding. He adjusted her head to keep her from choking from any bleeding down her throat. He pinched the top of her nose. He obviously knew some First Aid. Although she remained unconscious, Frank heard Emily’s breathing slow to a more normal rate.
After the bleeding appeared to stop, the captain stood nose to nose with the lieutenant. His face was red, and spit flew from his mouth as he yelled. “You know, Lieutenant, sometimes I think the only reason you made the corps was because somebody liked your pretty-boy looks. You are probably the stupidest corpsman I have ever seen. You could have killed her. We need her alive for the major.” The lieutenant didn’t say a word but simply stood at attention.
He turned to look at Frank and then back to the lieutenant. “Okay, now you can redeem yourself, Lieutenant. Let’s see if you can make this other bird sing without killing him.”
Although Frank had a pretty good idea of what would happen next, he at least knew Emily could not be used against him now. He steeled himself for the torture and threw an arrow-prayer heavenward.
Once he regained consciousness, after passing out a second time from the beatings the lieutenant gave him, the captain again tried to force him to say who the leaders of Book Liberators were. Frank refused to say a word. The captain even tried his hand at beating him when the lieutenant became exhausted, finding places on Frank’s body he’d missed. He was sure he had some broken ribs. He could hardly see, his eyes were so swollen. Several fingers were broken where the captain bent them back toward his wrist.
Getting no answers from Frank, the captain finally gave up and called the major’s office. He informed the person on the phone about the round-up and the fact they had two cell leaders in custody, deciding not to tell him about the one rebel he already executed.
The captain was surprised when the major himself came on the vid-phone.
“Captain Mason is it?” Major Riley sked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you have for me?”
“Well, sir. We rounded up close to 300 members of Book Liberators from energy grunts in the west-central Texas Province. We netted them from a prison informant. We also bagged Emily and Frank Finlay. Apparently, they founded all the energy grunt rebel cells. So far, we don’t know who the founders are of the entire Book Liberators movement, but we are working on it.
“Sir, what do you want us to do with all the prisoners? We are holding them in the Caverns of Sonoma, the same place we found a huge stash of contraband books. Part of the cave was destroyed by an explosion when we arrived, but we are sure we destroyed the bulk of the stash. We are using the front of the cave to house prisoners until you tell us what we should do with them.”
“Great work, Captain! The biggest round-up of traitors to the empire so far. But just a tip of the iceberg, I’m sure. I’m currently in Boston. presenting a report to House of Lords on Monday on Operation Close the Book. Timing of your raid is perfect. Here’s what I want you to do. Execute all but 50 cell members for treason, including the one who betrayed them, destroy all books you found, and transport the rest of the rebels, including the Finlay’s, to Alamo prison intake center in San Antonio suburb.
“Take vids of the executions and book destructions. We can broadcast them across the empire to help squelch any further rebellions and end the protests. As soon as I’m done here I will take a military jet to San Antonio, so I can oversee interrogations of the Finlay’s and other prisoners myself on Tuesday. Any questions?”
“No, sir. We will do as you say.”
By the end of the day, robo prison vans arrived at the caverns and executions had been carried out, as the captain gleefully showed the Finlay’s by vid-phone. Emily and Frank were too bruised and broken to put up any more resistance, but sight of the executions of so many of their friends broke their hearts.
The White Warrior Page 14