Freedom Express (17 page)

"To whom?" Hunter asked, his voice betraying a note of anger.

"A man named Devillian," she replied tearfully. "I have to do whatever he wants."

"Not anymore you don't," Hunter declared boldly. Just then Crossbow appeared out of the shadows.

"She's coming with us," Hunter told him, his tone indicating that any argument would probably be fruitless.

"It'll be tough going down the same way we came up," the Indian whispered.

"No matter," Hunter said. "Ill carry her down if I have to.

If we all make it, she can give us more information about this place than we can ever gather here ourselves. Now let's go."

Aboard the Freedom Express

"Ouch!"

"You've got to hold still if you want me to do this properly." Hunter shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He knew Fitz was right, but at the moment it felt like his back was on fire.

It was early the next morning, and they were in the Control car. The Irishman-being the jack-of-all-trades that he was-was applying a healthy dose of old-fashioned Witch Hazel to the two long series of scratches that extended the entire length of Hunter's back.

"Tell us again, Hawker," Fitz said as he dabbed more of the stinging liquid to the wounds, "how didya get so mangled."

"I already
told
you," Hunter snapped. "I had to carry that girl down the mountain on my back, and the only way she was able to hang on was to dig her nails into me."

"Oh, that's right," Fitz deadpanned. "It's just that these wounds look so, well, familiar. I remember a girl back in Cork.

She had fingernails like switchblades. Aye, one night with her and me back looked just like yours."

Standing off to one side were Catfish and Tyler, both having to hold their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing.

"Very funny," Hunter said.

Actually, getting off the mesa with the beautiful,

extremely frightened Diamond clawing at his back had been the relatively easy part of their escape.

It was crowding a trio into the Harrier jumpjet that had proved the most difficult. Even the zigzagged scamper back to the aircraft had been a breeze compared to the brain teaser Hunter had to unravel in order to carry three people in a cockpit barely designed for two.

In the end he had solved it-quite painfully as it turned out-by lashing still more of his F-16's avionics to the underside of the Harrier's wing, thus opening just enough room in the cockpit for Diamond to squeeze between Crossbow's legs. Then, by purging half his fuel, Hunter was able to lighten the overall weight of the aircraft enough to make it back to the train.

And after all that, all his friends could do was joke that the scratches on his back looked more like the results of a night of passion, than a harrowing escape. Once all the Witch Hazel was applied and his shirt was back on, Hunter good-naturedly let his friends' jokes ride. Diamond was already proving very valuable to them. She hadn't been aboard the train more than an hour when she had drawn in exacting detail the entire layout of Devillian's mesa fortress. She had also told the United Americans something they'd suspected all along: While the mesa was the super terrorist's main base, the majority of the Burning Cross troops-they being the collection of bandit gangs allied under Devillian's banner-were scattered throughout the American Southwest, ready to move into battle positions at their leader's first order.

This new information was being poured over even as Hunter, Fitz, Crossbow and Diamond were eating breakfast. A scrambled report was sent to Jones. The general's confirmation message also contained an unexpected piece of information: The news of the
Freedom Express's
cross-country journey was on the lips of every concerned American citizen from New England to LA. The publicity of the train's mission-whipped up by the country's rapidly reemerging electronic media-was so widespread that huge spontaneous demonstrations of public support had popped up in Washington, LA and even in the heart of heartless New York City.

With the news of the train's widespread publicity came the additional pressure for it to succeed. The train trip had quickly turned into a crusade-a cause in which every freedom-loving person on the continent now had a stake.

For Hunter and his friends to fail now would mean disaster.

These were the thoughts the Wingman carried to bed with him shortly afterward.

He would have preferred to continue working in the Control car, but Catfish took one look at him and had literally ordered him to sleep, threatening to take it all the way to Jones if Hunter didn't comply.

With only a token protest, Hunter retired to his quarters.

It took all often seconds for him to drift off, for a change the sleep he needed so desperately coming to him with relative ease. But about half an hour later, he became vaguely aware of something warm and soft next to him.

Diamond pressed her ripe body tightly against his and

whispered into his ear: "Don't move. I know you're exhausted.

Let me do the work." And expertly, she began to caress him.

Still asleep, Hunter spoke a single word: "Dominique?"

Diamond stopped her gentle stroking. "Dominique?" she asked, her voice sounding softly distant. "Is that someone special in your life? If it is, then just pretend that's who I am... I'm Dominique. It's all right."

Hunter was only half awake now. But he was able to look directly into Diamond's beautiful, adoring eyes.

"Thank you," he said gently.

Then he pulled her into his arms.

La Casa de las Estrellas.

Duke Devillian was in a rage.

He had been in a good mood when he landed back at his

headquarters, having just returned from a successful recruiting trip to the old city of San Antonio. Two more bandit gangs had signed on with the Burning Cross, and negotiations were under way with a third.

Then, he found out his mesa fortress had been penetrated.

The news came in the form of a report concerning the two bodies found at the foot of the cliff. At first, his soldiers thought that the two dead sergeants had fallen to their deaths accidently or had even jumped. After all, six soldiers had already died in the past month, although never two in one night.

The unlikely double-suicide theory was ruled out when

evidence of a small avalanche was discovered near the body of Sergeant Swek. From there, Devillian's soldiers found several pieces of ripped clothing hanging from the jagged rocks leading up to the northern face of the mesa. When two series of footprints were discovered on the mesa's top -one made by a person wearing flight boots, the other by someone wearing soleless leather shoes Devillian's men knew their perimeter had been compromised.

Devillian ordered the immediate execution of all twelve guards on duty that night, an exhibition that he made sure everyone on the mountaintop witnessed. He took care to film the entire proceeding himself, watching the carnage several times before being satisfied. Then he ordered an investigation as to how someone had been able to climb up the sheer rock face and what they had seen once they reached the top.

But for him, the worst news was yet to come.

When Devillian finally retired to his adobe mansion, he planned to relieve all of his anger and frustration by losing himself in a sex carnival with the girl named Diamond.

Uncharacteristically, he had found himself thinking about her while he'd been in San Antonio. Not that he was falling in love with her or anything; the Duke was absolutely devoid of any remotely human feelings such as love and affection. No-he had thought only about the ways he could use her sexually. He had more than sixty women at his disposal, ready to feed his every perverted whim. But Diamond was different. She was so young, so beautiful. He had bought her a trunk of clothes while in San Antonio-cheerleader outfits, high school clothes, bikinis, even a Sunday-School-type dress -and all the way back, he had fantasized how she would look wearing these clothes and how he would use her with other women to satisfy his twisted libido.

Unlocking the huge Play Pen, he had every intention of

starting this sex party immediately. But when he called Diamond's quarters, she didn't respond. Mystified, he called the captain of his security patrol, a beast of a man named Bruno.

"She's not in her room," Devillian said as the huge, hairy man reported to him. "Find her and bring her to me.
Now
"

Bruno departed and didn't return for nearly an hour sixty minutes during which Devillian became so furious, white foam actually started to form at the edges of his mouth.

When Bruno reappeared, he was out of breath and

crestfallen.

"Well, where is the little slut?" Devillian demanded of him.

Although he was a full head taller than Devillian and

outweighed him by seventy-five pounds, Bruno was intimidated by the smaller man's savage temper.

So Bruno swallowed hard before answering. "We've looked everywhere, sir," he stuttered. "I'm afraid... no one knows where she is."

"
What
?" Devillian exploded. "Are you saying she jumped?"

"No, sir," Bruno replied, gulping hard again. "We checked.

There are no bodies below."

"So?" Devillian asked, spitting the foam from between his teeth. "Where is she?"

"I believe she's escaped, sir," Bruno said, knowing he was speaking the last few words of his life.

Devillian's face turned deep crimson.

"Escaped," he said in a frightening whisper.

Bruno tried to say something, but couldn't. All he could do was shrug and slowly nod his head.

"Do you want me to believe that you can't even keep track of one little broad?" Devillian screamed, his crossed eyes rolling with rage.

Bruno unconsciously started backing toward the door. "It must have something to do with what happened last night," he croaked. "Whoever got in here and killed the guards must have taken the girl."

"That's obvious," Devillian continued to whisper crazily.

"And somebody's going to pay." Then an entirely new crazed look came into his hard, twisted eyes. "And I know who."

Before Bruno could flee from the room, Devillian jerked his revolver from its holster and fired. The first bullet plowed into Bruno's huge chest, and as he started to fall, the second bullet crashed into the middle of his skull. That shot slammed the man backward against the wall. As he slid slowly down the wall, leaving a broad trail of blood, Devillian fired three more times.

Bruno slumped to the floor, the blood spurting from five holes in his body.

The shots brought two more guards running to the room. They stopped, gaping in horror, when they saw the gory mess that had been Bruno, then looked up to see that Devillian was taking Polaroids of the body.

Eagle Rock, New Mexico

The
Freedom Express
rolled into the small town of Eagle Rock, New Mexico at dawn the next day.

The place was barely a pinpoint on the map; even before the Big War it was home to only fifteen hundred people. Here the tracks led from the desert terrain to the forested mountains of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. There was also a set of track turn-offs just outside of the town which could be used to switch the train's locomotives from its front to its rear and thus enable the
Freedom Express
to reverse direction and retreat back to the East.

It would be up to Jones whether this would happen or not.

But Eagle Rock was special in another way-this one totally unexpected: It was the first town where citizens had actually come out to greet the arrival of the train.

It was the Cobra Brothers who first saw them. Scouting ahead of the train as usual, they had just overflown the small town when they spotted the first indications of a crowd forming in the town square shortly before dawn. Not surprisingly, the Cobra pilots first suspected the people below were getting ready to attack the train. In all of the towns the
Express
had passed through so far, not so much as a single person had been waiting when the train rolled in.

But after arming their weapons and making two intimidating low-altitude passes above the small settlements the Cobra pilots were surprised to see the people below waving back at them enthusiastically. Instead of weapons, they were armed with signs containing messages for greeting the train. There was even a small brass band on hand.

So, an hour later, the train arrived at Eagle Rock to a small ceremony. The Cobras had landed beforehand and radioed back that the train could expect an entirely friendly stop. Thus informed, Catfish had his troops turn out in their best uniforms. A number of American flags and banners were broken out and displayed on the locomotives, the gun cars, the missile platforms and the troop cars.

The out-of-tune but lively brass band was playing when the train finally pulled into the town's tiny station. A crowd of about one thousand people-men, women and children, all of them hearty stock -cheered and sang
America the Beautiful
as the official delegation of Catfish and Fitzgerald climbed down off the train and was greeted by the town's mayor.

A brief ceremony followed during which the mayor gave a hand-sewn flag of Eagle Rock's Town Seal to Catfish, who promised to display it on the
Express's
lead locomotive. Then work began on detaching the three-car mini-fort to be left at the small town, Catfish diplomatically asking the mayor's permission before giving the order to disconnect the trio of railway cars.