Somewhere off to the west an owl hooted.
Blade forced his mind to concentrate on the matter at hand. He was extremely worried about Bertha, and he couldn’t allow his concern to affect his effectiveness.
They had waited at the SEAL until well after dark, with Sundance pacing back and forth the whole while, and Bertha had never appeared.
Wherever she was, she was now on her own.
They reached a row of trees bordering the structure and stopped.
Without the moon, the night was murky, and visibility was restricted.
They could see for about ten yards; beyond that, only shadows.
Blade inched nearer to the arch. He discovered the ruins of a road and squatted, taking his bearings. They were traveling in a southerly direction, which meant the SEAL was parked in the forest about a mile to the north of the arch. The arch, whatever it might be, would serve as a landmark to guide them back to the SEAL. He ylanced both ways, then sprinted to the base of the structure.
Sundance joined him.
The arch was rough to the touch, as if it had been constructed of stone.
It rose high into the night, blocking out a section of the sky.
“What is it?” Sundance queried, running his left hand over the sandy texture.
“Maybe a monument of some kind,” Blade deduced. “We studied about Valley Forge in school, remember?”
Sundance pondered for a moment. “Yeah. Didn’t it have something to do with the Revolutionary War in America and George Washington, their first President?”
“This is the place,” Blade affirmed. “This arch must he a memorial. Why else would they have put it in the middle of a field? I’m amazed it’s still here after all this time.”
Sundance motioned toward the field. “Didn’t Bertha say this area was a park?”
“It was once,” Blade said, “but I seriously doubt the Russians would have bothered to maintain a shrine to American liberty.”
“Which explains why the place is overgrown with weeds,” Sundance mentioned, “and why the road is a wreck.”
“Let’s go,” Blade stated, leading off to the south.
They traversed another field and entered another stretch of woods.
“There’s a light,” Sundance said in a hushed tone, pointing.
Blade glanced to their left. A solitary light glowed approximately 400 yards to the southeast. “We’ll take a look,” he told Sundance.
The two Warriors bore to the southeast. The forest ended, and the Warriors discovered a quiet residential neighborhood. They crouched near a street curb and scanned the houses on both sides.
Blade felt his left Bowie hilt gouge his side. He had concealed the big knives under his uniform shirt, aligning the sheaths under his belt, with one Bowie on each hip. He shifted to alleviate the discomfort.
“Where is everyone?” Sundance murmured.
Blade was wondering the same thing. Except for the second residence on the left, all of the homes were dark, evidently uninhabited. And there was not a solitary soul in sight. He rose and ran across the street toward the first home on the left. The yard was a tangled jumble of weeds and brush, obviously neglected for years. Blade raced up the front porch, then stopped.
The home was a shambles, its door busted and hanging from the top hinge, its windows shattered. The pale yellow paint on the exterior was peeled and flaked.
Blade turned toward the next house. Sundance at his side, he jogged over to the north wall of the structure. The interior of the home was black, except for a flickering ball of light at ground level near the front door. The walls of this house, like the first, badly needed a paint job. Bits and pieces of broken glass from the windows lined the cement foundation.
The front door was located on the west side of the residence. Blade eased around the corner, bent down, and moved closer to the flickering light.
The glow was emanating from a busted basement window.
Blade dropped to his hands and knees, then inched to the edge of the window. He peeked past the metal lip.
The basement had a tenant. An elderly man with gray hair and a long gray beard was seated on a wooden stool, hungrily gnawing on a roasted rabbit leg. A small fire was burning in the middle of the concrete floor.
Dust and dirt covered the antique workbench, table, and chair positioned along the south wall, and the washer and dryer along the east wall.
Cobwebs dotted the beams in the ceiling. A flight of stairs on the north side of the basement provided access to the first floor.
Blade examined the window, comparing its frame dimensions to the width of his shoulders. He decided he could do it.
Sundance was waiting behind him.
Blade twisted, motioned with his right arm toward the front door, then pointed at the basement window.
Sundance nodded his understanding. He crept past Blade and reached the door. The FN 50-63 in his left hand, he tried the doorknob with his right.
The door swung open with a slight creek.
Sundance grinned and disappeared inside.
Blade peered into the basement. The elderly man was still chewing on the rabbit leg, striving to strip every last vestige of meat from the bone. He wore a blue shirt and brown pants, both garments exhibiting more holes than fabric. His brown leather shoes qualified as relics; on both of them, his toes protruded from the ends.
Blade lowered himself onto his abdomen, then positioned his body so he was perpendicular to the window. He slowly counted to ten, and on the count of ten galvanized into action. Using his elbows, he slid his arms, head, and shoulders through the window. He aimed the Commando at the man eating the rabbit.
The man in the basement was almost as spry as the animal he was consuming. He was on his feet and darting for the stairs in an instant, but he halted after only five steps and raised his arms in the air, dropping the rabbit leg.
Sundance was standing on the stairs, the FN pointed at the elderly man’s head.
Blade eased through the window, letting his body drop the seven feet to the floor. He executed an acrobatic maneuver in midair, jerking his feet down and swinging his torso upward, and alighted upright with the Commando trained on the man with the rabbit.
The elderly gentlemen glared from Sundance to Blade. “All right!” he snapped, displaying a gap where four of his upper front teeth had once been. “You caught me, you Commie bastards! Go on! Get it over with!”
Blade glanced at Sundance, who grinned.
“Get it over with!” the man demanded. “You finally caught old Nick! But it took you slime long enough, didn’t it?” He cackled.
Blade walked toward the man called Nick. “What are you babbling about?” he asked.
Nick cocked his head and scrutinized the giant. “Damn! They’re growin’ you sons of bitches big nowadays, ain’t they?”
“I think you’re laboring under a misapprehension,” Blade said.
Nick did a double take. “Damn! You pricks are speakin’ better English all the time!”
“You have us confused with someone else,” Blade stated.
“Oh? Who?” Nick replied.
“The Russians,” Blade explained.
Nick laughed and shook his head, his beard swaying. “You morons! Do you really think old Nick is as gullible as that? I won’t fall for your crock of shit!”
“We’re not Russians,” Blade said.
“You’re not?” Nick responded in mock astonishment. “Then those must be ballet costumes you’re wearin’!” He snickered.
Blade lowered the Commando barrel. “I’m serious. We’re not Russians. We confiscated these uniforms.”
“Yeah. Right. What are you tryin’ to pull? Are you with the KGB?” Nick queried.
“What must I do to convince you we’re not Russian troopers?” Blade inquired.