Anaheim Run

Chapter Four

Governor Melnick had explained his reasons for selecting Anaheim as the summit site in a letter to the leaders of each Freedom Federation faction, a letter relayed by President Toland a month before the summit. Toland had initiated negotiations with the Free State of California by sending two envoys to the state under the protection of a Civilized Zone army convoy.

Under explicit orders from Toland, the two envoys had remained in California for months, arranging the details of the summit. On their return to Denver with the good news, the envoys had carried the letters from Melnick.

Governor Melnick had picked Anaheim for several reasons. The state capital had been relocated from Sacramento to Los Angeles twelve years after World War Three. The rationing of fuel and the decline in the number of functional vehicles had made traveling to Sacramento increasingly difficult for the populace. Finding themselves relatively isolated from the major urban centers on the coast, the lawmakers and the governor had elected to move the seat of government. Because of Anaheim’s proximity to L.A., and because one part of Anaheim, in particular, was ideally suited for the summit, Melnick had chosen the city as the site.

As with every other city in the state, Anaheim had suffered a drastic drop in population after the war. Six months prior to World War Three, close to 250,000 citizens had resided there. One hundred five years after the war, only 20,000 called Anaheim home, and the majority of them occupied the northern half of the city. The southern section was sparsely populated, and Governor Melnick had wanted a site where the summit would not attract undue attention, would not be surrounded by crowds of the curious every day. Melnick knew the leaders would require an undisturbed atmosphere for their discussions, and he picked the perfect spot.

Before the war, an elaborate amusement park, now fallen into decay, had drawn tourists by the millions to Anaheim. But while the park no longer resounded to the peal of laughter and the hubbub of excited voices, a hotel southwest of the park was periodically utilized for seminars, conferences, and other governmental functions. The hotel, Melnick had decided, was the ideal place for the summit.

Blade mentally reviewed the letter from Governor Melnick, which Plato had allowed him to read, as their Free State Army escort wheeled onto West Street. He saw the hotel ahead to the left, and off to the northeast was the dilapidated amusement park. The hotel and vicinity were literally crawling with soldiers, all of them carrying M-16’s and bolstered pistols.

“I’d like to see those assassins try something here,” Captain Di Nofrio commented from behind the wheel. He steered the jeep toward the curb in front of the hotel.

Seated on the passenger side across from the officer, Blade frowned at the idea. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

“You don’t have anything to worry about here,” Di Nofrio assured the Warrior. “Our security is airtight.”

“If there’s one lesson I’ve learned from my years as a Warrior,” Blade remarked, “it’s never to become overconfident.”

“Look at all the troopers we have here!” Di Nofrio stated. “How could the assassins possibly get past us to kill the leaders?”

“Where there’s a will,” Blade noted, “there’s a way.”

“Never happen,” Di Nofrio said obstinately.

“I hope you’re right,” Blade mentioned.

“Do you have guards on the roof of the hotel?” Hickok asked from his seat behind the captain.

“Of course,” Di Nofrio replied. “And there are guards posted at ten-foot intervals all around the perimeter. I’m telling you, if those sons of bitches get in here then I’ll eat my shorts.”

“Well-done or rare?” Hickok retorted.

“Never happen!” Di Nofrio reiterated.

Blade saw the helicopter hovering above the hotel. The whirly-bird had caught up with them about seven miles from Anaheim.

Captain Di Nofrio braked the jeep, then turned off the motor. He glanced over his right shoulder at Plato. The Family Leader was quietly sitting next to Hickok, serenely contemplating the activity around him.

“The other Federation members are probably in the lobby,” said the captain. “They’ve been socializing since their arrival, waiting for President Toland and yourself to arrive. They know you are due to arrive about this time.”

“And there haven’t been any attacks on the other leaders?” Blade thought to inquire.

“None,” Di Nofrio said.

“No incidents of any kind?” Blade queried.

“There was one incident,” Di Nofrio answered, the corners of his mouth turning downward.

“What incident?” Blade asked.

“One of the Cavalrymen caused quite a stir yesterday,” Di Nofrio disclosed. “The Cavalry leader, a Mr. Kilrane, brought two bodyguards with him. A Mr. Boone and a Mr. Hamlin.”

“And?” Blade prompted.

“Well, Mr. Boone apparently took it upon himself to conduct some target practice without notifying security,” Di Nofrio elaborated. “He took a half-dozen bottles from the bar and went into the gardens behind the hotel. You can imagine the commotion when he started shooting.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Blade questioned.

“No, but some heated words were exchanged,” Di Nofrio detailed. “A corporal made the mistake of referring to Mr. Boone as an ignorant clod…”

Hickok cackled.

“…and Mr. Boone flattened the corporal,” Di Nofrio concluded.

“That’s Boone for you!” Hickok said. “I love it!”

“You know Mr. Boone?” Di Nofrio inquired.

“Sure do,” Hickok said. “Kilrane, Boone, and Hamlin have been to our Home a number of times for Federation get-togethers. Boone has a rep as being fast with his irons, almost as fast as me.” He paused, recollecting the fiasco at the airport. “Of course, he probably shoots straighter.”

“What makes you say that?” Di Nofrio asked.

“Never mind.”

“Let’s go inside,” Plato suggested. He removed the helmet and handed it to the captain, then extracted his beard from under his shirt.

“I’ll go with you,” Di Nofrio offered. “Governor Melnick has appointed an officer to act as your official liaison during your stay. I’ll find him for you.”

“You’re not our liaison?” Blade queried.

“No. The liaisons are all high-ranking officers,” Di Nofrio responded. “I believe a colonel has been assigned to you.”

“Well, you find this colonel and tell him we already have our liaison,” Blade instructed.

“You do? Who?” Di Nofrio asked, clearly confused.

“You,” Blade told him.

“Me!” Di Nofrio exclaimed. “I’m not your liaison!”

“You are now,” Blade stated.

Di Nofrio’s brown eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. I’m under orders to escort you here and then report to internal security. I expect to be assigned to oversee the guard detail on one of the hotel floors.”

“Tell your superiors your assignment has been changed. I want you as our liaison,” Blade directed.

“I don’t know,” Di Nofrio said, apparently flattered but unwilling to make waves.

“Give me one reason why we can’t have you as our liaison?” Blade demanded.

“It’s most irregular,” Di Nofrio said.

“That’s not a reason. Governor Melnick has gone out of his way to supply all our needs while we’re here,” Blade pointed out. “And he said if there was anything we wanted, anything at all, just say the word and it’s ours.” He paused. “I want you as our liaison. If your superiors want to know why, tell them I’m impressed by your professional behavior.”

“You are?”

“Now why don’t you go check in?” Blade advised. “We’ll be in the lobby if you need us.”

“Me? Liaison?” Di Nofrio climbed from the jeep, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I’ll be right back,” he promised and hurried off.

“Okay, pard. Clue me in,” Hickok stated. “What’s the real reason you want this tenderfoot as our liaison?”

“I’d relish learning your motive myself,” Plato added.

“Di Nofrio is housebroken,” Blade said.

Hickok chuckled.

Plato glanced from one Warrior to the other. “Would you elucidate?”

“What was the first thing your wife, Nadine did with that puppy President Toland gave her last year for her birthday?” Blade asked.

Plato reflected for a moment. A grin creased his features. “She disciplined the canine whenever it urinated or attempted to defecate in our cabin.”

“She taught it to behave,” Blade said. “The dog is under her control, under her thumb so to speak. Well, Captain Di Nofrio is under our thumb.

He won’t give us any grief if we decide to deviate from the official program, and we might need the latitude if worse comes to worst.” He smiled. “Besides, I like him. He reminds me of Nadine’s puppy.”

Plato stared at the hotel entrance. “Let’s venture inside. I’m eager to visit with the other delegates.”

Blade stepped from the jeep, admiring the structure. Because the government regularly used the hotel, the building was maintained in superb condition. The polished glass doors glistened in the sunlight.

Hickok stretched after clambering from the vehicle. “I hope they’ve got some grub in there. I’m starved.”

Plato joined them, carrying his flannel shirt and corduroy pants bundled under his left arm. “Shall we?” He motioned toward the glass doors.

Blade walked up to the doors, nodded at a pair of guards standing at attention, and opened the right-hand door for Plato.

The Family Leader squared his sloping shoulders and marched inside.

Hickok halted, indicating Blade should enter next. “You’re the chief Warrior. Protocol and all that.”

Blade laughed, followed Plato. “What do you know about protocol?” he queried over his left shoulder.

“Enough to know I should wear my knee-high moccasins when dealin’ with political types,” Hickok answered. “Do you recollect our history lessons in the Family school? Back in the old days, before the Big Blast, the politicians were either feedin’ the folks a load of bull or stealin’ them blind.”

“The Freedom Federation leaders aren’t stealing their people blind,” Blade remarked, “and they don’t feed anyone a load of bull.”

“Oh yeah?” Hickok rejoined. “Then why is it, every time I attend one of these summit shindigs and listen to all those long-winded speeches, I get a mite soggy from my knees down to my feet?”

“If you’d use a toilet or a tree you wouldn’t have that problem,” Blade quipped.

The hotel lobby was ornately furnished, with plush blue carpet, mahogany furniture, freshly painted walls, and potted plants in profusion.

Packed from wall to wall with prominent and minor bureaucrats, military types, assorted gofers, and members of the hotel staff, the lobby was filled with the hubbub of dozens and dozens of intermingled voices.

Plato stopped, surveying the scene.

Blade stood alongside Plato’s right arm, searching for the other members of the Freedom Federation. They were easy to spot, their attire causing them to stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Twenty feet off to the right were the representatives of the Cavalry, the horsemen of the northern Plains, a protective association controlling the former state of South Dakota, dedicated to defending the ranchers, farmers, Indians, townspeople, and other occupants of their territory. All three Cavalrymen were dressed in their usual garb: buckskins. Their leader, Kilrane, was a handsome man with blue eyes and streaks of gray in his brown hair. He was a big man, and he wore a Mitchell Single Action revolver on his right hip. With him were his two closest associates, Boone and Hamlin. Boone was tall and lean, over six feet, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His brown hair was worn shoulder-length. Buckled around his waist were a matching pair of 44 Magnum Hombre single-action revolvers. Hamlin was a small man with a scruffy beard and a wispy moustache. A Winchester was slung over his back.

Conversing with the Cavalrymen were the emissaries from the Clan.

Hundreds of refugees from the Twin Cities had settled in a town called Halma, located six miles from the Family’s compound, and named themselves the Clan in imitation of the Family. Zahner was their leader, a man of average height with sharp blue eyes, fine brown hair, and a distinctive cleft in the middle of his upper lip. He was wearing a brown shirt and brown trousers. To his right was one of his two lieutenants, a huge black man known as Bear. A curly Afro served to enhance Bear’s impressive stature. He preferred to wear a fatigue jacket and fatigue pants. To Bear’s right was Zahner’s second lieutenant, a bearded man dressed all in black. Brother Timothy was the spiritual standard-bearer for the Clan.

Blade stared straight ahead. The three envoys from the Flathead Indians were talking to several bureaucrats. Conspicuous by her youth and her stately bearing, seventeen-year-old Star was the head of her tribe. Her father, the former Chief, had perished in battle. Largely because of her unflagging efforts to inspire and reunite her tribe after a military setback, she was later chosen to lead them. Her lovely black hair hung to her waist, partially covering her beautiful brown leather dress adorned with intricate bead work. Attending her were her two counselors. Both were wearing their finest buckskins and robes. Red Cloud was the older of the counselors, in his forties, with a wisdom belying his years. Lone Bear was in his twenties, and Blade noticed his eyes seldom strayed from Star.

Seated by themselves in the rear of the lobby, aloof from the proceedings, were the three Moles, the representatives from the subterranean city called the Mound located in northern Minnesota. Their leader, Wolfe, ruled them with an iron hand. While not a despot, Wolfe came the closest of all the Freedom Federation leaders to being a true tyrant. He was exceptionally tall and abnormally thin, with an unruly mane of red hair crowning his haughty countenance and complementing his intense blue eyes. The color purple was his favorite, and he wore a purple shirt and purple slacks. He was flanked by two flunkies.

“I’d like to get their attention,” Plato absently commented.

Hickok cupped his hands around his mouth and stepped forward.

“Quiet!” he bellowed. “An hombre can’t hear himself think with all you yahoos yackin’ like a bunch of ninnies!”

Every eye in the lobby focused on the emissaries from the Family.

“You wanted their attention, you’ve got it,” Hickok said to Plato.

There were cries of greeting from some of the Freedom Federation members, and the Cavalry, Flathead, and Clan representatives started forward.

Plato held up his right hand, grimly surveying the crowd, bringing all motion to a standstill. “My friends, it is a great pleasure to see all of you once again! But I’m afraid our reunion must be tempered by the tragedy at the airport.”

Several of the Federation members exchanged confused glances.

Plato’s forehead creased. “Weren’t you informed?”

Zahner, the head of the Clan, spoke for the rest. “Informed about what?”

“About an hour and a half ago,” Plato detailed, “there was an assassination attempt on Governor Melnick and myself at the airport. Governor Melnick’s wife, Sharon, was slain.”

Stunned expressions filled the lobby.

“Enroute to Anaheim we were attacked again,” Plato continued.

“Accordingly, I’m requesting an emergency session of the Freedom Federation Council to convene immediately. It is imperative we develop contingency plans and formulate a strategem to neutralize this threat to the summit.”

Kilrane took several steps forward. “They have a conference room we can use.”

“Then let’s repair to the conference room and conduct our meeting,” Plato suggested.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Kilrane offered.

Plato nodded and went to follow the Cavalry leader, but Blade grabbed his wrist.

“Hold it,” Blade said. He released Plato and beckoned for the Federation members to gather around him.

Star came up to Plato and gave him a hug. “I wouldn’t care if the world was coming to an end,” she stated affectionately. “You still get a hug and a kiss from me.” So saying, she pecked him on the right cheek.

“I’m overjoyed to see you again,” Plato told her. During her twelfth year Star had resided at the Home, living with Plato and his wife, Nadine.

“Listen up,” Blade addressed the clustered delegates. “I expect the Free State Army will post guards on the conference room doors, but we are not going to rely on them for our security. We must protect our leaders ourselves. We’ll post our own guards to supplement the soldiers.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kilrane remarked.

“Then we should pick one of us to serve as security chief for the Council,” Blade recommended.

“That’s easy enough,” Kilrane stated. “You’re more qualified than anyone else.” He looked at the others. “Any objections to Blade being our security chief?”

No one objected.

“Okay, then,” Blade said. “While Plato, Kilrane, Zahner, Star, and Wolfe conduct their meeting, I want to get together with the rest of you right outside the conference room.” He glanced at Hickok. “All except for you.”

“Me?” the gunman commented.

Blade looked at Boone. “And you. I understand you’ve taken a tour of the hotel grounds.”

Boone grinned. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I want Hickok and you to patrol outside the hotel,” Blade directed.

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious.”

“Will do, pard,” Hickok said.

“Where is this conference room?” Blade asked Kilrane.

The Cavalry leader pointed to the right. “Over there.”

Blade looked up, scanning the right-hand side of the lobby, his gaze alighting on a solitary soldier standing at the very rear near an open door, a soldier with an M-16 pressed against his shoulder and aimed at the Federation delegates!

The sniper was leering as he sighted his M-16.

“Look out!” Blade shouted, diving, tackling Plato and bearing him to the carpet.

The lobby was rent by the metallic chatter of an automatic rifle.

Screams and yells punctuated the gunfire.

Blade looked up in time to see one of Wolfe’s flunkies take a shot in the head and topple over. The hapless man had been standing in a direct line between Plato and the assassin. Everyone else was flattening or ducking for cover behind furniture. With two notable exceptions.

Hickok and Boone had drawn and spun as the firing began, but lacking Blade’s height, they were unable to catch a clear glimpse of the sniper until the firing had stopped. They saw the assassin dart through the open door at the rear of the lobby and took off in pursuit, Hickok glancing back to insure Blade and Plato were unhurt.

Blade leaped to his feet. The sniper had simply sprayed his rounds in the general direction of the Federation delegates, and he had mowed down ten Free State citizens in the bargain. Crimson puddles dotted the blue carpet while groans of anguish wafted to the ceiling. Blade was relieved to discover Wolfe’s assistant was the only Federation casualty. “Let’s get to the conference room! Now!” he ordered.

Plato slowly stood, scowling as he surveyed the littered bodies.

Assistance was being rendered to the injured, while Wolfe was staring at his fallen flunkie with casual disinterest. “Most illogical,” Plato remarked.

“What is?” Blade asked.

“This attack,” Plato said. “We were the sniper’s target, yet he indiscriminately slaughtered innocent bystanders on the slim chance of slaying us. Why didn’t he bide his time until a more favorable opportunity arose?”

“Who knows?” Blade responded, shrugging. “They’d already tried twice and failed. Maybe they’re getting desperate. Or maybe this sniper was impatient or an amateur. Or maybe they just wanted to scare the other Federation delegates into calling off the summit.” He scrutinized the lobby. “So much for Free State Army security! They should have warned the delegates about the airport attack.”

“I’m positive Governor Melnick is too preoccupied at the moment over the untimely demise of his wife to have given any consideration to contacting the delegates. Then again, he may have surmised security here was adequate to counter any threat, and felt there was scant justification for alarming the Federation members.” Plato looked at the dead Mole.

“Hindsight is invariably perfect.”

Blade saw Kilrane waiting for them ten yards away. “Let’s get to the conference room,” he advised.

“What about Nathan and Boone?” Plato inquired.

“They can take care of themselves,” Blade replied.

From afar, from the rear of the hotel, sounded the booming of a revolver.