V06 - Prisoners and Pawns

by Howard Weinstein

  Julie allowed her shoulders to slump. "And I'm not sure he'd be wrong, Kyle. I am betraying him. Every day I go to work and find out secrets from Science Frontiers, and then I take them and turn them over to people who are sworn to fight him and the Visitors."

  "That's not betrayal," Elizabeth whispered.

  Julie tried to smile, but the effort fell short. It hadn't been at all a good day. "I don't know what it is, honey. I just know we're being pushed, a lot of us, into things we don't like doing. And when it's all over; if we win, I wonder how much damage the scars are going to do to us. What are we going to be like?"

  "We'll be okay," Kyle said. "Don't worry."

  Julie added her hand to Kyle's and Elizabeth's and gave them both a squeeze. "Well, Elizabeth, I may never understand how you know what you know, but I sure am glad you do."

  "Me too," Elizabeth said.

  Julie and Kyle stepped away from the truck as the rest of their group came over, ready to head back to the city. "But, damn," Julie said, "we needed those weapons. Okay, everybody, let's head home—and I sure hope Donovan and Tyler are having a better day than we are."

  Chapter 10

  Art Grant peered through the windshield of his pickup truck, his barrel chest pressed up against the steering wheel. He scratched his white Ahab beard and glanced at the muscular young man seated beside him. The truck towed a two-horse trailer behind it. .

  "Almost time to park and switch to horseback," Grant growled. "What do you think, Ramon?"

  "I think we should do it here."

  Grant nodded, resignation evident in the downward set of his lips. "Yeah, I suppose. My ass just isn't too anxious to get up in that saddle. Horses used to be fun before hemorrhoids."

  Ramon snickered, earning a dirty look from the older man. Grant wrestled the pickup over onto the road's grassy shoulder and the two men climbed out and went back to the trailer Grant's eyes narrowed and he looked around.

  "Something wrong, Art?" Ramon asked.

  "Nah. Just thought 1 heard something rustling in the woods. What do you suppose, two or three miles' ride from here to the mine?"

  "Yeah, man, no sweat."

  "That's easy for you to say," Grant retorted as they unlatched the tailgate. The bearded man straightened suddenly. When Ramon started to speak, Grant held up a hand for silence and cocked an ear. Something's out there, he thought. After a moment, the sound became clear, as if shaking itself free of the other natural sounds of the woods.

  It was an unnatural whisper that echoed and multiplied. Grant tilted his face up to the sky.

  Ramon waited, then heard it too. He also looked up.

  Four Visitor skyfighters arced across the blue haze in a purposeful formation.

  "Do you think those things are headed for Crow's Fork?"

  Ramon shrugged. "I think so, Art. What's it mean?"

  "It means something's screwed up, it means we better say a prayer for Donovan and his people, and it means we're getting back into the truck and getting the hell out of here!"

  Grant's short legs churned like a cartoon character's and he vaulted into the driver's seat. The engine was on and the truck rolled forward before the doors were even shut. Spinning tires sprayed a hail of gravel and sand as the truck swerved in a clumsy U-turn and headed back the way it came.

  "C'mon, O'Toole, what the hell kind of Irishman doesn't have a good bottle of bourbon or whiskey or somethin'," Chris moaned. He kicked back in the old wooden chair, and its base springs creaked under his weight. With two leaden thumps, his heels landed on the desk. Maragato sat in a rocker in the corner of O'Toole's front room, and O'Toole himself rested against the door frame.

  "What can I tell you, my friend? I guess I'm not your typical Irishman. The best I can offer you is orange juice, carrot juice, apple juice, or low-fat milk."

  Chris covered his face with his hands. "Lordy, I'm gonna die of thirst. How long do you think it'd take that apple juice to turn to hard cider?"

  O'Toole ignored the question. "What about you, Mr. Maragato? Can I get you anything?"

  Maragato shook his head and smiled softly. "No, thank you."

  Chris uncovered his face. "You don't eat much, do you?" he said to the Japanese agent. "Come to think of it, I can't recall seeing you eat a bite since we got you away from Lydia. Not even at the going-away party for Durning and Coopersmith."

  "Have you been observing me that closely?"

  Chris was annoyed that the man's voice retained its unflagging neutrality. He determined that it was time to break his reserve down, and in a hurry. "As a matter of fact, yeah, I have been. Care to explain?"

  "No, I don't, Mr Faber. My appetite is a private matter."

  Chris slipped his jacket open and unholstered the semiautomatic pistol, aiming it in Maragato's general direction. "How'd you like to reconsider that opinion?"

  "See here, Mr. Faber!" O'Toole said sharply, starting to stride between the two others.

  Chris tipped the gun barrel away from Maragato for a moment. O'Toole stopped and backed up to his previous position. "Good move, Me O'Toole. I'd stay out of this if I was you." The gun moved back to Maragato. "Now, Mr. Maragato, you were about to explain your strange eating habits."

  The Japanese man was no longer smiling, but the gaze was still controlled, level, still lacking in emotion. "You Americans aren't very subtle, are you? That's always been your style. You want an explanation? Very well. I eat only vegetables and sushi, and the cuisine offered since I've been under your group's protection has frankly not appealed to me. In addition, under normal circumstances, I don't eat or drink very much. It's a discipline I taught myself as part of our profession—useful at times, wouldn't you agree?"

  "Okay so far."

  "Lastly, when under conditions of extreme stress, such as my recent capture by Lydia and subsequent liberation by your people, it's my habit to fast, almost totally abstaining from food. It's a means of purging and cleansing the body and spirit, something you beer-swigging, red-meat-consuming Americans would hardly understand. I simply drink water and can sustain myself that way for quite a number of days."

  "It's been quite a number of days," Chris pointed out. "I'd guess your stomach should be growling for something a little more filling than water about now."

  "Guess all you like."

  "Thanks, Maragato, I'll do that. And if you feel like eating, you let us know and maybe we can catch something to your liking." Chris put the gun back under his jacket, meeting Maragato's icy glare for several moments. Broke the shell a little, at least, he thought. He didn't feel the need to compete in any staring contest, so Chris turned and joined O'Toole at the front windows.

  "What was that all about?" O'Toole asked in a whisper.

  "I got some suspicions about our Japanese friend. If they turn out to be true, you'll know."

  "I don't have the slightest notion what you're talking about."

  Chris gave a short laugh. "Let's hope things stay that way." His gaze strayed out the window, and then he did a fast double take. "Holy shit!"

  "What?" O'Toole said, then looked outside himself.

  On the main street of Crow's Fork, California, four Visitor skyfighters landed in clouds of dirt. Their hatches swung open and thirty armor-clad shock troopers clambered out to form a box formation, weapons aimed in all directions. As Chris and O'Toole watched through the curtains, Lydia finally climbed out of the lead space vessel and calmly surveyed the town.

  Chris's hand went retlexively to his gun, though it occurred to him that one man with a pistol wasn't going to do a hell of a lot of good against a Visitor occupation force.

  "What on earth are they doing here?" O'Toole demanded.

  Maragato had joined them at the window. "Looking for me, perhaps?" He sounded unconcerned considering their situation.

  Chris glared at him. "You better hope this stupid disguise works." He looked back out at the street and saw that Lydia and several of her troops were headed directly for O'Toole's establishment. "Da
mmit. You got a place to hide, O'Toole?"

  The trail guide nodded. "Yes, of course. This way."

  Maragato stood still and Chris reached out to pull him along. O'Toole kicked an Indian rug out of place in the center of the wooden floor. Underneath it was a trapdoor with a string handle. O'Toole tugged it open, knelt and felt for something. There was a click and a light went on, illuminating a ladder to the cellar below.

  "It's storage," he said. "Get down there and stay there."

  Shoving Maragato down in front of him, Chris squeezed through the narrow opening. O'Toole replaced the trapdoor and rug, then turned to see Lydia and five husky Visitor soldiers throw his front door open and stride in. With a swallow, he prepared to make the best of things. "Hello, can I help you?"

  "Yes, you can," Lydia said evenly. "You're Mr. O'Toole, I presume?"

  "Yes, ma'am, and who might you be?"

  "You don't really need to know that, now do you?" she answered, holding her hand laser aimed at his chest.

  "No, I suppose not."

  "I'm here to arrest Michael Donovan and Ham Tyler as enemies of the occupation forces. Hand them over."

  O'Toole spread his hands. "I'm sorry but I don't know what you're referring to, or whom."

  Lydia turned to one of her soldiers, who was operating a hand-held scanning mechanism, sweeping the device back and forth across the room. "Two life forms unaccounted for," the officer said. He and Lydia were the only ones not wearing helmets.

  "Where are they?"

  "There's another level below this one, Commander."

  Lydia turned back to O'Toole. "Where are they hiding?"

  "They're not hiding, Lydia. And neither of them is Donovan or Tyler. I'm afraid there's been some sort of mistake."

  She signaled two of the guards, who moved quickly to clamp solid grips onto O'Toole's arms. "Now then, where are they? How do we get to them?"

  O'Toole slid the rug aside again, revealing the door in the floorboards. "They're just two of my workmen down there, checking my stock of supplies."

  "Open it," Lydia ordered. One trooper pulled the door up while two others pointed their weapons down the ladder.

  "Come up—now—humans," Lydia said. "You won't be harmed. We just want to question you."

  After a moment, Chris emerged from the cellai; followed by Maragato. Lydia looked right at Maragato with no noticeable sign of recognition.

  "Inventory's all done, boss," Chris said to O'Toole.

  "Is that really what you were doing down there?" Lydia said.

  "Yes, Commandei;" O'Toole quickly replied. "I told you neither of them was Donovan or Tyler"

  "That's true, they're not," the Visitor said. She looked questioningly at her assistant, who frowned as he made three slow adjustments to his sensing device. "Anything, Lieutenant?"

  He shook his head. "No, Commander. Just these two."

  Without another word, Lydia spun on her heel and marched out onto the street. The shock troopers exited after her. When they'd gone, Chris closed the door.

  "Son of a bitch, that was close," Faber said. "I can't believe she didn't recognize you, Maragato."

  "The disguise—"

  "—ain't that good. You're still Oriental and she's looking for an Oriental prisoner, but she didn't even look twice at you. I can't figure what the hell's going on around here. How did they find us?"

  O'Toole nodded, wondering. "This was the first place they went, wasn't it? Why here?"

  Chris stared pointedly at the Japanese. "Got any answers you'd care to contribute, Maragato?"

  Lydia walked quickly to her skyfighter. James waited in the cockpit for her and she climbed in. All around the town, the shock troopers had deployed in weapons-ready guard positions. There were no townspeople to be seen, except in windows and doorways.

  "Donovan's not there," Lydia said angrily.

  "Who was?"

  "Maragato and one of the other resistance criminals."

  "Lydia, why don't we take them now? At least that way we're assured of having something for our efforts."

  The security commander whirled on her aide. "Are you questioning my strategy, James? This habit you've developed is becoming increasingly tiresome."

  "I'm sorry, Lydia," he said hastily. "I don't mean to question. I'm just concerned that nothing else goes wrong. If we have to face Diana empty-handed again ..." His voice trailed off weakly.

  Lydia took a deep breath to calm herself. "I appreciate your concern, even though we both know you're largely concerned with your own position should things, as you so gently put it, 'go wrong.' You chose to cast your fate with mine, James. I have no intention of watching my own career go up in a puff of smoke—so you needn't worry about yours."

  He managed a wan smile as she continued.

  "Do I have to remind you that it was I who proposed implanting a locator device in Maragato's body? If not for my foresight, we wouldn't even be this close to success. Put simply, we would have no chance for success. Now we do."

  "That's true, Commander, but I still don't see why—"

  "No, you really don't, do you?" Lydia shook her head sadly. "Maybe I overestimated you, James. Well, that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is that this town is under our control. This resistance fighter can't get away from us. Michael Donovan and Ham Tyler are somewhere in this area—it's only a matter of time until we get them. Tyler and Donovan don't know what we know, and they don't know that Maragato is actually one of my agents in human skin casing. As long as they think he's the real article—a valuable intelligence resource to be returned to the battle against the evil Visitors—they'll be back for him, and for their other friend, no matter what. These two are the bait that'll lure Donovan and Tyler to me."

  As she spoke, she opened the fingers of her left hand wide. "And when they're here, we'll have what we want." She snapped her hand closed in an instant and smiled.

  Donovan shook his head and got to his feet. "My God, Lydia is crazy if she thought of that."

  Barry handed the holo-reader and cassette back to Donovan. "Keep this in case you need to refer to it again."

  "Why did you do this report?" Tyler said sharply. "Why didn't you come up with something that would've told her the whole thing was impossible?"

  "Because a large part of my value to you is my credibility—the fact that she believes my truthfulness. If I lose that, I lose my access to important data and planning. Just coming here may put my position in jeopardy."

  "It may put your life in jeopardy," Donovan said. "We appreciate that, even if Tyler forgets to say it."

  Barry shrugged. "We're all in danger; but the biggest danger is if my people succeed in taking over more of your planet. Our few lives don't mean much compared to the magnitude of that threat."

  "Donovan," Annie called from the horses, "you about ready to go? If we want to get back before dark, we better start riding."

  Donovan looked at his watch. "Where the hell is Grant? His people should've been here by now. If we don't—"

  He was interrupted by a two-note chime from one of Barry's utility pockets. The Visitor took out his hand-held communicator and activated it.

  "Hello, Barry—this is Teri. I know I wasn't supposed to contact you unless an emergency came up. Well, we've got one," said the female voice from the device's tiny speaker.

  "What is it?" Barry asked.

  "Four of Lydia's skyfighters—"

  Barry's face furrowed in alarm. "Here?"

  "Yes. Don't worry, they didn't spot me—I was on the ground when I saw them on my scanners. They landed in the town near here. Should I pick you up now?"

  "No! Under no circumstances lift off. We're not in danger up here, not as long as we stay away from the town. You stay hidden. You may be our—what's that human expression?"

  "Ace in the hole," Tyler said.

  Barry nodded. "Ace in the hole. Keep communications to a minimum, Teri. Vital messages only. We'll have to assess the situation from up here. Barry out." />
  He cut the circuit and put the communicator away, then turned to his human companions.

  "There's another expression," Tyler said. "Up a creek without a paddle."

  Chris sat calmly near the window, feet up on the sill, gun resting in his lap, like a cowboy waiting for the bad guys to ride into town. But the bad guys were already there and the waiting was to see just what they were going to do. O'Toole paced behind him while Maragato sat in the rocking chair in the corner

  "Attention!" A voice from a loudspeaker shattered the quiet that lay like a glaze over the town. It was a male Visitor voice, its alien vibrato resonating clearly.

  Chris cracked the curtains open. In the street, a small land rover moved slowly away from a slightly larger skyfightet; a vessel with a cargo bay in the rear, its access door still open. The rover couldn't have emerged more than a minute or two ago. The vehicle had a slit running all the way around its waistline, for viewing as well as shooting. It was about the size and height of a minivan and Chris couldn't tell if it had wheels or tracks. Whatever made it move was hidden under body armor extending to within a couple of inches of the ground.

  "Attention!" the Visitor voice repeated. "We have occupied this town. We know that fugitives from justice are being harbored here, and we demand that they be turned over to us. If you comply, we will leave, causing no damage to property or residents."

  Chris rose from the chair and opened the door. Then, with O'Toole just behind him, he ventured out onto the covered porch. Other people were doing the same up and down the block. The red-uniformed shock troopers were posted in groups of twos and threes along the town's main street. They stood at attention as the rover vehicle stopped at the center of town. A different, commanding voice came from the speaker.

  "This is Lydia, security commander of the Visitor fleet. The criminals being harbored somewhere in your town are

  Michael Donovan and Ham Tyler. They have interfered with legitimate Visitor activities, with our efforts to govern fairly those areas of the planet for which we're responsible. Your own authorities have designated them as dangerous criminals to be killed on sight."

  "That friggin' liar;" Chris growled.