Blade suddenly perceived the brilliance of their strategem. They had dug holes in the ground large enough to accommodate a man, 17 holes spaced at ten-foot intervals, aligned along the inner walls of the tent, invisible from the outside and imperceptible inside. An outstanding job of camouflage.
“You won’t leave this tent alive,” Samuel predicted.
Blade tensed, about to draw his Bowies. The odds were too great against him. His only consolation would be to take out Samuel before the Imperial Assassins got him.
“There’s one more question,” Samuel casually mentioned.
Blade started to ease his Bowies from their sheaths.
“Do you miss your father?” Samuel asked.
The unforeseen query startled Blade. His father? What did his father have to do with anything?
Samuel was grinning, obviously relishing the emotional torment he was causing the Warrior. “How many years has it been now? Four years since your father was killed?”
“Leave my father out of this!” Blade said, his tone low and threatening.
Samuel ignored him. “Do you remember how your father was killed?” he taunted.
Blade’s face was turning red.
“Of course you do,” Samuel answered his own question. “Your father was killed by a big cat. Did you ever wonder where that big cat came from?”
Blade felt as if he would explode. “I know where the cat came from! The Doktor sent it to kill my father!”
Samuel’s white eyebrows arched upward. “Oh? You know that, do you? The Doktor must have told you the cat was one of his earlier genetically engineered creations. A test-tube animal. Did you know the Doktor developed the cat from a mountain lion embryo? He raised the animal from a kitten. It would do whatever he wanted.”
Blade’s mind was spinning. Why was Samuel reminding him of all this?
“Actually,” Samuel resumed as if lecturing a student, “the animal was a consequence of the Doktor’s research with test-tube produced mutations and his work with the chemical clouds.”
Blade’s rage was almost uncontrollable.
“You must hate the creature responsible for your father’s demise,” Samuel remarked.
Blade slowly stood.
“Would you like to meet it?” Samuel innocently asked.
Blade couldn’t seem to find his voice. “What?”
“Would you like to meet it? I thought a reunion might be in order,” Samuel said. He nodded at one of the Imperial Assassins.
Four of the Assassins immediately lowered their swords and slid them into their scabbards. The four moved to a spot eight feet from the folding table. They formed a line, knelt, and felt along the ground with their hands. Satisfied, they rose as one and began walking to the right, pulling a section of the “ground” after them.
“Take a look,” Samuel urged Blade. “It’s an old friend of yours.”
Blade, bewildered, moved around the table.
The quartet of Assassins had uncovered a circular pit 20 feet in diameter.
So!
This explained why the tent was so large.
The pit had been covered by a heavy tarp, and the tarp coated with a layer of earth and clumps of weeds and grass.
But what had held aloft the tarp?
Blade walked to the edge of the pit and glanced down.
There was a thin, clear sheet of plastic covering the pit. The plastic sheet was half an inch thick and attached to the edge of the pit by a series of huge metal clamps. Apparently, one end of each clamp was shaped like a stake and imbedded in the upper wall of the pit. The clamp portion was secured to the plastic sheet, supporting it. Small holes had been drilled in the plastic sheet for ventilation purposes.
“A person could walk on that plastic without breaking it,” Samuel commented behind the Warrior. “It’s incredibly strong.”
Blade barely heard the words. His eyes were riveted on the creature reclining on the earthen floor of the pit, the creature responsible for ripping his father to shreds.
The monstrosity was eight feet in length, not counting the two-foot tail.
In general, its contours resembled a mountain lion. But there the resemblance ended. Its skin wasn’t smooth like a cougar’s; the texture was scabrous, with clumps of its light brown hair missing and replaced by festering sores. The creature’s ears were large and tapered to a point; its eyes were vivid green orbs, slanted at an angle across its forehead; its upper teeth protruded over its red lower lip; and saliva was drooling over his chin.
“The Doktor gave it to me as a gift after he tired of it,” Samuel was saying. “He named it Beelzebub.”
The deformed genetic deviate—Beelzebub—rose to its feet. Its paws were immense. A studded leather collar encircled its neck.
Blade’s body erupted in a cold sweat.
“You have no idea how much effort was entailed in arranging this touching reunion,” Samuel said. “But it was all worth it! I vowed to seek revenge for all of the trouble you’ve caused me. For what you did in Fox and Thief River Falls, for the disruption of my meticulous timetable in the Twin Cities, for Kalispell, and for the nuking of the Citadel at Cheyenne.
For all of them!” The dictator’s voice was rising in intensity.
Blade ignored Samuel. His eyes were locked on Beelzebub’s. The cat was staring up at him and snarling.
“After I’ve disposed of you,” Samuel was raving, “I will return to my army. We will withdraw to Denver and await the coming of spring. I will consolidate my empire and conscript more civilians into my military.
Then, when we outnumber your pitiful Freedom Federation force by five to one, I will attack.” He giggled inanely. “So much for the Freedom Federation.”
Blade’s hands were on his Bowies. He absently gazed at the floor of the pit, 12 feet below.
“By the time your people on the hill realize something is wrong and hurry down here,” Samuel gloated, “I will be safe with my troops. My Assassins will secret themselves until your army departs.”
Beelzebub suddenly roared, glaring fixedly at Blade, instinctively sensing the animosity, the sheer fury, welling up within the human.
“As I was saying before,” Samuel stated gleefully, “that plastic can sustain a man’s weight under normal circumstances. If you’re walking on it or standing on it you’ll be safe.” He snickered. “But I wonder what would happen if someone fell on it?”
Blade, his attention arrested by the killer of his father, realized his danger too late.
A pair of hands slammed into the Warrior’s back, hurtling him forward, over the edge of the pit and onto the sheet of plastic. He managed to brace his impact with his hands, but it wasn’t enough to reduce the shuddering shock to the plastic. The abrupt collision rocked the sheet, vibrating the plastic, causing it to bounce, to sway violently, to tremble and crack, and finally split in two.
Samuel screeched in delight.
Blade felt the plastic sheet give way. He slid through the gap, trying to retain a tenuous grip on part of the plastic. His left side bore the brunt of the impact. One half of the sheet thudded into the earth an inch from his head, almost decapitating him.
“Pull!” the dictator was bellowing. “Pull! Pull!”
Blade found himself on the ground in the middle of the pit. The two halves of the plastic sheet had caved inward, their inner rims digging into the floor of the pit, their outer rims pressed against the pit top.
Beelzebub was unscathed, but pinned behind one of the plastic sections.
The Imperial Assassins were grouped around the pit, bent over. They had hold of one section of plastic and were laboriously heaving the slab to the surface.
The section imprisoning Beelzebub was still in place. Evidently they were saving the best for last.
“Pull! Pull!” Samuel was dancing and prancing in ecstasy.