The Recruiter

by Roger Weston

Curtis nodded just slightly.

  Chuck looked at Leslie. “Loyalty is critical, isn’t it?”

  She drew a second pistol from her garment, aiming one at Chuck and one at Robert. “Anybody moves, you both die,” she said. “Drop your weapons.”

  Nobody did.

  “Now!” she shouted.

  Robert looked at the Middle Easterners. He said, “Do as she says,” and they obeyed.

  She gave Chuck a withering stare. “Last chance,” she said. “Drop it or die.”

  Chuck slowly kneeled down. He put his gun on the ground and kicked it away.

  “And what about loyalty to your old friend?” Leslie said.

  Chuck shook his head. “You know the truth as well as anyone.”

  “Your new loyalty to RUMAN makes me sick.” She shook her gun at Robert. “Your mentor there, your father figure—he’s the one who killed your wife.”

  “She died in a climbing accident.”

  Leslie nodded. “Treating her ropes with chemicals was an ingenious piece of work, Robert.”

  “Where do you come up with this garbage, Leslie?” Robert said.

  She shifted her gun back to him, halting his advance. “Liar! You’re an arrogant liar and you’re going to die today. How does that feel?”

  “It’s not too late,” Robert said. “Lower that gun and you can walk out of here.”

  Curtis stepped forward and said, “Shoot him now.”

  “Nobody messes with my mind,” Leslie said, squinting at Robert. “You arrogant basket case. I want you to know that you can thank me for your doom—and RUMAN’s doom. I was playing you all along.”

  “What?” Robert said.

  “I’ve been feeding Curtis information all along. I led him here—to destroy you and RUMAN. I only wanted Brandt dead because he was a threat to Curtis.”

  “Why?” Robert said.

  “Because I love Curtis. Because he is working for EREBUS—the organization that will inherit your share of the stimulus bill and control of the Solar Microwave Weapon program. You and RUMAN are finished. Curtis and I will never want for anything again. While you’re rotting in the dirt, we’ll be on a sunny beach someplace laughing about it.”

  “You mean … you’re lovers?”

  “Never would have guessed, would you?”

  Robert shook his head. “You’ll never know a day’s peace. You’ll be hunted to the end.”

  “Shut up.” She looked at Chuck. “I’m actually sorry I have to kill you. I know you probably hate me for betraying you and the immigrants.”

  “Hundreds of them, Leslie. You sold them down the river. That’s what they came here to escape from.”

  “They are fulfilling their destiny. They’re no worse off here than where they came from. Many are now living well, right back in their own countries. They owe me. I did them the biggest favor of their lives.”

  “You have no idea how much damage you do with your mind games.”

  “You’re wrong there.” She glared at Chuck.

  Curtis kneeled down and picked up his gun. Leslie saw this, but didn’t seem to care, verifying that she was indeed working with him.

  Chuck’s eyes closed, and his chin fell to his chest.

  Robert said, “You’re being had, Leslie.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  “Curtis is using you.”

  “Shut up. You’re a desperate man grasping at anything you can to save yourself.”

  “If you think you’re going to ride off into the sunset with him, you might want to consider that he has two other lovers.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Curtis said. “He’s lying.”

  “No, I’m not. We have intelligence on them going back three years. One lives in Mexico, the other in Texas. Natalia, isn’t it?”

  “Is that right, Curtis?”

  “He’s lying.”

  “Is that why you insisted I meet you in Texas? And before that Mazatlan.”

  “He’s making it up,” Curtis said. “He’s desperate.”

  “You insisted.” She swung her left pistol away from Robert and toward Curtis. “You pig.” She shot Curtis. A look of disbelief appeared on his face as he staggered backwards. “You liar.” Three more shots boomed out as Curtis hit the ground.

  Robert dove for his pistol. He thrust his firing arm toward Leslie and squeezed off a shot. The slug caught Leslie under the chin and put her out of the game permanently. She fell backwards and hit the ground like a wet rag.

  The Middle Easterners went for their guns.

  Chuck got to his first. The reports were deafening. The first Middle Easterner staggered back and hit the cave wall. The second killer got off a wild shot before two slugs tore through his chest. He dropped his gun but actually stayed on his feet for a moment.

  As he collapsed, Chuck broke for the main tunnel. He turned the corner as a stream of bullets grazed the stone wall. As he made it to the cover of a side tunnel, he brought his gun back around the corner, waiting for Robert who kept his cover.

  Chuck pulled back.

  “Why did you do it?” Robert said. “I offered you the world.”

  “I don’t want the world,” Chuck said. “I want Lydia.”

  “You could have had it all.”

  “We both know you’re lying.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  There was a pause. “Once again,” Robert said, “you’ve impressed me and validated my choice of so many years ago. Let’s be practical. The only thing that really matters is that you and I come out on top. If a few people get hurt along the way, what is that to us? Those who are deemed worthy by destiny rise again. I know you’re mad. You have a right to be. But you don’t shoot the horse that brought you to the victory parade. Join us now, and Lydia will be free within minutes. All you have to do is put away your gun and walk out of here. You can go far with RUMAN. We can wipe the slate clean and start over. You’ve helped me to eliminate the last threat to RUMAN. You’ve ensured our future. Now choose greatness for yourself and life for Lydia. This is your time. This is Lydia’s time.”

  Chuck thought about it during a painful stretch of silence. Then he said, “The threat to RUMAN just got worse.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A few moments of silence sucked air out of the cave.

  “You killed my wife.”

  “No, Leslie was lying. I didn’t do it.”

  Chuck lobbed a smoke canister and ran across the main tunnel to a cross-cut shaft. He waited for Robert to lean out to try a shot, but Robert anticipated as much. He peeked out fast and at knee level. Chuck fired, but missed. By now the smoke was creating a veil between the two side tunnels.

  “Nice try,” Robert said. “Even if you get out of that dead end, we’ll trap you someplace else. You’ll never get out of Jin Mountain alive.”

  “No, it’s like I said before. I’m gonna kill you; but remember, I’ll do it with sadness in my heart.”

  “You’re a sick man, Brandt.” Chuck listened as Robert got on the cave telephone and began shouting. “Where the hell is my back-up? We’ve got smoke down here. I want two teams down here now. Where is Ibrahim?” A brief pause. “Round up the immigrants and begin the testing. Now! And send a team to the main road now—lower portion. Side tunnel fifty-three. Look for the smoke and take out Brandt. Kill on sight.”

  As Robert barked orders, Chuck skulked out into the main tunnel. He crept along and approached the side passage where Robert was now taking cover. He zeroed in on the voice, aiming his pistol into the smoke. He then squeezed off three shots and pulled back to avoid return fire. The return fire never came. The only sound was the hiss of the smoke canister.

  CHAPTER 87

  Chuck ran down the main tunnel until he saw a backhoe in a large cavern. He had to get to the workers before the guards did. Leaping up and grabbing a handle, he climbed up into the cab and drove past the drilling and ore processing operation until he came to the big door where
Dean and the rest of the workers were. He rammed it, and the metal folded in.

  He backed up and rammed it again. This time the door and the entire gate tore free of its anchors and crashed to the ground. The smell that came into Chuck’s nostrils was atrocious. The tunnel continued for another two hundred yards pocked with side shoots. He could see eighty or ninety workers standing around trying to fathom what was happening. They were a ragtag collection of scarecrows. Several were either lying or sitting against the cave wall, too exhausted or sick to stand. He scanned the crowd frantically for Lydia. He didn’t see her. If she was dead….

  Chuck drove the backhoe toward the group. As he passed the side shafts, he could see why it smelled so bad. Dozens of bodies had been dumped without proper burial. Was Lydia among them? It infuriated him that these people had been condemned to this hell shaft.

  Chuck returned his gaze to the living. “I’m here to help you,” he said. “I will lead you out of here. They are coming for you, so you must follow me. If you stay here, you will die.”

  Some of the haggard skeletons translated for their weak comrades who didn’t understand.

  Then Chuck saw something that shocked him as the backhoe came to a halt. Among a dirty, ragged group of African and Afghan women, he saw a dirty-faced Asian woman.

  “Lydia,” he said, tears flooding his eyes. She ran to him and he lifted her and hugged her tightly. He held her close for a moment. “It’s not over yet,” he said.

  Dean was there, and he headed for Chuck. “I need a gun,” he said. “It’s revenge time.”

  “Help the weak,” Chuck said, eyeing a group of men who still had some fight in them.

  He turned to Lydia. “Who’s a leader?”

  “Hassan,” she said, pointing to a middle-aged Turkish-Russian man with graying temples.

  Chuck approached him. “I can get you out of here, but you’ll have to fight for it. Make sure the men bring everyone. Nobody can be left behind. Move them all out into the main tunnel.”

  Hassan nodded and began barking orders. Men got busy. Women gathered up a few older children.

  Some of the people were eager to get moving, and they were ready within two minutes. Others griped and wanted to stay behind in the tunnel. “They’ll shoot us out there,” a woman said. “At least here we’re safe.”

  “You’ll die here,” Chuck said. “They’re planning to test a microwave weapon on you. Stay here you die.”

  “I know where the armory is,” a young black man said.

  Chuck recognized the man’s face and said, “Abdi Abdi. I’m glad to see you.” Chuck walked over and patted the young man on the back. “Show me where it is.”

  Chuck jumped up on the backhoe. “This way to freedom.”

  He waved for the ragtag band of slaves to follow him. Already the light of hope had entered their eyes. A surge of energy seemed to fuel them. They kept up a good pace. Some were eager to help others. Despite their sunken eyes and skeletal frames and hollow cheeks, many of them limped with a spring in their step. They carried their tattered clothes with a royal and dignified pride. In the main tunnel, they looked over their shoulders warily, wondering if the guards would show up, but they did not allow their fear to throw them into a panic. Holding Lydia close as he drove, Chuck saw smiles on many of their dirty and bruised faces. When they came to a big cavern, Chuck hooked up a flatbed trailer to the backhoe, and the able-bodied helped load up the weak and the wounded. Lydia helped an old man who could barely walk.

  The clatter of gunfire startled Chuck and the others. A couple of the women and several of the men cringed like beaten dogs. “We no should leave back there,” a skeletal man said. “Now for sure we die.”

  “I wish I never see him face,” a woman said, spitting toward Chuck.

  Hassan approached Chuck. “What is happening?”

  “They’re up there, so we’re going down. Find someone who can drive this thing.”

  Hassan collected a young man who proclaimed his competence. “You’re hired,” Chuck said.

  The kid drove the backhoe like a pro, his trailer carrying the maimed and the weary. Those who could walked or limped alongside.

  It took them a few minutes to get to the armory, Chuck walking with Lydia at his side. The men unhooked the trailer, and then the kid revved the backhoe’s big engine and rammed down the armory door. The men gave shouts of joy and flooded in like raiding pirates, coming out shortly after with an assortment of machine guns, assault rifles, pistols and uniforms. Within five minutes, Chuck’s throng was well-dressed and well-armed, a formidable fighting unit. With guns in their hands, the men showed more confidence and several flared out their arms and stared down the tunnel as if eager to see one of the guards who had beaten them. A couple of them strutted around, thrusting out their bony chests.

  “Follow me,” Chuck said. “There’s only one way out of here.”

  CHAPTER 88

  Engine No. 21 stood proud on her rails. She had three big stacks and a bell on her black snout. Chuck knew little about old steam engines and even less about those converted to and powered by Solanite, but he could imagine what she must have meant to Lok Jin in the 1900s. Chuck only hoped she was dependable.

  She’d been cleaned up and recently polished, which meant what he suspected was true. RUMAN had rebuilt her and was planning to use her as the mobile satellite control center for the microwave weapon program. Chuck gazed down the string of cars to her rear. Beyond the first two boxcars with their collapsible satellite dishes were more cars. Painted in big letters across one of the cars was a sign reading, Saloon. Another car read, Barber. And a third said, Bunkhouse. Four other unmarked boxcars followed.

  “Listen.” Chuck said.

  Hassan shushed the throng. For a moment, they all stood in dead silence, except for the muffled sound of pleading voices from within one of the boxcars.

  Chuck swung back the latch, rolling the door on her wheels. What he saw inside shocked him. Seven black men sitting in the dark—starving, pitiful souls with lash scars on their chests. It was quiet now with them covering their eyes and cowering as if they expected a beating. One whimpered. His latest wounds were fresh, and puss from an infection dripped down his chest.

  “Climb in with them,” Chuck said. “Give them your extra guns.” He jogged to the next car and rolled back the door. Five more pitiful souls dwelled within, Bosnians, who’d also fallen under the whip. Two, roused by the noise, had gained their feet and swayed on skeletal legs. A thin layer of dirt covered their gaunt, bearded faces.

  “Load up,” Chuck said. “Everybody.”

  Chuck approached Hassan. “Who can drive this?”

  Hassan looked around, his eyes picking among the throng. He pointed at a tall black man on make-shift crutches. “Dalmar,” he said. “You drive today.”

  Dalmar’s lips revealed a slight grin. He looked nervously down the tunnel, then back at Hassan, giving him a nod.

  “How far down the mountain do the tracks go after they leave the mine?” Chuck said.

  Hassan frowned. “Two miles.”

  “That’ll get us clear of the compound. Then we can take to the high ground.”

  “What about the helicopters?” Hassan said.

  “Who can fly them?” Chuck said, suddenly wishing that Jeff was here.

  Hassan shook his head.

  “We’ll use the rocket launchers,” Chuck said. “They’re all we’ve got. Somebody will have to destroy the choppers before they leave the ground.”

  “We can hit them from the train after we leave the mine.”

  “Tell your boys they can’t miss,” Chuck said. “If a gunship comes after us we’re doomed.”

  Chuck held Dalmar’s crutches while the wounded man climbed into the engine, then passed them up. He jogged down the line, helping weak prisoners into the train. The big engine got up her head of steam within minutes and roared with power. Evidently, the engineers had done a nice overhaul, and Solanite gave her unusual power.
The wheels began to roll. At first, the screeching from the rail cars was hideous. Chuck and Lydia covered their ears. But all the wheels had fresh grease and most of them turned. The few that refused to budge were pulled down the track anyhow.

  Chuck took Lydia’s hand. “You stay with me,” he said, helping her into the slow-moving train.

  The other doors were shutting, and Chuck swung up into the car. No sooner had he gained his feet when a brawny woman rolled the door shut hard enough to make vibrations. Chuck looked at her, but she kept her angry gaze on the floor.

  Lydia slipped her arm under Chuck’s. It had been days since she’d had a shower, but when he looked at her dark, secretive eyes—admiring eyes—he wanted to forget about the others and take her to safety.

  Hassan handed Chuck and Lydia M-16s.

  “Let me show you how to use that,” Chuck said to Lydia.

  “You do not have to,” she said. “I learned well in Burma.”

  All of the Bosnians who’d been imprisoned here were now armed, and despite the dimness inside of the boxcar, Chuck could see an intense hunger in their eyes. But what had previously been looks of hunger for food and water was now hunger for vengeance. Chuck was glad he was on their side. None of them said a word. They just held their rifles out the windows, their eyes showing how eager they were to spot RUMAN guards. Chuck stepped up to the window. There wasn’t much to see other than the cave wall that reeled past less than ten feet away. The train was slowly picking up speed, but not much, probably because they had a curve coming up as they entered the main tunnel. The train slowed to barely a crawl as it took the bend. After that, the wheels began to pick up speed again.

  They’d gone less than a quarter mile when the first shots were fired from a side tunnel. Unseen soldiers were firing into the windows of the train cars as they rolled past.

  As their car approached one of the black tubes, he and Lydia squeezed off several shots, but as the car passed, he pulled her to the ground to get cover from return fire. And it came. A flurry rang out, and four or five slugs came through the window and hit the back of their car, glass shards raining down on the floor.