The Theory of Games (25 page)

Colt steered towards a dirt track leading out of the clearing; I figured it must have been the way they drove in. Except for the roar of the Escalade’s engine, Bill’s panting and the blood pounding in my brain it was quiet. Incredibly, we must have outrun our pursuers; or, better yet, they had given up.

“We did it!” Katelynn shouted gleefully, “I can’t believe it; we pulled it off!”

And then there was the sharp crack of a high-powered rifle from behind and the back window crashed in showering us with glass. The bullet exited out the driver’s side window scattering more shards and just missing Colt’s head by inches. I foolishly turned around and poked my head over the backseat. Junior Authoritarian Men were racing out of the forest but one, obviously a SWAT team specialist and in full combat gear, was in the classic prone marksman position and taking deliberate aim at us.

I wanted to yell some instructions to Colt but I couldn’t think of anything useful to say that wasn’t painfully obvious:
drive faster! Swerve!
Colt wrenched the SUV to the right and then the left; the engine was already redlining. The dirt track was almost within reach.

Another shot followed by an explosion in the back of the Escalade. The SWAT marksman had hit the right rear tire. A horrible sound came from the wheel well as the tire shredded and threw off hunks of steel belted radial. The Escalade lurched sickeningly to the right and then to the left as Colt overcompensated for the blown tire.

“Don’t stop for anything, Colt!” Kate yelled.

“I don’t intend to!” Colt screamed back over the sound of the disintegrating tire.

We made it to the end of the clearing and Colt swung hard to the right and onto the dirt track that threaded its way under a canopy of ancient oaks and, hopefully, the way out of here.

Another shot - now distant and far behind us - and I cringed waiting for the sound of it striking the SUV. It never came.

“We’re going to make it; we’re going to make it!” I thought to myself. I hugged Bill with joy.

Colt raced the Escalade down the dirt road weaving between tree stumps and rocks. Up ahead I could see where the dirt track entered in to a paved road; probably a county highway of some sort. I still had no idea where we were but freedom could now be measured in yards.

CHAPTER 6.3

My brother once said, “freedom cannot be granted; it can only be denied.” I always wondered what he meant by that; until this very moment.

An armored Bradley A1 fighting vehicle painted forest camouflage rolled across the road before us and its ugly little gun turret swiveled in our direction. Colt slammed on the brakes; there was no way around the Bradley and there certainly was no way through it. Escalade with blown right rear tire versus Bradley (albeit the earliest and not upgraded model) was still a no contest.

Colt struggled to keep the SUV from flipping; he furiously turned the wheel into the spin and then back against it. With one back wheel gone we were fishtailing wildly and not slowing down much.

With a bone jarring crash of metal against metal the SUV smashed into the Bradley. The front and side airbags snapped open; white billowing clouds that enveloped Colt and Katelynn in the front. Bill was thrown across the backseat and into my lap with a loud yelp.

The decision of what to do now, of where to flee, of where to run, was abruptly taken from us when the doors to the Escalade were thrown open and men dressed in black body armor thrust their automatic weapons into the SUV. Our run was over.

We were each pulled from the wreck by strong gauntlet covered hands; even Bill, who was quickly muzzled with a roll of duct tape. They dragged us out and threw us on the ground. I looked up to see that we were at the apex of a ring of weapons - as if they were hoplites and the M16s were spears – and we were the vanquished awaiting our fate.

The cuffed us, and put Bill back in his harness, and then the back door of the Bradley swung down and they led us inside. We sat on the benches, two guards for each one of us, and then door swung back up with a final metal clang and I could hear the engine rumble to life and we rolled away.

I knew where we were going; even if I still did not know where we were.

We were going back to the Authoritarian Man. And he was going to very pissed off.

CHAPTER 6.4

I was locked in the same room that I had been imprisoned in for the last week except this time I was not strapped down to the gurney. Another day passed and then I heard a key in the lock.

The door opened and Katelynn walked in with a sheepish grin on her face. She was immediately followed by the Authoritarian Man with a large purple contusion in the middle of his forehead. Man, Colt got him good; it looked like half a baseball was imbedded in his skull.

“Sweetie,” Kate began, “be cool and come with us.” After yesterday I had no doubt that Katelynn wasn’t involved in this conspiracy - regardless of what Gilfoyle said – but her appearance here with the Authoritarian Man was confusing.

I got up from the bed and followed them out of the room. Katelynn surreptitiously grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. We entered the same hallway but instead of taking the turn to the garden we went in the opposite direction; further into the building. We entered a formal library, a log fire burned merrily in a marble fireplace at one end; the walls were lined with leather bound volumes. Colt was sitting in one four wingback chairs before the fire; Bill was lying on the carpet. The same dark mahogany box that I saw yesterday in the garden was on a table before them.

Bill looked up and saw me; he bounded across the room in three mighty leaps and nearly bowled me over. We were reunited again and at least, this time, nobody was shooting us, beating us or dragging us at the end of a prong collar.

“Mr. Grant, Ms. O’Brian please take a seat,” the Authoritarian Man motioned to two empty wingback chairs before the fire. He sat down in the fourth. Kate and I sat down and held hands; Bill lay at our feet.

“Let’s see,” said the Authoritarian Man, “where were we just before your abortive escape attempt, yesterday? Oh, yes, I remember,” and he reached for the dark wooden box. He opened the lid. Inside, lying on a blue velvet cushion was a gold disk attached to a red, white and blue ribbon. “This is our nation’s highest, and most secretive, honor.” the Authoritarian Man began, “It is awarded only to those who at great personal risk and bravery save the Republic from those who would attempt to overthrow it. It has been awarded less than ten times in our nation’s history. For obvious reasons we cannot advertise attempted coups. It is my great honor to present the Hero of the Republic Medal to Bill the Dog.” The Authoritarian Man removed the medal from the box by the ribbon and approached Bill who bared his fangs and let out a low growl.

“Here, let me do that,” Katelynn intervened and slipped the medal around Bill’s neck.

“Yesterday, in the garden, you were going to give us an award?” I stammered.

“I was going to give Bill an award,” the Authoritarian Man answered, “You get nothing. You sold your country out for a dog.”

I guess I couldn’t argue with that because it was true. “Are you going to at least answer a few questions?” I asked the Authoritarian Man.

“I suppose we do owe you that,” he replied.

“WhoareyouwherearewewhatthehellwasgoingonwithGilfoyleandStanhopeandtheNeoSparanswhyhavewebeenheldasprisonerswhothehelldoyouthinkyouare?” I asked.

“Mr. Grant,” the Authoritarian Man replied, “your interrogation skills are minimal, at best. Why don’t I just fill you in as best I can?

I nodded.

“The story, as far as we’re concerned, begins when the Pennsylvania State trooper found you and your dog on Highway 16 outside of Site-R,” the Authoritarian Man began. “It was obvious that you had come from Site-R, your bloody trail led straight back to Portal D; the only problem was that
nobody
was supposed to be coming from Site-R. A quick investigation by the Military Police discovered the carnage left behind by Bill.” Here the Authoritarian nodded towards Bill who just snarled in return and then wagged his tail when Katelynn scritched him the way he likes and whispered, “My hero!” in his ear.

“Yes, whatever,” the Authoritarian Man continued, “A further investigation by the MPs turned up all the records of the Neo Spartan conspiracy in Stanhope’s office as well as the body of Dr. Park. It appears that there were about a hundred active conspirators; some ex-military, some present military, some mercenary, one a former U. S. Senator and unsuccessful candidate for his party’s presidential nomination; so you can see how deep this thing went and how we can never publicly admit its existence. If the American public knew that a former U. S. Senator was involved in an attempt to violently overthrow the government or that there were conspirators on active duty the stock market would tank, democracy would be threatened and we would lose all respect in the international community.

“The records indicate that the Neo Spartans recruited Dr. Park at least four years ago and Gilfoyle suggested you as a spare for him about a year later. After Bill killed Stanhope the Neo Spartans scattered. We’re still picking them up. Speaking of Gilfoyle, he was apprehended trying to cross the border into Canada. We got Reardon in Mexico. Gilfoyle, by the way, was promised the position of Minister of Education in their new administration.

“Obviously we had to hold on to you,” and here the Authoritarian Man indicated Bill and me, “until we could check out your story. For all we knew you were involved with the Neo Spartans. Maybe you had a falling out with them and that’s why you got shot. We didn’t know. The same went for Ms. O’Brian. By the way, there was no record of Ms. O’Brian being involved with the Neo Spartans – Gilfoyle’s claims to the contrary – of course we didn’t have any proof until her sudden appearance yesterday. However, there is ample evidence that corroborates your stories. In short, you are now free to go.” The Authoritarian Man folded his hands in his lap to indicate that he was done speaking.

“That’s it?” I was dumbfounded. “We’re just free to go like none of this happened? Well, I’ve still got some questions.” The Authoritarian Man raised a quizzically eyebrow. “Number one,” I began, “who are you?”

“That’s classified,” he answered.

“Number two, what organization in the U. S. government can hold me and my dog incommunicado for a week like you did?”

“A lot of them,” he replied, “read the newspaper.”

“Okay, Number three, what organization do you work for?”

“That’s also classified,” he answered.

“Excuse me, Doc,” Colt interrupted, “I’ve got a question.”

“Go ahead, Colt,” I replied, “I’m not getting anywhere.”

Colt shuffled uneasily in his chair, “Mr. Government Man, ah, what about my signing bonus?”

“You’re what?” the Authoritarian Man asked.

Katelynn intervened, “His SUV. He bought it with his signing bonus. His insurance – you do have insurance, don’t you Colt?” Colt nodded. “His insurance,” Kate continued, “probably doesn’t cover it being totaled by a Bradley fighting vehicle while attempting to aid in an escape from a secret government installation.”

“Oh, I see,” the Authoritarian Man pondered the question. “Look, Mr. Brankowsky, we’ll pull a few strings; we’ll make it right with your insurance company. We can do this.”

“Oh, wow, that’s great!” Colt wagged his head visibly relieved. “Can I ask another question? And first I want to say I’m really, really sorry about that fastball upside your head. Honest, it was the first time I ever intentionally threw a beanball and I swear I’ll never do it again.” The Authoritarian Man subconsciously rubbed the contusion on his forehead which looked like it was beginning to go down a little by now. “Anyway, Mr. Government Man,” Colt stumbled on, “I’m supposed to be pitching for the Washington Nationals this afternoon and I’m not really sure where I am, or where Washington is or how to get there.”

“Mr. Brankowsky, you’re the new pitcher the Nationals were bringing up from the minors that I’ve heard so much about?” The Authoritarian Man mused, “Well, this is a small world. We’re less than an hour from the National’s ballpark by chopper; we’ll get you there in plenty of time to pitch today. Of course, this is going to cost you some tickets.” The Authoritarian Man smiled.

“No problem, Mr. Government Man!” Colt grinned, “I’ll get you box seats for the rest of the year, I promise.”

So they flew Colt to Washington and he pitched a no-hitter.

Kate and Bill and I drove home in a rental car.

And that’s how all this ended.

CHAPTER 6.5

EPILOGUE.

Katelynn and I got married last month in the yard of the little yellow house.

I said, “I’m not going to wear a tux and I’ll be damned if Bill will wear one, either.” And, damn, if Bill didn’t have to wear a tux. But I did.

Bill will do anything if a female calls him ‘sweetie’ or ‘sweetheart’ and Katelynn pushed every one of Bill’s buttons. Kate made Bill wear that stupid Hero of the Republic medal and he trotted right up the aisle between the wooden folding chairs carrying the ring in a wicker basket that he carried in his mouth. Bill’s just a damn fool for a female calling him ‘
sweetie’
.

Kate was, as always, gorgeous. She wore something old and white and lacey. Her toenails were painted random, funny colors. I didn’t even ask.

Bishop Miller officiated and he said, “What God has put together let no man put asunder.” and that was good enough for me.

The All-Mojo All-Stars played the reception. We drank all night; the backyard was a muddy mess and Bill caught those plastic cups of beer in midair and sucked them straight down.

Oh, I had fallen deeply in love.

How could you not love a woman like Katelynn O’Brian?

•

{A month later.}

Katelynn’s pregnant now. If it’s a boy we’ll call him Nick and if it’s a girl we’ll call her – I dunno – Niki or Veronica or something – I dunno. I guess we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it, as my great-aunt Etta used to say. Etta could sure massacre a metaphor.