Survivalist - 13 - Pursuit Read online

  “Yes—you’re a fine craftsman, sir.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Rourke. I try to do my best.”

  “The cave where they apparently rested and warmed themselves — in the cave I found a fire, the fire fueled with bricks of fuel.”

  Jon smiled. “Yes. These were developed more than a century ago and have never needed improvement. A combination of chemicals, which are safe to store, yet can be lit almost immediately. It was realized that someday our beautiful world here might cease. That

  someday the geothermal wells which are our life’s blood might well become exhausted. For that day, much work has been done. Fortunately, that day has not yet come. We pray it never will come. But the fire bricks, the fabrics from which our outerwear —such as what Bjorn must have worn and such as the miners wear, and those who must travel here for meeting of the Althing —they are designed for survival in extreme cold. The very best.”

  “When the Germans arrive—I assume you have heard?”

  “Yes —I look forward to meeting with them, as we all do. There will be so much to share.” “Yes,” Rourke agreed.

  The old gentleman lovingly showed Rourke the fine points of each blade, each tool he used to craft his edged weapons by hand. He examined Rourke’s little Sting IA Black Chrome, gave it his approval. He had never seen a production knife before. Rourke told him that one of the women —Natalia —carried a unique folding knife and promised to have Natalia drop off to see him and show it to him.

  After several hours with the man, Rourke left, walking alone again, along the garden pathways, the clouds of steam above him at the mouth of the crater like clouds against a dark blue sky.

  Paradise was here —if one was the sort of person to like paradise. John Rourke wasn’t that sort.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Michael Rourke had left the university building and walked, the eyes of men and women focusing on him — not on his face, he knew, but on the two .44 Magnum Smith revolvers he carried. His father had been right about the Ruger single-actions — superlative was an inferior word to describe their performance, but they had never been designed for combat use. They weren’t fast enough. But he would always be a revolver man, hence had gone to the six-inch Model 629 and the four-inch, identical except for barrel lengths.

  The people here were friendly, considerate, concerned, intelligent, and it gave him the creeps. Walking was easier now, the German miracle spray, whatever it was, having promoted recovery to such an extent that his surgery was almost healed.

  He didn’t quite feel himself ready to practice his martial arts katas yet, but he could walk, move about, do things generally with reasonable normalcy.

  He walked along one of the garden paths, a fruit orchard to his left, the fruit forced, in various stages from budding flower to ripe fruit ready to be picked.

  “Hey-Michael!”

  He looked behind him, stopped —it was Paul Rubenstein. He waved back to Paul and waited. “They through grilling you on Judaism?” he laughed good

  naturedly.

  “Yeah —I see they’ve still got Madison, huh?”

  “And Annie?”

  “Yeah,” Paul laughed.

  “Goin’ for a walk. Wanna join me?”

  “Sure,” and Paul Rubenstein fell in beside him. The eyes stared doubly now as they walked, conversing about the people here, the eyes not only on Michael’s Smith & Wesson but on Paul’s shoulder holster with the battered-looking Browning High Power in it. “I see you’ve switched off the Rugers.”

  “A Super Blackhawk isn’t made for a gunfight,” Michael grinned.

  “Kinda strange, isn’t it?”

  “Here?-yeah.”

  The trees never stirred — there was no wind. Everything was perfect. He imagined it occasionally rained: Snow that would melt as it fell through, the clouds of steam.

  “No —I didn’t mean that,” Paul said shaking his head. “What I meant was, well —this whole thing. I mean, walkin’ around armed. Fighting just to stay alive. See —you really didn’t know it any different. I mean, what’s your earliest recollection?”

  Michael laughed. “The tooth fairy left me a Swiss Army knife and my mother hollered at my father.”

  Paul started to laugh. “All right —but I mean — well —I heard that story about you saving Sarah’s life when you were just a little guy —sticking that guy — well-“

  “The man in the barn,” Michael nodded. “I didn’t know if I could do it or not. I just remembered Mom had put that boning knife in the duffle bag, and the guy was gonna hurt her and I figured they were going to kill Annie and me too. I didn’t really have time to think about it more than that. I’ll always remember the

  look on her face, though. In Mom’s eyes, ya know? No —I guess you don’t. But I think all of a sudden she realized Dad was right and she had been wrong. Scary.”

  Paul nodded as Michael looked at him, then, “What are you gonna do? I mean,, when this is all over?”

  “You mean when we get Karamatsov and there’s peace in our time?”

  “You’re too young to be a cynic.”

  “I’m older than you are,” Michael laughed.

  “All right —still. I mean, we will get him. John’ll get him. Your dad’s gonna make sure this time. He blames himself—he told me —that he didn’t put a bullet in Karamatsov’s head back there on the street in Athens, Georgia. And it looks like things are pretty much settled with the Germans at the Complex. With Dieter Bern running it, they’ll have a democracy, and they should have better things to do than go to war. I don’t think we have to worry about these guys,” and Paul gestured around them as some of the Icelandics passed. “They’re peaceful. Looks like people like you and me are gonna be out of business.”

  “Dad’s planning a clinic, he told me. Maybe I’ll follow in the family tradition and learn medicine —if anybody’ll teach me.”

  “Dr. Munchen had to learn someplace. Maybe you can go to Argentina and study there. Madison’d love it.”

  “Maybe,” Michael shrugged. “How about you? What are you and Annie gonna do?”

  Paul laughed. “Well —I can’t see the magazine business coming back too quickly. I used to read about people like Johnson and Pike and Carson —all the mountain men —when I was a kid. Annie’s got a kind of adventurous spirit. I think we might just settle down a while with having children, and once they’re old enough, well — ” and Paul laughed, “head for the ‘high

  lonesomes’. Should be a lot to explore out there. Maybe more pockets of humanity like this. Things from the past to uncover. I don’t know,” Paul whispered.

  “I don’t see Dad settling down with a clinic for more than a little while.”

  Paul laughed. “Yeah—I’m kinda hoping he doesn’t. Wouldn’t it be great —I mean if all of us could stay together? You and Madison and Annie and me and John and Sarah and Natal — “

  “Natalia —yeah,” Michael almost whispered. “One of the movies Dad has at the Retreat is a western called The Magnificent Seven — seven isn’t such a magnificent number when you’re talking about men and women, though. And three’s a worse number.”

  “You know —I mean —maybe I shouldn’t say it, maybe I should —but your Dad never — “

  “I know that. It’s none of my business if he did. I just figure things aren’t going to work out that smooth — ” There was the sound of helicopters overhead, a public address, the voice German-accented, filled with authority.

  “They’re early,” Paul simply said. “Funny —I’d expected perfect punctuality.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Moving swiftly along the slope, their assault rifles slung across their backs, Ladas Kutrov and his two enlisted men gripped only their Stechkin pistols as they moved toward the billowing steam clouds. The heat sources Comrade Major Ivan Krakovski had detected had seemed unnatural, it had been said. There had been a request for volunteers. Kutrov had been the first to step forward. One was noticed by volunt
eering, and if one stayed alive that notice could lead to things. He had been a captain for a long time.

  Kutrov kept moving, the steam clouds closer now, his eyes moving right to left, then looking forward again along the slope. The corporals on each side of him —their eyes looked nervous beneath their snow goggles. The sky that surrounded them, on all sides it seemed at this elevation, nearly a mile high, was gray-blue, heavy, laden with snow, he thought. A blizzard. If a blizzard should hit while he was out here with these two men, there would be no means to return. Death — only that.

  He kept moving, running the last few yards toward the lips of the crater opening, throwing himself down to the snow, prone, advancing the few remaining feet on knees and elbows.

  He had rehearsed the mission with them in the two

  hours that had been allotted before departure. He glanced to his right. Corporal Vilnek was aiding Corporal Kironi in shrugging free of the remote sensor in the special pack slung on Kironi’s broad back.

  Kutrov looked away, edging a few inches forward, peering for the first time over the edge.

  Purple lights.Clouds of steam parting to display them winkingly and then the clouds closing in.

  He swallowed. There was life. There should not have been life here.

  “Comrade Captain Kutrov—all is in readiness!” It was the whispered voice of Corporal Vilnek, the senior man over Kironi.

  Kutrov rolled onto his back, brushing snow from the Stechkin with his gloved left hand, holstering the pistol, then edging away from the lip of the volcano. The camouflage-painted rectangular box —less than a meter square and half that width deep —was already fitted with its white camouflage protective cover, the fiber-optic leads and other sensing tentacles already withdrawn from protective cases, attached with standard needle-fitted coaxial screw mounts to the exterior of the unit. Kutrov helped bury the instrument in the snow, Vilnek feeding out the leads over the lip of the crater, Vilnek’s own identical remote sensor still strapped to his back.

  It was for implant on the opposite side of the crater if they made it that far — Kutrov looked again at the sky. A blizzard was definitely coming. They had not taken portable shelters, because with the sensors, not really designed to be man-carried, additional equipment had been all but impossible. Kutrov alone wore a conventional field pack containing survival rations, medical kit, other necessities. But beyond these few amenities, there was nothing that would aid them against the onslaught of blizzard conditions in these extreme tem

  peratures. That the temperature had been rising had first alerted him. Then the clouds had darkened, seemed almost to condense.

  “The sensing leads are in position, Comrade Captain Kutrov.”

  Kutrov nodded to Vilnek. “You realize, Corporal — both of you realize — ” and he looked into the pale blue eyes of Vilnek, the worried brown eyes of Kironi — “that we shall not make it down this slope alive.”

  “Yes, Comrade Captain,” Vilnek nodded, his face expressionless. “We are aware of the impending storm.”

  Kutrov nodded.

  There was the second sensor to be set. And then, if they made it that far, they would attempt to make it down. They would not succeed, he knew, but to die in the attempt was better than to die without trying.

  So much for his promotion to major, Kutrov thought. “Come, Comrades,” he said quietly, and led the way down from the cone.

  If they could not plant the second remote sensor on the far side of the cone, they had at least to get it as far as half the distance around. Two remote sensors planted ninety degrees apart would get the job done.

  He said it again, hearing the sadness in his own voice, “Come, Comrades.” And he heard Vilnek speaking into the radio transmitter, proclaiming the first remote sensor to be set.

 

  Chapter Twenty-four

  They sat around the conference table, Madame Sigrid Jokli at its head.

  Madison Rourke —she thought of herself that way now — was very much impressed and sat with her hands folded in the lap of the pretty dress she had been given to wear, in her mind determined not to utter a word, in her mind the intruder at such a great gathering.

  She had watched the women bringing the coffee to drink, bringing the notepads and writing instruments. She would have felt more comfortable doing that — bringing the things necessary for the persons here and then leaving quickly. But Michael had brought her, telling her they had all been invited to attend. She had asked him, “But surely not me, Michael?”

  “Yes —you too, Madison.”

  “But-“

  “Put on that new dress and come on —we’ll be late.”

  She had obeyed Michael and dressed and accompanied him. She moved her hands from her lap now to adjust the shawl about her shoulders, her eyes cast below the table, studying her feet in the oddly pretty, very unsturdy looking shoes that had been given her along with the ankle-length dress, the undergarments. She looked up, across the table —Annie was looking at her, dressed similarly, eyes smiling. Madison smiled

  back. She had prayed to God that Annie would be returned to them safely and Annie had been. Madison had prayed afterward, thanking God for this miracle and for the strength of Father Rourke and of Paul in their quest to find her.

  Madame Jokli — a very grand lady and very pretty — cleared her throat and Madison looked away from Annie’s eyes, past Michael who sat beside her—Madison—and toward the head of the table.

  A tall, good-looking man with hair nearly as long as Madison’s own, and the color nearly as blond, sat stroking his flowing beard. His name was Hakon and he was some official from the University where Madison had spent much of the day. Opposite him, on Madame Jokli’s left, the opposite side of the table from Madison and Michael, sat Farther Rourke. His hair seemed freshly combed and he had freshly shaved, and for the first time since they had come here, his face seemed relaxed, at ease. Beside him sat Mother Rourke —Sarah, she corrected herself. Between Sarah and Annie sat Paul Rubenstein, his expression blank, his eyes —very dark —thoughtful. He saw her looking at him, she realized. He looked at her and winked. She looked down to her hands again, then up at Michael — his right hand reached out to her, moved across her left thigh, and squeezed both her hands. She smiled up at him. Beside Michael, between Michael and the man Hakon, sat Captain Hartman.

  “Relax, Madison.” She looked to her right —Elaine Halversen was doodling on her notepad — doodling was a very technically demanding activity, Madison had learned. Sarah practiced this, as did Paul at times. Lines were made that seemed meaningless and then suddenly the lines became a picture. The drawings were not as complete as those painted on the wall of the great conference room in The Place where she had

  been raised, but they were happy pictures. She was trying doodling in secret until she mastered it and could show Michael the accomplishment.

  Across from Elaine, Akiro Kurinami sat, his face, like Paul’s face, expressionless and his eyes turned toward the head of the table. Madison looked there too now as Madame Jokli began to speak. “With the arrival of our new friends, the Germans, even more opportunities for the acquisition of knowledge present themselves. And for this, we are grateful. Captain Hartman has spoken by radio with his commander, Colonel Mann, who had in turn conferred with the German President, Dr. Bern, and there is agreement for cultural exchange. This gladdens our hearts, as does the opportunity to learn and grow with our friends led by Dr. Rourke. And hopefully too the Eden Project shall soon be contacted, and with our knowledge of biological science and other skills we have acquired here over the centuries, we can aid these survivors from five centuries ago to turn the North American continent into a garden, a garden of peace. But it is the question of peace that brings us here. As our people of Lydveldid Island rejoiced that we were not alone on this great planet, they were sorrowed to learn that the folly of warfare among men had not ceased.”

  The doors to the library/conference room opened, one of the serving women holdi
ng the doors. Natalia entered. Madison was stunned. “Forgive me, Madame President. I was detained.”

  “Major Tiemerovna —yes, please, join us,” Madame Jokli said. But Madison did not take her eyes from Natalia. Like Sarah, Annie, and Madison herself, Natalia had been given clothes to wear, but Madison had not yet seen her. Sarah looked pretty. Annie looked pretty. Natalia looked like an angel, or a princess,

  Madison thought. Natalia’s black hair was piled atop her head, but was softly arranged. The long dress and the high waist of the skirt made Natalia’s waist seem almost impossibly small, the high lace-trimmed collar of the dress only serving to accentuate Natalia’s high cheekbones, the dress’s rose color making Natalia’s skin somehow whiter-seeming, her eyes more brilliantly blue. The material of her clothes rustled as she moved across the room. Her shawl was folded neatly in her hands, her hands close against her abdomen. Natalia seated herself beside Akiro Kurinami, Kurinami rising, helping her with her chair, Madison noticing suddenly that all the men had risen.