David Robbins - Memphis Run

“I was banished because I deserted my post. My orders were to defend the king with my life, to allow no one to enter his chambers without permission. My post was at that door. And when I saw my son shot, I abandoned my post.”

“Did your son live?”

Thayer shook his head.

“Your punishment was excessive,” Rikki stated.

“My punishment was fair, even lenient,” Thayer said, disagreeing. “The judges could have sentenced me to death. Instead, I was formally sent into exile. I’m not permitted to ever return to Sparta, and my Spartan identity has been stricken from the official records. My disgrace was my own fault.

Spartans are trained from birth to adhere to their duty above all else. I violated our basic credo.”

Rikki digested this information in thoughtful silence. The new Sparta, he reasoned, was remarkably similar to the ancient Sparta. Both, evidently, operated under a rigid military caste system. “Where is Sparta located?” he inquired casually.

“I told you before. I’m not at liberty to say.”

Rikki pursed his lips. “Very well. I suppose it doesn’t matter in the long run.”

Thayer looked at the martial artist. “What do you mean?”

“Does Aloysius the First know Sparta’s location?”

“Of course not. Do you think I’m nuts?” Thayer queried rhetorically.

“I think you are very lonely and extremely miserable.”

General Thayer straightened. “I don’t need your sympathy, Rikki. I brought my fate on myself. I suffered the disgrace of banishment, and I wandered the Outlands for over a year before I signed on with the King. I have no one to blame but myself.”

“And will you blame yourself for Sparta’s destruction?”

“Destruction?”

“Eventually the King will destroy Sparta.”

“He doesn’t even know Sparta’s location. How can he destroy something he can’t find?”

“Aloysius will find Sparta sooner or later.”

“You’re just saying that,” Thayer declared.

“Am I? The King is insane, but his master plan has merit. If he succeeds in rousing every scavenger in the Outlands to his cause, he’ll raise the largest army on the continent. There will be no stopping him.

He’d probably roll right over the Russians. A solitary city-state like Sparta wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Sparta is well hidden, off the beaten path.”

“Even so, Aloysius will find it. Inevitably, as his power continues to grow, as the territory under his control spreads, he’ll discover Sparta’s location. Once he does, Sparta will fall to the Hounds of Hades.”

“Never!”

“You’re deluding yourself if you think otherwise.”

“But I’m the commander of his army. He wouldn’t conquer my people if I request they be spared.”

“Aloysius wants to be undisputed ruler of the planet,” Rikki observed.

“Do you really believe he would allow Sparta to be independent of his authority?”

General Thayer chewed on his lower lip, his visage troubled. “But he’ll never get that far. Someone is bound to stop him.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

“I’ve never believed his plans for world conquest would succeed,” Thayer remarked. “I’ve never considered him a threat to Sparta.”

“Aloysius is a threat to the entire planet,” Rikki reiterated. “His deranged ambition will inflict suffering on countless lives.”

The Spartan was engrossed in his own musings. “I signed on with the King because I wanted to prove myself. I’ve always known the Hounds will be defeated, sooner or later.”

“You knowingly joined a losing cause?” Rikki queried.

General Thayer glanced at him. “I’d buried my past until you arrived.

Now you’re stirring memories better left forgotten.”

“Why did you come to see me?”

“I was contemplating releasing you,” Thayer divulged. “I could always say you escaped.”

“Will you release me?”

“Not now. I want you out of my life. People like you are dangerous. You inspire others to follow your example of perfection.”

Rikki grinned. “I’m far from perfect.”

The former Spartan eyed the Warrior for a moment. “There’s nothing else to say.” He wheeled and stalked off.

His supple muscles uncoiling, Rikki stood slowly and moved to the door. General Thayer had neglected to close the panel over the barred window, allowing Rikki to see the pair of guards at the end of the corridor.

He saw the officer disappear up the stairs, and the two Hounds exchanged muted words as they apparently discussed the general’s behavior.

Forty minutes, Thayer had said.

Not a lot of time.

Rikki surveyed the holding cell, which contained a toilet facility in the far left corner of the room but was otherwise devoid of furniture and windows to the outside, and came to the conclusion clever measures were called for. He gazed at the guards briefly, then crouched, cupped his hands around his mouth, and uttered a strangled scream. After waiting a bit, he repeated the noise.

There wasn’t long to wait.

Boot steps pounded on the tile floor.

“—hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” replied the second Hound.

“It sounded like he was hanging himself,” suggested the first.

“There’s nothing in his cell he could use to hang himself.”

“Maybe he had something concealed in his clothes, something we missed.”

“Shit. The King will have our hides if this guy is dead.”

Rikki flattened on his stomach at the inner base of the door.

There was the sound of breathing at the barred window. “Damn. I don’t see him!” declared one of the guards.

“He’s got to be in there.”

“Look for yourself.”

A shuffling noise was followed by an exclamation. “Son of a bitch! Get this door open.”

Rikki heard a rattling in the lock as a key was inserted, and he edged away from the door until he was just beyond the radius of the farthest point of the door’s anticipated inward sweep. If he was correct, the guard would fling the door open and miss him by a hair.

The key was twisted and there was a loud click.

A rush of air touched the Warrior’s face as the door was shoved wide, and the first guard rushed into the holding cell. The Hound’s left boot caught on Rikki’s shoulder, and with a startled. “Hey!” the guard tripped and fell.

“What the—!” blurted out the second Hound, about to enter the room.

Rikki was already in motion, swinging his feet around and in and slamming his heels into the knees of the second Hound. A sharp crack, a screech of pain, and the second Hound was toppling forward, trying to level the AR-15. Rikki deflected the barrel of the automatic rifle with his right forearm, then rammed a leopard-paw strike into the Hound’s throat as the man came down.

The first guard, on his hands and knees, was scrambling to face the prisoner.

Rikki arched his back and sprang erect, spinning as he rose, delivering a kick to the tip of the first Hound’s chin. The man grunted and sagged, and another kick rendered him insensate. Rikki glanced at the second guard, who was flat on his back, gasping and convulsing, his hands pressed to his crushed windpipe.

The Warrior disliked seeing his foe suffer.

With a precisely angled sword-hand chop to the Hound’s nose, Rikki ended the man’s misery.

No one else had appeared in the hallway.

Moving swiftly, Rikki grabbed the AR-15 and raced down the corridor to the stairs. He checked, verifying the safety was off, and ascended, a step at a time, all the while gazing overhead to insure more Hounds weren’t stationed above him. What should he do now? He asked himself. Escape the mansion while the opportunity presented itself? Or try to slay Aloysius the First and terminate the madman’s demented scheme for global domination? Either way, his main priority was reclaiming his katana.