Survivalist - 22 - Brutal Conquest (3 page)

Natalia spoke it fluendy and so had Maria Leuden, the girl with whom he’d slept, the girl he’d kept as his mistress but had realized he didn’t love. And suddenly Michael Rourke stopped walking.

It was the first time he’d actually thought of Maria Leuden since awakening from cryogenic sleep, to discover that his mother was still deep in a coma but that his father, whose brain wave patterns had returned to normal, was being awakened as well.

And, he realized now, one hundred twenty-five years later, Maria was dead and so were her children, if she’d had any.

His father had kept a considerable collection of books at The Retreat, some of them science fiction. Michael Rourke remembered reading one that was about a time traveller. The man had gone forward into the future, but everyone he had known and loved was long dead and gone when he got there.

Michael Rourke was luckier than that man.

Yet, he promised himself, someday, if he made it out of this, he would go to New Germany and find Maria’s grave. And he would take Natalia with him. He would put flowers on Maria’s grave. It hadn’t been love. There was love with Madison, his wife who was killed so long ago. And there was love, even more intense, with Natalia. But he had cared for Maria Leuden. …

It consumed the better part of an hour for them to reach the height of the rift valley wall, and John Rourke had no way of knowing if, when they reached there, it would be radiation free. On both sides of the rift valley there were hot spots, which would remain hot for centuries to come. Any living thing that ventured there would die, sooner or later, as a result. But there was also a trail on this side, information about which Natalia and Annie had extracted—how, he didn’t want to know—from Boris, the head of the slavers, whom they had kidnapped for the specific purpose of getting that information.

Parts of the trail, a secret route without risk of residual radiation hazard, came very close to the rift valley wall, while other parts were several miles to the west.

If they arrived at the height of the wall in a hot spot, they would have to go down again, continue along, then try the climb again. He would not put the women through it a second time unless he was sure, but time was against them and he’d taken the chance, a calculated risk he could confirm or deny with the radiation meter.

John Rourke left Annie, Natalia, and the twenty-four women about fifty feet below, and with Paul beside him, he took the climb. And, of course, he left Martin.

“You’re worried about Michael. We’re all worried about him, John.” Paul clung to a spit of rock, his feet wedged against the rocky shale below it. Each time he moved, however slighdy, some of the shale—about the consistency of fresh gravel—slipped.

“I know that,” John Rourke almost whispered, testing the foothold he had before pushing himself up. “He’s tough. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. If anybody could pull it off, Michael could.”

“Was he right? You plan to trade Martin?”

“If Deitrich Zimmer is too old to perform an operation on Sarah, if his hand isn’t steady anymore, then he would have taught someone else his techniques, just in case he needed them or Martin needed them in order to stay alive.”

“Suppose he saves Sarah’s life? What then?”

John Rourke looked at his friend. “I’ll keep my word and release Martin to him. And then I’ll hunt them both down and kill them.”

John Rourke kept climbing.

“Martin? It’s me, Gunmen”

Michael Rourke looked at the face of the man who spoke. It was a plain face, the only feature that was remarkable—quite remarkable—being the eyes. They were a bright blue, a lighter shade than Natalia’s but nearly as striking. And they were set with epicanthic folds.

The man was an officer in the Eden defense forces. The embroidered name tag on the parka he wore read “Hong.”

“Gunther,” Michael Rourke murmured, nodding. He made the first syllable of the man’s name sound more like the word goon than the word gun.

Then Michael said nothing for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was sitting down, because he was so tired and his legs hurt so badly from the gunshot wounds. The wounds were minor, superficial scratches, but there was still pain. That pain returned to him now, as did the full import of why he was looking up into this strange man’s eyes.

Michael Rourke forced himself to sit up, the man named Gunther Hong and two other men, one an officer, one a senior noncom, assisting him. A fourth man, another senior noncom, brought blankets, laying one over Michael’s lower body and wrapping the other around his shoulders and upper body. “What happened to you, Martin?”

Michael Rourke coughed, then cleared his throat, all of this unnecessary but calculated to plant an idea into the minds of these men. That idea was that if Martin’s voice sounded just a litde off, perhaps it was because he was coming down with something. Then Michael said, “There was a sudden storm. The Russian woman at the controls of the machine. She could not manage to land the thing properly. There was a fire. I grabbed a gun and jumped when we neared the ground. One of the bastards shot at me. I got these, damnit.” Then he decided to try Martin’s personality. “Did you think I was waiting out here, freezing to death, merely for the pure joy of it?”

“Well, no, but we-“

“Where were you?”

“We couldn’t follow by aircraft and—” “Help me up,” Michael snapped. “We have a stretcher, Martin,” Gunther Hong volunteered.

“I will walk!” The men visibly recoiled from him for an instant, then started to help him stand. Feeling returned rapidly to the wounds in his legs, but his feet were numb and so were his hands. His head ached. He knew that was from the cold as well, his body rattling with the chill as a means of generating warmth. “I will need a doctor to tend to my injuries. We leave for Eden City at once. See to it,” Michael ordered. “The swine escaped, but they cannot have gotten far. I want the search concentrated to the southeast. They will think we anticipate an attempt to reach their coconspirators in Eden. What they do not know is that I heard the younger of the two who look like me saying that they had transportation waiting to take them to the Gulf Coast. They will move east to escape the rift valley, then likely move direcdy south.”

“Wouldn’t they try to get to Eden? …”

“These men with my face. The older one of the two is John Thomas Rourke. He has survived for over six centuries, man! He has accomplished this by doing the unexpected. You have your orders. Now follow them!”

Michael no longer had to feign anger. The pain in his legs sparked the real thing with each step he took closer to the nearest of the massive batde machines… .

As Martin Zimmer, he was given the commander’s cabin aboard the mobile fortress. The cabin was under no circumstances spacious, but it was more than adequate for one man. Rather than a bunk, the bed was a full-size one. And Michael Rourke leaned back into it now, his eyes closed as the Eden forces doctor, who seemed competent enough, tended his wounds.

Gunther Hong, whom Michael now realized was Martin’s personal military advisor and held the rank of brigadier general, stood at the bedside. “You should take something, Martin. For the pain.”

Taking something for pain might also loosen his tongue, and Michael Rourke couldn’t risk that. “No. As soon as this is finished, I must get to Eden.”

“We will be out of the rift valley and in one of the Safe Zones in twenty-seven minutes. There is a highspeed aircraft that will touch down at the same time. You will be in Eden in less than two hours, Martin. But why-“

“With John Rourke alive, there is no choice but to act at once.”

“Perhaps I should contact the Herr Doctor, Martin.”

Michael Rourke looked squarely at Gunther Hong. Did Hong mean Deitrich Zimmer? But there was no way to ask, and if he even seemed interested in the subject, that interest might betray him. Instead, he snapped at the doctor, who was cleaning the gunshot wound given him by Natalia. “Clumsy fool! You are causing me discomfort.”

“I am sorry, sir, but—”

“Be done with this! I must reach Eden City and be able to act.” He’d ordered that clothing be brought for him and hoped that it would also mean a weapon. The Eden origin assault rifle that was with Michael when they found him was nothing he could overtly attempt to hold on to, and his pistols had been left with his family.

Michael looked at the watch on his left wrist. It was Martin’s watch, similar in size to his own Rolex but digital rather than analog. The case and the band seemed to be made of gold. Although it was obviously quite expensive, Michael preferred his own timepiece. Martin’s watch showed eighteen minutes before the hour. By ten minutes after the hour, if the Eden war machine was punctual, he’d be airborne for Eden City.

The clothing arrived, military looking. And there was a pistol belt and a holster. Before Michael Rourke could say anything, Gunther Hong announced, “When we took up the chase, Martin, I ordered that some of your things be brought along.”

“Good,” Michael nodded. The doctor was finished patching up the gunshot wounds and had pronounced Michael’s hands and feet were not frostbitten. Michael announced, “Doctor, out.” Then he looked at Gunther Hong. “This thing with John Rourke and his son and the Russian woman and the others. I do not want John Rourke to become a rallying point for the dissidents of Eden. For that reason, once the rendezvous with the aircraft has been met, I wish for you to take personal charge in the field of efforts to capture or kill John Rourke.”

“But, I-“

“You are loyal to me. This is known. You must obey these orders.”

The blue eyes hardened, not with malice, but with something akin to pride. “Yes, Martin. If it is your will.” Michael Rourke nodded as, with some awkwardness,

he swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. “Bring me my things. I must prepare.”

Gunther Hong complied, moving off quickly to the chair and returning with an armful of rather nondescript attire. There was a dark grey Nehru-style jacket, which he had first seen in videotape movies from the 1960’s where people wore clothing variously referred to as “mod” or “kicky.” A maroon turtleneck shirt, tight-looking blue trousers, and short black boots completed the outfit. There was a new set of underwear, too.

The dressings on his leg were waterproof, and there was time remaining. “I need to shower,” Michael said.

“In here, Martin,” Hong volunteered, pointing toward a small door off the side of the cabin.

Michael nodded, taking the clothing and starting toward the door.

Once inside the bathroom, he stripped away the remainder of Martin’s things, urinated, then entered the shower stall. He washed his hair twice, soaking his body under the steaming water for a very long time. He was still chilled to the bone. On the plus side, his leg wounds were well bandaged and the cut on his head only bothered him when he touched it.

Senior officers of Eden lived well in the field, he concluded. The bathroom was far from Spartan.

If he ran out of time, it wasn’t as if the aircraft would leave without him. He was, after all, Martin Zimmer. Michael Rourke smiled at the thought as he continued to enjoy the hot water. If he had to pick one person in the world not to be, it would be Martin Zimmer. Biological brother or not, the man was evil incarnate.

The key to Michael’s success in the role, however, was to reach Eden City; then, with only a man or two with him, go someplace, anyplace. Lose, neutralize, or kill (if need be) the men and get away. The longer he hung around pretending to be Martin Zimmer, the greater his chances for being discovered.

Michael toweled dry, then started to dress. Martin Zimmer’s trousers were a litde loose at the waist and tight at the thighs, fashionable men of Eden evidendy into underdeveloped muscles or looking as though their pants were about to rip. The trousers were also beldess. Except for a revolver on a Hip-Grip or the clip-type in-side-the-waistband holsters, this made carrying a gun at the waist rather awkward. The turtleneck was somewhat tight as well, but satisfactory. He slipped into the high-collared jacket with no lapels. As long as he did not attempt to close the garment across his chest, it fit all right.

There was a hat that presumably went with the outfit. It was reminiscent of hats he’d seen worn by Mao Tse Tung in photographs. Michael Rourke looked at it in disgust, just carrying it in his hand instead of wearing it as he exited the bathroom.

“I have a gun for you, Martin,” Gunther Hong said as Michael reentered the main portion of the cabin. Hong was holding a gunbelt in his outstretched right hand.

Michael Rourke didn’t react instandy. The clothing he wore—Martin Zimmer’s clothing—was obviously not designed for convenient concealment of a firearm. Nor did people travel openly armed in Eden City. As much as Michael Rourke wanted a gun, he was convinced Martin Zimmer would not have taken it. So he told Gunther Hong, “That is what I have the defense forces for, isn’t it?”

But he’d be damned if he’d wear the hat.

They started from the borrowed cabin, toward the rendezvous with the aircraft, Michael presumed. As they moved through the bowels of the mobile fortress, men everywhere at their assigned tasks, Michael pondered something that had disturbed him from the very moment he first realized who Martin Zimmer was. Did Zimmer cultivate the near worship of John Rourke as some sort of evil joke?

There were statues everywhere in Eden, most particularly the one of his father—Martin’s father, too—atop The Retreat. John Rourke’s face was on the coinage, the stamps, even the health certificates. Why? And why did Martin Zimmer conceal his own face from all but a few?

Snow fell heavily from a low, overcast grey sky. There was little wind. Each step was difficult, the terrain beneath their feet rocky and uneven, yet masked with more than a foot of reasonably fresh snow.

In the distance, to the east, the cloud cover was continually rent by chain lightning over the rift valley.

They were on the trail. That was pure luck, of course, intersecting the trail after the first climb, but a little luck—of the good kind—seemed long overdue them. Natalia and Annie stayed with twenty-three of the women rescued from the fortress of the Land Pirates. John Rourke and Paul Rubenstein carried the twenty-fourth woman, injured during the crash of the helicopter, between them on a litter.