David Robbins - Cincinnati Run

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble over us,” Geronimo said. “But we appreciate the thought.”

Stoljarov ignored him. “When one of our routine patrols failed to report in from Dunlap this afternoon as scheduled, every soldier in the city was instructed to be on the watch for men answering your descriptions.” He laughed. “Of course, I did not expect you to blunder into our arms so easily. How convenient of you to expose yourselves outside the front gate to the Laser Research Facility.”

“Is that what this dump is called?” Geronimo queried.

With surprising celerity and savagery, the Butcher stepped close to Geronimo and backhanded the Warrior across the mouth.

Geronimo’s head lashed to the right and he stumbled and nearly went down. He caught himself and straightened, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Is that the best you can do?” he asked.

“I can do much better, I assure you. Much, much better,” General Stoljarov said.

Blade moved between Geronimo and the general. “You’re a brave man when you’re backed up by ten AK-47’s. How are you at one-on-one?”

Stoljarov sneered. “I hope Comrade Malenkov will permit me to demonstrate my prowess.”

“Don’t use him as an excuse,” Blade said. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

General Stoljarov draped his hands behind his back, his eyes riveted on the giant’s, betraying no trace of fear. “At the proper time, Warrior, you will get your wish.” He wheeled and walked onward.

Blade looked at Geronimo as they followed. “Are you all right?”

Geronimo rubbed his chin and nodded. “Fine. But be careful,” he replied softly. “That sucker is strong.”

“So am I.”

General Stoljarov slowed, waiting for them to reach his left side. “I trust there will not be any further slurs directed at my facility?”

“ Your facility?” Blade repeated.

“I am the commander in charge of the Laser Research Facility.”

General Stoljarov divulged. He gestured proudly with his right arm. “All that you see is under my jurisdiction. I am in charge of the citadel destined to alter the course of human history. The most magnificent weapon ever conceived is at my disposal.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me about it?”

Stoljarov grinned. “At the proper time, Warrior,” he reiterated, and stared fondly at the silver spire.

“What purpose does the spire serve?”

“You are looking at the ultimate achievement in technology,” General Stoljarov boasted. “Our scientists have created the perfect instrument of destruction.”

“The only perfect weapon is a disciplined master of the fighting arts,” Blade declared.

“Spare me your puerile philosophy,” Stoljarov stated. “Can a master of the fighting arts stand in Cincinnati and shoot down a jet in, say, Denver?” His eyes sparkled as he spoke.

Blade scrutinized the ominous silver spire, focusing on the immense opague crystal globe. “Then you are responsible for destroying the 757,” he said, awed by the implications. Oddly enough, despite the fact he’d suspected the Soviets were to blame ever since the meeting with President Toland, and although Fedorov had all but confirmed his suspicions, the verification by General Stoljarov staggered his emotions. Never in a million years would he have believed the Soviets capable of such a feat.

“Among other things,” Stoljarov commented enigmatically.

They were passing between two similar buildings, square monoliths rearing 20 stories above the ground.

“Seems to me that your L.R.F. is a big waste of time and expense,” Geronimo remarked.

“You think so?” Stoljarov responded.

“I know so. You managed to shoot down the Federation’s 757. Big deal. The destruction of one jet doesn’t justify the cost of this project,” Geronimo said with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Do you take us for fools. Warrior? Our purpose in constructing this facility was not for the sole purpose of shooting down aircraft. We have far grander designs for the L.R.F.”

“Like what?” Geronimo prompted.

“Like bringing the Freedom Federation to its knees. Like reducing your Home to a pile of rubble. Like achieving the final triumph of Communism and the establishment of Russian domination world wide.”

“All that with your dinky red light?”

“Soon our dinky red light, as you facetiously call it, will be the terror of the planet.”

“A friend of ours has an expression he uses every now and then,” Geronimo said. “It applies to you Russians.”

“Which is?”

“You’re getting too big for your britches.”

General Stoljarov smiled scornfully. “How quaint.”

“Your insane scheme will fail,” Blade mentioned. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Stoljarov answered.

“The Freedom Federation will do whatever it takes to stop you.”

“How? By sending more Warriors? Don’t make me laugh,” General Stoljarov said, and looked at the giant. “And speaking of Warriors, where is your companion?”

“Our companion?” Blade responded.

“Don’t play the innocent with me. There were four men in the jeep involved in the fender bender. The driver was slain. And there are a dozen witnesses who claim that three men fought with our guards and were seen running from the scene. I know the Warriors are divided into groupings called Triads, and our intelligence data lists the members of one such Triad, Alpha Triad, as yourself, Geronimo, and the pistoleer, the genius Hickok. Where is Hickok?”

Blade and Geronimo exchanged glances.

“Was that a joke?” Geronimo asked.

“What?” General Stoljarov replied.

“That crack about Hickok being a genius,” Geronimo clarified. “You were kidding us, right?”

“General Malenkov himself told me that Hickok is not to be taken lightly,” Stoljarov said. “Hickok is extremely devious and clever. He outwitted our forces in Washington, D.C., and commandeered a helicopter. General Malenkov had Hickok in the palm of his hand, yet Hickok slipped through.”

“Yeah, but—” Geronimo began.

“General Malenkov says Hickok is all the more dangerous because of the act he puts on. He pretends to be a buffoon, to be dense and dumb, when all the time his mind is razor sharp. He fooled Comrade Malenkov once, but he will not trick us again.”

“Amazing,” was all Geronimo could think of to say.

“Where is he?” Stoljarov stated impatiently.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Geronimo said.

The Butcher exhaled noisily. “Very well. Indulge in your games for a few minutes longer. I don’t require your information anyway. My men are scouring Delhi Road for the pistoleer, and they will find him eventually.”

They walked in silence for a minute.

“Where are you taking us?” Blade inquired.

“You’ve expressed such an interest in Lenin’s Needle, I thought I would conduct a guided tour.”

“Why do you call it Lenin’s Needle?”

“As a tribute to one of the greatest heroes of the Communist movement, the man who founded the Communist Party in Russia. He set the pattern for all future Communists to follow,” General Stoljarov said proudly.

“Some pattern,” Blade remarked. “We studied the history of Russia in the Family school, as part of our understanding of the factors leading to the confrontation between the superpowers. Lenin set up a secret police force and killed everyone who disagreed with his views. He was just another power-monger, plain and simple.”

“I would not expect you to comprehend Lenin’s contribution to humanity,” General Stoljarov stated.

“I understand it, all right. Lenin’s contribution consisted of a totalitarian government determined to subjugate every other country.