The trooper clung to the Warrior and started to claw higher.
Eager to end the fray quickly and aid Blade, Geronimo reversed his strategy, arcing his knees up to his chest and drawing the soldier’s face within range of his hands. He jammed his thumbs into the Russian’s eyes, causing the man to cry out in pain, and slugged the trooper on the jaw.
Stunned, his eyes closed and watering, the soldier released his hold and tried to rise.
Geronimo flung his legs outward, ramming the Russian in the chest with the soles of his boots and hurling the trooper into the rack with a tremendous smash.
The soldier clutched at the rack for support, retaining his footing, and wiped at his eyes with his left sleeve.
Knowing every second was precious, Geronimo came off the floor in a rush, using his right shoulder as a battering ram and plowing into the man’s midsection. Grunting, the trooper doubled over, and Geronimo drove his head upward, catching the soldier on the tip of the chin and mashing the Russian’s teeth together. Geronimo delivered two blows to the man’s abdomen, anticipating an easy victory, but the trooper was hardier than he thought.
With a wicked snap of his body, the soldier kneed the Warrior in the groin.
Lancing agony speared through Geronimo and he backed off, his hands spread protectively over his privates.
Relentlessly the Russian closed in, boxing his foe on the right cheek, then the left.
Geronimo reeled and tottered to the right. He brought up his arms to defend himself as the trooper pounced and they both toppled to the floor, grappling and flailing.
Somewhere in the distance the sound of gunfire arose.
Blade must be in trouble!
Energized by a surge of adrenaline, Geronimo butted his forehead into the Russian’s nose, crushing the cartilage, blood spraying on his face. He held the fingers of his right hand rigid and struck the soldier in the throat.
Uttering a protracted gasp, the Russian clasped his hands to his neck and scrambled on his back away from the Warrior. He bumped into the rack of supplies and pushed to his knees.
Geronimo pressed his advantage, rolling onto his left side and aiming a kick at the trooper’s head.
The Russian managed to block the Warrior’s leg.
Undaunted, Geronimo attacked, setting upon the soldier with a rain of Hung Gar hand blows taught to him by a Family Elder skilled in the martial arts. The trooper deflected several, and then Geronimo hit home with a tiger claw to the jaw, a leopard paw to the Adam’s apple, and a dragon fist to the mouth.
Dazed and breathing in deep gulps of air, spittle on his lower lip and blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, the Russian slumped to the floor and began twitching convulsively.
Geronimo rose, his knees a bit unsteady, pain still flaring in his groin.
He stepped toward the door, gathering his strength, listening for the chattering of automatic weapons.
All was quiet outside the utility closet.
Rendered careless by his anxiety over Blade and the torment, Geronimo yanked on the doorknob and took a stride into the corridor—and immediately regretted his rashness.
“We meet again, Warrior,” General Ari Stoljarov declared sarcastically.
Geronimo frowned, seething with frustration. The Butcher stood four feet to his left, and flanking the general were two guards with their AK-47’s at the ready.
“I heard a commotion in the closet and stopped to investigate,” General Stoljarov said. He walked to the doorway and gazed in at the trooper, who was now lying still with his tongue protruding. “Ahhhhh. I see. You two were arguing over who would sweep the floor.”
“Up yours,” Geronimo snapped.
General Stoljarov looked at the Warrior, his eyebrows arching. “Where is your vaunted humor now, Indian?”
Geronimo glared but said nothing.
“My men are in pursuit of Blade, and I expect he will be apprehended at any moment,” Stoljarov said.
“Dream on. You won’t catch Blade twice. He’ll take your men apart,” Geronimo predicted.
General Stoljarov scratched his chin, contemplating. “Perhaps you are right,” he agreed with a smirk and strolled to a point ten feet farther along the opposite wall. Adorning the wall at shoulder height was a square black box, each side four inches in length, and situated in the center of the box was a red button. “Perhaps my men will require assistance,” he declared, and depressed the button.
Lenin’s Needle abruptly resounded to the harsh blaring of a multitude of klaxons.
The Butcher returned to Geronimo and grinned, raising his voice to be heard above the din. “Now how far do you think your friend will get? The alarm I’ve sounded will place everyone in the Needle on alert, and our security personnel will conduct a sweep of every floor.”
“You won’t stop Blade.”
General Stoljarov snorted. “I’d expect such misguided loyalty from you. Despite his formidable reputation, Blade is human, after all. Even he can not hope to withstand my troops.” He motioned with his right arm. “After you.”
“Where are you taking me?” Geronimo asked, moving forward.
The guards diligently kept their AK-47’s pointed at the Warrior and fell in behind him.
“I thought you might enjoy meeting Leonid Grineva,” General Stoljarov said, heading down the hall on Geronimo’s right.
“The scientist who developed your superweapon?” Geronimo responded suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Alpha Triad has traveled so far to learn the secret of our new weapon,” General Stoljarov replied. “The least I can do is alleviate your curiosity.”
“Why?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?” Stoljarov queried, and laughed.
What was the Butcher up to? Geronimo wondered as they came to a junction and took the left-hand passage. Leonid Grineva should be the last person Stoljarov would want either of the Warriors to meet. If Grineva’s brilliant intellect truly was responsible for the creation of the L.R.F., then under no circumstances should the general be willing to expose the scientist to potential danger. And Stoljarov must know that the Warriors would terminate Grineva if given the opportunity.
In 40 yards they came to an elevator, and General Stoljarov pushed the UP button. He eyed Geronimo smugly. When the door hissed open, he gestured for the Warrior to step inside, then entered with the guards. The soldiers held the AK-47 barrels within an inch of the Warrior’s head, and the general punched a numbered button on the control panel. The door closed.
“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” Stoljarov said.
“Are we going all the way up to the crystal globe?” Geronimo inquired.
He could feel a slight vibration in the floor as the elevator ascended.
“No. The crystal globe is actually part of the laser’s firing apparatus, as I understand it. The inner surface of the crystal is coated with silver to reflect almost all of the light generated inside the crystal,” Stoljarov revealed. “We are on our way to the control room, which is directly under the crystal.”
The elevator climbed swiftly, the number of each respective level lighting on the control panel to mark their progress.
“Are you willing to cooperate with me and spare yourself extreme discomfort?” General Stoljarov asked.
“Cooperate?” Geronimo repeated.
“I’ve been giving the matter some consideration, and I’ve decided to question you before contacting General Malenkov,” the Butcher disclosed.
“You were right. I do want to impress Comrade Malenkov, and the way to do so is by obtaining information he dearly desires. He has long wanted to know the precise layout of your Home, and as much information as can be gleaned about every member of your Family, particularly the Elders and those Warriors about whom we know very little.” He paused and pursed his lips. “Your capture will impress General Malenkov, but I could impress him even more if I obtain the information he needs. Imagine the boost to my career if I break you down and elicit the intelligence data Malenkov has been unable to obtain.”