Only time would tell.
Chapter Five
For an instant, Blade considered resisting, weighing the likelihood of downing the men in the tent before they plugged him. The probability factor was markedly slim. He allowed one of the soldiers to take his A-1 from him.
“It’s nice to see you have some intelligence to go with all those muscles,” commented the speaker with the harsh voice, a burly figure in a green uniform with gold clusters on his lapels.
A commotion erupted outside. There was the muffled blast of a solitary shot, the sounds of a struggle, someone shouting, “Get him!” and a loud thump.
“Outside!” barked the burly officer, and the three troopers covering Blade backed him out of the tent.
Blade noticed Geronimo standing in front of another tent, his hands in the air, surrounded by three more soldiers.
The officer was staring at a third tent. “Captain Rice! Any problems?”
The flap to the third tent opened and four soldiers emerged, three of them bearing an unconscious Hickok in their arms.
Blade started to move toward them, and the barrel of an M-16 was pressed against his left temple.
“Don’t move, buddy!” advised the trooper with the weapon.
Captain Rice, a lean man with a wisp of a moustache and a crooked nose, approached the first officer and saluted. “No problems, Colonel.”
“What was all that noise?” the colonel demanded.
“We followed your instructions to the letter,” Captain Rice explained.
“Incredibly, the fool went for his guns! Three M-16’s in his face and he went for his Pythons!”
“And the shot?” the colonel inquired, staring at Hickok.
“I couldn’t believe it,” Captain Rice stated, amazed. “The man is the fastest on the draw I’ve ever seen. He actually managed to clear leather before one of my men slugged him over the head. He even got off a shot.
He’s tricky, Colonel, real tricky. He handed over his rifle, no problem, but while I was taking it from him, momentarily distracted, he drew the Colts.
Private MacLean jarred his arms as he fired, as MacLean tried to grab him, and the shot missed me by an inch. It was close. Real close.”
The colonel grinned. “Hickok always did have more courage than brains.” He turned and faced Blade. “Isn’t that right, Blade?” he asked, pleased by the look of surprise flitting across the huge Warrior’s features.
“I should introduce myself. I am Colonel Jarvis. Does that name ring a bell?”
“Should it?” Blade responded.
“Possibly not, although I thought it might. You see,” Colonel Jarvis said, putting his left hand on Blade’s right shoulder in a deceptively friendly gesture, “I’m in charge of this district. You may recall running into some of my men in Thief River Falls? A few of them escaped and reported your activities there. You do remember what you did to my unit in Thief River Falls?”
Blade felt the colonel’s sturdy fingers dig into his flesh, and he was impressed by the officer’s strength. “Were those your men we went up against? They weren’t very professional,” he said baiting Jarvis.
“Oh, they were professional, all right,” Jarvis rejoined. “But they made the crucial mistake of underestimating your abilities. I won’t make that same mistake, I assure you.”
“You did already,” Blade taunted him, nodding at Hickok.
Jarvis’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the gunman. “Hickok is difficult to predict. He never does what you’d expect him to do, what any sane person would do.” He paused. “He’s developing quite a reputation. Did you know that? In fact, all of you are. Aren’t you curious to learn how I know so much about you?”
Blade exaggerated his feigned indifference, pretending to yawn. “I already know.”
“Oh?” Colonel Jarvis said doubtfully. “I’ll bet you do.”
Blade locked his eyes on Jarvis. “You’re an officer in the Army of Samuel the Second, the dictator of the Civilized Zone, which is what’s left of the former United States of America. Samuel the Second is the son of a man named Samuel Hyde. Hyde was the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare when the Third World War erupted, and he was the only member of the Cabinet to survive. Since Congress and the Supreme Court were wiped out, Hyde took over the reigns of government, declared martial law, and established a new national capital in Denver. Hyde died a few years back, and now his son is intent on reconquering all of the former territory of the United States, all the area outside the Civilized Zone. The Army has been used to keep tabs on all inhabited centers outside the Zone, using sophisticated technology to eavesdrop and maintain extensive files on each group you find. You know so much about us because you’ve been spying on the Family, on our Home, for years and years.” Blade stopped, a gleam in his eyes. “Any more stupid questions?”
Colonel Jarvis was having a hard time disguising his astonishment. “I had no idea you knew that much about us.”
“We know more,” Blade informed him.
“But how?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Colonel Jarvis smiled. “Well find out, sooner or later. But first, I’d wager you don’t know the reason we’re here, in the Twin Cities, and how it is we were waiting for you in these tents. Curious?”
Blade refused to reply.
“No need to answer,” Colonel Jarvis said, grinning. “If I were in your shoes, or should I say moccasins, I would be intensely curious. Bear with me a while and you’ll find out.”
“I am curious about one thing,” Blade mentioned.
“What?”
“Why are you being so courteous? Why not kill us and get it over with?”
Jarvis chuckled. “I’m a fighting man, Blade, like you and your fellow Warriors. My courtesy is simply professional respect, from one fighting man to another. As to the reason you’re not dead already, you can thank Samuel for that. He’s given orders to take you alive. You’ve caused him considerable grief, and Samuel is the type of man who firmly believes in an eye for an eye. I imagine he wants to pluck yours out.”
“If I ever get the opportunity,” Blade vowed, “I’ll do unto him as he intends to do to me.”
Colonel Jarvis placed his hands on his hips. “We have so much to talk about, but first things first.” He reached into a pocket on his shirt and extracted a black whistle.
Blade abruptly realized that Jarvis was the only soldier present not bearing a weapon.
Jarvis put the stem of the whistle between his thick lips and blew two sustained notes.
Immediately, from behind a stand of trees forty yards distant, a motor turned over with a sputtering roar. A few moments later a large truck, a troop transport, drove from concealment and toward the tents.
“My compliments,” Blade said, deciding he might glean more information from Jarvis if he acted friendly to the officer. “This operation was extremely well planned. Your doing?”
Jarvis beamed, delighted at the unexpected praise. “Yes. We knew you were returning to the Twin Cities, but we didn’t know when until one of our monitoring posts spotted your vehicle about ten miles outside the city. They radioed me, and I prepared my little trap.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Speaking of your vehicle…” He stared at the SEAL.
The troop transport braked to a stop a few yards from the tents, the canvas cover over the bed fluttering in the strong wind.
Colonel Jarvis looked at Blade and extended his calloused right hand.
“The keys, please.”
“I don’t have them.”
Jarvis nodded at Rice.
“Search them for the keys!” Rice commanded, and all three Warriors were subjected to a thorough search at gunpoint.
Blade was relieved of his Bowies and the Dan Wesson, while Geronimo was stripped of his Arminius and his cherished tomahawk. Hickock’s Colts were already in Rice’s possession.