Survivalist - 12 - The Rebellion Page 10
“You will not leave this house.”
“It is an apartment, Mother—the concept of the private house is an anachronism. You live in the past—you refuse to prepare for the glory that is our future.”
“Manfred!”
He threw down his napkin, stood very erect and straightened his youth scarf about his neck. “I am leaving now, Mother—and in your present physical condition, I should not advise that you attempt to interfere. I, like all members of the youth, revere women who fulfill their biological destiny by providing those who will serve the New Fatherland in the years to come. But my duty is my first concern, Mother.”
He turned as though doing an about-face, then walked from the room. “Mother?” She looked at Hugo. “Yes, darling.”
“Bertol and I—we could try to stop Manfred, Mother.”
“No, he is your brother.”
“Momma, can I have more cereal now?”
She leaned forward and kissed Willy’s forehead. She realized that she was holding Hugo’s shoulders very tightly. “Bertol—fix your little brother some cereal. I must use the telephone,” and she walked around the table and toward the small hallway by the door just as she saw the door close. Manfred was gone.
Helene Sturm’s hands still trembled. She picked up the
telephone. She punched the buttons and made a mistake, broke the connection and replaced the call. “Frau Mann, I am sorry to trouble you. This is Helene Sturm. Manfred— I fear.”
Chapter Twenty-one
John Rourke swung down from the virtually pommel-less, virtually canteless English-style saddle, to the rocky ground beside the already dismounted Wolfgang Mann.
“We are here, Herr Doctor,” Mann announced, smiling.
John Rourke looked over the terrain before them. A massive valley, lush with rich green vegetation, sprawled before them, gray rocky abutments rising from amid the green, a river coursing through its center. It could well have been paradise.
Or the gateway to hell.
He had the uncomfortable feeling he was about to find out which.
Natalia swung down from her mount, and in the same instant so did Sarah. Natalia asked, “Where is the entrance—from your diagram, I was looking for a peculiar triangular-shaped rock.”
“Ahh, but it cannot be seen from here—we must walk along a very narrow trail. The horses cannot come. I should have drawn the map more carefully. I apologize, Fraulein Major Tiemerovna.”
“Are we coming in through the tunnels with you?” Elaine Halverson asked, still mounted and beside Kurinami who stood holding her animal’s reins.
“John has something else in mind, I think,” Sarah volunteered.
“We discussed this a little last night—because of your obvious non-Germanic appearances, neither of you can enter The Complex. And Akiro already knows his part. Sergeant Heinz will accompany Colonel Mann, Sarah, Natalia and myself. Elaine—you and Akiro will travel with the four remaining enlisted personnel. Captain Hartman has other duties.” Rourke looked up at the four enlisted men—they were still mounted. None of them spoke English. “You’ll position yourselves strategically outside the main entrance of The Complex, either to be a back-up for us or coordinate efforts with the remainder of Colonel Mann’s forces when they arrive. From what the colonel tells us, the tunnels are too narrow in spots and far too treacherous to bring a large body of men with field equipment through. And since you speak some German, Elaine—well, you shouldn’t have any communications problem with Colonel Mann’s men.”
Rourke began untying gear from his saddle as he continued to talk. His pack was already on his back because with the English saddle it had been impossible to tie it on. He removed the pack now. He had left the CAR-15 in his truck, taking instead two M-16 rifles for the heavier volume of fire they could lay down. Natalia and Sarah were each similarly armed and there were several eight-hundred-round containers of 5.56mm ball that would accompany them. He slung the M-16s crossbody now, one on each side, adjusting the position of his musette bag at his left side where it became entangled with the rifle. “If something goes wrong—you and Akiro are gonna have to kinda wing it.” He secured the canteen—one of the round Western-style canteens, blanket covered—on his right side on its strap, opposite the musette bag. He picked up the pack and began securing it into the actual seat of the saddle, the only way it could be secured. Halverson and Kurinami would take the horses with them.
Rourke glanced to Natalia, then to Sarah—both of them
were doing roughly the same with their gear. He looked to Sergeant Heinz. Heinz alone bore a pack, and also two of the Nazi assault rifles.
Their rifles were apparently based on the successful G-3, but utilized a caseless cartridge, similar to those used in the new forty-round capacity Soviet assault rifles. But the magazines were not plastic disposables and the caliber seemed closer to thirty than twenty—all told, from what little he knew of both rifles, he favored the German. Their pistols—Mann alone carried one, a pistol apparently not an issue item for a noncom. And not the P-38 Mann had worn before. Their pistols seemed derivative of the Walther P-5, but with double column magazine enhanced capacity. The bore diameter was smaller than 9mm, closer to that of a .30 Mauser to which the caseless pistol round bore an astonishing resemblance as to shape.
Heinz, beside his feet, had one of the eight-hundred-round boxes of 5.56mm ball. Rourke walked to one of the still-mounted noncoms, taking down from the man the second box. Rourke found himself smiling, wondering if the exalted standartenfuehrer would take turns on the eight-hundred-round box his noncom carried. He made a private bet with himself that Mann would.
“I’m ready,” Natalia said, settling her purse which she had converted into the backpack mode across her shoulders. She picked up first one, then a second M-16, cross-slinging them as Rourke had done.
Sarah stood beside Sergeant Heinz.
Rourke extended his hand to Elaine Halverson, and then to Kurinami, to each of them in turn wishing, “Good luck.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, passing Mann as the colonel issued orders in German to his still-mounted men. Rourke waited now beside the lip of the rocky outcropping which overlooked the valley, Sarah and Natalia flanking him.
“We are ready, Herr Doctor,” Mann announced, taking the ammo box from his sergeant and starting ahead in a long-strided march.
Rourke followed after Mann, smiling—he had won the bet.
Chapter Twenty-two
Annie thought of her father’s words—be prepared. She had done exactly that. Before leaving The Retreat she had packed with her three useful objects. One was a dark gray skirt that reached to her ankles, which on the surface she realized did not seem all that terribly useful. She had packed it with her few other clothes. The other two objects she had packed in a ziploc bag and secreted under the seat of her father’s comouflage pick-up truck. Both trucks had been stripped of weapons, ammo and gear in the aftermath of her father and mother freeing Natalia.
But the hollow under the pick-up’s seat was never checked. She had waited until dark and gone to it, feeling in darkness under the seat amid the springs and finding the bag.
She sat now on the edge of one of the two cots in the smaller tent beside the tent shared by Michael and Paul during their recuperation.
Madison sat opposite her.
“You have a look in your eyes, Annie.” Madison smiled, buttoning her blouse, then sitting on the edge of the opposite cot and putting on her shoes.
Annie hitched up her slip and began pulling on her over-the-knee woolen stockings—they were black and they were warm and the previous night had been cold. When she had wrapped herself in a blanket to go to the showers that
morning, she had nearly frozen. The weather had again changed and drastically.
She half expected snow from the gray of the clouds.
Annie stood up, her slip falling below her knees. “What look in my eyes?” She laughed.
“A look that says, ‘I ha
ve a secret’ is what I mean.” Madison laughed.
Annie picked up the long gray skirt, then started stepping into it, buttoning it at her waist. She found a black turtleneck sweater and pulled it on, straightening the turtleneck and freeing her hair.
She bent over beside her cot, pulling out the combat boots. Her father had planned ahead with that—he had bought several pairs of combat boots in her mother’s shoe size and several additional pairs in sizes smaller and larger. It had worked out, and although she liked to credit her father with exceptional foresight, she realized it had been a lucky gamble. Madison’s feet fit the smaller boots; her feet fit the larger ones.
“What do you have in your boot?”
Annie placed the two objects she had retrieved from the truck on the cot, then raised her left leg, hitching her skirt up above her left knee. “This is a Bianchi leg holster— Daddy used it when he was in the CIA a few times. I took a tuck in each of the elastic bands and it fits just perfectly now.” She secured the two elastic straps, one above and one below her calf over the heavy stocking on the inside of her leg. i
“And this,” Annie went on, raising the wooden and gleaming steel second object, “is an American Derringer Corporation .45 ACP derringer—same caliber as my Detonics Scoremaster. The derringer goes in here.” She settled the derringer in the leg holster, then lowered her foot from the cot and let her skirt drop. “See—don’t see it, do you?”
“A gun—on your leg?”
“American ingenuity, kid.” Annie laughed.
She sat down on the edge of the cot and started getting into her combat boots.
All the time Annie had spent working with the master computer aboard Eden One had turned up dossiers that had all seemed perfect—and hence none of them had been outstanding enough to seem spurious. Hugging her coat about her, and the shawl about her coat, she entered Michael’s and Paul’s tent, Madison behind her.
“You could at least knock, Annie—for God’s sake,” Michael groused. He was sitting up.
“I can tell you’re feelin’ better,” she said, laughing. She went to her brother and kissed his cheek and smiled.
And then she turned to Paul, walking to the opposite side of the tent. He smiled at her and she kissed the origin of the smile. “And how are you today?”
“Dr. Munchen came by—says I can walk if I take it easy. Gave me another zap of that spray, and God does it itch.”
Annie laughed, finding a purchase at the edge of the cot, sitting there.
“You look like you’re ready for winter,” he told her.
“You stick your head outside this tent, Paul, and then you’ll see why I look like I’m ready for winter. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You can walk, but you have to take it easy. Fine—you can walk over to Eden One with me. Plenty of nice soft rocks along the way you can sit on to rest. And then you can help me fool with that damned computer. I was working on it until midnight last night. Everybody’s perfect—we’ve gotta figure out some different questions to ask the machine.”
“The secret of life,” Paul quipped.
She kissed his cheek. “We already know that.” She stood up. “Now, do I help you get dressed Paul or do Madison and I wait outside?”
“I can dress myself—but I don’t think I bend right yet—”
“Yes, I’ll get your boots—men seem so obsessed with having women help them on and off with shoes and boots. You just like seeing us on our knees.”
She grabbed Madison by the hand and propelled the younger woman through the tent flap ahead of her.
At Annie’s request, Captain Dodd had started putting a guard on the hatchway of Eden One. She had told him, “If there is something in the computer that can help us to find our murderer, then the murderer might try murdering the computer.”
Paul Rubenstein’s body tensed against her as they started for the entrance of Eden One—the man standing guard (but actually sitting) was Forrest Blackburn, the one who had hit Paul over the head with the wrench, whom Annie had subsequently shot in the thigh. Dodd still had his no-guns policy in effect and she personally thought that was rather stupid—a man on guard at a sensitive site with no weapon to back up his words.
But Captain Dodd hadn’t asked her advice.
“That son of a bitch,” Paul Rubenstein murmured beside her.
“Hey, when you’re all well—I’ll call him a—what you called him—and then when he goes to punch me out, you can punch him out instead and look all gallant and everything. But right now, you’re in no shape for a fight,” she cautioned.
“He’s still a son of a bitch,” Paul hissed through his teeth.
They were nearly within casual earshot of Forrest Blackburn, the wind whipping up cold from the northwest, her skirt billowing with it, her hair blown in front of her face and partially obscuring her vision like a veil. She brushed
it back, smiling at Forrest Blackburn. “How are you, Mr. Blackburn?”
“Miss Rourke. Mr. Rubenstein. Leg’s stiff when I walk, but no big deal.”
Paul stopped walking—she couldn’t tell if it were because he was tired or because he was planning something. “Blackburn, once I’m back in shape—you and I have something to settle.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way Mr. Rubenstein—it wasn’t anything personal the other night.”
“Bullshit.”
Annie said nothing.
Paul started ahead, Annie still clinging to his arm, the wind fiercer now somehow in its intensity.
Blackburn stepped in front of them at the base of the stairway leading up into Eden One. “I understand Captain Dodd is allowing you to use the onboard computer, Miss Rourke. But there’s nothing in my orders about allowing Mr. Rubenstein aboard. I’m afraid he’ll have to stay here.”
Paul started to speak, but Annie cut him off. “Look, smartass. You can waste everybody’s time by making me hunt up Captain Dodd or you can let both of us in right now. There’s a killer loose around here, regardless of what you and some of the others might think. And if we don’t find him or her, then when Karamatsov and his people come back, every one of us is going to have to spend more time looking behind us than ahead of us. Now, do I get Dodd to pull your plug, or do you let us both inside?”
She was gambling that Blackburn was trying to provoke Paul and at the same time just trying to be obstinate.
She waited.
She could have straight-armed him in the Adam’s apple—her father had taught her how. But that would only have provoked things still more and caused relationships between the Rourke family (she lumped Paul, Natalia and Madison, even Kurinami and Halverson, under this classi
fication mentally) and the Eden Project people to further deteriorate.
She waited still.
After a long moment, Blackburn stepped aside. He smiled. “I used to be pretty good with computers myself, Miss Rourke. And I have some training on this one in particular. I could help. I can guard this thing just as well from the inside as the outside. I’m sorry—I was only trying to do my job. The other night and now.”
And Forrest Blackburn stuck out his right hand.
Her eyes flickered to Paul’s eyes—she watched something that looked like a momentary flash of disgust pass across his eyes, and then he took Blackburn’s hand.
Annie let out her breath in a long sigh. “I’m freezing out here, guys.”
Blackburn laughed. “Both of you—go ahead, please,” and he even reached out to help Paul start up the steps. Paul had only rested twice and Annie herself was worried that he might be overdoing things.
She walked ahead of Paul, waiting just inside the bulkhead, taking his arm and leading him to the cockpit seat, helping him into the chair where Captain Dodd would have sat.
He closed his eyes—weariness, she surmised. But he opened them and smiled. “I’m really not an old man—I just feel like one.” He grinned.
She kissed his forehead, her hands lingering against his face and neck.
Annie looked at Paul—Paul nodded.
Annie began, “We’re trying to find whoever has the most perfect dossier of any of the personnel aboard Eden One or Eden Two—so far everybody looks perfect, just from scanning their files.”
“Do I look perfect, too?” Blackburn asked her, smiling.
“Yes. But no more perfect than anyone else.”
“So your theory is that if you find the one with the most spotless background, it’s obviously the Russian agent you believe is among us.”
“That’s right,” Paul answered for her wearily. “So, if you believe we’re wrong and Natalia is the killer, the best way to prove your point is to help us.”
Annie looked at Paul—he was smiling.
Forrest Blackburn told them, “Well, I think I can ask the computer to sort through the personnel data files itself, and then determine from those, maybe in ways more subtle and logical than we could, who the killer is—who’s the most perfect.”
He started across the cabin to the seat Annie would normally have taken, then sat down. “I mean—if you guys don’t think I’m interfering,” Blackburn added, looking first up at, her and then across to Paul.
“It can’t hurt,” Paul nodded.
“Fine—try it,” she said.
Three hours had passed—she wondered just how long Blackburn’s tour of guard duty was supposed to be. Blackburn was ^programming the cataloguing of the personnel files—and it seemed to be taking too long a time, she thought.
She sat perched on the armrest of Paul’s chair, just about to make some mention of the time factor, but as she was about to open her mouth, she heard gunfire.
“What the hell?”
She glanced at Blackburn, who had spoken, then to Paul. Blackburn was up, racing to the fuselage door, Annie behind him.