Anaheim Run

Chapter Seven

Hickok froze, his right leg suspended above the alligator, his hands inches from his Pythons.

The blamed critter was real!

Hickok was in a quandary. If he planted a couple of slugs in the gator, he’d alert the assassin to his proximity. But he had to make some move, and soon! The confounded reptile wasn’t going to lie still forever. He realized the alligator had been sunning itself on the bank. Where the dickens could the beast have come from? he wondered. Had its ancestors escaped from a zoo?

The alligator abruptly opened its gaping maw.

Hickok tensed, prepared to draw, but the gator didn’t budge. Why in the world was the thing just lying there with its mouth open? Was it trying to catch flies? No. There weren’t any flies in January. Was the reptile sunning its teeth?

The alligator grunted.

Hickok couldn’t afford to wait any longer. If the alligator wasn’t aware of his presence, the thing would be soon. And if the gator knew he was standing here, then either it wasn’t hungry or didn’t care two hoots.

The gator emitted a loud burp.

Hickok made his move, dropping onto his knees on top of the alligator and sweeping his fists downward, boxing the reptile’s eyes, hoping the blows would temporarily obscure its vision. He dived to the right, hitting the turf and rolling, coming erect with the Colts clearing leather and cocked.

The alligator was sliding backwards into the lake, its head disappearing below the water.

Hickok grinned and holstered the Pythons. “Piece of cake,” he mumbled.

The water suddenly stirred and rippled, and the alligator’s protruding eyes appeared above the surface.

Hickok braced for an attack, wondering how fast gators could run.

The alligator studied the human for a minute, then sank from sight with a flip of its tail.

“Adios,” Hickok said, and resumed his hunt. The lake angled to the northeast, and he began to speculate on whether the lake wasn’t really a river.

Buildings loomed ahead.

The structures were in disrepair, consistent with the century of neglect they’d suffered. Windows were cracked or missing, the paint was peeling, and on one of them the roof was crumbling. The verdant forest had reclaimed the land surrounding the buildings, and trees were growing right next to the walls.

Hickok darted from tree to tree, probing for evidence of habitation. The edifices were dark and gloomy. The Warrior circled to the north, 30 feet from the structures. If someone was in there, then they had…

Bingo!

Hickok ducked down as he spied a faint light glimmering in the bowels of one of the buildings.

Was it the assassin?

The gunman dashed toward the side of the structure, using the trees and bushes for cover as he zigzagged ever nearer. He reached the wall and pressed his back flush with the wood, listening. All was quiet inside.

So far, so good.

Hickok spotted a door at the top of a ramshackle porch, and he tiptoed up the sagging steps, halting when one of them creaked, then continuing to the door when the creak went unchallenged. Whoever these cow chips were, their security wasn’t worth beans!

Someone was talking.

Hickok stopped, cocking his head. The words were muffled, incomprehensible. The door was ajar, revealing a glimpse of a dusty, murky interior. Hickok edged through the doorway, easing the door aside only as much as necessary to permit his passage.

The voice increased in volume, but the individual words were still indistinguishable.

Hickok found himself in a room filled with grime-overed prewar furniture and artifacts. He sidled toward an open door on the opposite side. Bright light was emanating from whatever lay beyond. The gunman warily crossed the room until he was standing behind the open door. He pressed his right eye to the crack between the door and the jamb.

The light was coming from four lanterns hanging from nails which had been hammered into the walls, illuminating a spacious chamber, its windows boarded over, containing tables and chairs.

Hickok’s eyes narrowed. He counted nine occupants as well.

There were six men and three women in the room, each one attired in a black robe secured by a thin red sash. Four of the men and the trio of women were seated in metal folding chairs, facing a tall figure. Interposed between them was a man in a soldier’s uniform, holding his bloody left arm against his side.

Hickok couldn’t see the faces of the men and women in the chairs because their backs were to him. Likewise with the assassin in the trooper’s uniform. But the tall figure’s features were cast in stark relief by the glow of the lanterns.

The tall one was standing on a crate or wooden box, as if he felt the need to accentuate his already lofty six-and-a-half-foot frame. His hair was auburn, neatly combed and hanging to his broad shoulders. Pale blue eyes were gazing coldly at the one in the uniform. His facial lines exhibited a decidedly sinister aspect. “Explain your failure to us again, Neborak,” he demanded in a low, commanding tone.

Hickok saw the assassin in the uniform fidget and glance nervously at those seated to his rear.

“I asked you a question,” the tall man reiterated.

“I didn’t fail, Kraken!” Neborak blurted. “I know I got one or two of them!”

Kraken raised his right hand and thoughtfully stroked his tapered chin.

“Which ones?”

“I’m not sure,” Neborak replied.

Kraken’s blue orbs bored into Neborak. “You’re not sure? How can this be, brother? You just told us you know you got one or two of them. Yet you’re uncertain of which ones.”

“I mean I saw a couple of them fall,” Neborak stated hastily. “But I’m not sure which two they were.”

Kraken surveyed the men and women in the chairs. “Did you hear Neborak, brothers and sisters? Do his words trouble you as much as they do me?”

“I couldn’t stay to verify the kills!” Neborak cried. “I was hit!”

“Ahhhh, yes. Your wound.” Kraken gazed at Neborak’s left arm. “The elbow, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“And who shot you? A Free State soldier?” Kraken inquired.

“One of the Warriors,” Neborak answered. “I think it was the one called Hickok.”

“You encountered Hickok and you’re still alive?” Kraken rejoined.

“Most remarkable. Hickok is a formidable adversary.”

Hickok nodded. Now he knew who the brains of this outfit was.

“It was Hickok, I tell you,” Neborak insisted.

The man named Kraken sighed. “All this prevarication is most distressing.”

“All this what?” Neborak asked.

Kraken placed his hands on his hips, the baggy sleeves of his robe draping over his knuckles. “Why don’t you reassure us, brother? Go over it again. The Gild will be your judge.”

Neborak looked at his seated peers, licking his lips.

“Proceed,” Kraken ordered.

“I followed my instructions exactly,” Neborak said. “I took one of the uniforms Emery stole for us and met him at the northeast corner of the hotel grounds where they have the garbage cans. I scaled the wall when the guard on the roof was looking the other way, and Emery led me to the rear of the hotel. I stashed my Darter in the garden, in case I needed it for my getaway. Emery took me to a locked closet in a hallway, then unlocked it so I could hide there. There was a fully loaded M-16 in the closet.”

Kraken smiled. “Emery is a consumate professional. If only all the Gild members could be so dedicated to their craft! Go on.”

“I waited until Emery came back and told me that Plato and two Warriors had arrived,” Neborak said, continuing his narration. “I went to the lobby and shot at Plato and the other leaders. I know two of them went down. Then before I knew it, soldiers were pouring out of the woodwork after me. I barely got out with my life.”

“I thought you said Hickok was after you?” Kraken queried.

“He was,” Neborak quickly answered. “So were the soldiers.”

“This gets better and better!” Kraken said sarcastically. “Now you managed to escape with half the Free State Army and one of the Warriors after you!”

Neborak didn’t appear to notice the sarcasm. “I felt it was my duty to return and report.”

“Your duty?” Kraken repeated, then said the words again, his voice booming. “Your duty? I seriously doubt you know the definition of the word! Foster performed his duty, when he blew himself up rather than be taken at the airport. Emery is performing his duty by going undercover, by allowing me to plant him on the kitchen staff as our inside man at the hotel. But you! You spineless worm! You wouldn’t know what duty was if it jumped up and bit you on the ass!”

“Kraken—” Neborak began.

“Silence!” Kraken roared.

Neborak backed up a step.

“I will tell you what you really did!” Kraken bellowed. “I will tell you what really happened! Emery snuck you inside the hotel, as he was supposed to do. And he obtained an M-16 for you, so you could mingle with the other soldiers without drawing attention to yourself. But when it came time for you to terminate the Freedom Federation leaders, you suddenly sprouted a yellow streak down your spine! Instead of mingling and getting as close to the leaders as possible, as ordered, you opened up too soon, and from too far away! Am I right?”

“No,” Neborak responded, his voice wavering.

“Don’t lie to me!” Kraken admonished. “If you had gotten as close to the Federation Leaders as you should have been, you would know which ones were dead! And you wouldn’t have only shot one or two of them! If you’d been as close to them as you are to me, and if you’d used the M-16 on full automatic, all of the leaders would be dead!”

Neborak retreated another step.

“And after making your ineffectual attempt, you fled!” Kraken stated.

“Instead of seeing your mission through to its end or perishing in the effort, you decided your life was worth more than your duty! You’ve placed a higher premium on yourself than on your membership in the Gild.”

Neborak didn’t respond.

Kraken’s attitude abruptly altered. His shoulders slumped and he sadly shook his head. “I am very disappointed in you, brother. Very disappointed. I expected much better from you. You knew the rules before you entered the Guild. No one forced you to join. No one was twisting your arm. Foster nominated you for membership because he believed you were proficient at our trade. I’m glad he didn’t live long enough to discover the error he made.”

“Please, Kraken,” Neborak said. “Give me a break! I never could have pulled it off anyway! There were too many soldiers there! And the Warriors! At least I tried!”

Kraken straightened. “Any endeavor is a waste if success is not achieved,” he philosophized.

“I’ll do better next time,” Neborak promised. “You wait and see! I’ll nail those bastards next time!”

Kraken frowned. “There will be no next time, brother.”

“What… what do you mean?” Neborak asked iremulously.

“You know what I mean,” Kraken stated. He surveyed those seated before him. “Brothers and sisters of the Gild! You have heard the testimony. What is your verdict?”

In turn, each of the men and women extended their right arm, fist clenched, thumb pointing downward.

“The verdict has been rendered,” Kraken announced.

“No!” Neborak cried, glancing anxiously about the room as if seeking an avenue of escape from his fate.

“This isn’t fair! I should get another chance!”

Kraken looked at one of the seated men. “Nightshade.”

Hickok saw the man rise. This assassin was of average height and build, but he wasn’t entirely human in appearance. Somewhere along the line his ancestors had been subjected to massive doses of radiation or been exposed to some of the physiology-warping chemicals polluting the environment. His oily hair was coal black, his skin a dark gray. Slanted yellow eyes and a hooked nose dominated his facial features. Prominent cheekbones accented his unnaturally reddish lips. Nightshade was a mutant.

Neborak stared at the hybrid in undisguised fear. “Nightshade! No! Don’t!”

The one named Nightshade stood still for a moment, his arms at his sides. Then his right arm swept up, his hand bent vertical.

There was a streak of silver, and a six-inch needlelike shaft pierced Neborak’s forehead, snapping his head back. Neborak stiffened, his eyelids fluttering, and then pitched forward.

“Thank you, brother Nightshade,” Kraken said. “Now would you be so kind as to dispose of the coward? Feed the corpse to our saurian friend.”

Nightshade walked to the body, stooped, and effortlessly lifted Neborak, draping his former comrade over his right shoulder.

Hickok watched Nightshade exit the chamber through a door in the north wall. His eyes narrowed as he spied a row of weapons leaning against the wall near the doorway. The mystery weapons! They were similar to a conventional rifle, with a stock and a barrel, but they were outfitted with an odd, oblong metal cylinder attached to the underside of the barrel in front of the trigger mechanism. A slender tube, apparently utilized to house whatever ammunition the weapon fired, ran from the cylinder to just shy of the tip of the barrel.

“Brothers and sisters of the Gild!” Kraken declared. “Our employer would not be pleased with our performance to date! And frankly, neither am I! We have made three attempts to fulfill our contract, and each one has failed.” He paused. “Even discounting Brother Neborak’s dismal inefficiency, we are not earning our commission. This is deplorable! The Gild has never failed to execute an assignment, and we will not fail this time!”

“Do you have a plan, Kraken?” asked one of the men in a high voice.

“Of course, Brother Leftwich,” Kraken answered confidently. “I will explain my plan in a moment. But first, I need a volunteer to go to the hotel for me. Who will it be?”

Leftwich, a skinny man with a sallow complexion, stood. “I’ll go. What needs to be done?”

“You must contact Emery and instruct him to await further orders. I am concerned he might needlessly expose himself to risk, and we can’t afford to lose him,” Kraken said.

“Emery wouldn’t do anything stupid,” Leftwich commented.

“Ordinarily, no,” Kraken stated. “But he might seek to take advantage of Neborak’s blunder. I directed Emery to refrain from becoming actively involved because his inside information is invaluable. But I know Emery, I know his devotion to our Gild. If he thinks there is a chance to achieve our primary goal, he will take advantage of the opportunity. Emery might attempt to terminate the targets himself while our foes are off balance. I want you to take one of the stolen uniforms and go to the hotel. Advise Emery to lay low.”

“You can count on me,” Leftwich said. He promptly departed through the door in the north wall.

“I have a question, guv,” spoke up one of the men in a marked accent.

He had curly brown hair.

“What is it, Charley?” Kraken inquired.

“I may be oversteppin’ my bounds, mate,” Charley said, “But I can’t help but wonder why the Gild messes with all this piddlin’ work when we could be callin’ the shots? You know what I mean?”

“Our English representative has asked a valid question,” Kraken noted.

English representative? Hickok was startled by the revelation. Except for the Russians, he hadn’t heard of anyone venturing overseas, or coming from overseas, since the Big Blast. Had England survived the war? And what about the rest of Europe?

“You would like to call the shots, would you, Charley?” Kraken asked the British assassin.

“Of course, guv. Who wouldn’t?” Charley responded.

Kraken grinned. “I like initiative in my people. Stick with me and your wildest dreams will come true. We will be calling the shots, as you put it, quite soon. I realize that, on an international scale, the leaders of the Freedom Federation are small potatoes. Very small potatoes indeed. But they are a means to an end. I can’t confide all of the details at this time, but rest assured we will see the Gild’s power grow to new heights as a consequence of the completion of this contract.”

The members of the Gild exchanged puzzled glances.

Kraken noticed. “I can say this,” he added to appease their curiosity.

“We are receiving more than gold in exchange for the elimination of the Federation leaders. In addition to our standard fee, we will acquire certain information, information which will enable the Gild to become a major player globally. We will become the ultimate power brokers.”

Hickok was striving to comprehend the significance of everything he’d overheard. The Gild was obviously an international assocation of professional assassins, and they evidently sold their lethal services to anyone able to meet their price. Less obvious was the reason someone wanted the Freedom Federation leaders murdered. The gunman debated whether to burst into the room, guns blazing, and get as many of the Gild members as he could, or whether to go warn Blade. Even if he managed to gun down these, what if there were others nearby?

Kraken raised his right fist overhead. “To the Gild!”

The Gild members stood and imitated his gesture. “To the Gild!” they echoed.

Hickok backed away from the meeting room. Blade and Plato needed to be informed about the Gild, and he was the only one who could tell them.

He carefully inched toward the front door, and he was halfway there when his extraordinary sixth sense, developed over the course of years of fighting experience, flared, alerting him he wasn’t alone, that someone else was very, very close. He whirled toward the front door, his hands dropping to his Colts.

One of the Gild members was framed in the doorway, cradling a mystery weapon in his hands. The barrel was fixed unwaveringly on the gunfighter.

With a shock, Hickok realized his path was being blocked by the one known as Nightshade!