"The Camp Earthers keep them on the other side of the huts. Near the road." The killer pushed away from the jeep. He accepted Ford's assistance, though he was almost strong enough to stand on his own.
"Let's go power walkin'," Elizu Roote enthused.
As dusk settled around them, the two men struck off across Camp Earth.
BETA RAM RACED through the growing twilight up the winding path to Camp Earth.
Even though he had lost his tail several miles before, his heart still thudded in his chest. The sedan had chased him all the way from Las Cruces to the Caballo foothills. The entire time his pursuers were behind him, Beta had the distinct impression that they could have overtaken him at any moment. The driver of the other car-whoever he was-matched Beta's every move flawlessly. It was as if the two vehicles were wired to the same steering wheel and gas pedal.
He was dead. It could have been anyone: Squiltas, Army, any of a number of shadow government agencies. They were going to get him. No doubt about it.
But then the miracle happened. Thick billowing clouds of gray-white smoke began to pour from his pursuers' hood. It was as though Salvion had personally intervened to save Beta.
They had broken off. Fallen back.
As they pulled over to the side of the road, Beta had stomped down even harder on the gas pedal of his rickety truck. His only thought was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the two strange men.
It was stupid, he told himself in retrospect, to have taken the direction he had. They wanted him to lead them to Camp Earth. He had practically done that.
Beta remonstrated himself as he drove rapidly up the steady, boulder-lined incline, a plume of heavy dust rising in his wake. Stacks of batteries bounced against his tailgate, threatening to break free.
Even as he chastised himself, he was shifting the blame. It was Arthur Ford's fault. Him and that alien of his.
After all, when pursued by the government, where else would Beta have gone? Camp Earth represented safety to him. It was his haven from the doomed world. Of course he would go there when in danger.
Beta had gone into town hundreds of times without any problem. The Squiltas and their Association of Evil were afraid of Salvion. And since they knew the Being of Light protected Beta RAM, they left Beta and his followers alone. Because of the divine protection afforded Beta by Salvion, the Camp Earth leader had for years avoided a pitched laser battle every time he went to the local Safeway for toilet paper. The only difference this day was Roote.
For some reason, they were after Arthur Ford's alien friend. They'd followed Beta in order to reach their prize. As he raced along the twisting mountain road, Beta RAM was beginning to regret not turning Roote over to the authorities.
A sudden bounce. A twist in the road.
Beta turned the steering wheel sharply, taking the curve in a great skid of dust and sand. Flooring the gas once more, he lurched ahead. As the truck closed in on his encampment, he caught a flash of light in his rearview mirror. For a sick moment he thought that the government men were back. But when he looked at the sliver of mirror that was held in its casing by strips of ratty gray duct tape, he realized that it was much, much worse.
There was light all right. Lights. But they weren't on the ground. They were in the blackening sky behind him.
Running lights. From an alien spacecraft!
Blaming Ford and Roote, Beta RAM slammed both feet firmly on the gas pedal. The truck was already moving at a dangerously high speed on the mountain trail.
Its speed failed to increase one jot. While its panicked driver screamed in terror, the battered truck raced closer to the camp. Ahead of the hostile starship.
Behind Beta RAM, the Fort Joy Army helicopter roared forward in hot pursuit.
HAROLD SMITH PICKED UP the phone on the first ring.
"Report," his lemony voice commanded. "We've got a truck matching the description you gave us, sir," came the crisp reply.
The colonel who reported to him didn't know that the man he was speaking to was in a lab on base.
"Where?"
"Near Caballo Lake Percha, northwest of Grama. He's moving fast. Chopper's hanging back for now. Should we concentrate our search in that-"
Smith considered. "No," he said finally. "Recall the others. Have only the one helicopter follow the vehicle back to its camp. When the location is confirmed, call me."
"Yes, sir."
They both cut the connection at the same time.
After Smith had placed the cell phone next to his computer, he tapped the plastic case with one idle finger.
He knew from a strong instinct honed by years of experience that this was the truck Remo had been following.
Smith even knew the owner's name. He had gotten the credit-card records from the Las Cruces House Warehouse store. The vehicle belonged to one Beta RAM.
The name appeared on the bar screen of his laptop computer. Smith's face pinched in displeasure as he read the obviously invented appellation.
Another lunatic to throw on the ever growing heap. Beta RAM could join the ranks of Chesterfield, Roote and Arthur Ford. Smith had met too many insane men in the past two days. It would be up to Remo to thin their numbers.
A steady gray hand clutched the cell phone. The CURE director waited for the call that would send Remo after Roote. He only hoped Remo was up to the challenge.
Chapter 24
The inhabitants of Camp Earth had been told by their leader to stay away from the alien in their midst. Reluctantly they had obeyed the command. For the better part of the day, they'd been hunched before their huts, occasionally craning their necks toward the distant shack where the creature was being nursed back to health.
Beta RAM's edict was promptly forgotten the moment the alien appeared in their shabby makeshift village.
Elizu Roote was like a conquering hero as he was helped past the ramshackle homes of the Camp Earthers.
His stride seemed to improve with every step. At first he was like a stroke victim who was going through the arduous process of relearning to walk. By the time he and Arthur Ford reached the motley collection of Camp Earth cars, he was walking largely on his own.
At an order from the alien, the hoods of all the cars were sprung open.
The nine vehicles were arranged in a tidy line.
Roote walked down to the middle car. Stretching out his hands broadly to either side, he instinctively tripped his internal circuitry.
The flash was blinding as streaks of bluish lightning arced crazily from beneath the grimy hoods of all nine vehicles.
Hoods shuddered, some dropping shut, as the bionically enhanced killer sucked every vestige of stored power from the cars.
It was over in seconds.
A few faint puffs of smoke rose from the now dead engines, lifting gently into the warm evening air.
There was a pervasive silence for a few long seconds. Then, all at once, a single engine seemed to hum to life.
The sound took all of them by surprise. Even Elizu Roote seemed puzzled.
But the noise did not come from the line of Camp Earth cars.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!"
The panicked voice rose from down the road. One of the sentries came running toward the crowd of Camp Earthers from his lookout post, his special night-vision binoculars clasped firmly in his hand.
"On the road," the man announced, breathless. "Beta."
"It's about time," Ford complained. He was already wondering how he was going to sneak one of Beta's freshly-purchased batteries into his own jeep.
"He's not alone," the man cried frantically. He was too out of breath to explain. And a moment later, his breathless silence didn't matter. As the crowd watched, Beta RAM's truck suddenly broke into sight around the rocky outcropping that ran in a jagged semicircle around the upper edge of the main Camp Earth road.
Beta drew up to them a moment later, screaming even before he got out of the cab.
"I've got comp
any!" he yelled.
As Beta threw his hand out behind him, the breathless camp sentry was also pointing to the black sky.
Dozens of eyes looked up into the post-twilight. They saw the lights immediately. As the crowd gasped in horror, Beta wheeled on the Camp Earth visitors.
"This is all your fault," Beta accused Ford. He shoved the ufologist roughly, knocking him into the side of his rusted truck. "You brought him here. Now the Squiltas are coming after me."
Ford glanced at the lights. "Squiltas?" he scoffed. "Are you nuts? It's probably his mother ship." He nodded to Roote. "They're coming to take him back now that I've saved his life."
As punctuation, he shoved Beta RAM back. "Denier of Salvion!" Beta snarled, pushing Ford.
"Salvion's an asshole!" Ford screamed. He pushed Beta with both hands.
Beta gasped. "Blasphemer! You'll never get on the ark. No matter how much you beg when the Squiltas finally destroy this benighted rock."
"Your mother is a Squilta!" Ford shouted. That was enough. To have his mother thrown in with the sworn intergalactic enemies of mankind was too much for Beta RAM. Screaming in anger, Beta tackled Ford. The two of them fell to the dusty ground in a grunting heap.
As the pair of UFO enthusiasts rolled back and forth through the dirt grunting Klingon curses, Elizu Roote was staring up at the approaching aircraft.
The chopper came in from the direction of Fort Joy. From the sound it made, he figured it was most likely an older Huey.
They had found him.
Roote would need more juice if he hoped to get out of this alive. Fast. Time to inspire the troops. Roote picked someone at random. It was the flatfaced Indian girl whom Beta RAM had soiled and later thought to exclude from the trip to New Earth. As the two men continued to wrestle on the ground, Elizu Roote sent a two-handed bolt of electricity pounding into the girl's chest.
The shock lifted her high off the ground, flinging her backward. She landed on her ample derriere in the dirt next to the two wrestling men.
On the ground, Ford and Beta froze, arms locked around one another's throats. They were covered with dirt.
"Open those boxes. Now!" Roote commanded the crowd.
The Camp Earthers didn't need to be told twice. Leaping over the twitching body, they descended on the truck in a mad huddle of arms and legs, wrenching at tightly glued cardboard flaps. The batteries were quickly dumped out and passed on to eager, grabbing hands at the open tailgate. They were arranged in hasty lines on the path.
As he had done with the cars, Roote positioned himself before the rows of batteries. He lowered his hands.
The crackle of energy in the warm air was palpable.
As Roote drained the power from the batteries, the lone helicopter flew in closer. Dust thrown up by the rotors pelted roughly against the faces of the Camp Earth residents.
Blades slicing madly at the sky, the chopper swept over their heads, banking south before swooping back toward the dark eastern sky.
It didn't get far.
One hand remained over the batteries while the other rose toward the departing craft. A single violent burst of electricity exploded from Roote's fingertips, skipping the distance between him and the helicopter in a heartbeat.
The blast caught the chopper in the tail. Engine spluttering, the helicopter plummeted amid a hail of sparks behind the rising plateau. A moment later an explosion rocked the night. A single plume of fire rose up from beyond the rocky ledge. It was followed by a prolonged rumbling as the aircraft pounded in an awesomely slow crawl down the steep embankment. Next came an eerie, stunned silence.
Slowly Elizu Roote turned to the shocked Camp Earthers.
"Well, if they didn't know I was here before, I reckon they do now," he said.
The demonic smile he flashed drained all warmth from the evening air.
FORTUNATELY THE HELICOPTER had spied the Camp Earth cooking fires minutes before Elizu Roote blasted it from the sky. The chopper had quickly radioed the location to Fort Joy, where the message was relayed to Harold W. Smith. Smith in turn contacted Remo.
Ten minutes later Remo was racing along the highway in his stolen Camaro.
The Master of Sinanju sat in the passenger's seat, his hazel eyes fixed on the dark contours of the mountain range that skirted the desolate road.
"I see nothing," Chiun announced. "Were not Smith's legionnaires supposed to rendezvous with us?"
"That was the original plan," Remo said tightly. "But Smitty says they lost radio contact with the chopper at Fort Joy after it checked in."
"Given the incompetence of the gaspot who commanded that garrison, they are probably halfway to Mexico by now."
"I think they've hauled it together now that Chesterfield's pulled a disappearing act," Remo said. He was scanning the sky for any sign of the helicopter that would take them to Camp Earth. "All these mountains look alike to me. In case we don't meet up with them, are you sure you can follow Smith's directions?"
The Master of Sinanju fixed him a baleful glare. "If Mad Harold was sane when issuing his instructions, I will find the site. With or without the assistance of his unreliable soldiery."
An explosion of stars had taken firm hold of the night sky by the time they arrived in the general area Smith had described. Remo had been driving at speeds in excess of 120 miles per hour until now. As they ripped through this new area of desert, he slowed to eighty.
They had just flown around the base of a hill that looked like a giant's foot dropped in the middle of the road when the Master of Sinanju's head suddenly snapped to the right.
"Halt!" the old Korean commanded.
Remo left twin strips of smoking black rubber fifty yards long in his haste to follow the order.
"What is it?" Remo asked once they had come to a stop.
Chiun raised a silencing hand. "Backward," the Master of Sinanju insisted.
Dutifully Remo put the car in reverse. He backed all the way down the long black skid marks until he was at the point where Chiun had first called out. When they stopped once again, the Master of Sinanju aimed a perilously long finger to the soft shoulder of the road.
Leaning over to see out the passenger's window, Remo spotted the fresh tire tracks in the sand. "So what?" Remo asked.
"They belong to the vehicle that eluded us," Chiun announced with certainty. He immediately thought better of his choice of words. "Eluded you," he amended.
Remo didn't seem convinced.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "We're wasting valuable time if you're just going to take us around in circles on some wild-goose chase."
"Need I remind you that you chased a goose into the desert yesterday, only to find a jackass." Remo's face clouded.
"I didn't hear you objecting too strenuously at the time."
"That is because I wished for you to get this crazed-gander pursuit out of your system once and for all. Now we go after our true quarry."
Smiling faintly, Remo shook his head. "Bullshit artist," he muttered under his breath. He thought he had spoken softly enough that Chiun hadn't heard.
"Coming from you, O Bullheaded One, I will take that as a compliment," Chiun announced loudly. Settling back in his seat he waved a bony hand dramatically toward the mountain path. "Drive, bovine!"
Steering off the main road, Remo tore up the shadowy mountain trail.
Chapter 25
Pry bars were carried hurriedly from a dilapidated storage area near Beta RAM's hut. The heavy iron rods were dropped unceremoniously to the sand, followed by many of the residents of Camp Earth.
Crawling, squatting, sliding across the dirt, they worked feverishly to brush aside the sand and clay from the large wooden lid. The pry bars were hastily shoved into the space between lid and lip, and the nails securing the cover to the thick wooden walls popped free one by one. With a final, furious wrench, the lid was ripped free and tossed aside.
Most of the residents of Camp Earth had seen a movie years before where survivalists like themselve
s had hidden weapons in a hole in the ground. When the Camp Earthers had first moved into the wilds of New Mexico, they'd decided to copy their cinematic counterparts. No one realized that in the film the weapons cache had been carved in dirt.
It took months of dynamite and pickaxes for the Camp Earthers to clear the hole they stood in now. It hadn't occurred to any of them to dig where the sand was deep-two hundred yards away on the plateau whereon squatted the hut in which Arthur Ford had revived his precious alien. Dust-covered tarps were pulled away. Automatic weapons were passed up out of the burrow. They were quickly distributed among the eager, grabbing crowd.
"Remember," Beta RAM called to his followers as he watched the men working in the hole. "This is not yet a confirmed alien invasion. We could be dealing with creatures in humanoid shape or humans in league with aliens. There is also a very remote outside chance that they are all humans."
One man snorted contemptuously. "Figure the odds."
A few more in the crowd laughed out loud at this third, outlandish possibility.
Beta RAM raised a silencing hand. "Just be prepared for all the typical alien deception." He began ticking off the possibilities on his fingers. "We're talking mind control, alien possession, false holographic images, transmutation, shape alteration. The works."
The residents of Camp Earth waited impatiently as he listed all of the most obvious alien ruses. When Beta RAM was through issuing his warnings, he began dispatching men and women whom he deemed part of the first watch to the periphery of the camp. About half of the Camp Earth residents remained behind near the huts.
As the men were dispersing, Beta leaned down into the pit. He pulled a pair of M-16s out by their khaki straps.
Carrying a gun in each hand, Beta wandered back through the bustling activity in the camp up to the lonely plateau shack.
Ford sat on one of the drained batteries before the hut's open door. He had decided that his chances for surviving the next few hours hinged on his proximity to Roote. The closer the better.
Ford looked up nervously as Beta approached. He didn't relax when he saw the automatic weapons in the Camp Earth leader's hands.
Beta stopped before him, looking down disdainfully at Arthur Ford.
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