"My pleasure, Madame President,” he said. “Any way I might serve."
When he hung up, Professor Nakahara decided against returning to bed and sat in the living room reading a book. “Yes indeed,” he said to himself, after a time. “Miss Temper is quite pleasant."
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Chapter 43
Lastshot, Temper, and Firststrike drove in silence for some minutes after they left Professor Nakahara's residence. Lastshot was driving, again with Temper riding shotgun. Firststrike was in the back seat sitting like a statue, his eye fixed on some unseen point outside the van.
"Now that we know for sure,” Temper asked. “What do we do now?"
"What do you mean?” Lastshot said.
"Do we tell anyone?” she said. “Or just toe the government line and say nothing?"
"Or do something to stop it altogether,” Firststrike added. “Head back there in force and destroy that unnatural place."
"'Bit harsh, isn't that?” Lastshot said. There was no rancor in his voice; it was as if knowing for sure had made the fact that he was ‘what he was’ more bearable. His methodology in life was to work to understand a problem, answer most of his questions about it and find a way to solve it. Always the realist, it was a case of ‘what could he do about it?” And since the only answer to the fact that he was alive was to end his own life—a solution that presented no advantages as far as he was concerned—he became at ease with just doing what he had always done—live his life, moment by moment and be ready for whatever came.
"We have to do something,” Firststrike said. “Even if—"
The Bodyguard's van sped through the night on a side road heading for the interstate. As the vehicle rounded a turn that would bring it back to the main road, they sighted a stalled car at an angle across the road, blocking it. A man at the side of the car waved frantically at the van.
"Am I paranoid, or does this have ‘trap’ written all over it?” Lastshot said with a laugh. His voice had a sudden lightness to it, hinting that a mundane brawl might present an opportunity to relieve some tension.
"We can call Triple A for them from the highway,” Temper said.
"My thought exactly.” Lastshot stomped on the accelerator, and the van surged forward using the shoulder of the road. The van shot past the car, and hit a hidden spike strip placed on the shoulder. Lastshot tried to steer into the turn as the tires exploded, momentarily losing traction on the loose gravel of the shoulder. The van swung around one hundred and eighty degrees and skidded to a stop in a copse of bushes.
Suddenly, Death rushed out of the bushes to the side of the van, grabbed the door, and with an animal roar of anger, ripped the van open like it was paper.
The van was empty.
"I knew that was too easy!” The huge metal-armed man snarled. There was a metallic sound and something landed in the bed of the road a few feet from him. It was a concussion grenade and its detonation threw Death onto the side of the van with enough velocity that his face made an impression.
Death placed his hands on the van and pulled his face free with a sucking sound.
"Ouch,” he said very quietly.
Lastshot hit Death in the head with a tire iron as hard as he could, spinning the criminal completely around.
"And that was ouch, part two,” the Exceptional quipped.
Death's head slammed right back into the impression.
"That's two,” came the criminal's muffled, very quiet comment on the whole thing from within the van's sheet metal side.
The other two Bodyguard team members emerged from the darkness to stand beside their leader. “Tire iron?” Firststrike said, “Primitive, but, effective."
"Idiots should have figured I'd scan the surrounding area for thermal traces,” Lastshot said.
"He can't be alone,” Jason said prophetically.
Suddenly, War came flying out of the trees and slammed Firststrike to the ground with a club like arm. The grey armored giant came straight at Lastshot as well, but the team leader flung the tire iron straight at the monster man's head causing him to dodge.
"Time to go to War,” the armored warrior challenged.
"What is this, battle of the bad quips?” Lastshot said.
The Horseman leader's instinctive dodge was enough hesitation for Lastshot to draw his Cyber Pistol and open fire. The first two slugs bounced harmlessly off War's hide.
"Armor upgrade, Lastshot,” War said with a thick laugh. “I've been working out!” War jumped forward and smashed his fist into Lastshot's jaw before the Exceptional could switch rounds to explosive load. The blow spun the tall Exceptional completely around and sent his gun flying.
Death pulled himself free from the metal side of the van just in time to have Lastshot's stumbling body knock him right back in.
"That's three,” Death said as he hit the sheet metal of the van. There was a slight hum as the power assisted exoskeleton arms allowed his fingers to tear into the side of the van and rip the metal to shreds.
Lastshot recovered from War's punch and bounced back at his attacker with a fury. The Exceptional threw two left jabs and followed with a right cross to the grey armored criminal, blows that would have staggered nine out of any ten men, but War just laughed them off.
"You can do better than that, Shotzee!” War slammed a right into Lastshot's stomach and followed with his left elbow to his temple.
The Exceptional leader almost lost consciousness, his vision started to blur and his ears rang. He threw a low swing kick at War's left knee that brought a howl of pain from the man. It gave Lastshot a moment to catch his breath. He shook his head to clear it and then launched a fresh attack at War's head.
Right elbow to temple, full spin to slam left elbow to the other temple, then right fist to the armored throat. The armored killer gave an involuntary grunt of pain from all three of the blows in rapid succession.
War gave ground at the intensity of Lastshot's attack, feeling the blows despite his Kevlar skin implants. The Exceptional pumped his system with adrenalin that powered his muscles to drive his fists at a bone crunching pace, slamming into the body armor and flesh of War.
It made War angry to be driven back and he turned that anger into his own adrenal fueled power. He threw himself forward and rammed his shoulder into Lastshot's waist to drive the air out of him.
While War and Lastshot fought, Firststrike engaged the metal-armed Death.
Firststrike tried a flurry of deadly nerve strikes against the massive, metal-sheathed Death, but they did nothing. The behemoth criminal fired a series of deadly fists at the one-eyed Exceptional, but Firststrike's nimble form slipped each of them by the merest of inches. The nano-connected Exo-arms of Death were so heavy that their own weight slowed them fractionally. It was enough so that Firststrike didn't have to work up a sweat.
"Stand still, ya one-eyed freak!” Death commanded.
"Been told that before,” Firststrike said. “And he didn't like it when I did."
The Exceptional stopped dead as Death threw another punch at him, let it fly past his left shoulder close enough to feel the rush of the air from it and jabbed the fingers of his left hand straight up into the armpit of the criminal in a ‘crane's beak’ strike. His rock hard fingertips hit the nerve bundle beneath the armpit and paralyzed the arm.
"Damn you!” the criminal exclaimed.
"Told you that you wouldn't like it,” Firststrike said.
Famine rushed up, intent on stopping Firststrike, only to be intercepted by Temper, who stepped in front of her and assumed a fighting stance.
"Ooo, I love basic black!” Famine bubbled.
Temper attacked with a straight right punch. Famine danced away. Temper threw three more punches, but was unable to hit the macabre criminal. Every time Famine dodged away, she brushed her fingertips against Temper. With each touch, Temper seemed to lose some vitality and her color got more sallow. Every touch drained energy.
"Feeling tired, sweet
heart?” Famine said in a sickly sweet voice.
Temper swung again and missed. Famine touched her again. This time the techninja almost lost her balance.
"My little nanites eat protein compounds, dear,” Famine said with a hideous smile, “else, why do you think they call me ‘Famine'?"
Eventually, Temper, her muscles starved for energy, dropped to her knees. Even fatigued, her disciplined mind tried to push her malfunctioning body to attempt to grapple with Famine.
"Oh, honey,” the painfully thin criminal said, “this is the last thing you want to do!” Famine lovingly caressed Temper's face. Temper went completely white and slumped to the ground.
At that moment, Death slammed his right fist into Firststrike's face, snapping his head back and laying him out flat and unconscious. Death grabbed his numb left arm and mumbled, “Strange, most people say I have a lot of nerve."
War and Lastshot were still trading punches by the side of the ruined Exceptionals’ van. The armored criminal was impervious to Lastshot's hits, but at the same time he could not strike a telling blow on the Exceptional team leader.
The Bodyguard had not fought the Four Horsemen directly before, but like all Exceptional groups had followed the spectacular careers of the four criminals and studied their capabilities.
Lastshot knew that anything short of a crippling blow would not faze the armored man. War was good at guarding his vulnerable joints and the few unarmored soft targets, the pit of his throat, his eyes themselves, and his groin, from direct attack. Lastshot discovered to his disappointment that War was a skilled and deadly fighter who did not take his Kevlar skin grafts for granted.
For his part, War knew Lastshot's reputation for never backing down, never quitting. And for being very hard to kill. He knew he would have to use every skill he had to bring the Exceptional down.
War redoubled his attack and switched combat techniques to Muay Thai, driving knees and elbows hard at Lastshot. The two men were equal heights, barely twenty pounds off in weight and equally determined that this fight would end with only one of them standing.
Lastshot covered up and absorbed the attacks with his hips and his forearms, flashing out a quick jab that rocked War's head back when there was an opening. He followed it up with a front heel kick to the man's shins and then a flurry of elbows to the criminal's temples that obviously were beginning to disorient the man.
Neither combatant could spare focus from their battle to pay any attention to how their comrades were faring in their fights, so Lastshot had no way of knowing that Death was free to come up at him from behind. He grabbed Lastshot, and drove him forward off balance slamming his head into the side of the van.
"That's one!” Death leered.
He grabbed Lastshot's hair and smashed his head into the van again. War looked on trying to catch his breath.
"Uh, Death?” War tried to interrupt.
"That's two!” Death proclaimed, ignoring him.
"Oh, Death!” War called out, tapping the metal clad giant on the shoulder.
Death rammed the unconscious Lastshot's head into the van a third time.
"That's three!” He was laughing now, completely unaware of his partner's voice pleading.
"Death, stop—we have to go!"
Death continued to slam Lastshot's head into the van repeatedly, until Famine came up and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Unnnhhh!” Death murmured, dropping Lastshot. The giant staggered back, suddenly fatigued enough to drop to one knee.
"Mustn't overdo!” she said, wagging her finger.
Lastshot, Firststrike, and Temper were all strewn on the ground, unconscious.
Pestilence, who had stayed out of the fray, was leaning on a tree, smoking a cigar. All the flowers around him and the tree itself were dead from his proximity.
"Showoffs!” he said.
"Now we can kill them,” Death said with a grin.
"Kill them!” War said. “Death, you have such a one track mind, no sense of theatre!” He waved his hand expansively. “With the publicity that Tri-v broadcast got last season, the ones who defeat these John Laws will be immortal; bigger than the winners of the Bacchanal! We are taking them with us."
"Why not just off them here? We still get credit for being the ones to take out half of The Bodyguard."
"You think too straight line, Death,” War said. “Our sponsor wanted them stopped permanently, right?"
"Right,” Death said, puzzled.
"And we did,” Famine said. “So why not kill them and be done with it? This is getting so tiring."
"Because,” War said, becoming exasperated, “if our Sponsor wanted them stopped permanently, it is because they know something he does not want the world to know—"
"And if we have them—” Pestilence began, the truth dawning on him.
"—We have what they know!” Death finished.
"Exactly,” War said. “All we gotta do is torture it out of them."
"Oh, that will be fun,” Famine said.
"And then we can kill them on a live feed and the world will know we are the baddest of the bad!” Death was obviously relishing the images of their future murders with sublime anticipation.
"Okay, then,” War said again. “Put them in the hover."
The Four Horsemen had come in a civilian luxury version of the AR2000 hovercraft that had been specially rigged for cargo. It was their favorite ‘getaway car.'
Death and Pestilence tossed Firststrike, Lastshot and Temper in the back of the hover-car without further argument by Death. Famine looked down at Temper's still form and cursed, “Look at those boyish hips! I bet she eats whatever she wants! Bitch!"
The other Horsemen all laughed as they climbed in the hover-car and left.
* * * *
The hover-car carrying Goldstrike, Skorpion, and Echo moved toward the global positioning signal from the van's transponder at a steady pace.
"It's just that I don't understand why we are on this trip—” Skorpion said. “If the guys were blown on the insertion then what can we do—fight the federal troops to free them?"
"Of course not,” Echo said. “But if, as the Veteran implied there is a third party involved in this, which has a vested interest in stopping them, we should all be together in this."
"The more of us that know the whole truth,” Goldstrike said from the driver's seat with uncharacteristic depth of insight, “the more chance that truth will get out."
Skorpion and Echo both looked at him like he had been possessed.
"What?” he said. “I'm not just another pretty face, you know; really."
Just then, the proximity alarm went off indicating they were within a mile of the transponder target.
"They must be stopped for pee break,” Goldstrike said. “I haven't engaged the computer except to monitor them, but they haven't moved for the last half hour according to the blip screen."
"I don't like that,” Skorpion said. “Conner would never let them be vulnerable for that long out in the middle of nowhere."
"Let's not jump to conclusions,” Echo offered. “We have no way to know—"
"Oh yes, we do,” Matthew said. “Look!"
They came over a rise and down below they could clearly see the ripped open van and the car that had been used to block it, still across the access road.
"Don't take us down too close,” Skorpion said. “And do a full range scan of everything around."
"On it,” Goldstrike said. Echo and Skorpion checked their weapons and gear. When Goldstrike called an all clear for any life signs, the two were out the door at double time.
Echo did an additional sound scan but confirmed the electronic results. Nothing living in a quarter mile circle around the cars. Nothing at all, not bird, or squirrel, rabbit or any other woodland animal.
There was an eerie silence as they approached the two vehicles. Even Goldstrike found no voice for quips and comments as they did a careful check for booby traps. There were no bombs found but
they did find the family of four that had been in the car that The Four Horsemen had stopped to use for their decoy roadblock. They had all been killed.
Matthew was forced to turn away from the horrid sight and was sick by the side of the road after viewing the children's lifeless forms.
"They didn't feel any pain,” Skorpion whispered, trying to comfort him. “It looks like they were killed with a quick acting nerve toxin: it killed the flowers around the edge of the road as well. They must have driven right into it. It's dissipated now."
"Pestilence,” Echo said with disgust. “It fits his M.O."
"And that van is probably Death's work,” Skorpion observed. “But, man, looking at that mess—he must have upgraded his bionics."
"We have to stop them,” Matthew said. He had tears in his eyes, but his voice was deadly calm. “These bastards have to pay.” The others did not acknowledge the tears, but felt the same way. He recovered himself a bit and added, “They have the guys."
Skorpion and Echo exchanged puzzled looks. “How can we find them when the whole of UniPol and the Federal police are looking?"
The three of them stood for a few moments, feeling dread at the horror that threatened their teammates in the super criminals’ hands.
"We have to call this in,” Echo said. “These people deserve that much."
"But we have to save Jase and Temper and Conner.” He seemed on the verge of losing his battle to control his tears.
"Matthew,” Skorpion said as gently as she could, “we were too late!"
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Chapter 44
The Veteran, in presidential seal boxer shorts, with a beer and cigar in hand, was watching a restored episode of The F.B.I. from the last century with Effrem Zimbalist Junior on the TriV.
"Man,” he said aloud. “They just don't make hair styles like that anymore.” He finished his beer and picked up an old style phone and actually dialed a number in Washington. The number was so high on the security ladder that less than half a dozen people were in possession of it.
The President was sitting in her private office in her living quarters enjoying a few moments of rare personal time. It had been a long day for her. They all seemed to be of late. She picked up the secure red phone on her desk.
The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1] Page 20