“What’s that?”
“To get even.”
They rode in silence for several hundred yards, their eyes on the sky.
“What are they waiting for?” Marcus queried impatiently.
“My guess is that they don’t know we only had one stinger mounted on the roof,” Geronimo said. “They don’t want to suffer the same fate as their buddies, so they’ll come in fast and low.”
They did.
Like an enormous bird of prey, the Russian helicopter swept on the transport from out of the south, flying only a few yards above the trees and the rooftops.
Hickok glimpsed the chopper out of the corner of his right eye and swung around, crying in warning, “This side! Look out!” He saw a tiny puff of white smoke appear underneath the fuselage.
The roadway in front of the SEAL suddenly exploded, spraying chunks of asphalt and dirt in all directions.
Geronimo jerked on the steering wheel, cutting the van to the right, hanging onto the wheel tightly as the concussion from the blast hit the SEAL. He straightened the vehicle and scanned the sky for the enemy aircraft.
But the chopper had already vanished to the north.
“Hit and run,” Hickok said bitterly. “Whatever you do, don’t stop. We’ll be sittin’ ducks.”
“Maybe we can lose it by hiding in an alley,” Geronimo suggested.
“Get us out in the open where we can maneuver,” Hickok said. “Then we’ll teach those hombres a lesson.”
Geronimo angled the SEAL closer to the curb on the north side of the highway, using the structures bordering the road as partial cover. “How can we fight back? The machine guns, the rocket, and the flamethrower are all aligned to take care of targets directly in front of the SEAL.”
“I’ll think of something,” Hickok replied.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Two hundred yards passed and the helicopter failed to attack.
“Maybe they’ve given up,” Marcus remarked.
Its rotors spinning and shimmering, the great brown craft came at them from out of the north, flying low as before. They fired another rocket.
Hickok grabbed the dashboard as a section of sidewalk to the south blew up, spewing concrete skyward. He kept his eyes on the helicopter, tracking the chopper as it flashed overhead and flew to the south. “Blast!”
“Sooner or later they’ll nail us,” Geronimo said.
“Too bad we can’t ram ’em,” Hickok responded. He scrutinized the highway ahead and spotted a huge building off to the left, perhaps an abandoned warehouse or a factory. Gigantic metal double doors hung wide, disclosing a gloomy interior. “Drive in there,” he instructed.
Without an instant’s hesitation Geronimo complied, steering deep into the bowels of the building, bypassing stacks of crates and cartons, and abruptly braked. “What now?”
“Everybody out,” Hickok said, and shoved his door open. He jumped to the cement floor, cradled the Henry, and sprinted toward the metal doors.
He spied a pile of metal drums along the right-hand wall.
Geronimo and Marcus raced on the gunman’s heels.
“What are we doing?” Marcus asked.
“Hickok has a clever plan,” Geronimo said. “Don’t you, Nathan?”
“Nope,” the gunfighter answered. “I’m wingin’ it.”
Geronimo looked at Marcus. “I trust you’ve made out your will?”
Hickok led them to the right and up to the corrugated metal wall, near the double doors. He placed his back to the wall and inched to the edge, then peered out. There was no sign of the Russian helicopter.
Yet.
“We’ve lost it for the time being,” Hickok said.
“They’ll figure out where we are eventually,” Geronimo commented.
The gunman glanced at his friend. “Why do you always look on the bright side of things?”
Geronimo shrugged. “Just habit, I guess.”
“Spread out,” Hickok stated. “Check this whole place and let me know what you find.”
“What are we hunting for?” Marcus wanted to know.
“I’ll know that when we find it,” Hickok replied, and darted away from the sunlight, into the building, making for the left side, inspecting every item he found. There was a lot of litter and trash. In one spot he found a heap of old tires. Elsewhere he came across a mound of cinder blocks, once apparently arranged in a tidy stack, now lying in a jumble. He also discovered more crates and disintegrating cardboard boxes.
From outside, from far away, arose the muted sound of the helicopter’s rotors. The Russians were searching for them.
Hickok returned to the front of the warehouse where Geronimo and Marcus awaited him. “Well?”
“I found a lot of boxes, some chairs, and lumber,” Marcus detailed.
“What kind of lumber?”
“Oh, planks, boards, a few shorter pieces.”
“Is the wood rotten or sturdy?”
“I didn’t test it,” Marcus said.
“See if you can find me two sturdy boards about six feet in length and two feet wide,” Hickok ordered.
“On my way,” Marcus responded and hastened off.
The gunman faced Geronimo. “What about you?”
“Crates containing nails. Cartons containing cans of paint. A half-dozen antique washing machines. And metal strands of some sort.”
Hickok’s interest was piqued. “Metal stands?”
“Yeah. I have no idea what they were used for. They’re flat on the bottom and the upper part slants to a peak.”
“How high are they?”
“I’d say a foot and a half at the most.”
“Go get a couple.”
Geronimo nodded and jogged into the depths of the structure.
An idea was forming in the gunfighter’s mind, an elaborate ruse to lure the Russians into an ambush. He moved to the doorway and listened but couldn’t hear the chopper. Good. The Russians were undoubtedly puzzled by the disappearance of the SEAL, and they were likely scouring the highway to the east, mistakenly thinking that the van was speeding from Strawberry Point. Their mistake. He wheeled and hurried to the metal drums he’d observed earlier. They turned out to be empty. After slinging the Henry over his left shoulder, he proceeded to roll one of the drums to the front of the warehouse. Back he went for another, and by the time he had three of them positioned in a line extending from the right-hand door across the doorway, Geronimo and Marcus came back bearing the items he’d requested.
“Where do you want these boards?” Marcus inquired. He had hauled a pair of seven-foot-long boards, each three inches thick and two and a half feet wide, to the entrance. The exertion had hardly fazed him.
“Lay them right there,” Hickok said, and Marcus complied.
Geronimo deposited the two strange metal stands. “What next, fearless leader?”
The gunman nodded in the general direction of the cinder blocks.
“There’s a bunch of heavy blocks back that-a-way. I don’t know how many I’ll need yet, so lug about six of them over here.”
Geronimo and Marcus began to walk off.
“Not you, Marcus,” Hickok said. “You can lend me a hand with the drums.”
“How many do you want?”
“Enough to make a wall.”
“A wall?”
“You’ll see,” Hickok stated.
Together they carted fifteen more metal drums to the front and stacked them three high and six across, constructing a makeshift wall.
“We’ll need six more,” Hickok declared after gazing at the SEAL.
Yet another layer was added to the top. Geronimo finished with the cinder blocks and assisted in carrying the last drum.
“That ought to do it,” Hickok said, surveying their handiwork critically.
“Do what? That dinky wall won’t stop the copter,” Marcus noted.