David Robbins - Boston Run

“No.”

Harold did a double take. “You’re putting me on.”

“Can your dispatcher monitor the cab in any way?”

“How do you mean?”

“Does the dispatcher know where you are at any given moment?”

“No, man. It’s just a two-way radio, is all. Like a CB. You’ve used a CB before, haven’t you?”

“No.”

Harold looked at the giant. “Where are you from? The moon?”

Blade smiled. He twisted and gazed out the rear window, checking for pursuit. “Life outside the Soviet zone is much different. Except for a few organized factions, the standard of living is about the same as it was during the Middle Ages. Functional cars and trucks are rare. Indoor plumbing is a luxury. The people are lucky if they eat one square meal a day.” He paused. “Ironically, the standard of living in the Soviet territory is more like the life-style in the prewar United States than that in almost every other area, despite the Communist system the Russians have tried to impose.”

“I get the impression you know a lot about the Soviets.”

“I’ve dealt with them before.”

A voice suddenly squawked from a small speaker. “Fifty-four. Pick up a woman wearing a green dress at the corner of Harvard Street and Walk Hill.”

“That’s me,” Harold said.

“Ignore it.”

The speaker crackled again. “Fifty-four. Are you alive? Did you copy?”

“Boy, will he be ticked off,” Harold remarked, and twisted a dial to kill the speaker.

“How much trouble will you get into for driving me to the base?” Blade inquired.

“Not much. I saw what you did at the hospital, and I was about to let the dispatcher know I was stuck there when you commandeered my cab.

The police will believe me when I tell them I didn’t have a choice. I don’t think they’ll punish me,” Harold said.

“Good.”

Harold looked at the giant. “Say, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all.”

“Why, exactly, do you want to go to Gorbachev Air Force Base? You’re on the run, aren’t you? The authorities are after you. Going there doesn’t make sense. There are military types all over the place.”

“I know.”

“Then why go there?” Harold queried, and the giant’s reply almost prompted him to tramp on the brake.

“I plan to attack it.”

Major General Ligachev wheeled and took a step.

“Now don’t go off in a huff,” Hickok said. “We need to shoot the breeze a bit.”

The officer turned, the set of his features revealing his anger. “I have nothing left to say to you. Surrender, or else.”

The Warrior gazed at the helicopter at rest to the west. The troopers inside were still seated, their AK-47’s in their laps or held in their hands.

None of them were aiming a weapon at him. “Maybe I was a mite hasty.”

“What?”

“I reckon a surrender is in order.”

Ligachev nodded and smirked. “You finally see the light. There is no way you can escape us. Resistance would be futile.”

Hickok hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “Yep, you coyotes sure have this all thought out. But there’s a few things I don’t understand.”

“Such as?”

“Why didn’t you guys track the SEAL from the Home? It would have been a lot simpler.”

“True,” the officer acknowledged, “But had we attempted to shadow your vehicle all the way from the Home, we increased the likelihood of being detected.”

“Why’d you spring your trap now? Why not earlier? Or why not later?”

“Our fuel consumption was a major factor in our decision. Any earlier and we would have been too far from our lines to be able to engage you, if you refused to give in, and still have enough fuel left to return to our refueling site. Our helicopters haven’t been modified to fly extended distances, like the one the HGP Unit used to fly to the Home. Such modifications are expensive, and only a few such craft have been converted,” Ligachev said. “We could have waited until later, but we ran the risk of not being able to find the SEAL. There are few secondary roads in this section of Iowa, making the area ideal. And as General Malenkov said, the sooner the better.”

“How is old cow face?”

“Eager to see you,” Ligachev responded, and grinned wickedly.

“I’ll bet,” Hickok stated. He allowed his hands to slowly drop to his sides. “I’ve got one last point that’s puzzlin’ me. Malenkov wants the Home destroyed. He hates our guts. So why’d he send in the commandos just to snatch Blade? Why not send them in to blow up the Home?”

“That’s been tried before without success. Your compound even withstood a direct assault by a vastly superior force during your war with the Docktor. Before the general sends his elite unit against the Home, he wants to learn all about your defenses. He wants to know everything there is to know about your compound. That’s one of the reasons Blade was taken,” Major General Ligachev detailed. “You are right about the general hating your Family. After he is done, your compound will be reduced to rubble and your Family will be dead or in prison. The general rates the destruction of the Home as his paramount priority, and he is giving the matter his personal touch.”

Hickok nodded. “I guess that’s all I need to know. It’s time to surrender.”

Ligachev extended his hands. “I’ll take your weapons now.”

“You’ve got it backwards, turkey.”

“What?”

“I’m givin’ you a chance to surrender.”

“You’re giving us—!” the officer exclaimed incredulously.

“Have your men line up behind you with their arms in the air,” Hickok instructed him.

“You’re insane.”

“I mean every word I say.”

Scarlet flushed the Russian’s cheeks. “You’ve been toying with me. You had no serious intention of surrendering.”

“You’re the one who should give up before you get me riled.”

Ligachev uttered a hissing noise and pivoted on his heel. He stalked toward the helicopter.

“Hey,” Hickok said.

“What is it now ?” the officer snapped, stopping and glancing at the Warrior.

“Do I take it your answer is no?”

“We’ll never surrender to you, you dimwit,” Ligachev said. “Once I give the word, your SEAL won’t last two minutes.”

The corners of Hickok’s mustache curled upward. “You won’t be givin’ the word.”

Major General Ligachev studied the man in buckskins, and the full meaning of the Warrior’s words dawned. He glanced at the Colt Pythons, their pearl grips glistening in the sunshine, and remembered the many tales he had heard about the gunfighter’s prowess. “Now wait a minute.”

“Surrender, or else,” Hickok said, mimicking the officer.

“If you shoot me, my men will slay you.”

“Maybe, Maybe not.”

Ligachev gestured at his waist. “But I’m unarmed. You can’t shoot an unarmed man.”

Hickok’s forehead creased. “Why not?”

The unexpected question gave Ligachev pause. Why not, indeed? He’d executed dozens of unarmed political prisoners during his early years in the army. He cursed himself for being a fool, for not carrying a gun. “I came over here unarmed to show I only wanted to talk, to prove my good intentions.”

“Good intentions? You’re fixin’ to blow us to bits.”

Ligachev frantically thought of another argument he could use. “Killing me won’t accomplish anything. My second-in-command will take over and the choppers will still destroy the SEAL.”

“Pluggin’ you will buy us a minute or two while your boys get their acts together,” Hickok said. “I may rattle ’em so bad that they’ll make mistakes.”