Lunch was a brief but hearty affair, during which Hale had a chance to eyeball some of the more advanced recruits and members of the organization’s small but dedicated staff. Munger made an appearance, but the Walkers were nowhere to be seen, and Hale felt increasingly sure that they weren’t around. Chances were that both had been killed during the long trip from Indianapolis. Anything else would amount to a miracle.
So as Puzo led the group on a one-mile hike to the makeshift firing range, Hale had already decided to miss at least half of the targets, as the first step of a plan to get himself ejected from the training camp. The sporadic sounds of gunfire could be heard as they came closer, Puzo sent Carty out looking for rocks, and the familiar smell of gunsmoke rode the otherwise clean air.
The shooting stand was protected by a long slanted roof, supported by six-by-six posts, all set in concrete. Beyond that a long stretch of open land could be seen, with a line of six targets at what Hale estimated to be a thousand yards, all backed by a mound of snow-clad earth. Wind flags hung limply at both sides of the embankment.
Puzo led his brood in behind the firing line—Hale saw that the person who was currently doing the shooting was armed with a Fareye. A military weapon she wasn’t supposed to have. And the woman was good—very good, as became obvious when she squeezed off the final round and put the rifle down on the table next to her.
“Good shot!” the range master said approvingly as he peered downrange through a pair of powerful binoculars. “You scored five bull’s-eyes out of six shots. Number four was just a hair outside, but still in the kill zone.”
“That isn’t good enough,” the shooter responded matter-of-factly. “I need six out of six.”
The sound of the woman’s voice sent a chill down Hale’s spine. “Susan?” he said. “Is that you?”
Susan Farley turned to look. It was the same face Hale remembered growing up with. She had the same high forehead, the same spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the same determined mouth. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Nathan? They told us you were dead!”
“This is all very touching,” Puzo said sarcastically, “but it’s a waste of time. Let’s clear the line… We have some shooting to do.”
“But she’s my sister!” Hale objected.
“And he’s in the Army,” Susan interjected, as her features began to harden. “Or he’s supposed to be. What did he say his name was?”
“Leary,” Puzo replied, as his eyes began to narrow.
“He’s lying,” Susan said grimly. “His real name is Hale.”
Hale tried to turn, tried to react, but the baseball bat was already in motion by that time. Hale saw an explosion of light, fell into a bottomless hole, and suddenly ceased to exist.
The rarely used interrogation center was located in the basement underneath the admin building, adjacent to a well-stocked armory. Hale was strapped to an X-shaped structure which was secured to a concrete wall. He had been stripped to the waist and was clearly unconscious. Two ceiling-mounted lights were angled to spotlight the prisoner, making his many scars clearly visible.
Three other people were present: Munger, Susan, and Puzo. They stood in a semicircle, backs to the door, as Puzo lifted a bucket of water up off the floor. Munger nodded. “Let him have it.”
Puzo grinned sadistically as the cold liquid hit Hale in the face and splashed the wall behind him. Susan felt a moment of regret as the man she had grown up with jerked convulsively and opened his strange yellow-gold eyes.
They served to remind Susan that this Nathan was very different from the one who had gone off to join the Army. This Nathan was probably an enemy, rather than a patriot, gone over to the Chimera.
Even if he hadn’t, he was a traitor. Because, generally speaking, those who backed the Grace administration and its efforts to rob American citizens of their freedoms were little better than stinks, insofar as Susan was concerned.
Hale tried to move his arms, discovered that he couldn’t, and blinked his eyes in order to get the water out of them. Then, his expression changing not at all, he looked from face to face.
“So,” he croaked. “You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting.”
Puzo had an old buggy whip that looked as if it had been salvaged from the barn, and was preparing to strike when Munger raised a hand. The DI frowned, as if disappointed, but lowered the whip. Hale knew the good-cop bad-cop routine when he saw it and waited to see what Munger would say. “You lied,” Munger stated flatly. “About your name, your background, and your reason for coming here. Now you’re going to tell the truth… Or Mr. Puzo will beat it out of you.”
Except for his desire to find the Walkers, the rest of the story was pretty damned obvious. So there wasn’t much to be gained by denying who he was, and Hale figured that if he played the situation correctly, he might be able to further his mission.
“Sure,” Hale said hoarsely, as he stared into Susan’s eyes. “What would you like to know?”
“What organization do you belong to?” Munger demanded.
“The Rangers,” Hale replied, which though not technically true, was close enough for government work. SRPA was still classified as top secret even though an increasing number of people were becoming aware of it.
“Good,” Munger said grimly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Why did you come here? To spy on us?”
“No,” Hale replied matter-of-factly. “We know just about everything there is to know about this facility. So, why bother?”
“This is bullshit,” Puzo complained bitterly. “He’s jacking us around. Let me work on him for a while. He’ll be calling for his mommy within fifteen minutes.”
“His mother is dead,” Susan put in bleakly. “She died defending her home with a twelve-gauge shotgun. I figure she killed ten, maybe twelve stinks before a Steelhead took her down, and I shot it with Pa’s Colt Peace keeper. Let him talk.”
Hale was impressed both by the steel in Susan’s voice and the way Puzo immediately backed down. As if her authority was superior to his.
“I came looking for Henry Walker,” Hale explained, “and his wife, Myra. Are they here?”
Suddenly the interrogation flip-flopped and Hale was the one checking expressions. Munger looked surprised, Susan appeared to be intrigued, and Puzo was taken aback. “Henry Walker? Who the hell is he?”
“He was the Secretary of War,” Hale replied. “A man who, according to authorities, fled his responsibilities in Washington, and wants to engage in negotiations with the Chimera. Something that Freedom First would almost certainly object to.”
“You’re kidding,” Munger said.
“No, I’m not,” Hale replied. “The Walkers were headed for Chicago. The government tracked Walker and his wife as far as Indianapolis, but lost them after that. I was part of a team that went into Chicago looking for them. We came up empty, so I was sent here on the off chance that they made it this far.”
“Chicago?” Puzo demanded incredulously. “That’s bullshit… Nobody goes into Chicago except for our people.”
“You have a radio,” Hale countered. “Call Jacoby, ask him if we were there, and who we were looking for.”
Munger, Susan, and Puzo looked at one another.
“Okay,” Munger agreed, “I will. And you’d better be on the up-and-up.”
“Terrific,” Hale replied. “In the meantime, I could use an ice pack, a handful of aspirin, and something to piss in.”