David Robbins - Anaheim Run

“That should suffice,” Kraken said.

Boone shook his head, clearing his mind. He strained, looking over his right shoulder and discovering a single leather cord had been used to bind both his wrists and his ankles. Six inches of cord separated his hands from his teet. His legs were bent backwards.

Kraken knelt alongside the Cavalryman. “An ingenious technique,” he commented. “If you try to straighten your legs, you must dislocate your arms in the process. And should you try to extricate your hands, you will tear the hell out of your knees. Either way, the torture will be exquisite.”

Boone glowered at the Gild chief.

Kraken straightened. “This park abounds in wildlife. Some of the animals are quite unique. I imagine the abundant vegetation and the water attracted them.” He grinned at Boone. “When we scouted the terrain after our arrival, we discovered a few mutants had taken up residence. This is an ideal habitat because there are very few humans here. As soon as Leviathan is hungry again, you will get to meet one of the mutants.” He chuckled. “In parting, allow me to wish you bon appetit.” He laughed at some private joke.

Boone watched Kraken and Nightshade walk off toward the buildings.

He craned his neck, getting his bearings. His feet were a yard from the pool, his head angled up the slightly sloping bank. He estimated he was 40 yards from the nearest building. The cord securing his wrists was tied to tightly, his forearms were tingling. Amazingly, they hadn’t taken his Hombres. But the guns were useless unless he could free his hands. He tried to wriggle his wrists from side to side in an effort to loosen the cord, only his wrists wouldn’t budge. How long, he wondered, before Leviathan showed up? A sound behind him drew his attention.

There was a commotion in the center of the pool, an underwater disturbance causing concentric ripples to fan outward.

Boone tensed. Was it Leviathan?

As if an answer to his silent query, a huge reptilian back broke the surface of the water.

“I’d like you to meet my assistants,” President Toland said.

The summit delegates were gathered in the hotel lobby for a period of socializing while the leaders enjoyed a much-deserved break. Members of the kitchen staff were circulating around the room, offering snacks and drinks to everyone. Free State soldiers ringed the lobby, each one armed with an M-16. In the southeast corner Blade and Plato had been discussing Hickok’s prolonged absence when they were approached by the president of the Civilized Zone and two others.

President Toland was wearing a brown suit tailored in the prewar fashion. He gestured at a woman to his left. “Plato, may I introduce Melissa Parmalee. Her official title is Administrative Assistant to the President. She handles the thousand and one petty details I can’t afford to waste my time with, like scheduling my itinerary on trips and arranging my accommodations.”

Blade studied the woman. Parmalee was about five feet eight, her figure slim and shapely. Her attire consisted of a smart red dress and jacket. The dress reached to her knees and her ample cleavage was discreetly covered by her jacket. He received the impression she was a very dedicated, very businesslike woman who relied more on her brains than her physical charms. Her hair was a sandy blonde, her eyes brown.

Parmalee offered her right hand to Plato. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard many flattering things about you from President Toland.”

“The pleasure is mutual,” Plato assured her, shaking.

Parmalee faced Blade. “Is this who I think it is?”

President Toland laughed. “This is Blade, the head Warrior. I’m sure you’ve heard of his exploits.”

Parmalee nodded, seemingly impressed. “That I have. The man who can change the course of rivers with his bare hands,” she said grinning.

Blade shook her hand, chuckling. “I gave up changing the course of rivers,” he quipped. “It was dirty work. I kept getting my clothes all muddy.”

President Toland indicated a man standing to his right. “And this is Frank Ebert, my Federation Liaison. He’s responsible for insuring all Federation business is treated expeditiously. He was instrumental in finalizing the details for this summit.”

Ebert was a short man, about five feet in height, and his features were on the pudgy side. His hair was brown, as were his eyes, and he was wearing a green suit. “I’m happy to meet you both at last,” he commented in a low voice. He shook hands with Plato, then Blade.

“Is Hickok still missing?” President Toland asked.

Blade frowned. “Yes. Boone went after him, but neither of them has returned yet.”

President Toland gazed about the lobby until his blue eyes alighted on General Gallagher, who was engaged in conversation with Governor Melnick. “I understand you’ve assumed command of the security detail for the summit,” he remarked. “I overheard General Gallagher complaining to the governor.”

Blade shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped. I hope I didn’t cause any problems for you.”

Toland smiled. “Not at all. In fact, I was glad to hear it. I only pray there are no more attempts on our lives.” He paused, chewing on his lower lip. “Speaking of security, I’d like to go over the setup for the banquet tomorrow night.”

“Fine with me,” Blade said.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” President Toland said to the others.

Then he led Blade off by the arm.

“You don’t need to worry about the banquet,” Blade stated. “I’ve issued M-16’s to all of the delegates and we will personally guard the entrances to the banquet room.”

“I’m not worried about the banquet,” Toland revealed. “I drew you aside to discuss something else.”

“What?” Blade asked.

President Toland stopped and checked to make sure no one was in their immediate vicinity. “I want to discuss the spy.”

Blade’s mind flashed back to the Russian officer captured near the Home. The officer had revealed there was a Communist spy in President Toland’s administration.

“Before I go any further, I want to ask you a question,” Toland said.

“Who do you think is responsible for the assassination attempts on the summit leaders?”

“I don’t know,” Blade responded. “The Freedom Federation has made several enemies over the past five years. There are the Androxians in Houston, the androids who want to rule the world. And the Technics in Chicago want to see us destroyed. Not to mention the Soviets. Any one of them could be behind the effort to disrupt the summit. Or it could be a new enemy.”

“Don’t you have any idea which one it may be?” President Toland inquired, his blue eyes conveying his concern.

“If I had to make a guess, I’d say the Russians,” Blade speculated. “But any one of them could have hired the Gild.”

“Yes, General Gallagher told me all about your interrogation of the one called Emery,” Toland said.

Blade thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Hmmm.”

“What is it?” President Toland queried.

“I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“Emery told me the Gild is based in Paris, France,” Blade mentioned.

“So?”

“So whoever hired the Gild must have the means of traveling from the continental U.S. to Europe,” Blade deduced. “And we know the Soviets lack the capability. The Russians possess a lot of functional helicopters, but no jets, so far as we know. And the Technics don’t have an Air Force or any craft able to make a transatlantic voyage. But the Androxians do. So I could be wrong. The Androxians might have hired the Gild.”

“Unless, of course,” President Toland observed, “the Gild has a North American office or headquarters or some means of being contacted here.”