“They could,” Blade admitted.
“By the same token,” Melnick detailed, “if we set up a weekly shuttle service for the VTOL’s to carry messages back and forth, we can insure requests for aid are relayed relatively promptly.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve thought of everything,” Blade complimented the governor. “But I don’t see what all of this has to do with me.”
Melnick glanced at Plato.
Plato gazed around the table, then at Blade. “We have been discussing the organizational requirements for the strike force,” he said slowly, “and we have reached agreement on the best method.”
“You’re going to use soldiers from California,” Blade guessed.
“No,” Plato said. “We have another idea.”
“What is it?” Blade probed.
“We believe the best method entails having the strike force comprised of seven members,” Plato revealed. “One from each Federation faction.”
“One from each?” Blade said, and suddenly he saw where the conversation was leading. A tight sensation developed in his gut.
“Precisely,” Plato confirmed. “Each Federation member will volunteer one person to become part of the strike force. We have decided, by the way, to call this strike force the Freedom Force.”
“And you say you’re going to call for volunteers?” Blade asked.
Plato nodded. “Our idea is to have each volunteer serve in the Freedom Force for a period of one year. Volunteers would be rotated annually.”
Blade relaxed a bit. “Sounds great to me.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Plato said. “Because by the unanimous concensus of all the leaders, we would like you to volunteer to head the Freedom Force.”
Blade had seen the request coming, but he was still stunned. “Me?” he blurted out.
“You,” Plato reiterated. “You would be responsible for training the seven members of the Freedom Force and shaping them into a cohesive fighting unit. General Gallagher would be your liaison with Governor Melnick.”
“Gallagher?” Blade glanced at the general.
General Gallagher nodded, grinning impishly. “Surprised, huh?”
“I thought you didn’t like the treaty,” Blade mentioned. “Why would you want to get involved with the Freedom Force?”
“I don’t like the damn treaty,” Gallagher stated, “but I’ve agreed to give the treaty a chance.”
“And General Gallagher is a good soldier,” Governor Melnick interjected. “He follows orders, whether he likes the orders or not. And he always performs one hundred percent.”
Blade looked at Plato. “But why me? There must be dozens of equally qualified candidates to head the Freedom Force!”
“Name one,” Plato said.
“Hickok,” Blade suggested.
“Too impetuous,” Plato remarked.
“Then how about Rikki, or Yama, or Spartacus,” Blade said, mentioning other Warriors. “Or someone from the Cavalry, like Boone? Or an officer from the Civilized Zone Army? Or General Gallagher himself?”
“Not one of them has your experience,” Plato stated. “Not one of them is as ideally suited for the task.”
“But what about the Warriors? Who would be in charge of them during the year I’m away?” Blade asked.
“The Family Elders will select a temporary head Warrior,” Plato replied. “Someone to fill in while you are gone.”
“A year is too long,” Blade objected. “I won’t stay away from my family for that long.”
“And you wouldn’t be,” Plato mentioned. “Governor Melnick will fly your wife and son out here. Jenny and little Gabe will live in L.A. with you.”
Blade fell silent, emotionally shocked. Leave the Family? Leave the Home? Live in California for a year! All his truest friends and loved ones were in Minnesota.
Plato rose and walked around the table to Blade. “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. “If there was anyone else as competent as you, I wouldn’t be making this appeal. We all feel your presence is essential to the Freedom Force’s success. You have traveled extensively throughout the country, and you have firsthand experience with our enemies. Whether you like it or not, you are famous. You have acquired a reputation as a fighter, a man not to be trifled with. This reputation would work in your favor in your new capacity.”
Blade stared at the floor. “I just don’t know,” he said bleakly. “I don’t want to leave the Home.”
Plato’s features saddened. “And I don’t want to see you leave. You are like a son to me.” He paused and sighed. “You have served the Family nobly as the head Warrior for almost a decade. Now you have an opportunity to serve the Freedom Federation on a much broader scale.
Untold millions will benefit from your work. All I ask is that you give the matter serious deliberation.”
Blade looked up. “How soon do you want my answer?”
“As promptly as possible,” Plato replied.
“I need to be alone,” Blade said. He wheeled and stalked from the conference room, heading for the front entrance. Absorbed in his concentration, he was at the glass doors before he realized the rainstorm had not abated. Annoyed, craving solitude, he shoved the doors open and marched outside. The wind lashed his hair and the cool drops of rain peppered his face.
“Are you okay, sir?” one of the soldiers guarding the entrance inquired.
“Fine,” Blade snapped. He bore to the left, following the sidewalk, his inner feelings matching nature’s onslaught. How could Plato ask him to do such a thing? After all they had meant to each other!
The sidewalk wound along the front of the hotel, then branched off. One path led to a parking lot on the east side of the hotel, while the other continued around the hotel to the gardens in the rear.
Blade took the branch leading to the gardens, oblivious to the inclement weather. The very notion of leaving the Family was intolerable.
How would Jenny react? His wife was as attached to the Home as he was.
How could he ask her to sever her roots and move to Los Angeles, even if it was for only a year?
A year!
A year without seeing Hickok or Geronimo or Joshua! A year of uncertainty, a year of one deadly mission after another. Was it fair to subject his wife and son to such a strain, never knowing if he would return from the latest assignment? He never had liked leaving the Home on extended runs in the SEAL. Every moment he was away from Jenny and Gabe caused him anguish.
The wind was howling like a banshee.
Blade stopped and gazed skyward, closing his eyes, letting the rain pelt him. Dear Spirit! What should he do? Was he really essential to the operation of the Freedom Force? Plato must be mistaken. Surely Rikki-Tikki-Tavi could handle the job. Or Yama. He opened his eyes, gazing absently at the landscape, buffeted by the gusts.
Someone was approaching from the direction of the gardens.
Blade distinguished the forms of four soaked soldiers coming his way.
They were advancing in single file, evidently patrolling the grounds. He stepped to one side so they could pass.
The trooper in the front spotted the Warrior and seemed to hesitate for an instant, then proceeded. “I didn’t expect to find anyone out here,” he remarked when he was two yards off.
“I needed some fresh air,” Blade said.
The soldier grinned. “Nice night for a stroll.”
Blade, hands on his hips, chuckled. “You’ve got that right.”
“Be seeing you,” the soldier said.
Blade idly watched the four pass him. He didn’t envy them. Spending hours patrolling the grounds in this weather would be sheer drudgery.
Their drenched uniforms were plastered to their bodies. Two of them tucked their chins into their chests as they passed him, futilely endeavoring to keep the rain from their faces. Their weapons were slung over their right shoulders and partially protected by their arms. Even the hair protruding from under the helmets of two of them was slick with water.