End Game

CHAPTER 31

Robie was shackled and sitting next to Reel, who still had not regained consciousness, but sat slumped to the side.

On the other side of her was Holly, similarly shackled and also gagged.

They hadn’t been able to talk at all after Robie had put down his weapon and the skins had hustled him out of the Yukon and carried the unconscious Reel behind him. They were now in a panel van that had driven up a few minutes after the battle had ended.

They were seated on the floor in the back with three skins across from them, pointing weapons at their heads.

Reel’s head lolled around and came to rest against Robie’s.

One of the skins grinned at him. “We’re gonna so mess you up, asshole.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

The man sneered. “You and the bitch got lucky before. Now your luck’s run out.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that either. You know we’re federal agents. You want to bring that kind of attention down on you?”

“I see it as a bonus. Government’s the enemy. And you’re the fucking government in spades.”

It seemed that they had been driving a long time before the van slowed, then stopped and then started up again, but only for a short distance. Robie thought he could hear some sort of machinery running.

The back doors of the van opened and more men appeared there. They were all skinheads, tatted with swastikas and other symbols of hate. They looked more like rabid animals than human beings, what with their malevolent eyes and bared teeth.

Reel moaned, twitched, and then opened her eyes.

She looked around, and as her thoughts passed from fuzzy to firm, she snapped back to her old self and her expression grew grim but focused.

She looked at Robie and whispered, “Sorry.”

“No need,” he whispered back. “Look to your left.”

Reel turned and saw the bound and gagged Holly. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

They were pulled up and hauled outside, their shoes hitting dirt a moment later. They were prodded and pushed toward a plywood-and-shingle building that was set inside a tall wire fence. The machinery sound that Robie had heard was the motorized gate, which had opened to allow them entry to the compound of twenty-first-century Hitler lovers.

“Déjà vu all over again,” Reel hissed behind him.

He simply nodded at this and kept walking. Gun muzzles periodically poked him in the back, just because the armed men could do so without fear of attack.

Robie looked right and left and took in the entire compound, which looked like an Army outpost. Men in mismatched uniforms jeered at them. They carried rifles over their shoulders, and some had World War II — era Nazi caps and tunics with German medals on them. Some wore the black uniforms of the Gestapo. There were also 1940s-era military jeeps, half-tracks, and what looked like a small tank. For a moment Robie thought he had stepped back in time. But then he decided they had probably just bought the shit from some military surplus goods store.

Or maybe they got it online. You could buy anything on the web if you knew where to look.

One line of men stood by silently. They were all on aluminum crutches with their lower legs bandaged and their feet booted. These were the men that Reel had shot in downtown Grand when they had attacked Luke at the B&B.

The one man who had promised to watch Robie die grinned maliciously as they passed by, and then he flipped them off.

They reached a solid wood door, which was opened by a guard standing at attention there.

Robie, Reel, and Holly were pushed through this opening, and the door was closed behind them. The interior was dark, but only for a moment. Then they were hit with streams of lights from all corners of the room. They all blinked and averted their gazes from the harsh illumination.

“Welcome,” said the voice.

Robie and Reel glanced in the direction of the words. Appearing from out of the darkness was a tall, overweight man with black hair and an unlined face.

Robie gauged his age at midthirties.

He was dressed in a loose-fitting green tunic and black slacks. On his head was a German officer’s cap. He had a holstered sidearm, what looked to be a vintage Walther-designed P38.

“Christ,” muttered Reel as she took in this spectacle.

The man took off his cap and set it down on a table. “My name is Dolph. Now to business.”

Dolph opened a small notebook and scanned some pages. “You have, as of today, encountered my men in two separate engagements. You have cost me multiple ATVs and trucks. Five hundred rounds of ammo, sixteen weapons. Six men injured. Eight men dead. That is unacceptable.”

Robie noted that the men killed were listed after the lost trucks, guns, and ammo. That clearly showed their leader’s priorities.

Dolph closed the book and looked at them. “You of course must be punished for this. But I am a fair man and you will be able to defend your actions in a due legal proceeding.”

“Really?” said Robie skeptically. “Do we get lawyers?”

“Of course. We will fly in the very best legal representation from Washington, DC. Perhaps the Justice Department? Or did you have someone else in mind?”

Robie didn’t answer because he was unsure if the man was joking or simply insane.

Dolph snapped his fingers and one of the guards grabbed a chair and slid it under him right as he sat down.

Dolph took out a flat silver case, removed a cigarette, tapped it against the case, and one of his men used an old-fashioned lighter to light it.

Dolph took a long inhale and then let the smoke out in twin streams from his nose.

“I was, of course, not serious about the legal representation,” said Dolph. “Or the fairness of due process. We are at war. During wartime, those elements are of no significance.”

“Actually, some would argue that’s when they’re most important,” volunteered Reel.

Dolph looked at her curiously, as though he was puzzled that a woman had chosen to speak in his presence.

“Identification,” he said.

A guard moved forward and handed him the cred packs that had been taken from Robie and Reel.

Dolph viewed the documents.

“Very impressive,” he said, his cigarette held between his teeth at a jaunty angle. “These of course confirm your guilt. You are spies. You must be executed.”

“We’re agents of the United States government,” pointed out Robie. “And we’re all standing in the United States right now. So there is no possibility of us being spies.”

Dolph closed each of the cred packs and threw them at Robie. Even shackled Robie managed to catch them and thrust them into his pocket.

Dolph rose.

“An interesting argument, but you neglected one important fact, which is that the ground on which you stand is sovereign. It is not part of the United States. Therefore, your position is fatally flawed. I do not expect you to understand this, since you are woefully ignorant of all necessary facts and truths.”

“And where might one find these necessary facts and truths?” asked Reel.

Dolph came to stand in front of her. He smiled disarmingly, but that only put Reel on higher alert. Her muscles tensed and then relaxed. She was ready to strike, even shackled.

“I will tell you,” he replied. “For instance.”

He snapped his fingers again and another guard came forward with a leather briefcase. Dolph set it down on a campaign desk in the center of the room and opened it. He took out several photographs.

“This is the punishment for spies.”

He walked back over to the prisoners and held the photos up, splayed out like he was about to perform a card trick.

Holly gasped, her eyes fluttered, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Reel made a move to help her, but the guards gripped her arms and held her where she was.

Robie continued to stare at the three pictures. One was of Luke Miller alive and intact.

The second was Luke minus his head.

The third was Luke’s head.

“So you murdered him?” said Robie stonily.

“I murder no one. He was executed for treason. He signed a sworn oath of allegiance. I have it here, in my pocket, if you would care to see it. He disobeyed that oath. He turned against us. The penalty for that is death. Nothing could be clearer. Nothing could be fairer. Strong leaders must be both clear and fair. And they must act with a firm hand when it is required. And I am a strong leader.”

He glanced down at Holly. “Lift her,” he commanded.

She was swiftly brought to her feet, though she was not yet conscious.

“Stimulate her,” ordered Dolph.

Three hard slaps to the face and Holly came back to consciousness. Her gaze settled once more on the pictures and she started to scream. “You bastard! You murderer! I’ll kill—”

Before Robie or Reel could even react, Dolph took out his P38, aimed it at Holly’s head, and fired. The bullet burned a hole into her forehead, broke through her skull, and from there blasted into the soft tissue of her brain and stayed there.

Holly fell backward to the floor.

Reel and Robie stood there, covered in the dead woman’s brains and blood.

Dolph looked at his pistol as though it were an affectionate pet. To add to this image he even stroked the heated barrel.

“And I am a strong leader,” he said again.

He flicked a finger at Robie and Reel as though he were disposing of an irksome bug. Guards came forward and hustled the pair out.