V06 - Prisoners and Pawns

by Howard Weinstein

  Chris shrugged. "Only Lydia knows, but I have a good guess. While the three agents were in custody, they were together This fake could get buddy-buddy with the other two and find out quite a bit. Or maybe she was covering her ass in case we really did manage to break 'em loose before Diana got 'em. Who the hell knows? But something else is bothering me."

  "What?"

  "The timing of this so-called top-secret plan Barry was supposed to pass to Donovan and Tyler. It just happens to pop up right after we embarrass the pants off Lydia by stealing VIP prisoners out from under her nose."

  "What do you think—that maybe the whole thing was some kind of setup?"

  Chris shook his head. "I don't know—too many blank spaces at this point. But I'm damn well gonna fill some of 'em in before this is all over. You still don't want to get involved, O'Toole?"

  "I guess I am involved, whether I like it or not."

  "Yeah, you are. Jesus, I sure could use a beer. Oh, I forgot. How about a glass of orange juice?"

  Lydia looked up from her small desk in the skyfighter James was just entering with a human—Alex.

  "Sorry to disturb you, Lydia, but we have a prisoner."

  Alex tried to shake loose from the grip James held on

  him, to no avail. "Hey, I'm not a prisoner. I came here voluntarily."

  Lydia's face formed a dubious frown. "Oh, and why is that, human?"

  "Because I have some information I think you might want to hear"

  "What information could you possibly have for me?"

  Alex straightened to his full height, trying to exude confidence. "I know where Mike Donovan and Ham Tyler are."

  The words took a second to register, then Lydia stiffened. She stood and came up to Alex face to face. "You do? All right, I'm listening."

  Alex glanced pointedly at James's hands on his arms, pinning them to his sides. "Uh—"

  "Release him," Lydia snapped.

  Once free, Alex shook himself to restore the circulation, rubbing his biceps muscles and wincing.

  "Well?" Lydia prodded impatiently.

  "Not so fast, Lydia. We have to discuss—"

  There was a fireball of brightness from outside as a blast of shimmering heat rushed in the hatchway and a bursting explosion shook Lydia's skyfighter to its frame. James, Lydia, and Alex all had to reach for a bulkhead to keep from being knocked over The commander pushed past her prisoner and her junior officer and took one step out of the ship. Wordlessly, she watched as one of the other sky-fighters was engulfed in a roiling fist of flame.

  A grimy shock trooper rushed up to her; his helmet askew and his uniform streaked with dirt. "Commander! Someone blew up the—"

  She silenced him with a withering stare. "I know what's been blown up. If you and your men don't find the culprits and prevent any other acts of sabotage, I may have you all executed in place of the hostages in the morning. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes, Commander, yes!"

  The shaken trooper backed off, bowing his head obsequiously. Lydia stepped back into her ship. James and Alex got

  out of her way. "I thought these were crack forces you brought down here, Lieutenant," she said harshly.

  "They were—I mean, they are, Lydia," James said.

  Alex smiled condescendingly. "What's the matter—are humans tougher than you expected them to be?"

  Lydia whirled on him. "Don't get chatty with me, human. Or information or no, I'll kill you myself, right here and now. With my bare hands."

  Alex shrank back into a corner Lydia seemed pleased to have reestablished superiority over this sniveling human at least. "Now, then, tell me the information about Donovan and Tyler. Now."

  "Like I said, not so fast," Alex said, thrusting his shoulders back with an air of authority. Two can play that game, he thought. "What's in it for me? You obviously want these two real bad, if you were willing to put yourself and your troops out in the open like this, killing innocent civilians to boot. You're taking a lot of risks, lady."

  "So are you, human, so are you."

  "Maybe—but I think you'll bargain for this sort of info. Am I right?"

  Lydia sat back in her seat, drumming her fingers on the computer console. "Yes, I suppose you are. What's your name?"

  "Alex. Alex Kramer. First, I want you to leave the people of Crow's Fork alone."

  "How noble of you, Alex."

  He flared. "I'm not kidding. They don't know anything about Donovan and Tyler. You could kill them all and you'd never find out what you want to know. I'm the only one who can tell you."

  "Then tell me."

  "Oh, no. I need to know more about what I get for turning these jokers in. I want money, and I want a place to live, a safe place where you people won't do anything to me. That means up north, in human-occupied territory."

  Lydia laughed derisively. "What do I look like, a banker and real-estate agent?" "Oh, you can get that stuff for me if you really want to. Just go through Nathan Bates. He's got money and land."

  "I see you have this well thought out."

  "Yeah, I sure do, Lydia. I'll give you until dawn tomorrow to at least get me the money."

  "How much?"

  "Five hundred thousand dollars." He thought the request would provoke a reaction, but all she did was smile.

  "I'd really like you to tell me where they are now."

  "No. My way or no way."

  "Fine. And as a gesture of good faith, I won't take any more hostages overnight." Her voice sharpened to a stiletto sharpness. "But make no mistake—if you're not forthcoming with the information by first light tomorrow, I'll not only kill more of your friends, you'll be first in line."

  "Good night, Lydia."

  "Good night."

  He left the skyfighter "Take two men with you and follow him," Lydia ordered. "Don't let our friend Alex out of your sight."

  James nodded and went outside. Lydia was left alone, gritting her teeth in anger and frustration.

  Chapter 12

  Julie rested here chin on her folded arms and stretched forward across the table. She watched the Art Deco clock on the wall; the chandelier light glinted off the golden rays that spread out from its face like sunbeams. Alone in the basement at Club Creole, she listened as footsteps echoed softly in the outside passageway. She looked up as the door opened. It was Elias, now back in white pants and a white shirt open at the neck.

  "Clock watching?"

  She smiled weakly. "I guess."

  "Mind if I join you?"

  "If you want."

  He sat down at her table. "Actually, no, I don't want to, but nobody's been able to talk you out of it. Look, Julie, I'm sure they're okay."

  She sat up. Her eyes were red and he could guess that she'd been crying.

  "Why does everyone always say that?" she wanted to know. "I mean we're all adults, and we all know they should've been back hours ago. So why does everyone keep telling me they're okay?" Her voice caught, and she quickly covered her eyes, hoping to head off the tears she knew were waiting to fall.

  Elias gently touched her shoulder and she leaned against him, too weary even to embrace. He stroked her hair. "We're all worried, babe. But you know we can't do

  anything until morning. They'll be back by then, or we'll get some word from 'em."

  Julie looked up. "And if they're not, or we haven't heard a thing?"

  "Then we'll go take a look."

  With a deep sigh, Julie slumped forward again, burying her face, her fingers kneading the base of her neck. Elias stood over her and took over the massage. Julie turned her head slightly.

  "Are we racists, Elias?"

  "Huh? You mean you white folks?"

  "No," she said. "I'm serious. I mean all of us."

  He stopped the massage, his face perplexed. "You lost me, babe."

  She rested her head on one elbow, trying to make some sense of her private thoughts. "We hate the Visitors because of what they are. We meet a lizard, we automatically distrust him." Sh
e caught herself, annoyance evident in her expression. "Damn! Listen to me—I just called them lizards."

  "Well, that's what they are."

  Julie shook her head vigorously. "No! They're reptilian."

  "What's the diff?"

  "The difference between calling me 'white' and calling me 'Whitey.' Or the difference between 'Negro' and 'nigger.' I can call you a bastard, and that's okay. But if I call you a 'black bastard,' that's racist! Now do you see what I mean?"

  "Not really—"

  Julie balled her fists up in frustration. "Damn. Why can't I think of the right way to say this?"

  He began massaging her neck and shoulders again. "Hey, relax, Jule. Maybe I'm just a little slow. What about Willie?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, we don't hate him, and he's a Visitor"

  "We don't hate him now, but do you remember when we first met him? Remember when he saved your dad in that

  factory accident? Well, the next time you saw him was at your brother's funeral—and you and your father wanted to kill him, right there on the street, just because he was a Visitor."

  Elias stopped rubbing her shoulders as the memory came back to him. "Ben," he said, softly mouthing his dead brother's name. "It wasn't 'cause it was Willie—I didn't even know who he was then. It was 'cause the lizards killed Ben."

  "But Willie didn't," Julie said gently. "But you still hated him because he was one of them."

  "How can you blame us for feelin' this way? It's like Jews being afraid of Germans during the wai; all Germans, not just Hitler and the dudes in the S.S. How were they supposed to know which were the good Germans, or even if there were any good Germans?"

  "But aren't we better than that?" Julie asked, her voice rising in intensity. "Aren't we better than the German who hated all Jews because he was told to? Aren't we less frightened than the Jews who were afraid to fight back?"

  "No! Why should we be? People are people, Julie, ain't they? Besides, there is a difference. We try real hard to ask questions first and shoot latei; even if it means risking our butts. Hell, considering we didn't start this wai; I think that's pretty damn reasonable of us."

  "I guess. ..." she ended, but doubt hung in her voice.

  "And some of my best friends are Visitors!" he said half jokingly. He saw the beginning of a smile on Julie's tired face. "That's better! Now come on upstairs. While we were gone all day, my chefs cooked up some real special stuff. Real expensive special stuff. They always do it when I'm not around. I'd fire 'em for insubordination, but they cook too damn good."

  Julie's smile broadened, and Elias pulled her to her feet.

  "We just closed," he continued. "I chased the slow-eating dudes out the front dooi; and we got leftovers! Some of the others are hanging out and they're waiting for us. So let's get up there before they give up and don't leave nothin' for us. Much as it pains me to say this, it's on the house."

  "Booze too?"

  Elias backed away, feigning horror "What do I look like, an idiot?"

  "How did they cover up your real voice?" Chris asked, standing over a very securely tied "Maragato." It was hard to think of him by that name as he sat on a cot, the lower half of his human face now removed.

  "Surgical alterations," he said, still sounding fully human. "An electronic implant filters out the extra sounds produced by our multiple vocal apparatus."

  As he spoke, his fingers—hidden down behind his back—were working carefully on the rope knots that bound him.

  "I want to know what Lydia was gonna do with you," Chris said.

  "Oh, really now, you don't expect me to tell you that, do

  you?"

  Chris leveled the barrel of his gun at Maragato's eyes. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do."

  The interrogation was cut off by sounds from the main room out front.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" O'Toole's voice said, surprised by someone's arrival.

  Chris went to the doorway between the two rooms and saw Alex, by himself. "Where the hell have you been and where are Mike and Ham?"

  "Geez, don't I even get a "glad to see you'?" Alex l>outed.

  "Do you mind if I beat his face in, O'Toole?" Chris said mildly.

  "Whoa, hey, nice greeting," Alex said. "Relax. The others are safe and they're still up at the mine. Grant and his people never met us up there. Barry, the Visitor guy, did."

  "Grant was probably scared off by the Visitors landing here in town," Chris said. "He hadda come by here on his way up to the mountain. Why didn't the others come down with you?"

  "Well, they don't know I'm here. See, I went for a walk,

  and I ran into some people who told me what was going on here."

  "Did you tell Mike and Ham?" Chris asked.

  "No. They already knew the Visitors'd landed here, because Barry's pilot called us. But we didn't know anything about the hostages or that stuff. Didn't seem any purpose in my going back up and telling 'em that—they were planning to stay put for a while. But I thought I should come back here and see if you all needed any help. Hey, where's Maragato?"

  Chris gestured toward the back room. Alex went to the blanket divider hanging in the doorway and moved it aside. He saw the Visitor who used to be Maragato. "My God!"

  "Precisely," O'Toole said.

  "I better get back there and keep an eye on him," Chris said. He brushed past Alex, who waited until the resistance fighter was in the other room, then took his boss aside.

  "O'Toole, we've gotta talk—privately, without him," Alex whispered. "You and me are the only ones down here who know where Donovan and Tyler are."

  "I'd like to keep it that way."

  "We do that, we could wind up very dead. Lydia means business."

  O'Toole closed his eyes. "I know, I saw what she did."

  "So did I. We can save more people from being slaughtered."

  The big Irishman narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you saying, Alex?"

  "We can tell Lydia. We can lead her right to 'em. I came into town to talk to hei; and I—"

  O'Toole whirled and clamped a meaty hand around the younger man's throat. "You stupid son of a bitch!"

  "Hey, I didn't tell her anything! Let go!" Alex croaked. The grip loosened, but the hand stayed in place, as if inviting Alex to continue, but at his own peril. He swallowed hard. "She's willing to bargain—we can get money, land, go where it's safe, where we don't have to risk getting murdered by Visitors or caught in the crossfire by rebels. Interested?"

  O'Toole leaned in until there was less than an inch between his nose and Alex's. "Go on."

  "I think I know how you feel. I think we both want to avoid getting tangled up in this. Let Annie do it if she wants to, she's been doing this kind of stuff for years. If she wants to recapture past glory with Ham Tyler and make believe she's back in Central America, let her do it without us! They're crazy, these people in the resistance. They don't care who gets killed, who gets in the way. We know they're never going to defeat the Visitors, so why shouldn't we get a little something and get away from the fighting?"

  "Are you quite finished?" O'Toole said through clenched jaws.

  "Yeah."

  "You stupid little bastard," the Irishman hissed. "That's a Visitor in there, and he's the reason all this happened. He and those aliens outside. I should tell Chris Faber what you've just told me and let him tear you apart."

  Alex hung limply in O'Toole's grip. "I—I didn't tell her anything. I was going to decide and tell her in the morning."

  "The only reason I believe you is because you're so damned scared right now I don't think it would occur to you to lie. If you decide you want to be a traitor come sunrise, that's your choice. But I should tell you, it'll leave me no choice but to kill you before you can tell Lydia anything. You're going to stay here tonight. My guess is, Lydia's got people watching you anyway, so there's no place you could run to. You think it over, and you tell me in the morning. Meanwhile"—he smiled threateningly—"this chat wi
ll be our little secret." He reluctantly removed his fingers from Alex's neck.

  After a sleepless night waiting for Barry to return to the Mother Ship, Zachary visited the giant vessel's upper observation deck. It was nearly dawn down in California, the disk of the sun visible in the east, rising over the ridge of mountains running from north to south on this part of the continent. Zachary could see the sun from the Mother Ship's mile-high altitude, but it would be awhile before the light reached those on the ground.

  Use your judgment, Barry had told him. Well, in his judgment, Barry should have been back long ago. Something must have gone terribly wrong, and it would be up to him to make certain the Los Angeles resistance group had the information they'd need about Lydia's plans. As he watched the brightness spread over the land below, his mind was already forming the precise checklist of tasks he'd have to do in order to deliver Barry's report to the humans. He'd need to secure a skyfighter—falsifying the proper permit shouldn't be much of a problem. To keep things as simple as possible this time, he wouldn't take a pilot but would fly out by himself, ostensibly to test a malfunctioning engine on a craft he'd logged in yesterday as being troublesome on its last mission.

  Chapter 13

  The first rays of early morning shone through the panes of Frank O'Toole's windows. O'Toole and Alex sipped cups of coffee out front, and Chris emerged from the back room to join them. O'Toole poured another steaming mug, and Chris took it, then looked straight into the younger guide's eyes. Alex immediately averted his gaze.

  "Don't worry," Chris said amiably. "If I didn't kill you last night, you've got a fighting chance to get through today—if you've come to the right decision. If you haven't, I wouldn't sell you life insurance in the next ten minutes or so. Bad risk."

  Alex turned pale.

  "I told him your tale of entrepreneurship," O'Toole said.

  "But you said—" Alex began to protest feebly.

  O'Toole cut him off. "He had a right to know." He paused for another mouthful of coffee. "So what have you decided, Alex?"

  The young man swallowed. "Uh, I've changed my mind. I doubt Lydia's word is much good."