General Malenkov nodded. “Fair is fair,” he said. “You have answered me, so I will answer you. Perhaps you will the better understand the nature of your dilemma, and you will realize why resistance is futile. You must continue to cooperate with us. You have no other choice.”
Hickok sat up on the metal table.
“As you have undoubtedly guessed,” General Malenkov declared, “we are professional soldiers in the Army of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”
“You’re a long ways from home too,” Hickok quipped.
General Malenkov paused. “True,” he said sadly.
“We are far from the Motherland.” He sighed and stared at red drapes covering one of the walls. “As to your location,” he said slowly, “a demonstration will be far more eloquent than mere words.”
Lieutenant Voroshilov and the third soldier moved aside, clearing a path between the metal table and the drapes.
General Malenkov beckoned toward the drapes. “Go ahead. Take a look.”
Hickok slid from the metal table. He noticed the general had placed his Colt Pythons on a wooden stand about four feet from the table.
“Open the drapes,” General Malenkov directed the gunman.
Hickok walked to the right side of the drapes and found several cords descending from the traverse rods. He gripped the first cord and pulled.
Nothing happened.
Hickok tried the second of the three cords.
The drapes didn’t budge.
What the heck was going on here? Some of the cabins at the Home were outfitted with drapes, and he knew how to work them. He pulled on the final cord.
With a swish, the red drapes parted, opening wide, revealing a picture window and a spectacular view.
It took a minute to register. Hickok had seen pictures of the scene in the photographic books in the Family library. But he’d never expected to actually be there.
It was impossible!
It just couldn’t be!
But there it was!
General Malenkov noted the astonishment on the gunman’s features.
“Your eyes do not deceive you,” he said.
“It can’t be!” Hickok exclaimed. “It can’t!”
“But it is,” General Malenkov said, beaming. “It’s the White House.”
Chapter Twelve
“What kept you?” Terza demanded.
Blade gaped at her, scarcely aware he was responding. “Cardew took a potty break,” he wisecracked. “Must of read War and Peace while he was in the bathroom.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no War and Peace,” Terza said. “But I do know Cardew can’t read.”
Blade scanned her room, which was located on the top floor of the library. Plush green carpet covered the floor, in excellent condition despite the passing of a century. The walls were covered with mahogany paneling.
An easy chair and a couch were positioned directly in front of the Warrior.
Beyond them, reached by climbing two small steps, was an elevated section incorporating a huge bed as its centerpiece. Terza, attired in a skimpy white-lace garment, reclined in the middle of the bed, her legs spread out, resting her head on her left hand.
“Do you like it?” Terza asked.
“I had no idea libraries in the old days were so extravagant,” Blade commented.
Terza laughed. “Stupid. This was an office once. I had some of the men fix it up for me, scavenging from the abandoned stores. You’d be surprised what you can find.”
“I guess I would,” Blade admitted. He was perplexed by Terza’s behavior. She was exhibiting none of the habitual hostility he’d observed earlier. In fact, she was going out of her way to be nice, to be friendly.
To be attractive.
Blade walked to the steps leading up to the bed. “We must talk,” he told her.
Terza grinned, reached out her right hand, and patted the brown bedspread. “I didn’t have you brought here to talk.”
“We must talk,” Blade stated.
Terza sat up. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I have the hots for you? I don’t get a craving for a man very often. You should be flattered.”
“I don’t seem to be getting through to you,” Blade said. “I already have a wife.”
“So?” Terza giggled and patted the bed again. “I’ll never tell!”
Blade pondered his next move. He saw her eyes raking his body from head to toe. Something was inconsistent here. This wasn’t the tough-as-nails woman he’d met. The way she was staring at him, with her nostrils flared and her eyes dilated…
Her eyes dilated?
Blade moved to the edge of the bed.
“Come on!” Terza urged him. “I ain’t waitin’ all day!”
Blade leaned over and peered into her pale blue eyes. Her pupils were expanded and unfocused, and her entire demeanor verged on inane giddiness. What was she on? Alcohol? He doubted it. Her breath lacked the telltale odor. What then? Drugs? He straightened, frowning. The Family deplored the use of drugs. For the Warriors, any addicting substance was strictly taboo. With their lives on the line daily, only a moronic jerk would distort the senses and inhibit the reflexes. Survival was frequently a matter of split-second decision-making and timing; no one on drugs would last more than a minute if confronted by a mutate, one of the monstrous giants, or any other Terza said, eying left hand between him her deviate.
Drugs were plain stupid.
“Come on, handsome!” lecherously. She slid her thighs. “I want it!”
“You want it?”
“Ohhhh! How I want it!” Terza cooed.
“Are you sure you want it?” Blade asked.
Terza sat up, smiling, weaving slightly. “I’m sure! Give it to me!”
Blade grinned. “If you insist.”
“Do it, damnit!”
Blade hauled off and slugged her on the jaw.
Terza collapsed onto the bed, unconscious, her mouth slack, blood dribbling from her lower gum.
“Sorry about that,” Blade remarked. “But I tried to warn you. Marriage without loyalty is nothing more than disguised prostitution, as our spiritual mentor, Joshua, would say. And I will never violate my oath to my mate.” He shook his head, feeling foolish conducting a conversation with an unconscious woman.
Time to get the hell out of here!
Blade crossed to the door and paused. There should be a pair of guards outside the door to Terza’s room. They had escorted him to the room from the basement cell. He would need to catch them by surprise. Putting a broad smirk on his face, he slowly opened the door.
There they were. Cardew and one other.
Blade glanced over his right shoulder and laughed. “Okay,” he said to Terza’s unresponsive form. “I’ll tell them.” He smiled at Cardew and the other man. “Terza wants to see you.”
Cardew chuckled. “What’s the matter? Can’t you find where it goes without help?” He snickered and motioned for the other man to follow.
Blade, beaming, stepped aside.
Cardew and the other man had taken several steps into the room before Cardew awoke to the danger. He saw the blood on Terza’s chin and grabbed for his Browning. “Damn!”
Blade pounced. He kicked with his right leg, connecting on Cardew’s left knee, and heard a distinct popping sound as Cardew screeched and dropped to the floor.
The second Leather Knight, a tall, lean black, went for the knife he wore in a sheath on his right hip.
Blade drove his right fist around and in, catching the black on the nose, crushing the cartilage and driving fragments into the Knight’s forehead.
He swung his left fist, boxing the Knight on the ear.
The stud started to drop.
Blade rammed his elbow into the man’s jaw, then turned his attention to Cardew.
Still on the floor, wobbling on his right knee, Cardew was drawing his Browning.