“That’ll work,” Dice said.
“I’ve got movement over here,” Boone reported from the window on the left.
Fletcher and Dice turned, scampering to his position.
Boone pointed. “Eight o’clock. Just beyond that rise. See the dust?”
Fletcher did, watching small puffs billow into the sky beyond the rise.
“It’s moving too fast to be a bunch of Scabs, unless they went bionic or something,” Boone said.
“Chances are, it’s him,” Dice added. “Unless Carr and her group somehow figured out where we are.”
Boone brought his eyes down and checked the chamber of his AR-10, then released the magazine with the lever on the side. He spun the ammo holder in his hand and tapped it twice on floor to align the rounds. He peered at Fletcher as he slammed it back into the lower receiver, looking sure of himself. “Either way, I’m gonna burn ‘em all.”
Fletcher put a hand on the giant’s shoulder. “One step at a time, Boone. I don’t want any mistakes. Not today. We need this guy in one piece.”
Longbow joined the conversation from his position at the other window. “What if it’s Edison’s group? We can’t let them find us here.”
Fletcher gave Longbow a stern look, needing the conversation to stop. And the paranoia. “If that happens, let me handle it. Nobody fires until I give the order. Is that clear?”
“You got it, boss,” Longbow said.
“Yes, sir,” Boone said, his eyes shooting to the ceiling after a pounding of footsteps raced across the roof.
“Sounds like Pepper is in position,” Dice said, also following the footsteps with his eyes.
“All right, everyone stay sharp,” Fletcher said, walking to the door of the train station. Dice joined him, taking position on the other side of the entrance.
Fletcher kept his body positioned behind the edge of the doorframe as he pulled his semi-automatic sidearm from the holster, then racked the slide of the 1911. He didn’t want to fire the .45, but he would if he had to.
“Time to nut up or shut up,” Dice said, his pistol drawn as well.
CHAPTER 24
“There he is,” Dice said, seeing a dual-axle truck racing up the road, its beefy tires taking the dips and turns at high speed. “And I thought I was a lead foot.”
The camo-covered truck slowed to a crawl as it began a wide circular approach. Fifty yards later, the driver rolled down the side window and held out a white flag with a red stripe on it.
“That’s him,” Dice said.
Fletcher turned to the men behind him, stationed at the windows. “Keep an eye on our flanks, gentlemen.”
“Roger that,” Boone said from his firing position.
Longbow held firm as well, his rifle high and tight against his shoulder.
The truck swung around from left to right as it drove over the train tracks and brought the passenger side door into view, coming to a stop only twenty yards in front of the station’s entrance. There were smears of red on the side—either paint or blood, Dice assumed.
When the driver opened his door on the far side and hopped out, Dice’s assumption about his identity was confirmed after the man walked to the hood and turned toward them, passing the front bumper. It was their leather-clad source, complete with head-to-toe garb that included a full mask and a long coat that resembled a cape.
“I see he’s still carrying those damn swords,” Fletcher whispered in an irreverent tone.
Dice nodded, wondering if the Nomad ever left the weapons behind. Or his mask, for that matter, never attending their meets without it.
The man looked medieval, a strange sight to be sure, his extra-thick leather costume providing armor-like protection from teeth and claws.
However, a high-velocity bullet would have no issues penetrating the animal hide, nor would a honed Ka-bar knife. Or one of the man’s own swords, if Dice had to guess.
Fletcher put his pistol back into its holster and walked out the door.
Dice did the same, taking position next to his commander’s left shoulder.
“Call off your dogs,” the Nomad said in a firm voice, sounding the parts of both superhero and vigilante. “Just me today. Nothing different.”
Fletcher craned his neck and peered up to Pepper, giving him a quick hand wave.
Pepper backed away, he and the front sight of his sniper rifle disappearing from view on the roof.
The Nomad pointed at the closest window alongside the train station. “And the others—”
Fletcher put two fingers into his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. “Stand down, men.”
The Nomad leaned to the side for a moment, his eyes locked onto the window he’d just pointed at.
“Are we good?” Fletcher asked.
The Nomad nodded as he brought his focus back, the hood on his head jostling in concert with the movement.
“What do you have for us?” Fletcher asked.
The Nomad held for a moment, his upper body leaning toward the middle of the doorway, indicating he was looking beyond Fletcher and into the station. “The fuel?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Not so fast, my friend. Intel first. Then I’ll have the diesel brought up.”
“Not acceptable.”
“It is today.”
The Nomad paused, his hands resting on the handles of his twin swords, both curved and hanging on his sides in their sheaths. “Why the change?”
“After last time, when you came empty-handed, we need to be more cautious.”
“A circuit board and smut magazines are not nothing.”
“But you didn’t bring the coordinates.”
“A much harder get.”
“Hence our wariness. The tougher the intel, the more vigilant we must become. How do we know you didn’t show up empty-handed again?”
The Nomad took his right hand off the sword and brought it to the middle of his chest. He tapped his fingers on the leather suit, directly over his heart. “It’s right here.”
“Then let’s have it,” Fletcher said, holding out his palm.
“The fuel.”
“We could always just take what we want,” Dice said. “We outnumber you five to one.”
“Wouldn’t end well for you.”
“Actually, it’s the other way around.”
The Nomad shook his head. “Many have tried and all have failed.”
“Easy now, boys; this doesn’t have to escalate,” Fletcher said. “We have the fuel, as agreed. Just need to verify the intel first.”
The Nomad took a step back with both hands on his weapons. “The fuel or we won’t meet again.”
“He’s bluffing, boss,” Dice said. “He needs the diesel worse than us.”
“Nomad doesn’t bluff,” the Nomad said.
Dice looked at Fletcher. “You believe the nerve of this guy? After all this time, he doesn’t trust us. I take that as a personal insult, don’t you?”
“Nor does he wait,” the Nomad added. “You have until the count of ten.”
With that, the Nomad began a countdown, starting with the number ten and reciting the next lowest digit in one-second increments.
The three of them stood firm as the sequence continued, the air around Dice seemingly getting thicker and harder to breathe with each successive numeral.
When the Nomad reached the number four, he pulled his swords from their sheaths, as if he were starring in a slow-motion scene from a Hollywood movie.
After the tips of the blades found air, the Nomad brought them together in a crisscross pattern, his front leg bent low, with the rest of his body in ninja fighting position. “Shoot me if you must, but the intel dies with me.”
“We’ll just take it after we waste you,” Dice said, fighting to keep his laughter under control. The Nomad had no idea what Boone was ready and willing to do. Or Longbow, for that matter. The Nomad wouldn’t make it ten feet.