“Do you have a plan, Kraken?” asked one of the men in a high voice.
“Of course, Brother Leftwich,” Kraken answered confidently. “I will explain my plan in a moment. But first, I need a volunteer to go to the hotel for me. Who will it be?”
Leftwich, a skinny man with a sallow complexion, stood. “I’ll go. What needs to be done?”
“You must contact Emery and instruct him to await further orders. I am concerned he might needlessly expose himself to risk, and we can’t afford to lose him,” Kraken said.
“Emery wouldn’t do anything stupid,” Leftwich commented.
“Ordinarily, no,” Kraken stated. “But he might seek to take advantage of Neborak’s blunder. I directed Emery to refrain from becoming actively involved because his inside information is invaluable. But I know Emery, I know his devotion to our Gild. If he thinks there is a chance to achieve our primary goal, he will take advantage of the opportunity. Emery might attempt to terminate the targets himself while our foes are off balance. I want you to take one of the stolen uniforms and go to the hotel. Advise Emery to lay low.”
“You can count on me,” Leftwich said. He promptly departed through the door in the north wall.
“I have a question, guv,” spoke up one of the men in a marked accent.
He had curly brown hair.
“What is it, Charley?” Kraken inquired.
“I may be oversteppin’ my bounds, mate,” Charley said, “But I can’t help but wonder why the Gild messes with all this piddlin’ work when we could be callin’ the shots? You know what I mean?”
“Our English representative has asked a valid question,” Kraken noted.
English representative? Hickok was startled by the revelation. Except for the Russians, he hadn’t heard of anyone venturing overseas, or coming from overseas, since the Big Blast. Had England survived the war? And what about the rest of Europe?
“You would like to call the shots, would you, Charley?” Kraken asked the British assassin.
“Of course, guv. Who wouldn’t?” Charley responded.
Kraken grinned. “I like initiative in my people. Stick with me and your wildest dreams will come true. We will be calling the shots, as you put it, quite soon. I realize that, on an international scale, the leaders of the Freedom Federation are small potatoes. Very small potatoes indeed. But they are a means to an end. I can’t confide all of the details at this time, but rest assured we will see the Gild’s power grow to new heights as a consequence of the completion of this contract.”
The members of the Gild exchanged puzzled glances.
Kraken noticed. “I can say this,” he added to appease their curiosity.
“We are receiving more than gold in exchange for the elimination of the Federation leaders. In addition to our standard fee, we will acquire certain information, information which will enable the Gild to become a major player globally. We will become the ultimate power brokers.”
Hickok was striving to comprehend the significance of everything he’d overheard. The Gild was obviously an international assocation of professional assassins, and they evidently sold their lethal services to anyone able to meet their price. Less obvious was the reason someone wanted the Freedom Federation leaders murdered. The gunman debated whether to burst into the room, guns blazing, and get as many of the Gild members as he could, or whether to go warn Blade. Even if he managed to gun down these, what if there were others nearby?
Kraken raised his right fist overhead. “To the Gild!”
The Gild members stood and imitated his gesture. “To the Gild!” they echoed.
Hickok backed away from the meeting room. Blade and Plato needed to be informed about the Gild, and he was the only one who could tell them.
He carefully inched toward the front door, and he was halfway there when his extraordinary sixth sense, developed over the course of years of fighting experience, flared, alerting him he wasn’t alone, that someone else was very, very close. He whirled toward the front door, his hands dropping to his Colts.
One of the Gild members was framed in the doorway, cradling a mystery weapon in his hands. The barrel was fixed unwaveringly on the gunfighter.
With a shock, Hickok realized his path was being blocked by the one known as Nightshade!
Chapter Eight
“One more time,” Blade said. “Where are you from?”
“Get screwed!” the assassin retorted angrily.
“This is gettin’ us nowhere,” Bear commented, hefting his M-16.
They were interrogating the prisoner in a small room on the second floor. The man in the kitchen worker’s clothes was tied to a chair positioned in the middle of the floor.
Blade, slowly pacing in front of the chair, glanced at the assassin. “You could make this easy on yourself by cooperating.”
“Go play with yourself!” was the response.
“Is your name really Emery?” Blade queried.
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Emery retorted.
Bear, standing to the left of the chair, frowned. “Let me work this sucker over, Blade. He’ll talk.”
“I’ll never talk!” Emery stated defiantly.
Blade stopped and faced the assassin. The cross-examination was getting them nowhere and he had important business elsewhere, namely guarding Plato. He didn’t like being away from the Family Leader, not when another attempt could be made on his kindly mentor’s life at any moment. And his anxiety over Plato was compounded by his apprehension about Hickok. The gunman had been gone way too long, leaving Blade to conclude Hickok was up to his neck in hot water once again.
Hot water!
Blade motioned for Bear to move away from the chair, and Emery watched them nervously as Blade whispered in the black’s left ear.
Bear nodded. “You got it, bro. I’ll be right back.” He opened the door and departed.
“I’m not going to talk!” Emery insisted. “And nothing you do will make me!”
Blade folded his arms across his chest. “We’ll see, tough guy.”
Emery attempted to spit at the Warrior, but missed.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have lousy manners?” Blade quipped.
“Joke while you can, prick!” Emery taunted. “You won’t be laughing when all of your leaders are dead!”
“I owe allegiance to only one leader,” Blade mentioned. “And no harm will befall him while I’m alive.” He ran his right hand along the strap of the M-16 slung over his right shoulder.
“You can’t stop us, Warrior! No one can!” Emery snapped.
“Thank you,” Blade said.
“For what?” Emery rejoined.
“For confirming there are more than one of you left,” Blade stated.
“If you only knew!” Emery remarked, sneering.
The sound of a commotion broke out in the hallway outside of the room. Loud noises were raised in argument.
Blade walked to the doorway.
The Cavalryman Hamlin and General Gallagher were involved in a shoving and shouting match. The stocky officer was nose-to-nose with the bantam frontiersman, and neither was giving an inch.
“What’s going on here?” Blade demanded.
Hamlin wagged his Winchester at the general. “He wanted in. I told him you said no one was to go inside, but the mutton-head wouldn’t listen.”
General Gallagher glared at Hamlin. “I’ll be damned if a scrawny runt like you is going to tell me what to do!”
“You did the right thing,” Blade said to Hamlin. He looked at the general. “What are you doing here?”