“Coincidence,” Plato opined.
“Why?” Blade queried.
“Because only Governor Melnick and a few of his trusted aides knew we were arriving today,” Plato detailed. “I seriously doubt they would want me dead. What motive would they have?”
“I’m not saying Governor Melnick was behind the assassination attempt,” Blade explained. “I saw how his wife’s death affected him. He loved her, and he wouldn’t have brought her near us if he knew a sniper was on the terminal roof.”
“Then who could be behind it?” Plato questioned. “We don’t have any enemies in California.”
“None we know about,” Blade corrected him.
“It’s the summit,” Hickok unexpectedly interrupted.
“Why do you say that?” Plato asked.
Hickok glanced at the Family Leader. “The bozo I went after was a real pro. He wore an army uniform so he could blend in at the terminal without arousin’ suspicion. He used a sophisticated weapon of some kind.
And he had his getaway planned, right down to committin’ suicide if he was captured. The man was a pro,” he reiterated. “It was a professional hit, and Melnick and you were the targets.”
“I agree,” Blade concurred. “Hickok’s right. I think someone is trying to disrupt the summit, and what better way to wreck the meeting than by killing off the leaders of the Federation factions and California?”
Plato frowned. “If your deductions are accurate, we can expect more trouble.”
“We’ll keep on our toes,” Blade vowed. “We’re at a disadvantage, though, because there’s just the two of us to protect you.”
“All of the leaders will be in the same boat,” Plato observed. “We were each allowed to bring two security personnel or assistants, and no more.”
“I’m sure Melnick will tighten security at the summit site,” Blade said.
“But if professionals are after the leaders, there’s no way we can prevent them from making more attempts.”
Plato gazed out the front window at the four jeeps escorting the limousine. He looked over his right shoulder, finding four more. Each jeep contained four Free State troopers. “I think we can relax until we reach Anaheim,” he declared.
Plato was wrong.
The lead jeep was cresting a low hill, well in advance of the rest, when there was a stupendous explosion and the jeep was engulfed in a brilliant fireball.
The sergeant slammed on the brakes, and the limousine slewed to a stop slantwise across the highway.
“Out!” barked Blade, yanking on the handle and flinging the door open.
He looped his right arm around Plato’s waist and leaped, his steely leg muscles carrying both of them to the hard asphalt. They landed with Blade on the bottom, intentionally cushioning the brunt of the contact. He surged erect, bearing Plato with him, racing for a stand of trees at the side of the Freeway.
A second jeep was blown to smithereens.
Blade carried Plato the final few feet, reaching the first tree and dodging for cover in the shelter of its wide trunk. None too soon.
Another detonation enveloped the black limousine, and the strike was dead center. The limo split in half as it was catapulted into the air, enshrouded by a sheet of reddish-orange flame.
Blade felt the ground tremble under his boots, and the stand of trees was buffeted by a gust of hot wind. He heard a deafening crash and risked a peek around the trunk.
The limousine was destroyed, a contorted jumble of scorched metal and burning rubber.
The other jeeps had stopped, and the soldiers were scanning the surrounding countryside for the source of the blasts.
Hickok!
Blade stood and ran to the edge of the highway, heedless of the danger, searching in both directions for his friend. “Hickok?”
The limousine was crackling and snapping as it burned.
A square-jawed officer, a captain, rushed up to the Warrior. “Are you okay?”
“Where’s Hickok?” Blade queried anxiously.
“What?”
“Where the hell is Hickok?” Blade snapped, moving closer to the limo, as close as the intense heat would allow.
“Didn’t he get out?” the captain asked.
Blade was worried by the same thought. What if Hickok hadn’t made it out of the limo? What if the gunman’s glum disposition had slowed his reflexes? What if…
“What the heck is the matter with you, pard? You look like somebody walloped you in the dingus.”
Blade whirled to the right, and there was the gunfighter, nonchalantly emerging from a swirl of whitish smoke, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. “Where were you? I thought you bought the farm!”
“Nope,” Hickok responded. “I lit out the passenger-side door and bruised my shins takin’ cover behind this big old rock.”
Blade breathed a sigh of relief. “Any signs of who did it?”
“I didn’t see hide nor hair of the rascals,” Hickok said.
“There’s no sign of them,” the captain confirmed. “But at least they’ve stopped.”
Blade glanced at the gunman. “Mortar, you think?”
“Yep,” Hickok laconically replied. “Or somethin’ similar.”
“Well, that settles it,” Blade stated brusquely.
“Settles what?” the captain inquired.
Blade stared into the officer’s eyes. “From now on we do this my way.”
“We what? I’m under orders—” the captain began.
Blade’s right hand flicked out and grasped the front of the officer’s shirt. “Until we reach Anaheim, you’ll take your orders from me.”
“From you?” the captain exclaimed, futilely trying to pry the giant’s fingers from his uniform. “Now just hold on!”
Blade’s eyes narrowed and his tone lowered. “You’ll do as I say or else!”
“Blade! Don’t!” Plato came around Blade’s left and placed a restraining hand on the giant’s arm. “Release him.”
Blade ignored the command. “I’m responsible for your safety, Plato.
And nothing is going to happen to you on this trip, not while I’m alive.
We’re going to do this my way from now on!” He glared at the captain.
“Any objections?”
The officer, clearly flustered, nodded. “I’m under orders to get you safely to Anaheim. I don’t care how we do it.”
Blade released the captain’s shirt. “I can rely on your cooperation?”
“You’ve got it,” the officer pledged. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Blade pointed at the limo. “We’ve already run into some trouble.”
“So what do you want me to do?” the captain asked.
“Strip.”
The captain did a double take. “What?”
“Are you hard of hearing?” Blade queried impatiently. “I want you to strip. Remove your uniform.”
“You’re crazy,” the captain commented.
Blade folded his arms across his chest. “Were you at the airport earlier?”
“Yes, I was,” the captain answered.
“Then you know this is the second assassination try so far,” Blade said.
“Odds are there will be more. They were after the limo this time, and they stopped because they nailed it. They probably believe they’ve killed Plato, but we can’t take that for granted. They might hit us again before we reach Anaheim, and I want to discourage them from trying.”
“How?”
“If these bastards don’t see any sign of Plato, they might leave us alone,” Blade speculated. “So I want you, or one of your men, to give Plato a uniform and a helmet. If we dress him up as a soldier and tuck his hair under the helmet, we might get away with it.”
The captain grinned. “That’s an excellent suggestion. I’ve been assigned to the summit detail, so I brought my dress uniform along. It’s with my gear. I’ll get it.” He started off, then paused and looked at Blade. “See? All you had to do was explain what you wanted. I’m here to help you.” He walked off.