by Blake Banner
I laughed out loud. When I had finished, I shook my head. “There are so many reasons why that is not going to happen. And the first is that I do not plan to commit suicide, which is what you are about to do.”
“Lacklan, please.”
“If you make it to Corpus Christi alive, give Marni a message from me. Tell her I quit.”
NINE
She shouted down to me as I reached the front door. I should have gone on and left the house, but for some reason I stopped. Maybe somewhere inside I felt my history with Marni deserved more. Maybe I thought the senator deserved more. Whatever the reason, I stopped with the door half open and turned back. The major and his five clones were all on their feet. Cyndi came thudding down the stairs in her jeans and bare feet, buttoning her shirt as she went, shouting, “Lacklan! Wait! Don’t do something you will regret all your life just because you are mad!”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a threat?”
“No! Goddamit! Will you stop this now, please!”
I waited.
She pointed at a chair. “Please, sit down, have a drink and let’s talk about this.”
I was telling myself I was less than two days’ drive from Independence. All I had to do was walk away, hire a car and go home. Cyndi was watching me, and she read me like a book. I was about to turn and go through the door when she spoke. “You owe it to yourself, you owe it to the world, goddammit! You owe it to Gibbons, and above all you owe it to Marni and your father. Just sit down and talk, for ten minutes, and if after that you still want to leave, then fine. You can get up and go.”
I sighed, closed the door and sat in one of the armchairs.
The major turned to his men. “You boys start loading up the vehicles. We depart on time at fifteen hundred hours.”
Cyndi sat close to me on the sofa.
I said, “Sit down, Major. I want you to be a part of this conversation.”
He wanted more than anything else to tell me to go to hell, but he knew he had no choice, and Cyndi said, “Sit down, please, Charles. I’d like you to be a part of this too.”
He sat in the chair opposite.
Cyndi started to talk. “Lacklan, I want you to know how grateful I am. I realize I could not have…”
I cut her short. “Cut to the chase, Senator. If I need an ego massage I’ll go the local whorehouse.”
Her cheeks flushed red and I saw tears in her eyes.
The major snarled, “You watch your mouth, Walker!”
I ignored him. “We’re on the clock, Senator. Talk.”
She looked down at the carpet. I could see her jaw muscles bunching. After a moment, she said, “Professor Gilbert and Marni both stressed to me that it was of vital importance that you make the rendezvous with us. I honestly don’t know any more than you do. But I do know that they need to see you for something of the utmost importance. So much so that my meeting with them would be almost a waste of time if you did not come also.” She buried her face in her hands, ran her fingers through her hair, then looked up at me. “Look, Lacklan, I have made an absolute mess of this. I can see that now and I hold my hands up to it. But it is done! And we need you at this meeting. Marni needs you at this meeting. Please come with us.”
I pulled my Camels from my pocket, lit up and put them away again. I inhaled deeply and let the smoke out slow. I knew myself well enough to know that if Marni needed me that bad, I would go. But I’d be damned if I went on their terms, and I sure as hell wasn’t putting my life in the hands of Major Disaster and his gang of amateurs.
I said, “How long have you had those two neon signs outside?” They both frowned at me. I jabbed at the door with my thumb. “I’m talking about the two SUVs out there with D.C. plates and U.S. Navy Seals written all over them in neon letters.”
The major’s face went hard. “They have been there for two days, Captain. And there is nothing wrong with a show of force. Let them see that we mean business.”
“Listen to me, Major. You can give a show of force when you know how strong your enemy is. But if you don’t even know who your damn enemy is, a show of force is just plain stupidity.” I turned to Cyndi. “Does he know anything about who he is up against?”
“Very little. None of us knows much at all.”
I nodded. “That’s why Marni wanted me to take you, not your own men.” I turned to the major. “I know who we are up against. I know them very well. And your show of force is nothing to them, believe me. All you have done is advertise your presence. And you can be sure that they have tracked you from D.C. They know who you are, they know why you are here and they know your strength.” I looked at Cyndi. “This is your well ordered, well organized military operation?”
“Ma’am, do I have to sit here and listen to this? I need to see to the loading of the vehicles.”
I held up a hand. “Before you go, Major. Let’s get a couple of things clear. I am not under your command. I ride with the senator, and her safety is my personal responsibility.” I turned to Cyndi. “If you can’t live with that, we are done here.”
She nodded.
I turned back to the major. “And one more thing. What weapons have you got?”
“The men all have their own sidearms. In addition we have six assault rifles and back up ammunition.”
“What route are you planning?”
“Ma’am, I don’t have time for this…”
I interrupted him. “Are you planning to take the I-25 through Las Cruces, down to the Big Bend?”
His face flushed. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s what I’m planning. What? Should I have run it by you first, Captain?”
“They’ll hit you before Las Cruces.”
“Take a hike!”
I looked at Cyndi. “You’re going to die today.”
There was panic in her eyes. She looked at the Major.
“Ma’am, you don’t have to listen to this wiseass!”
I stood. “I take the Dodge. I drive. I’m in the lead. It’s not negotiable.”
He shouted at me, “Screw you!”
“Your call, Cyndi. Take it or leave it.”
She stared at the Major a moment. “Charles, this really doesn’t change a thing. Captain Walker is an expert and he has a deep knowledge of the workings of Omega. He knows what he is talking about. We go in convoy as you had planned, but we will go in the lead and you will go behind. That is how we will do it.”
He scowled at me. “Yes, ma’am!”
He slammed out.
I shook my head at Cyndi. “You made a big mistake.” I started climbing the stairs.
She said, “Where are you going?”
“To have a shower.” I stopped and looked back at her. “I’m sorry I picked you up and threw you on the bed. I shouldn’t have done that. But you have to stop playing smart games, Cyndi. Politicians play games and people die. Stop it.”
* * *
We didn’t set off at fifteen hundred hours. We set out at three fifteen, because at ten to three I decided to make coffee and a sandwich, and took my time about it. Major Dumbass had complained and I’d told him to go on ahead, we’d follow. It would have helped if he had. It might have saved his life, but he couldn’t see that.
I took two of his boys in the Dodge. The big black guy rode up front with me, the one with the moustache rode in the back with Cyndi. I told them both I wanted them armed with assault rifles. We joined the I-25 from Coal Avenue, and straight away I accelerated to one hundred MPH. Major Disaster had told me, with a smug show of pride, that he had cleared it with the New Mexico PD, Texas PD and the Texas Rangers, that we would be passing through at high speed with a politically sensitive passenger. That’s the kind of stupid thing you can do when you have connections at the White House.
Six minutes out of town we crossed the Rio Grande and turned south toward Belen. When we were under way I said, “OK, listen up and pay attention. Senator, anything starts, you get flat on the floor, immediately. Soldier, what’s your name?”
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br /> The guy with the moustache said, “Sergeant Eames, Sir.”
“OK, Eames. First sign of trouble, your first task, before you fire a round, is to put the senator flat on the floor of the car and make sure she stays there. Don’t be polite. You cover her at all times. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
I glanced at the big guy next to me. “What’s your name?”
“Sergeant Jones.”
“All right, Sergeants, I know our enemy, and I know him very well. He is powerful and well equipped. When he attacks, he will seek to outgun us and outmaneuver us. So I am expecting him to attack while we are on the road, where our ability to take evasive action is limited. And I am guessing he will strike from the air as soon as we are some distance into the desert. That being the case, we should expect a helicopter attack, by two choppers, somewhere between Belen and Las Cruces.”
Jones said, “Holy shit…”
Cyndi said, “Oh my God…”
I cut her short. “Too late for regrets. Now listen to me. Usual procedure is that the package goes in the rear car. They will target both vehicles, but they will make a point of taking out the rear car first, because they’ll figure that’s where the senator is most likely to be. So, Eames, your task, having ensured that the senator is on the floor, is to neutralize the chopper that’s targeting the rear vehicle. You get in the trunk, you smash the rear windshield and you take out the pilot. Short, focused bursts. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jones, the moment we are aware of their presence, you are going to open the sunroof. Don’t worry. I am going to make you a very difficult target to hit. However, they are going to be using high velocity, armor piercing rounds.”
“I understand.”
“Don’t waste ammunition on the shooters. Shoot the pilot. If you can’t see the pilot, aim for the engine and fuel tank. They’ll most likely be below the rotors and behind the cabin. Any questions?”
Jones gave his head a single, stoic shake. “No, sir.”
But after a moment Eames asked, “Who are these people?”
“Your worst nightmare, Sergeant. Every conspiracy theory you ever read on the ’Net, and then some.”
They came at us an hour and forty minutes out of Albuquerque, forty-five miles north of Las Cruces. I caught the throb of the rotors on the periphery of my hearing and snapped. “Senator! Get down now!” At the same time, I accelerated and moved into the fast lane. “Eames! In the trunk. Jones, sunroof!” I grabbed the radio. “Major! Two incoming choppers on your six. Stay with me, we’ll take out the one targeting you.”
The radio crackled. “What the hell are you talking about, Walker?”
I dropped the radio and accelerated to one twenty. Speed was not really an issue. The choppers would be doing in excess of two hundred miles an hour, and there was no way I could outrun them. What I needed was to go fast enough that if I weaved, I would make it hard for them to aim effectively. A twitch of the steering wheel at fifty, you’re a sitting duck. That same twitch at a hundred and twenty and you have dodged ten yards across the road. Try it at a hundred and fifty and they won’t need to shoot you because you’ll already be dead.
I heard the rear windshield shatter, then Eames was shouting: “Two choppers! One at our six, taking position over rear car. The other coming alongside, your nine, sir!”
Then his rifle was stuttering, short bursts of four rounds, so he could keep control of the weapon.
Meanwhile, Jones had opened the sunroof, had one foot on the seat and had wedged himself in the opening, resting his weapon on the roof. He fired three short bursts, and next thing we were raked with a hail of fire that shattered a window and tore two holes through the chassis. I slammed on the brakes so the chopper overshot us, then hit the gas, accelerated to a hundred and forty, then slowed to a hundred and twenty. The chopper swung around to take its position again.
I shouted as I careened across the road, “Count of five, I’m going to hold her steady for four seconds! Take your shots!”
Another rain of fire strafed the blacktop and punched a hole in the roof. I swung the car across the road and back again, hollering, “One! Two! Three! Four! Five!”
And I held the Dodge steady in a straight line for four agonizing seconds. In that time they got off four bursts of fire each, thirty-two rounds. Then I was burning rubber again, screaming across the blacktop, while Eames shouted, “I got the mother fucker. I got him!”
Behind us there was a screaming of brakes and rubber. Eames said, “Oh no, Lord no!” And then there was a terrible rending of metal and a massive explosion. I glanced in the mirror. The chopper had come down in the path of the Major’s Jeep. He had tried to veer to the side, but had collided with the body of the aircraft and both had exploded in a ball of fire.
I barked, “Stay focused! Eames! Nine o’clock! Take that chopper down!”
“Sir!”
“Cover the senator!”
“Sir!”
But even as he replied, we were strafed again. I saw the plumes of pulverized blacktop racing across the freeway toward us like a sprinting ghost. I veered right. My windshield exploded and I heard a hard thwack! above my head. Jones’ big body whiplashed and he slumped down onto the dashboard with half his head missing.
I heard Eames say, “Oh sweet Jesus!”
I snarled, “Stay focused! I’m taking the bridge. Get him in the belly as we go under!”
We had come to exit 51. I spun the wheel and accelerated up the ramp. I saw the chopper rise over the bridge. I hit the brakes, slid my ass into the bend and floored the gas across the overpass. Eames was half out the window, screaming like a deranged berserker, emptying the magazine into the belly of the chopper.
He pulled himself in, ripped out the empty magazine and rammed another in as we screeched onto a broad dirt track that climbed into the sierra. I hit the brakes, sliding on the gravel, and he rolled into the back, taking aim at the pilot who was fishtailing and trying to get behind us. I heard three short bursts from Eames, but I was hurtling around a bend, climbing fast and raising a big cloud of dust behind us.
He shouted, “I can’t see him!”
Then we were hit by a hail of bullets and he went quiet. I floored the gas pedal again. We were at the top of the hill, and up ahead on the right I could see a canyon. I pulled off the track doing fifty and we bounced and jumped across the brush and gnarled bushes. I heard Cyndi scream, slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt six inches from the edge of the canyon in a huge cloud of dust. I grabbed Jones’ rifle and a spare magazine, hollering, “Get out! Get out! Get out now!”
I scrambled, wrenched open the back door and dragged Cyndi out. The dust was swirling all around us. The thudding of the chopper was deafening and its downdraft was kicking up even more dust. I dragged Cyndi to the edge of the ravine and shouted “Lie down!”
She fell to the ground. I dropped on my belly and, as the rotors rose over the cloud of dust, I took aim. For a second the pilot saw me and we looked at each other. We were maybe twenty yards away. We looked at each other and he knew he was going to die. I riddled his upper body and his head with twelve rounds in three steady bursts of four. The chopper spun out of control, swung in a circle, lifted its tail in the air and smashed down face first onto the hillside.
I didn’t wait. I ran to the SUV, grabbed the spare gas can, doused the inside of the cab with it, then pushed it over the edge. It didn’t burst into flames when it hit the bottom. Cars don’t generally explode when they crash. But a hot round into the cab ignited the gasoline, and then it did explode, and it began to incinerate the two bodies inside it.
I glanced at my watch. It was five fifteen and evening was closing in. In the distance I could hear sirens. I grabbed Cyndi and dragged her to her feet.
“Come on, we have to run.”
“What?”
“Run! Down into that canyon! Now!”
And we ran, not to where the Dodge had exploded, but further
on, stumbling down into the shadows, away from the burning wreckage that would be the focus of attention of the cops.
For now at least.
For now at least, we had some respite, too. By tonight Omega would know that Cyndi was not in the rear car. By tomorrow night they would know that the lead car had only two occupants, and that they were both burned beyond identification. It would be several days, maybe more, before they discovered that neither of them was Senator Cyndi McFarlane.
So, for the next couple of days at least, our own presumed deaths would allow us to live.
TEN
The moon had risen early and now hung huge, three dimensional and orange over the jagged black edge of the sierra. It was cold, freezing, and we were both shivering, huddled close for warmth. A mile away we could still see the desultory flash of red and blue light over the edge of the canyon, where the fire truck, the ambulance and the Highway Patrol had arrived to try and fathom what the hell had happened there. I had no doubt the Feds were there too, and even less doubt that Omega had a man on the spot.
And while those lights were flashing, we had no choice but to wait it out. Our problems had become very complicated. Not only were we without a vehicle to get us where we needed to go, I had no usable ID, no credit card, and we were practically out of cash. Yet, looking at Cyndi, I didn’t know how long we could wait. The cold was getting to her, she had low body mass, and pretty soon she would slip into hypothermia. Her teeth were chattering and she was getting a glassy look about her eyes. Sergeant Bradley, my Kiwi mentor from the Regiment, had a saying that had saved my ass more times than I could remember. I could see him now, swigging whiskey from his hip flask, with the camp fire washing his face with red and orange, making him look diabolical. “When the Devil is up your arse, mate, there’s only one thing you can do. Move your fuckin’ arse!”
I said, “OK, let’s go.” I got to my feet and pulled her up. I took my jacket and put it around her shoulders, over the top of her own.