David Robbins - Citadel Run

“You can’t hold God accountable for the insanity mankind perpetuates,” Blade countered.

“I had no idea you were such a philosopher.”

“Everyone in the Family is encouraged to cultivate his or her religious nature,” Blade explained. “We’re free to adopt whatever beliefs we choose.”

“Does everyone in your Family believe in a Supreme Being?”

Blade nodded.

“Amazing!” Jarvis stated.

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Captain Rice at the tent flap. “Colonel!”

Jarvis twisted in his seat. “What is it? You may enter.”

Rice walked into the tent and saluted. “Our patrol has just returned.”

“And?”

Captain Rice shot a spiteful glance at Blade. “They found the two men sent after Hickok. Dead. They tracked him to the Nomad Camp. The four guards we left there are dead and the vehicle is gone.”

Colonel Jarvis frowned. “Any sign of the vehicle?”

“None. We have two jeeps out looking now, but they haven’t radioed in yet.”

“Good. Keep me posted.” Jarvis dismissed his subordinate with a wave of his left hand. “So,” he said as Rice left the tent, “it appears your Hickok is going to be more of a problem than I thought. Where could he have gone?”

“Beats me.”

“We’ll find him,” Jarvis predicted. “Knowing Hickok as I do, I expect he’ll stupidly try to rescue you. When he does, we’ll be ready for him.”

Blade’s mind was racing. So Hickok had reached the SEAL! Good.

Jarvis was right; Hickok would try to get them out. The gunman might be grossly outnumbered, but he had an edge. The Army was unaware of the SEAL’s armament.

“Something on your mind?” Jarvis queried, noting Blade’s reflective expression.

“I was thinking about your jeeps,” Blade lied. “I didn’t know you had any here.”

“Three of them,” Jarvis said. “We keep them on constant patrol.”

“Something else,” Blade mentioned, “I’ve been meaning to ask about.

We took a radio from your men in Thief River Falls. We’ve tried to monitor your broadcasts with it, but we haven’t had much luck. Why is that?”

Colonel Jarvis laughed. “We alter the frequency used on a daily basis according to a secret schedule, and we rotate the times of our regular broadcasts. Even if you went down the entire dial, the odds of stumbling across us at the right time and frequency are slim.”

“We know,” Blade agreed.

“We’re not as dumb as you might think,” Jarvis boasted with a smile.

“I’ll never underestimate you again,” Blade vowed, thinking of the massacre.

Jarvis gazed over his right shoulder at the night sky visible through the tent flap. “It’s getting late and I have work to do.” He faced the Warrior.

“I’ve enjoyed our little talk immensely. It isn’t often I get to associate with an equal. Say! I just remembered something I wanted to show you.” Jarvis rose and walked to the tent opening and spoke to one of the two guards positioned outside.

Blade searched for a potential weapon. A lantern hung on the tent’s center post, and there was a sleeping bag rolled up in one corner. In another corner was a rumpled green blanket. Blade debated using his steak knife, but rejected the idea.

“Wait until you see these,” Jarvis said, still standing near the tent flap, waiting for one of the guards to return. “I couldn’t believe it when we found them. I should be able to get a good price for them.”

There was the pounding of running feet and Jarvis reached thru the opening.

Blade, his line of sight blocked by the officer’s body, put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

“Look at these!” Jarvis said elated, turning. “Aren’t they gems?”

Blade straightened, startled.

Colonel Jarvis was holding an auto-loading rifle in his right hand, a Commando Arms Carbine with a ninety-shot magazine. In his left hand dangled two shoulder holsters containing Vega 45 automatics. “Ever seen anything like them?” Jarvis asked.

Blade almost nodded. He had seen them before. In fact, he had owned them, had taken them from the Family armory and brought them to the Twin Cities on the Triad’s last trip here. He’d given them up for lost after they’d been confiscated by the Wacks. “Where did you get them?” he asked Jarvis.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Jarvis responded. “After we attacked those crazies, the Wacks, at that hospital headquarters of theirs, we made a room by room sweep of the building. One of my men found these in one of the rooms on the second floor. I haven’t the slightest idea how they got there, but I do know I can get a pretty penny for them after we return to the Civilized Zone.”

“Sell them? Who’d want to buy them?”

“Anyone,” Jarvis answered. “I can’t sell them to civilians because it’s illegal for them to own firearms, but it is legit for us in the service to own guns. A lot of officers like to collect old firearms like these. We can’t manufacture them anymore, you know.”

“You don’t say.”

Colonel Jarvis placed the Commando and the Vegas on top of the green blanket in the corner. “Yes, sir. Between these and the ones we took from you Warriors, I should add about five thousand to my bank account. I think I’ll…” Jarvis began, then stopped, staring at the Commando. “That’s odd.”

“What is?” Blade glanced at the tent flap. There was no sign of the guards; they must be standing on either side of the opening.

“This gun…” Colonel Jarvis said absently. He knelt and retrieved the Commando, then lifted the green blanket.

Blade gripped the edge of the table, excited.

The A-1, the Dan Wesson, the Arminius, Hickok’s Henry, and the other Warrior arms were all under the green blanket.

“Look at this!” Colonel Jarvis exclaimed. “The gun we took from you and the one we found at the Wack hospital look almost alike. Isn’t that strange?”

“They both look like the Thompson submachine gun,” Blade revealed.

“The Thompson submachine gun?” Jarvis reiterated. “Yes. I think I read an article about the Thompson once. An ancient piece, if I recall.” He looked at Blade. “You certainly seem to know a lot about it.”

“The Family Library has an extensive section on firearms,” Blade divulged.

“It figures,” Jarvis commented. He placed the Commando and the Vegas under the green blanket. “I’d better see about returning you to the stockade or your friends will think you’ve turned traitor on them.”

“They know I would never do that,” Blade replied. Colonel Jarvis was tucking the blanket around the weapons, his back to his supper guest.

This was his chance!

If he could kill Jarvis silently, he could reclaim his weapons and…

“Colonel!” someone shouted, and a moment later Rat burst into the tent.

Jarvis stood, instantly enraged. “How dare you enter without my consent!”

One of the guards peered inside. “Sorry, sir! He slipped past us before we could stop him.”

Colonel Jarvis motioned for the guard to leave, which he promptly did.

“I repeat!” Jarvis snapped, glaring at Rat. “How dare you enter my tent without permission!”

Rat wasn’t about to be cowered by the intimidating officer. “I just heard about those men you sent after Hickok! They’re dead! You know what that means? He’s coming! He’s on his way!”

“So? What can he do against all of my men?” Colonel Jarvis asked.

“Why don’t you go ask Captain Rice for a drink? You could use something to steady your nerves, little man!” he said contemptuously.

Rat clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re makin’ a big mistake, Jarvis! You should have killed Hickok and his friends the moment you had them in your custody. Look at this! You’re having your meal with Blade!”