Dale Brown - Edge of Battle

Castillo directed four men to help the women into his Humvee, then issued orders to the dismounts when they came over to meet up with the team minutes later. Salinas slipped behind the wheel of the Humvee, waiting for the camp to be evacuated. Two shots rang out from outside the tent, but Salinas was too stunned, too horrified to notice. Within minutes, the Mexican patrols were on their way, and less than five minutes later, they were safely across the border with their precious cargo.

FARM TO MARKET (FM) ROAD 293,

JUST WEST OF PANHANDLE, TEXAS

LATER THAT NIGHT

“Rise and shine, Major.”

Jason Richter found his vision blurry, his eyelids oily, his throat dry as dust. Cold rough hands grasped his shirt and pulled him to a sitting position, which made his head spin, then throb with pain. He ran the backs of his hands across his eyes to clear the grit and dirt away, then blinked to try to focus his eyes. When he could see again…

…he was looking right into the face of Yegor Zakharov himself. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Major. I trust you had a good nap.”

“Screw you, Zakharov,” Jason murmured. He could tell he was in a moving vehicle—it looked like a passenger van, although it was too dark to tell for sure. He was seated on the bench seat behind the driver, with several other persons seated very close to him.

Zakharov motioned to one of the men, retrieved a plastic bottle of water, and tossed some water into Jason’s face; he lapped the welcome moisture up as fast as he could. The Russian terrorist was kneeling between the driver and front passenger seat, his sunglasses off, streaks of reddish-brown fluid dripping out of the empty eye socket and down his cheek. “Do not be cross with me, Jason. You are still alive, thanks to me.”

“What did you do to me, Zakharov?”

“Tiny amounts of thiopental sodium administered over the past several hours,” Zakharov said, smiling. “We have had several interesting and entertaining conversations about your Cybernetic Infantry Device. I have also learned much more than I ever wanted to know about your childhood, National Security Adviser Jefferson, your Oedipal conflict with one of your aunts, and your rather perverted sexual fantasies about Ariadna Vega.”

“Fuck you.”

“Let us get down to business, Major,” Zakharov said, his smile gone. “We know all of the commands to use with the device except the most important one: the activation command. Apparently this is the only command that only the authorized pilot can give—according to you, anyone can pilot the robot once it is activated. That is why you are still alive. You will give the activation code once we are in position.”

“I’m not giving you shit, Zakharov.”

“You may want to reconsider, Major.” Zakharov reached over and grasped the face of the person sitting next to him, pulling her into Jason’s view. “Major, meet Marta. We found Marta playing in her front yard a few towns away, and we decided to bring her with us. She is ten or eleven years old, I do not really know. We also found a few others like Marta, another girl and a boy, who we also decided to bring along with us.”

“You sick fucking bastard. Go to hell.”

“Cooperate with me, Major, and you and the children will live,” Zakharov said. “Refuse me, and you will all die. It is as simple as that.”

“There is no way I’m going to help you do anything.”

“Then you will be responsible for their deaths,” Zakharov said matter-of-factly. “Do not try to be a hero now, Richter. You have no weapons, no robots, and no support. I have your robot and the hostages. You have lost this round, plain and simple—admit it and live. I am not a child killer, but I will slaughter them if you do not cooperate with me.” Jason did not reply. “Have a little faith in the system, Richter. You are only one man. You can save the lives of these children by giving me access to the robot. My men and I will be gone, and you can return these children to their homes and families—but more important, you will live to fight another day.”

“How do I know you won’t kill us all after I give you control of the CID unit?”

“My fight is against you and your government, Richter, not these children,” Zakharov said. “As I told you, I am not a child killer, but I am a soldier, and I will do whatever it takes to complete the mission. All I offer is my word, soldier to soldier. Give me access to the robot, and I will let you take these children home. Once they are safe, our battle resumes; but I promise you your life, and theirs, until then.” He exchanged words with the driver. “You have thirty seconds to decide, Richter, and then I will order the driver to pull over into a field, and I will start killing these children in front of you.”

Jason’s mind spun. He looked at the children around him; all were on the verge of fearful crying as they heard Zakharov’s voice—they easily sensed the danger they were all in. Richter was no better. He was edgy and disconnected from the drugs still coursing through his body, but the sickness was quickly being replaced by pure mind-numbing fear. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he was afraid of others coming across his body and those of the children and blaming him for not protecting them.

There was an entire superpower’s military and law enforcement standing ready to protect whatever Zakharov’s newest target was—but right now, there was only one man ready to protect these children. His choice was clear.

The van slowed, and Jason heard the crunch of gravel and felt the bumps of a tractor-worn dirt road. “Well, Major?” Zakharov asked casually. “What is your answer?”

He took a deep breath, then said, “I’ll do it, you sick bastard.”

“Excellent choice, Richter.” The van stopped, and the side and rear panel doors opened. “I never doubted you for a second. You may be a genius, but you are not a heartless berserker.”

They were in a dark field about a hundred yards off the paved road. Jason could see the glow of a town off on the horizon, perhaps three or four miles away, but he couldn’t tell in which direction. In the opposite direction was another, larger town, about equal distance away. A second van full of Zakharov’s commandos had pulled up behind them. Two men with assault rifles took up security positions, while the others assembled in the rear of the van, pulling the folded CID unit out of the back and setting it down on the ground.

“Work your magic, Major,” Zakharov said.

Jason gathered the children around him, gave Zakharov a glare, then spoke. “CID One, activate.” The children gave out a quiet combination of fear and delight as they watched the dark shape seemingly grow out of the field and appear before them.

“Truly amazing technology, Major,” Zakharov said. “I commend you. Allow me.” He cleared his throat and dramatically said, “CID One, pilot up .” One of Zakharov’s men had to jump out of the way as the CID unit obediently crouched down, extended one leg behind itself, leveled its arms along each side of its back to act as handrails, and the entry hatch popped open in the middle of its back. “How delightful. I wish I was of the proper size to give it a ride, but unfortunately I will have to leave that honor to someone else.”

Zakharov barked an order, and one of his men jumped up and slid inside the robot, with the Russian terrorist issuing instructions as he did so. A few moments later, the hatch closed, and the Cybernetic Infantry Device came to life. They watched in fascination as the commando experimentally made the robot jump, dodge, and dart around the field, finishing off with triumphantly upraised arms, like a superheavyweight boxer who had just won a world title.