Deadly Weakness (Gray Spear Society) (14 page)

Marina was having trouble getting off the floor. Black glue had made her so sticky she was like a fly trying to escape from flypaper.

Move!
Aaron thought.
Get up! Now!

Jennifer let loose another spray, and this time Marina had no protection for her eyes. She was effectively blinded. She was also so thoroughly glued to the floor she could barely move.

Jennifer started stomping on Marina's chest and stomach with all her strength. Aaron winced and turned away.

Finally, Ethel called, "Oklahoma City wins!"

Aaron ran forward to offer what comfort he could. Marina was groaning. Smythe arrived an instant later.

"Please move back, sir." Smythe put his hands inside Marina's body.

Aaron couldn't watch and had to walk away. The woman he loved was in pain.

His prediction about the mess had been correct. There was tar and drops of blood all over the floor. It would take a lot of milk and scrubbing to make the square clean enough for the next fight.

When Marina was healed, she came to Aaron. She was still sticky with tar.

He kissed her on the lips without touching any other part of her body. "You did a good job," he whispered. "I'm proud of you."

"I'm fine with losing," she said. "It was a fair fight. I'm happy to just be a spectator now, really. I wasn't looking forward to a third round."

"What happened to your Chicago pride?"

"Screw it."

He smiled and kissed her again.

"Twenty minute break!" Ethel announced.

Chapter Eight

Xavier went outside into the cold and hurried to the mechanical shed. He picked the padlock, and this time he would leave it unlocked. If he came back here again, he would probably be in a hurry.

He went straight to the ATV in the corner. In the daylight he saw more rust and dents than he had last night. The ignition wires looked new, a good sign. He had to assume the thing would run. He wished he could test the engine but that would make too much noise.

He looked around. The shed had walls made of two by fours and plywood. He cleared a big space in the back of the shed. He grabbed an axe and started chopping out a new doorway. He cut most of the way around, but he left a little wood intact to hold the section in place. He judged a good kick would knock it out and create an opening big enough to drive through. Until then, he wanted the wall to look solid.

He rolled the ATV to the middle of the shed and aimed the front wheels at the cut section. He checked that the emergency brakes were off.

Once Xavier was satisfied with those preparations, he turned around and faced the front of the shed. The ATV by itself wasn't enough. The most important part of any escape was discouraging pursuit.

Propane tanks were stacked in the corner, and they looked promising. He rearranged the tanks so they were nearer the door.

He smiled when he saw a box of road flares. He grabbed the box and read the instructions carefully. The procedure seemed simple enough. He just had to pull off the cap and light the end like a giant match. He put the box of flares on the seat of the ATV.
That should do it,
he thought.

He jogged back to the tournament.

* * *

Special Agent Hanley and Colonel Rosecrans arrived at the National Guard Logistics Facility in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin. They were in the back seat of a Humvee, and two of the colonel's soldiers were up front. Hanley got out and zipped up his coat.

A M35 cargo truck parked next to the Humvee. More soldiers climbed out of the back of the truck. Finally, two flatbed trucks designed to carry heavy loads parked on the other side of the M35. All together, Hanley and Rosecrans had brought eight men with them. The rest of the Unit was travelling directly to Camp Zonta.

Hanley wasn't impressed by the "Logistics Facility." It was just a warehouse with green painted cinderblock walls and an asphalt shingle roof. A tall fence with barbed wire on top ran around the sides and back of the property. There were two large garage doors and one regular door. The only visible security was a single surveillance camera with a view of the nearly empty parking lot.

"This is it?" Hanley said.

"Affirmative," Rosecrans said. "Let's see what they got for us."

Hanley led the way through the door. He entered a lobby with two soldiers sitting behind a wooden counter. Both were fat and in their forties. They wore a style of fatigues that hadn't been issued in several years.

Hanley walked up to one of the men and showed his identification. "Special Agent Hanley, FBI. We're here to pick up some equipment."

The soldier wore a name tag that read "Sgt. Lowe." Loose jowls gave him an unattractive double chin. Hanley guessed he had been given this very undemanding assignment because he wasn't qualified to do much else. Manning the desk at the Logistics Facility in Cedar Grove was probably a job where hardly any actual work was required.

"We were expecting you," Lowe said. "We got a call a little while ago. Now I just need to see some paperwork."

"I don't have any paperwork," Hanley said. "That's why you were called. We don't have time for red tape."

Rosecrans and his soldiers were standing behind Hanley. They were all Army Rangers and looked the part physically. It was a grotesque embarrassment that Lowe was wearing the same uniform.

"I can't just give you equipment without written authorization," Lowe said.

"That's exactly what you're going to do," Hanley said. "We're in the middle of a very important operation, and I won't let a weekend warrior like you get in our way."

"I'll file an official complaint."

Hanley snorted. "Go ahead. Now, are you going to show us around, or should we find our own way?"

Lowe looked thoughtfully at an M16 rifle leaning against a wall. Then he nodded. "I'll take you in. I want an accurate description of what you're stealing in my complaint. I won't be held responsible for missing or lost equipment."

"Of course."

Lowe led everybody through another door into the main part of the warehouse. It was almost as cold in here as it was outside. Wooden crates took up most of the space on the concrete floor. Judging by the designations on the crates, Hanley could tell the contents were old and obsolete. Some of it had probably been sitting in storage since the Vietnam War. The US Army wasn't in the habit of throwing things away.

Rosecrans turned to his men and said, "Find the mortars."

The soldiers fanned out.

"Make sure they don't touch anything until I write it down!" Lowe said.

Hanley rolled his eyes.

Rosecrans walked over to the part of the warehouse where the vehicles were kept. Hanley followed along. The most modern tank in the inventory seemed to be a M60 Patton. As far as Hanley knew, that model hadn't seen active duty in fifteen years. He wasn't interested in taking a tank anyway. They needed special training to drive, especially the older ones, and it was unlikely anybody in the Unit had that training.

A line of four M113 armored personnel carriers caught Hanley's eye. They were big, boxy vehicles with tank treads and pretty good armor. The M113 could carry up to eleven passengers across a hostile battlefield. Even though the original design dated from the 1960's, these classic "APCs" were still in use by armies all over the world. A M2 Browning machine gun was mounted up front. It seemed perfect for leading the charge against the Gray Spear Society.

Rosecrans looked in the same direction. "Those will do very nicely. How many should we take?"

"We only have two flatbed trucks," Hanley said, "and putting two M113's on one truck is probably too much weight."

"Then two will have to be enough." Rosecrans turned to Lowe. "Do they have gas in them? Can we drive them out of here?"

Lowe's eyes widened. "You're taking my APCs?"

"Actually, they're the property of the United States government, not you. And yes, we're taking two."

"For what? Did we just declare war on Canada? What the hell is going on?"

"That's classified information," Hanley said. "Answer the question. Are the M113s in usable condition?"

"Sure," Lowe said, "I guess. We just need to top off the tanks and put oil in them. It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours to get them running."

"We have much less time than that."

One of the Army Rangers ran over. "Sir," he said to Rosecrans, "we found the mortars."

"What type?" the colonel said.

"M224 60 millimeter. Plenty of ammunition, too. It's old stuff, but it should still work."

"Excellent. Take ten tubes and two hundred high explosive rounds. Load them into the M35. Make sure you don't grab training rounds by accident. The markings are similar. Oh, and if you see some grenades, grab of few crates. I don't think the Unit brought enough."

"Yes, sir." The Ranger hurried off.

Lowe stared in obvious disbelief. "This is going into my official complaint!"

The colonel patted him on the shoulder. "Let's get to work on those APCs. I want to be back on the road in a half-hour."

* * *

Smythe held Odelia in his arms. It had been a long tournament. There had been nineteen fights so far, and every one had resulted in serious injuries, some life threatening. Yet, despite the challenges, Smythe and Odelia had healed everybody. Only Rodrigo would go home worse for the wear. The rest of the fighters just had memories that would last a lifetime.

Smythe gave Odelia a kiss. He had had girlfriends before but the experience had never been like this. She was so perfect he could hardly believe she was a real woman. It was like God had crafted her to be the ideal example of her gender. If there was an emotion stronger than love, Smythe was feeling it now.

"We could sneak away," he whispered. "Just the two of us. We'll go into hiding. It's been done before."

She shook her head. "That would be selfish. The Society needs us and our friends need us. We're healers. We have to go back to our teams and do what we're meant to do."

He kissed her again. "Then we'll call each other every day."

"OK." She sniffed. "Maybe we can use video to see each other. We'll have a special connection. It will almost be like we're in the same room."

"Yeah. That's a good idea."

She squeezed his chest and sighed.

"And we still have the rest of the weekend together," he said.

"It's not enough. We need to visit each other."

"It's a long flight between Chicago and Los Angeles. What if there's a mission while we're out of town? What if somebody gets injured and we're not there to heal them?"

"I know." She frowned. "But I think we can allow ourselves a little selfishness. One weekend a month sounds fair. We'll take turns going back and forth. The proposal doesn't seem ridiculous."

"Aaron will think it's ridiculous. Your commander, Yule, will think the same. That's not how things are done in the Society.
Legionnaires
don't leave their home territory."

Her red-brown eyes looked up at him. "We won't give up. We'll keep pushing until they get tired of saying no."

"Odelia..." He hugged her. "What a mess."

They were standing in the tournament hall. The crowd was assembling to watch the final fight, and their voices were excited. Aaron and Marina entered and looked around with much grimmer expressions.

Smythe wondered what game they were playing. He knew a secret mission was happening behind the scenes, but he still had no idea what it was. The weekend had proceeded smoothly so far. The attendees had seemed content to just enjoy spending time with each other. The convention had felt more like a vacation than a business trip.

Yet, Ethel was anxious. She hid her emotions extremely well, but Smythe had caught flashes of her true feelings when she had thought nobody was looking. That bothered him. Anything that could make the
legatus legionis
worry, should make him worry even more.

Aaron and Marina's behavior was also troubling. They had spent the entire convention mixing with the crowd like they were desperate to make new friends. They had gone far beyond the level of social interaction normally expected of hosts. Their constant pestering was getting to be obnoxious. Ethel had watched it all from a distance with her unnaturally dark eyes.

Ethel and Guthrum walked into the room. She went straight to her chair, and he stood behind her. Everybody else immediately settled down.

"We finally come to the last fight," Ethel said. "The winner will be awarded a trophy at tonight's banquet. Your attendance is required. Be seated no later than seven in your best robes. We'll have a short presentation ceremony, and then food will be served. Aaron's wonderful staff has been cooking all day. I'm sure it will be a fabulous meal. Hammer, of Manhattan, and Jermaine, of Boston, come forward." She smiled slightly. "This will be like the Yankees versus the Red Sox."

Hammer walked to one side of the square. The shape of his body reminded Smythe of an artillery shell. Hammer was so thick and solid he didn't seem to have any vulnerable spots. He flexed his metal hands, which had done so much horrific damage in this tournament. According to rumor, Hammer could punch through a quarter-inch of steel plate.