Made in the U.S.A.: The 10th Anniversary Edition

by Jack X. McCallum

  “He’s right, Will,” Jeannie said. “I don’t know if I can stand to see anyone else die, no matter what they’ve done.”

  Will was still watching Tupper. “How do I know you won’t send someone after us the moment we’re out the door, or keep tracking us and cut our throats while we sleep a year from now?”

  “Perhaps we can help each other,” Tupper replied, for the first time appearing not quite as nervous and self-conscious as he had before. “Let Mondani live. I owe him that much. He has been a wonderful mentor despite his megalomaniacal aspects. But leave me in charge.”

  “Why you little back-stabbing shit,” Mondani said.

  “I’ll get you out of here safely,” Tupper said to Will, “And I give you my word that none of you will be harmed by anyone under my authority as long as I’m running the show. I will most certainly eavesdrop on you from time to time, but you know as well as I do Will that there are places left where you can go and where I couldn’t get at you . . . at least not without starting another civil war.”

  Jeannie and Betsy shared identical confused looks. The same eyebrows arched the same way over the same eyes.

  Will relaxed, his eyes and his stance undergoing a subtle change. Jeannie felt his hands warming in hers and knew he was back. “We just walk out of here right now?” He wondered if Tupper knew about Mondani’s notebook, and if he’d seen it tucked against his back.

  Tupper nodded. “Drive out, actually, through the autoport door, with the rest of your friends.” He watched Jeannie go to Betsy’s side and gave the girl and her mother a reassuring smile. This was the first time he had gotten a good look at them. When Jeannie tried to return the smile, appearing scared and lovely, Tupper felt his skin tingle and his scrotum tightened as if it had been dipped in ice water. What a curious sensation!

  Will looked down at Mondani and gestured at Tupper. “He’s in charge now. You’re all stressed out. You are going to take a step down the ladder. Maybe retire. If anyone from the Compound messes with us, I’ll hold you responsible. I’ll come for you. And sooner or later I’ll get you.”

  Mondani opened his mouth to say something. Perhaps he was going to mention the notebook to Tupper. Will held up a finger to shush the Doctor. “Crescit eundo,” he said. Mondani glared at him. Will clouted him with a fist and Mondani slumped across his desk.

  “Was that Latin?” Jeannie asked.

  Will nodded, but it was Tupper who said, “Crescit eundo. The State motto of New Mexico, I believe, meaning it grows as it goes.”

  Will gave another nod. “Alex Trebek would be impressed.”

  Tupper looked at his superior. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

  “No,” Will replied. “He’s just having a little nap. I think it’s time to go.”

  “Okay,” Tupper said. If you’ll just come down the hall with me I’ll introduce you to Mr. Dolan, our acting head of security. I’m sure that we can convince him to get on the radio and send all our eager armed men and women in black to a location far from the autoport.”

  * * *

  Brian had given the CB radio and cell-phones another go. Nothing. The sheriff suggested that the installation was probably impervious to any conventional radio communications, guessing there were satellite dishes poking through the camouflage of Big Blue Rock for Compound use, disguised as brush or stunted trees. Brian eased into the driver’s seat of the van and sighed dramatically. Ravi was in the seat beside him, silently fiddling with a video unit.

  Carlos was in the back of the van, sprawled in a seat in front of the console that held everything from editing equipment to the rarely used satellite system. The kid was morose, and in pain. Brian looked longingly at the console and wished he could use that equipment now, just lock onto a bird and beam their story directly to CNN or one of the Big Three.

  The guy with the chunk missing from his skull passed in front of the van. He was walking the perimeter, he’d explained, he was on patrol. “Lancer is on duty,” he’d said. Brian tried to remember where he’d heard the word Lancer before, not as a name, but as a designation for something. The old guy passed by again, the cane encrusted with drying blood held at arms, up against his shoulder like a rifle. Brian studied the guy’s head and gave a low whistle, figuring the guy must be missing a sizable portion of brain meat.

  Al was getting frustrated. This was clearly a departure point with a number of exits, including one at the end of the broad thoroughfare that ran the length of the installation’s ground floor. That route was blocked by a heavy door. There was another massive door on the far side of the room, and they could see the seams where the material that looked like metal came together on the doors, but none of them had been able to figure out how to open either exit, not even their half-witted guide. Al had lost his cool and got behind the wheel of a Lincoln parked among the cars in the small lot. He had put his seat belt on and had driven the big old boat into the nearest door at thirty-five miles an hour. The front of the car had crumpled. The engine block had shifted backward, bursting a seam in the vinyl and plastic dashboard. The door shook loudly but held together. An alarm had sounded for a full minute and then silenced itself. Nobody came to investigate.

  Now Al was sitting behind the wheel of his patrol car. Carlos had convinced Al to wait just a few more minutes for Will and the woman to show up. After that, they would probably have to head back the way they came to find a way out.

  A door slammed open, the same door Galderson had ushered Will through earlier. Al had taken a few minutes to instruct everyone to take cover if a door opened in case it was another wave of goons in black looking for someone to shoot. Now they all did as expected, even Johnny, who dropped down into a grease pit as if a trapdoor had been opened underfoot.

  Al knew he was hidden in shadow inside the patrol car. He watched as three, four, and then a dozen men in black jumpsuits carrying machine pistols filed into the autoport. The leader was wearing protective goggles, a shiny black helmet, and a headset. In response to an unheard question, the leader spoke with an Alabama drawl. This was the cracker who’d rammed a nightstick into Al’s stomach when they were forced into the van that brought them here. Al thought it would be satisfying to kick the guy’s ass, since it looked like there was nothing under that uniform but a skinny white man with a big mouth. He kept quiet and didn’t move. Too much firepower there. He and his fellow detainees wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The leader of the Compound guards listened a moment, then tried to protest. He was cut off, and snapped a, “Yessir!” in reply. “There’s no one here,” he said to his crew. “No intruders on this level. Let’s go.”

  Al watched them file back through the door and disappear. The vast room was silent again. “Damn,” he said.

  Another door creaked open. This one sounded like it was behind him. He swiveled in his seat, staying low. He watched four people come through an opening in the wall, more of an access hatch than a door. A short rotund fellow in a flapping lab coat entered the autoport with quick nervous steps, and when he moved out of the way Al recognized Will’s slender frame and now-familiar face. Behind Will was a woman with skin as white as milk and a face that took Al’s breath away. Coming last was a teenager with a hell of a figure and eyes burning like hot coals. Al had known girls like that in his youth, and he thought, Danger, Will Robinson! Black or white, girls like her were equal parts fun and trouble, only with this one it looked like the scales were tipping in favor of trouble.

  The woman took Will’s hand and said, “Carlos?” Her voice echoed in the great room.

  Carlos appeared, running as fast as he could while carefully cradling his injured arm. The woman gave Carlos a hug, squeezing so hard that the youngster grimaced, but he didn’t complain. Will patted Carlos on the back. The teenage girl stared off into the darkness above their heads.

  Al got out of the patrol car. He was nearly bowled over by old Johnny, who rushed by him muttering something about the pretty lady. Al noticed that Will had an automati
c tucked into the waist of his jeans in front. When the dark-haired girl passed him he saw she had a little revolver in the waistband of her sweatpants in back, snug against a juicy little behind that would have had him howling like wolf if he was still young and stupid.

  Brian and Ravi hopped out of the news van, and soon they were all standing together. Quick introductions were made. As Jeannie said to Brian, “You wouldn’t believe the things we’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours or so,” Tupper beckoned to Will.

  When they were out of earshot, Will asked Tupper what was up. Tupper said, “One more warning, which I hope will not be necessary. Watch out for John Godson.”

  “Who’s he?”

  Tupper reached into a pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. It was a laser printed photo of an oddly familiar dark-skinned man who oozed self-confidence . . . and something else. Will hated the guy and liked him at the same time. It was weird.

  “I know you are one of the best the Compound has ever had,” Tupper whispered, “But this man is better. Don’t ask me how, or why. Trust me. He is. If you see him, just run away. I know how foolish this sounds, but please trust me.”

  “What’s the deal with this guy?”

  Tupper’s eyes rolled as he groped for words. “He is . . . different. Like Jeannie, he is a clone, one of Eicher’s creations.”

  The others had fallen silent for a moment, and heard Tupper’s last words. Brian came closer, wanting to question Tupper. Will held up a hand, silencing him and amusing Ravi despite the cameraman’s obviously frayed nerves. Al gave his head a quick shake as if to ward off more bullshit. Carlos shook his head slowly, in wonder.

  “Eicher would never reveal the source material,” Tupper said, “And his few remaining records show that he feared Godson the moment Godson was born. Godson disappeared shortly after his birth only to show up twenty years later on the Compound payroll. He took over every assignment you ever refused, and took your place as our number one operative when you left. I suspect Kraft took Godson under his wing, but nobody knows.” Tupper paused to suck some air. “I’ve always heard unsettling things about Godson. Trust me, Will. Stay away from this man.”

  “I’ll try,” Will said.

  “Oh,” Tupper said, “You will need this as well. It’s not much . . .”

  He gave Will a wad of crumpled ten and twenty dollar bills.

  “Thanks, dad.” Will said as Tupper stepped away. He felt like a kid getting his allowance.

  Brian thought he was going to explode if he couldn’t get more details about what exactly had happened to whom, but his who-what-when-where-why-and-how routine was cut short when a blinding light swept over them.

  Tupper had opened the door that Al had not even been able to put so much as a dent in, and a thirty foot section of the wall moved up and out of the way. They all stood squinting and shading their eyes from the bright light of day.

  “Damn door,” Al said. “I hit it with a car and bounced off.”

  Tupper grinned and nodded. “You’ve heard of the Roswell incident? Among the many benefits born of the wreckage of various extraterrestrial survey craft we have recovered over the years was the process for creating what we call ufonium, a thin, lightweight carbon fiber polymer as strong as steel. We used it to build the shell over this facility. The exterior of the Compound is almost impenetrable.”

  “Jesus,” Al said. “What makes you think we won’t talk about this once we get out of here?”

  “Who would believe you? Talk, if you want. Write a book. Go on Jerry Springer. You’ll just be seen as a nut, without any proof.”

  Al had the urge to swat Tupper like an annoying little bug. He took a deep breath and turned to the others. “People, I suggest we vacate the premises as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, you should not dawdle,” Tupper said. “Every vehicle should have keys in the ignition—who’s going to steal from us? Mr. Hill, if you need a car, please take one. Take one of our rovers if you want.” He indicated a pair of black widebody vans, the same ones that had brought Will, Al, and Carlos into Compound West. “Beyond this door is one of many hidden roads. It will take you to a gorge and the ruins of a bridge. Go north from there and you’ll find another bridge across the gorge that is utile, and beyond it, rarely-used roads that are actually on the map. I’d like to say I hope we meet again, but for the sake of each of you I’ll just wish you good luck.”

  Tupper turned and quickly made his way to the door that had earlier admitted the guards. The door slammed shut behind him, not such a hollow sound now that they could hear bugs buzzing and clicking and weeds rustling in a breeze outside.

  Will was inspecting an old Chevy Corvair. He slipped behind the wheel. “Smells odd, but the tank’s full.” He looked at Jeannie. “Hey toots, want a lift?” She climbed in beside him. He handed her the automatic he’d been carrying and she primly set it on the seat beside her.

  “Carlos?” Jeannie said. “Come on.”

  “You go with Will,” Carlos said. Now Jeannie could see that he was hurting. “I know you’re in good hands. I’m gonna stick with the big guy and get to a hospital.”

  “Are you sure?” Jeannie hated seeing Carlos in such pain, and hated herself because he wouldn’t be here if not for her. Carlos gave her a big smile and nodded, but she could tell he was putting on his tough-guy face for her sake. “Be careful.”

  Betsy watched her mother a moment, unable to believe she was being ignored again. She opened the door of a rusted Olds that seemed as long as a city block and was older than her by a decade.

  Al led Carlos to the patrol car and said, “I’m assuming that all of you are going to follow me. Once I deliver Mr. Guerrera to a hospital we’ll all be giving statements to the authorities and—”

  Will and Betsy started their engines at the same time. “Sorry, Officer Al,” Will said. “I’ve had it up to here with authority. Jeannie and I are gonna find a quiet place to be for a while, along with . . .” he turned to Jeannie. “Hey, where’s your kid?”

  Betsy put the Olds in gear and moved past them.

  Jeannie was shocked. “Betsy! What are you doing?” Betsy didn’t respond, didn’t even look at them. “She looks pissed,” she said to Will.

  Al ignored the girl, easing Carlos, who gave them a final wave goodbye, into the shotgun seat of the patrol car. Will was watching as Brian pointed here and there and Ravi taped each indicated object or angle. Old Johnny was standing off to one side and staring at the blue sky.

  They all looked back as another door opened at the far end of the wide two-lane road that ran through Compound West. Two electric carts were waiting behind the raising door.

  Brian and Ravi scrambled for the news van, Brian hollering good luck! while Ravi walked backwards, still recording. Al seemed to take one giant stride over the hood of his patrol car and roll into the driver’s seat. Betsy’s car raced out into the sunshine ahead of them.

  Will looked at Jeannie, said, “Seatbelt,” and twisted the ignition key. He watched the Oldsmobile and the news van and the patrol car exiting Compound West and goosed the car forward. He glanced at Jeannie and laughed. “Christ, it’s like Wacky Races.”

  Jeannie looked alarmed. Will followed her gaze. Old Johnny was still standing where they had last seen him.

  Johnny saluted the guy named Will. He seemed like a nice guy. He was nice to the pretty lady. It made Johnny feel good that the pretty lady had someone strong to take care of her and stop her from being hurt. Johnny would like to be that guy, but he wasn’t so strong anymore. So he saluted the guy, wishing him well.

  “Get in!” Will shouted. “Get your bony old ass in the car!”

  Johnny shook his head. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can. You go. And take care of the pretty lady.”

  Will pulled up alongside Johnny. He looked beyond Jeannie and into the old-timer’s eyes a moment, recognizing something there, something he’d seen in his own face, in the mirror, when in the thrall of his ghosts. This old g
uy probably had nothing but ghosts left, he thought. He returned Johnny’s salute, regretting that he’d never know who the man really was.

  “You’re leaving him?” Jeannie asked. She looked horrified.

  “He won’t come,” Will said simply. “I think he wants to make sure you’re safe.”

  Johnny squatted by Jeannie’s open window. He gave her a shy smile and said, “Bye.”

  Jeannie leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. “Bye,” she replied. “And thank you.”

  Johnny blushed and backed away, watching as the car carrying the pretty lady roared away. He turned and faced the electric carts, which were coming toward him now that the door was out of their way. He raised the gore-encrusted cane like a sword and whispered, “Ask not what the pretty lady can do for you, but what you can do for the pretty lady.”

  The first electric cart hit him at twenty-five miles an hour. Johnny was knocked down, and the cane splintered. His old skull cracked open like it was made of glass.

  * * *

  Stella screamed in frustration. She didn’t really care that she’d just killed some geriatric asshole, but every moment’s delay was infuriating.

  She had been in the infirmary swapping stories with Richards and Dicks when an alarm had sounded and then had been shut off. Something weird was going on. The three of them were in agreement that Hill and Norman should be taught to show a little more respect for authority. They had dressed and gone to the main security station and found no sign of Galderson. No one could confirm the location of Jeannie Norman or William Hill. They finally tracked down Dolan and they found him tied in a chair. They patched into the com network and discovered the security force was in turmoil. When they learned security had been advised to stay clear of the autoport, Stella began to wonder. It was the only part of Compound West singled out for an all clear, and the video cameras in the autoport were no longer working.