«Every once in a while that boy comes through!… Detail the situation and let’s move!»
«Will do. When does our general walk out?»
«As soon as I see the rube and the princess cross the street, separately, and make sure she goes first… Where are the three holy joes? I can’t see ’em.»
«You couldn’t. They’re on this side, making their way through the riot. You’d think people would have more respect for religious types. Desis One and Two have already clobbered a dozen yahoos, and I swear I saw D-One rip off five watches!»
«That’s all we need, a preacher-mugger!»
«That’s what we got, Daffodil… Out, here come our two attorneys, Punch and Judy.»
«Whip ’em into shape, Colonel. That’s an order!»
«Listen, massa, you’re lucky I’m smarter than you or I’d take offense.»
«Huh?»
«Never mind, your instincts are right. Out.»
The Hawk put his walkie-talkie back in his distressed overcoat pocket and turned to Sutton. «Only a couple of minutes now, Henry. Are you ready?»
«Ready?» said the actor, controlled fury in his voice. «You idiot! How can I possibly command the stage with that fracas going on?»
«Come on, Hank, you told me only a couple of hours ago that this thing was practically ‘offstage.’»
«That was an objective analysis, not a subjective interpretation. There are no small parts, only small players.»
«Huh?»
«You’re extremely insensitive where the arts are concerned, MacKenzie.»
«Yeah?»
«The lovely Jennifer is crossing the street—God, the wardrobe mistress should be fired forthwith! She’s a harlot!»
«That’s the idea… There goes Sam—»
«Where?»
«The guy in the checkered suit—»
«Wearing that ridiculous hat?»
«Looks different, doesn’t he?»
«He looks positively stupid!»
«That’s what we want. No smart lawyer there.»
«Good Lord!» exclaimed the actor. «Did you see that?»
«See what?»
«The minister in the gray suit—over there—the one climbing the steps with a priest and what appears to be an old rabbi between them.»
«Oh, oh… What happened?»
«I swear to you the vicar just punched a man and stole his watch. Ripped it right off his wrist!»
«Damnation! I told the colonel that’s all we needed, a preacher who’s stealing his flock blind.»
«You know …? Oh, my word, of course you do. The elderly man in the rabbinical clothes is Aaron! And the two others are those fellows from Argentina or Mexico!»
«Puerto Rico, but that’s not important. They’ve reached the top, they’ll get in … You’re on, General!»
Static erupted from the Hawk’s radio; he yanked it out of his pocket as the voice of Cyrus burst forth. «I’m crossing the street. Wish me luck!»
«All systems are go, Colonel… Calfnose, come in!»
«I’m here, don’t shout. What is it?»
«Cut the Indian stuff and go into the national anthem.»
«Ours is better, you can sing it.»
«Now, Johnny! Our general’s going out!»
«You got it, paleface.»
«This is it, Henry! Make it good!»
«I’ve never made it bad, you jackass,» said the actor as he took several deep breaths, pulled himself up to his full imposing height, and strode out toward the rioting crowd and the sudden Wopotami rendition of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ The chorus was, in a word, spectacular. Voices rose to the heavens and the sight of forty painted, weeping faces of America’s original inhabitants had a striking effect on the crowd. Even the fiercely aggressive commandos, in deadly combat with the union-busting thugs, held their adversaries off with straightarms and hands around throats. The goons dropped their brass knuckles and their blackjacks, and all stared at the tragic figures singing their hearts out in devotion to a land that had been stolen from them. Many tears were starting to cloud the eyes of the onlookers.
«Now is the winter of our discontent!» roared Sir Henry Irving Sutton in his most stentorian voice as he climbed to the fourth step and turned to the crowd. «Dogs may bark at us, but our vision is clear. A dreadful wrong has been done, and we are here to right it! To be or not to be, that is the question …»
«That son of a bitch can go on for an hour,» whispered MacKenzie Hawkins into his radio. «Where is everybody? Answer by your numbers!»
«We are in dee big stone hall, but chu don’ unnerstand, Heneral—»
«I’ve got the princess and the rube with me,» said Cyrus, «and you really don’t understand!»
«What the hell are you two talking about?»
«A little number you hadn’t figured on,» explained the mercenary. «They’ve got metal detectors in here and if Jenny or Sam or Mr. Pinkus passes through, they’ll set off every alarm in the building and probably most of Washington.»
«Oh, m’God! What’s this country coming to?»
«I suppose I should say something like ‘look to the root causes,’ but right now we’re screwed.»
«Not yet, Buttercup,» yelled the Hawk. «Calfnose, are you on the line?»
«Sure am, T.H., and we’ve also got a problem. Our people have had it with your friend Vinnie. I mean he’s one big pain in the ass.»
«What’s he done? You’ve only had him since this morning—what could he do?»
«Kvetch, kvetch, kvetch, that’s all he does! Then his friend shows up, the little guy who talks like a chicken, and before you can say Geronimo, we’ve got a dozen crap games going on all over the motel with Joey something-or-other running from room to room to catch the action. Catch it, I might add, with very funny dice. He cleaned up, and a lot of our braves were cleaned out.»
«We don’t have time for this!»
«Make it, T.H., while your general, who I’ve got to admit looks like you, is still yelling his head off. Our boys and girls are mad as hell, and they’re not going to take it anymore. They want those two scumballs out and their money back!»
«They’ll get their money back fifty times over, I promise!»
«Holy shit! Do you see what I see, T.H.?»
«I’m at the edge of this building and there’s too much going on—»
«A bunch of guys in funny green and black suits are breaking through our ranks … wait a second! Now some others—either linebackers or apes in business suits—are joining them. They’re going after your general!»
«Execute Plan B, Number One priority! Get him out of there! We can’t let him be hurt… Start the chanting and the dancing. Now!»
«What about the two scumballs, Vinnie and the chicken?»
«Sit on ’em!»
«We did that on the bus. The little guy bit Eagle Eyes’ ass.»
«Execute. I’m heading over!»
Colonel Tom Deerfoot, arguably the smartest officer in the United States Air Force and certainly in line for the chairmanship of the Joint Chiefs, was strolling through the streets of Washington, showing his niece and nephew the usual sights. As the trio turned right off Constitution Avenue toward the Supreme Court, Deerfoot’s ears picked up various familiar sounds stored somewhere in his memory banks; chants that went back to his childhood forty-odd years ago in upper New York State near the Canadian border. Tom Deerfoot was a full-blooded Mohawk, and the words and rhythms he heard were a slight variation of his own tribe’s language.