David Robbins: Twin Cities Run

“Is that man Chinese?” Bertha asked, indicating a small, wiry man carrying a long, black scabbard. “And what’s that he’s got in his hands?”

Geronimo smiled. “That’s Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, and the thing he’s holding is his katana. He’s a Warrior, like us. And, yes, he does have some Chinese blood. He’s the head of Beta Triad.”

“You mean,” Bertha asked in clarification, “like Blade is the head of you guys, of the Alpha Triad?”

Geronimo nodded. “The Family has four Warrior Triads, and we’re hoping to add another soon. Blade not only heads Alpha Triad, he’s also in charge of all the Warriors.”

“I sure do wish they’d stop staring,” Bertha nervously reiterated.

“Well, we can’t sit in here all night,” Hickok stated as he reached for the door, extending his right hand.

“No!” Bertha clutched Hickok’s arm. “Give me time to…” Her hands closed on a hard object, apparently fastened to Hickok’s right wrist, hidden under the sleeve of his buckskins. “What’s this thing?” she asked, beginning to pull the sleeve up.

Hickok extracted his arm from her grip, grinning. “It’s a Mitchell’s Derringer, a two-shot .38. One of my backup guns. I also have a four shot C.O.P., in .357 caliber, strapped to my left calf.”

“ I didn’t know that,” Bertha said.

“We learn something new every day,” Hickok philosophized.

“Smart butt!” Bertha retorted.

“Quit stalling, Black Beauty,” Hickok directed. “Open the door. The sun is almost below the horizon. We’re losing the light.”

“I don’t know…” Bertha hedged.

“Never took you for a wimp,” Hickok joked, and quickly opened the door before she could stop him.

The Family members backed away, respectfully providing room near the door.

Bertha took a deep breath. “Here goes nothin’!”

“Would you rather be back in the Twin Cities?” Hickok inquired.

Bertha vigorously shook her head. “You got a point.” She climbed from the transport and faced the crowd with a wide smile. “Hi, there, people!”

she greeted them. “You’re probably wondering why I called you all together!”

No one laughed.

Hickok jumped down and stood at Bertha’s side.

“I’m in big trouble here,” Bertha whispered confidentially.

Plato moved through the throng and reached the gunman and his newfound friend. “Salutations, sister.” He offered his hand in friendship.

“My cognomen is Plato. On behalf of my brethren, I cordially welcome you to our humble abode.”

Bertha took his hand and limply shook it, her eyes widening as she glanced repeatedly from Hickok to the old man. Finally, she released her hold and placed her mouth against Hickok’s left ear. “What did that bozo just say?”

Hickok, chuckling, put his lips near her right ear. “This bozo is Plato, our Family Leader. He just said hello. I should warn you, he likes to use a lot of fancy words.”

“I’m in big trouble here,” Bertha quietly repeated. She turned to Plato, beaming. “I’m happy to meet you, gramps.”

Hickok snickered.

“Did I say something wrong?” Bertha nervously asked.

“Nonsense, my girl,” Plato said reassuringly. “Nathan is simply displaying his warped sense of humor.”

“Who’s Nathan?” Bertha wanted to know.

Plato indicated Hickok.

Bertha seemed perplexed. “Nathan? I thought his name was Hickok.

That’s what they told me it was.”

“Nathan is how he was known before his Naming,” Plato explained, carefully selecting his words. He’d overheard Bertha’s remarks concerning his vocabulary. “All of us have the option, the choice, of picking our own names when we turn sixteen. Our founder, Kurt Carpenter, initiated, began the practice. You see, Carpenter was worried we’d forget about what it was like before the Third World War. He thought we should stay in touch with our roots by searching the history books in our library and choosing any name we wanted as our own. It’s not mandatory, simply encouraged. The practice cultivates a distinct appreciation of our cultural and historical antecedents,” Plato concluded, forgetting himself.

“Say what?” Bertha responded, confused.

“It helps us remember who we are and how we got here,” Plato explained.

“I got here in this buggy of yours,” Bertha said, her left thumb jerking toward the SEAL.

“You are welcome,” Plato stated earnestly.

“You’ll let me stay, won’t you?” Bertha asked apprehensively. “I give you my word I’ll behave myself. I won’t get drunk, and I won’t start fights unless someone else starts one first, and I’ll do any work you want, and I won’t spit on your grass ’cause I know some people get finnicky over spitting, and I’ll kill anyone you want me to, because I’m real good at…”

Plato held up his right hand, cutting her off. “Slow down, child! You’re among friends. We have one law here, one rule you must follow. Whatever else you do is up to you, within reasonable limits, of course.”

“Of course,” Bertha agreed. She pondered a moment. “What’s this rule you have?”

“Love.”

“Come again?”

“You must try to love your brothers and your sisters, even as you think they should love you,” Plato said, stating the Family’s cardinal mandate.

“Wow!” was all Bertha could think to say.

“After you have eaten and rested, come see me,” Plato directed. “We’ll talk.”

Bertha nodded, happily watching as the Family Leader walked off.

“Well,” Hickok prodded her, “what do you think of the Home now that you’re here?”

Bertha contentedly gazed at the dozens of friendly, open faces staring at her. She sighed and clasped her arms across her chest, slowly swaying.

“I think I’m in heaven!”

In the quiet hours of early morning, an hour before sunrise, a figure dressed in black, including a mask to conceal his face, hastily crossed the field west of the Home and reached the wall undetected. He took several seconds to listen, gripping the rope and the steel hook in his right hand. A black holster hung on his left hip, containing a special automatic pistol of indeterminate origin. Fastened to his belt above his right hip was a black pouch, filled with the essential items required for his nocturnal mission: the plastic explosive, the detonator, and the timer.

The saboteur knew a guard, one of the Warriors, patrolled the wall above his head, but the Warrior on duty was well north of his position and wouldn’t return for a minimum of five minutes, allowing ample opportunity for him to scale the wall.

Moving swiftly, expertly, the man swung the steel hook in an ever-enlarging circle. At the proper instant, maintaining optimum speed and calculating the precise angle, he flung the grappling hook upward and was rewarded for his effort when the hook caught in the barbed wire on top of the wall.

The man in black hurriedly climbed the rope, effortlessly hauling his powerful frame to the lip of the brick wall. He paused to ascertain the Warrior’s location, then deftly parted the barbed wire and crawled under the sharp barbs.

The compound below was deserted.

The saboteur was lying on the wall, only ten feet north of the drawbridge. On each side of the closed drawbridge, crossing over the flowing moat, supported by sturdy beams, wooden steps led from the wall to the ground. The commando ran down the nearest stairs and dropped flat, listening to determine if he’d been detected.

The Family Home was silent, except for the chirping of the crickets and the singing of the birds.

The figure in black knew the layout of the Home by rote. The six concrete blocks were spaced one hundred yards apart, forming a perfect triangle, with A Block, as the Family called the southernmost structure, forming one point. Next came B Block, one hundred yards to the northwest. Third, C Block, was another one hundred yards northwest of B Block, and the western tip of the triangle, situated the closest to the drawbridge. D Block was a hundred yards east of C Block, followed by E Block on the eastern point. One hundred yards southwest of E Block was F Block, and the triangle was completed by A Block. The commando also knew the purpose of each of the Blocks. A Block was the armory, B the sleeping quarters for unmarried Family members, C Block, the infirmary, D Block was the construction area and carpentry shop, E was the library, and F Block was used for storing agricultural supplies and preserving and preparing the Family food.