David Robbins: Cincinnati Run

Geronimo pressed his advantage, rolling onto his left side and aiming a kick at the trooper’s head.

The Russian managed to block the Warrior’s leg.

Undaunted, Geronimo attacked, setting upon the soldier with a rain of Hung Gar hand blows taught to him by a Family Elder skilled in the martial arts. The trooper deflected several, and then Geronimo hit home with a tiger claw to the jaw, a leopard paw to the Adam’s apple, and a dragon fist to the mouth.

Dazed and breathing in deep gulps of air, spittle on his lower lip and blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, the Russian slumped to the floor and began twitching convulsively.

Geronimo rose, his knees a bit unsteady, pain still flaring in his groin.

He stepped toward the door, gathering his strength, listening for the chattering of automatic weapons.

All was quiet outside the utility closet.

Rendered careless by his anxiety over Blade and the torment, Geronimo yanked on the doorknob and took a stride into the corridor—and immediately regretted his rashness.

“We meet again, Warrior,” General Ari Stoljarov declared sarcastically.

Geronimo frowned, seething with frustration. The Butcher stood four feet to his left, and flanking the general were two guards with their AK-47’s at the ready.

“I heard a commotion in the closet and stopped to investigate,” General Stoljarov said. He walked to the doorway and gazed in at the trooper, who was now lying still with his tongue protruding. “Ahhhhh. I see. You two were arguing over who would sweep the floor.”

“Up yours,” Geronimo snapped.

General Stoljarov looked at the Warrior, his eyebrows arching. “Where is your vaunted humor now, Indian?”

Geronimo glared but said nothing.

“My men are in pursuit of Blade, and I expect he will be apprehended at any moment,” Stoljarov said.

“Dream on. You won’t catch Blade twice. He’ll take your men apart,” Geronimo predicted.

General Stoljarov scratched his chin, contemplating. “Perhaps you are right,” he agreed with a smirk and strolled to a point ten feet farther along the opposite wall. Adorning the wall at shoulder height was a square black box, each side four inches in length, and situated in the center of the box was a red button. “Perhaps my men will require assistance,” he declared, and depressed the button.

Lenin’s Needle abruptly resounded to the harsh blaring of a multitude of klaxons.

The Butcher returned to Geronimo and grinned, raising his voice to be heard above the din. “Now how far do you think your friend will get? The alarm I’ve sounded will place everyone in the Needle on alert, and our security personnel will conduct a sweep of every floor.”

“You won’t stop Blade.”

General Stoljarov snorted. “I’d expect such misguided loyalty from you. Despite his formidable reputation, Blade is human, after all. Even he can not hope to withstand my troops.” He motioned with his right arm. “After you.”

“Where are you taking me?” Geronimo asked, moving forward.

The guards diligently kept their AK-47’s pointed at the Warrior and fell in behind him.

“I thought you might enjoy meeting Leonid Grineva,” General Stoljarov said, heading down the hall on Geronimo’s right.

“The scientist who developed your superweapon?” Geronimo responded suspiciously.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Alpha Triad has traveled so far to learn the secret of our new weapon,” General Stoljarov replied. “The least I can do is alleviate your curiosity.”

“Why?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?” Stoljarov queried, and laughed.

What was the Butcher up to? Geronimo wondered as they came to a junction and took the left-hand passage. Leonid Grineva should be the last person Stoljarov would want either of the Warriors to meet. If Grineva’s brilliant intellect truly was responsible for the creation of the L.R.F., then under no circumstances should the general be willing to expose the scientist to potential danger. And Stoljarov must know that the Warriors would terminate Grineva if given the opportunity.

In 40 yards they came to an elevator, and General Stoljarov pushed the UP button. He eyed Geronimo smugly. When the door hissed open, he gestured for the Warrior to step inside, then entered with the guards. The soldiers held the AK-47 barrels within an inch of the Warrior’s head, and the general punched a numbered button on the control panel. The door closed.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” Stoljarov said.

“Are we going all the way up to the crystal globe?” Geronimo inquired.

He could feel a slight vibration in the floor as the elevator ascended.

“No. The crystal globe is actually part of the laser’s firing apparatus, as I understand it. The inner surface of the crystal is coated with silver to reflect almost all of the light generated inside the crystal,” Stoljarov revealed. “We are on our way to the control room, which is directly under the crystal.”

The elevator climbed swiftly, the number of each respective level lighting on the control panel to mark their progress.

“Are you willing to cooperate with me and spare yourself extreme discomfort?” General Stoljarov asked.

“Cooperate?” Geronimo repeated.

“I’ve been giving the matter some consideration, and I’ve decided to question you before contacting General Malenkov,” the Butcher disclosed.

“You were right. I do want to impress Comrade Malenkov, and the way to do so is by obtaining information he dearly desires. He has long wanted to know the precise layout of your Home, and as much information as can be gleaned about every member of your Family, particularly the Elders and those Warriors about whom we know very little.” He paused and pursed his lips. “Your capture will impress General Malenkov, but I could impress him even more if I obtain the information he needs. Imagine the boost to my career if I break you down and elicit the intelligence data Malenkov has been unable to obtain.”

“Don’t count your stars before they’re pinned on.”

“The irony of this is that the information is no longer essential. General Malenkov has wanted to learn the weaknesses of the Home in order to destroy your accursed Family. Some of our officers have proposed using a helicopter squadron, but the Home is too far from our lines for our helicopters to fly there and back without the necessity of refueling. A missile strike was suggested, but our long-range missiles are not as reliable as we would wish, and without a nuclear warhead, which we don’t have, our missiles are incapable of delivering a payload that would obliterate your thirty-acre compound. General Malenkov does not want any survivors, any martyrs who would rouse the Freedom Federation to avenge our deed.”

The elevator passed the fifteenth floor.

“Once Comrade Grineva has demonstrated the laser can be used against land targets,” General Stoljarov continued, “we won’t need any information other than the Home’s location, which we already know.

Grineva will feed the coordinates into the computer firing system, and the laser will vaporize the Home like it did the 757.”

Vaporize the Home! The idea that the Family could be incinerated without warning from a thousand miles away horrified Geronimo. His loved ones and friends would never know what hit them. The scenario of long-distance annihilation was new to him. He’d read about the prewar civilization, how the ordinary citizen never knew when he or she might be subjected to an extraordinary death by nuclear incineration, how the prospect of imminent doom hung over their heads like an ominous cloud.

Was this the same experience? Knowing that someone, somewhere, possessed the means of wiping out everyone you loved at the touch of a button? The reality rocked him to his core.