Overlord (67 page)

The two assault teams of Delta and SEALs moved off with a nod of thanks to Jack for giving them a shot at their jobs. The last man by was the young SEAL who had recently shaved his beard. He smiled. “Thank you, General.”

Jack watched the young SEAL sail through the hatch, knowing every man on that detail knew they wouldn’t have the time to get back to the shuttles before the detonations of the warheads turned them to nothing more than light particles.

Throughout the
Garrison Lee
every person onboard felt the ion-drive engines come to life just as the announcement from the commodore sounded through the loud speakers.

And General Jack Collins never felt so helpless in his life.

CHATO’S CRAWL, ARIZONA

The two men in black Windbreakers waited inside the Cactus Bar and Grill. One was shooting pool on the filthy and beer-stained table that had seen far better days; the other walked up to the old Rockolla jukebox and not too gently shoved the long-haired old man away. The old man walked to a crooked and slanting table and slowly sat, placing his head on the tabletop. He looked like he had fallen asleep, which is the way the alternating watchers, the men in black, had seen him do most of the long and boring days in the time they had spent here.

The bartender was his usual self as he stood behind the bar and just watched the men. He had been kept busy in the kitchen serving these men sandwiches and cheeseburgers at least five or six times a day. He knew the bulk of the eight men kept low in the Texaco station across the way but never enquired personally. He wiped his bar and tried to ignore the two men until they ordered something, usually just water to his great dissatisfaction.

The small bell above the double doors chimed and the leader of these men came in and walked straight to the bar. He was soon followed by the redhaired man in the now dirty blue suit. The skinny one sat at the bar as the leader called the other two black-clad men over to where he pulled out a barstool, looked it over, and then decided to forego the seating as it looked like it would collapse under his weight. The two men came forward. The one playing pool placed the old, crooked pool cue on the bar and gave the heavyset bartender a dirty look until he moved down to what used to be a waitress station that hadn’t seen a waitress in six years.

“This little safari is at an end. We’ve been ordered to pull out and head our separate ways,” the larger of the three said. “Our target seems to be a lot smarter than our man Vickers here thought he was.” He glanced at Hiram, who just stared at the stained bar top with his hands hidden out of sight. “For all we know the asset is holed up at the Motel 6 in Apache Junction, drinking Coronas and lying by the pool.”

“He will be here, eventually,” Vickers said, not bothering to look up.

“Maybe he will and maybe he won’t; that’s no longer a concern of ours, or of Mr. Peachtree’s.” The man glanced at his two partners and slightly nodded his head. “We’ve been ordered to clean up our mess here and leave.” The man suddenly pulled out a silenced nine-millimeter Glock and started to clean up.

He never saw the maniacal smile of the redhead’s face as he just sat there. The other two slowly went for their hidden weapons, not feeling any need to hurry on this occasion—after all, there had been nothing more threatening to them since they arrived than a small, yellow scorpion walking slowly across the cracked and slat-missing hardwood floor. That was their mistake.

The other major mistake was for them and their new employer Daniel Peachtree to have not enquired as to what Vickers had been doing in the hours leading up to him being found in Las Vegas. They would never know he had found the Cactus Bar and Grill, along with the entire town of Chato’s Crawl, deserted and abandon. Life could never have returned to the small place after the events of 2006. The town had been gutted of life and no one who lived there before could ever get the images of the slaughter out of their minds, so every one of the surviving townies had packed up and headed to where there were people—a lot of people where they would feel somewhat safe. Vickers had taken precautions against this eventual turn in fortune. He had stocked the bar in preparation for him to go it alone in securing the asset. He would have waited forever if that’s what it took because he knew his life depended on a deal to trade the asset for his freedom. He never trusted Peachtree or Camden—Hiram knew how this particular game was played because he had written the rules long ago.

The shotgun blast caught the largest of the three men in the chest, taking his gun hand off before the double-ought buckshot tore into his body, flinging him back into the second and third man. Hiram easily raised his hand and fired three more very loud shots into his face and head as the old man sprang from his chair where the men in black had thought him drunk and passed out. The bartender with the sawed-off shotgun still smoking ejected the spent casing and easily walked up and fired again, this time catching the last man in line as he attempted to rise off the floor. The shot caught the man in the head, turning the air into a bloody mist of brain and bone.

The old man jumped on the second man’s chest as he too tried to rise. With his legs pinning the man to the ground the codger, who wasn’t so old and never drank a day in his life, pulled out his weapon of choice, an eight-inch switchblade. He smiled and slowly cut the man in black’s throat from ear to ear. Then he stood with the dripping knife as the frightened man grabbed at his torn neck. The gun was kicked away from his grasping fingers and it slid away.

The bartender ejected the second shell from his sawed-off shotgun and then fired a round into the struggling man’s upturned face. It was all over in five short seconds. Vickers placed his own nine millimeter on the bar top and then turned to face his number one team of assassins: a man and his quiet older brother who had set up the brownstone in Georgetown the night he had to eliminate the sister of Jack Collins. They were also the murderous siblings who had placed the two bodies on the turnpike later that night.

“So transparent and predictable,” Vickers said.

The bartender and his brother stood next to Hiram. The older, silent one wiped the blood from his switchblade on the bar rag that was tossed to him by his brother.

“This thing is nearly over one way or the other. Either the president’s plan will work, or it won’t. Either way we take the asset.”

“We wait?” The old man bent over and started removing money and identification from the slain agents.

“Yes, we wait. The asset will be coming home very soon.” Vickers took some stale peanuts from the wooden bowl in front of him. He tossed away a few that had drops of blood on them and then lazily threw the remainder into his mouth and chewed. “You’ll find the rest packing their bags over at the station.” He looked at his personal employees. “I assume you won’t have any trouble taking care of them?”

The burly man behind the bar took up his shotgun and started replacing the spent shells and smiled.

“Good, now go show them how real bad guys operate.”

WALTER REED NATIONAL MILITARY MEDICAL CENTER

BETHESDA, MARYLAND

The president, as tired as he was, waited with General Caulfield inside his room as he spoke by phone to the prime ministers of two allied countries. The conversations were short and to the point. Caulfield knew he wouldn’t last that much longer as he took in the beaten and worried countenance of the chief executive.

“Where is Dr. Compton?” the president asked quickly, fearing something had happened to his friend. The first lady looked up from the paperwork she had been trying to keep busy with since the attorney general and the chief justice had left the previous hour after the launch of the
Lee.

“Calm down, he’s right out in the hallway. He’s about as bad off as you; you both have to stop for a while. Everything else is out of your control for the time being. You’ve hamstrung Camden, so he can’t order lunch without congressional approval. Your military knows who is in charge and what’s happening up there”—she looked toward the ceiling—“is out of your hands at the moment.” The first lady stood, felt the president’s forehead, and became worried as his fever had risen in the past hour by seven degrees. “You and Niles are both going to fall over and then you are back to square one with that son of a bitch.”

The president looked at General Caulfield. “I think the wrong person has been in charge the whole time.” He smirked as his wife kissed him on the forehead.

*   *   *

Niles closed his good eye and sighed. He was well aware of what the ground element at Camp Alamo was facing. He didn’t know which of his people were alive and who were lying dead on the snow and ice. His leg was propped up in his wheelchair as he spoke to Virginia Pollock and Lee Preston. The attorney had never seen a battered man who refused to rest like this Dr. Compton had. The man frightened him as he realized that if all government employees were as tenacious as this man was he would run as fast as he could to the nearest border and get out, because the pencil pushers and the slide-rule boys would inherit the Earth and men like him would soon be out of work.

“I’m authorizing you to pass Mr. Preston through security at the complex and retrieve Matchstick. He’s done as much as he can do, and Gus wants to be at home.” Niles looked up and slowly blinked his left eye underneath the glasses that were propped as best they could be on his bandaged head. “We owe the old man that dignity. Mr. Preston, thank you for your assistance thus far, but with Camden, you never know what kind of legal maneuvering he’ll pull and I don’t trust anyone when it comes to Matchstick and Gus. Get them out of the complex and secure them the best you can away from Nevada. Chato’s Crawl should be the safest place. We should be getting our military contingent back soon, one way or the other, to secure him better. Virginia, see to it.”

“Niles, you have to rest. I’ll personally take the little guy and Gus home. I’ve already notified Denise Gilliam, Charlie, and Pete, that they will accompany us, because Matchstick will need friends around him as Gus … well, he’s too tired to keep his eyes on Matchstick all the time. We should have enough old-timers providing security at the two houses; I don’t anticipate any trouble from now on.”

Niles looked up and bobbed his head. “Tell Matchstick … tell him…”

Virginia thought Niles had fallen asleep and became worried as she looked at his battered and bruised body.

“Thank you.” Niles’s head dropped to his chest once more as Virginia leaned over and kissed Compton’s forehead. She wiped another tear away like she had been doing most of the day as a nurse took Niles away.

Virginia had come to the conclusion earlier in the day that she could no longer fulfill her duties at the Group. She had become far too attached to the people she worked with, especially far too close to Niles.

Virginia halfheartedly smiled at Lee Preston as he waited patiently for them to leave for Nevada. He smiled his charming smile and then said what was on his mind.

“If you plan on quitting, I would at least leave Dr. Compton a note telling him why you are going to do what it is you’re doing. He deserves to know that you love the little bald guy. Lord knows he’s about the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen that wears a suit and tie for a living.”

Virginia looked shocked as she blew her nose on a handkerchief. She made a distasteful face.

“Here,” Preston said as he held out a pen and notepad. “No charge, but I want the pen back.”

Virginia accepted the pen and paper, smiled a sad smile, and patted the attorney on the shoulder. She went into Compton’s room to explain the whys of her leaving.

“What a fucking day,” Preston said as he watched the door close behind Virginia.

CAMP ALAMO

ANTARCTICA

Sarah held Mendenhall as upright as she could. The vision of another two thousand Grays and their automatons broke the spirit of many of the men, women, and soldiers. And the sound from above was mind-shattering as even more of the saucers were making their way down from high altitude.

Henri took hold of Will’s other side and Anya scooped up both Sarah’s and Farbeaux’s weapons. They struggled in the snow to get the seriously injured captain to safety.

“Over there,” Henri said with a nod of his head. Fifty feet away was the burned-out remains of a German armored personnel carrier. It had been blasted by one of the robotic automatons and the steel monstrosity was just starting to rip the hatches from the carrier. “Set him down,” Henri said to Sarah.

Will was laid not too gently into the soot-covered snow and Farbeaux looked at both women.

“I’m going to get that metal bastard to chase me. It won’t last too long, but see that Bushmaster cannon lying on the upper deck? Get to that and blast that thing to hell.”

Sarah shook her head. She yelled as she tried to be heard above the din of battle and the constant whoosh of laser weaponry flying past as the Grays came on in force, heading straight for Camp Alamo and the hidden entranceway.

“You’ll never make it,” she finally managed to say.

“You know me, any chance to get away, I’ll take.” Henri grabbed the Heckler & Koch automatic weapon and sprinted a few steps, then started firing at the robotic monster. It had succeeded in ripping open the top of the personnel carrier and had one of the dead armor soldiers in its clawlike hands. Sarah had to turn away from the horrid sight.

Suddenly the metal beast felt the heavy blows of the 7.65-millimeter rounds as they slammed into its chassis. The large red eye imbedded in the front of its head slowly turned toward the man who caused it not pain, but irritation as it had been programmed to kill and collect. The metal monstrosity let go of the dead soldier and then nimbly hopped from the armored vehicle. Henri added more fire, and then Sarah and Anya added their own. Hundreds of bullets met the strange alien steel. A survivor of either the 101st or 82nd added a light 40-millimeter mortar to the assault but the automaton shook off the blows and started forward. It raised both hands to waist level and curled the long sharp fingers inward as it started to take aim with its heavy caliber belt-fed kinetic weapon.