Boone glanced down at his right Hombre, debating whether he should use the barrel or the butt, and in the instant his attention was distracted from the doorway the figure appeared.
The man was looking to the north, away from Boone.
The Cavalryman reacted automatically, pouncing and wrapping his left arm around the figure’s neck even as he raised his right Hombre to deliver a smashing blow to the head. Only the blow never landed.
The assassin’s reflexes were uncanny. As Boone’s arm clamped on his throat, he bent over at the waist and twisted his left shoulder.
Before he quite knew what was happening, Boone was airborne, flying over the assassin’s shoulders and tumbling head over heels down the porch. He slammed into the ground on his stomach, temporarily dazed, but he managed to heave to his hands and knees, knowing he was dead if he didn’t get up.
A hard object was suddenly pressed against the back of his head, and there was the sharp click of a hammer being cocked.
“Say your prayers, you polecat!”
Chapter Nineteen
Blade and Gallagher were questioning Frank Ebert in the privacy of Room 212 when there was a knock on the door and Bear poked his head inside.
“What is it?” Blade asked.
“They want to see the general and you in the conference room,” Bear said.
“What about?”
Bear shrugged. “Beats me, bro.”
Blade noticed General Gallagher was grinning. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“Who, me?” Gallagher responded innocently.
Blade looked at Bear. “Will you stay here with Ebert until I return?”
“No problem,” Bear replied, coming into the room.
Blade exited 212 and headed for the elevator, the general walking to his left.
“I wonder why they want us,” Gallagher commented, smiling.
“You know what this is all about, don’t you?” Blade demanded.
“Nope,” Gallagher replied, shaking his head.
“You don’t lie very well,” Blade remarked.
General Gallagher laughed.
They took the elevator to the ground floor, then crossed the lobby to the conference room. The two Flathead Indians, Red Cloud and Lone Bear, were on guard. Red Cloud nodded at Blade and opened the door.
The Freedom Federation leaders and Governor Melnick were seated at a large circular table in the center of the conference room. Plato was on the far side, facing the doorway. To his right sat Kilrane, the Cavalry leader, then Zahner, the head of the Clan. Star was next, followed by the haughty Mole, Wolfe. Then came President Toland, while Governor Melnick was seated on Plato’s left.
“Come in,” Plato greeted them.
Blade entered, the general on his heels.
Red Cloud closed the door.
“You wanted to see us?” Blade mentioned.
“Yes,” Plato said. “Governor Melnick has made an interesting proposal, one involving the entire Federation.” He paused, his blue eyes studying his protege, “One possibly involving you.”
“What do you mean?” Blade queried.
Governor Melnick cleared his throat. “Perhaps, since this was my idea, I should explain the concept and the ramifications.”
“Be my guest,” Plato said.
Governor Melnick sat back in his plush chair. “Although I won’t be making the formal public announcement until tomorrow night at the banquet, everyone in this room already knows that California will become a member of the Freedom Federation.”
General Gallagher frowned.
Governor Melnick observed the general’s expression. “Not everyone agrees with my decision, but I believe the years ahead will validate my judgment. As we all know, change is inevitable. Nothing ever stays the same. Either we adjust to the constant changes and grow, or we refuse to accept them and stagnate.” He deliberately stared at General Gallagher.
“The face of the world is changing from day to day. Slowly but surely we are recovering from the awesome destructiveness of World War Three. We must cope with dangers the prewar society never encountered. A polluted environment. Mutants, both bestial and humanoid. And there are organized threats to our existence as well, threats from those who would conquer the globe in their insane quest for domination. Enemies like the Soviets in the east, the Technics in Chicago, and the Androxians in Houston. Those are the ones we know of. Who can tell how many more enemies may be out there somewhere, awaiting their opportunity to attack?”
Blade noticed every eye in the conference room was fixed on him, as if they were gauging his reaction to Melnick’s speech.
“As allies in the Freedom Federation,” Governor Melnick went on, “we will be ready to band together should any one of us be besieged. We will stand united against any invader. Whether it’s the Russians, the Technics, or the Androxians, they will know that to launch an assault upon any one Federation member will incur the wrath of the entire Federation.”
Blade’s forehead creased as he speculated on what all of this had to do with him. He stared out one of the two windows at the storm.
Melnick scanned the room. “Our policy of mutual defense will deter anyone from declaring war on us. Our treaty should serve to deter any aggression on a widespread scale. But what about isolated incidents?
What about localized problems within the boundaries of each Federation member? The Civilized Zone, the Cavalry, the Flathead Indians all control extensive areas, and trouble spots arise from time to time within the boundaries of each. The Cavalry has been unable to solve a series of mysterious disappearances. And the Flatheads have been raided by the Bear People from Idaho. Neither of these episodes justify massing the military might of the Federation, yet each has posed a major problem for the respective Federation members involved.”
Blade was beginning to understand why Melnick was a politician. The man could talk rings around a tree.
“I consider California to be honored at being admitted into the Federation,” the governor was saying. “I wanted to show my gratitude somehow, and after due deliberation I hit on a practical idea.” He looked at Blade. “And this is where you come in.”
“How so?” Blade inquired.
“I propose establishing a special strike force,” Melnick explained.
“A strike force?” Blade repeated quizzically.
“Yes. A mobile force organized with one purpose in mind. Namely, to deal with just such trouble spots as we’ve been discussing. If a localized problem develops anywhere within the Freedom Federation, or outside our boundaries for that matter, this strike force will be dispatched to deal with the situation. Any request for aid from a Federation member will be sufficient to have the strike force sent out immediately,” Governor Melnick elaborated.
“The idea is commendable,” Blade commented. “But there are drawbacks.”
“Such as what?” Melnick asked.
“The Freedom Federation members are scattered over the western half of what was once the U.S.,” Blade said. “Considerable distances are involved. Where is this strike force going to be based?”
“Right here in Los Angeles,” Melnick said.
“Okay. Do you realize how long it would take this strike force to reach the Flatheads from here? Or the Dakota territory? Overland travel is extremely hazardous and very time-consuming. Weeks could elapse between the request for aid and the arrival of the strike force,” Blade stated.
“Using conventional vehicles, yes,” Melnick concurred, then smiled.
“But not if we use the VTOL’s.”
“Your jets?” Blade queried.
Governor Melnick nodded. “Their vertical take off and landing capability make them ideal for our purpose. They could transport the strike force anywhere in the Freedom Federation, or the Outlands, within a span of hours.”