David Robbins - Liberty Run

Cole glanced at her. “Yes, I did.”

“We could of questioned him!” Bertha stated. “He was a Hunter, right?”

“Without a doubt,” Cole said.

Bertha doubled over, her ribs aching. “You didn’t have to do that!” she reiterated.

Cole stared at the startled Claws emerging from the cabin, a few rubbing their sleepy eyes. He looked at Bertha, the set of his jaw determined and straight, and then at the corpse in the pit. “Yes, I did,” he insisted softly.

This time. Bertha didn’t argue.

“What the hell are they trying to pull?” Blade snapped.

“Beats me,” Sundance admitted.

“Maybe they weren’t after us at all,” Nick commented.

The headlights behind them, after trailing the jeep for several miles, had turned off the highway.

“I don’t get it,” Blade said. “First, they almost catch up to us. Then they fall back and follow us for a while. Now, they’re taking off. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Who said the damn Commies have to make sense?” Nick asked.

Blade sighed. He was still experiencing a premonition of danger. But why?

“Take a left up ahead,” Nick directed. “Stick with me, boys, and old Nick will guide you right up to the detention facility’s front door.”

“You’d do that for us?” Sundance queried.

“Hey! What are friends for?” Nick remarked light-heartedly. He patted Blade on the back. “Right, Warrior?”

And suddenly Blade recognized the source of his apprehension. The trifling inconsistencies accumulated into a plausible explanation, the only explanation possible under the circumstances. He smiled at Nick in the rearview mirror. “Right, Freeb,” he replied.

Nick grinned. “Glad to see you’re comin’ around to my way of thinkin’!”

“I may be slow,” Blade said, “but I catch on eventually.” He glanced at Sundance.

Sundance grinned and nodded. “About time.”

Blade realized Sundance had beaten him to the punch. How? What were the clues he had missed?

They drove to the southeast, Blade heeding Nick’s infallible directions, using back roads until they reached the Schuykill Expressway.

“Just follow this south,” Nick instructed them once they were on the Expressway. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

“I can hardly wait,” Blade mentioned. There were few vehicles on the road at such an early hour, and he maintained the speed at 50 miles an hour. Twice military transports passed on the opposite side of the Expressway traveling to the north.

“Look for the City Line exit,” Nick advised.

“Will do,” Blade stated.

The jeep reached the specified exit within minutes.

Blade wheeled onto City Line Avenue, moving to the southwest. A bakery truck approached from the other direction, conducting its morning deliveries.

“You want to make a left on Belmont Avenue,” Nick disclosed.

Blade did, and a sign loomed ahead.

“The Vladimir I. Lenin Ministry of Psychological Sciences,” Sundance read aloud. “Two miles.”

“That’s it!” Nick declared. “That’s the place you want!”

“That’s the detention facility?” Blade queried.

“That’s it,” Nick confirmed.

“You’re sure?” Blade persisted.

“Of course I’m sure!” Nick retorted, annoyed. “Have I lied to you yet?”

Sundance began scratching at his chest. He idly started unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

Blade glanced over his right shoulder. “I doubt I could count all the lies.”

Nick bristled angrily. “What the hell are you ravin’ about?”

“Just this,” Sundance stated, spinning in his seat, a gleaming Grizzly in his right hand.

Nick’s eyes widened. “Hold on there, boy! What is this?”

“You tell us,” Blade said.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Nick averred.

Blade looked at Sundance. “Why don’t you do the honors?”

“Gladly,” Sundance agreed. He leaned toward Nick.

“If you don’t cut the crap, right now, I’m going to plant a bullet right between your eyes.”

Nick was gawking from Sundance to Blade in bewilderment.

“The next words out of your mouth better be truthful ones,” Sundance warned. “What’s your real name?”

Nick’s shoulders slumped. “Georgiy Bakunin.”

“Your rank?”

Bakunin frowned. “Captain.”

“You’re out of uniform, aren’t you, Captain?” Sundance asked sarcastically.

Bakunin motioned with his left hand toward his face. “May I?”

“Only if you do it real slow,” Sundance cautioned. “Twitch the wrong way and you’re history.”

Bakunin slowly raised his left hand and gripped the top of his long gray beard. He tugged on the upper right corner and his “beard” flopped to the floor.

“What about the hair?” Sundance queried.

“Dyed,” Bakunin revealed. He ran his hand over his face, removing his “wrinkles.”

“And the missing teeth?” Sundance said.

Bakunin reached his fingers into his mouth, scraping and pulling, and a minute later extracted a gummy black substance. His four upper front teeth miraculously reappeared.

“Pretty clever,” Sundance conceded.

“Wha’t did I do wrong?” Bakunin asked in a pained tone.

“You figure it out for yourself,” Sundance said.

“I’d like to know,” Bakunin stated.

Sundance wagged the Grizzly barrel. “Don’t press it. I’ll pose the questions. What were you doing in that abandoned house?”

“Waiting for Packrats,” Bakunin answered.

“You’re a Hunter,” Sundance deduced.

Bakunin nodded.

“You kill kids for a living,” Sundance growled.

“No!” Bakunin said hastily. “It’s required for all officers in Elite Branch.”

“There’s something I’d like to know,” Blade interrupted, concentrating on his driving. “Why’d you string us along? Why’d you help us get this far? Why didn’t you turn us in back at the garrison in Norristown?”

“I wanted to discover the reason you were here,” Bakunin explained. “Find out what your connection to the Vikings might be.”

“So you let us jump your comrades in Norristown,” Sundance commented. “Didn’t it bother you, knowing they could be hurt, or worse?”

“We must all make sacrifices for the cause,” Bakunin said.

“The cause?” Sundance repeated quizzically.

“For the greater glory of Communism,” Bakunin stated proudly.

“How did you know we were Warriors?” Blade interjected.

“You told—!” Bakunin started to reply, then angrily smacked his right palm against his forehead. “What an idiot I’ve been!”

“I wouldn’t say you’re an idiot,” Sundance said. “Stupid, maybe, but not a complete idiot.”

“How did you know we were Warriors?” Blade repeated his question.

Bakunin stared at the giant Warrior. “Your name was vaguely familiar. Something about it rang a bell. And then I remembered the incident in Washington, the one involving another Warrior named Hickok, I believe. And I recalled seeing an intelligence report on your Family.”

“The information the spy in Denver uncovered,” Blade speculated.

“We have a spy in Denver?” Bakunin asked innocently.

“What did this intelligence report say?” Sundance queried.

“It was merely a brief rundown on your Family,” Bakunin replied. “A capsule summary of your Family’s known history, organization, and leadership. It included a section on the Warriors, and contained a paragraph on the head of the Warriors. A man of gigantic proportions. A man named Blade.”

Another sign materialized ahead, displaying an arrow indicating the direction they should travel to reach the Ministry of Psychological Sciences.