The White Fox Chronicles (2 page)

Cody was the oldest member of this last group. The enemy considered him one of their finest pupils. He could speak their language and spout their doctrine as well as anyone. And he went out of his way to convince them that he was completely loyal. No one knew what he was really up to, except Luther.

Cody’s father had been a pilot in the third Gulf War—the conflict that had kicked off the endless string of wars. The Nighthawk F-119 he had flown had been shot down over
what once had been called Iraq, and Cody had never heard from him again.

Cody’s mother had been killed during the initial bombing attack on California, and until Cody had been captured he’d lived alone. Well, not entirely alone. There was Franklin Stubbs.

Franklin Stubbs had walked away from a maximum-security prison when it was hit by one of the bombs. At the time he had been serving five years for burglary. Since it was a well-known fact that the CCR exterminated all civil prisoners, he thought it best to leave when he had the chance.

A master safecracker and locksmith, Franklin spent his free time, when they weren’t scavenging for food, teaching Cody the tricks of his trade. Cody returned the favor by allowing him to share his home, an out-of-the-way spot under a small bridge.

By day they slept to avoid patrols and at night they went into the burned-out city and searched for food. In the early-morning hours when it was light enough, Cody practiced his newfound vocation. Before long he knew how
to make a lockpick out of almost anything and there wasn’t a locked room or building anywhere that could keep him out.

But that was before. Before he and Franklin had had a run-in with a CCR foot soldier looking for military holdouts. The soldier shot first and asked questions later.

Franklin was left in a pool of blood and Cody was put on a transport plane heading for a prison camp in the southwest.

The memories made Cody set his jaw. Those things had happened more than a year ago. Since that time, he’d learned a lot, learned how to play their game. The guards trusted him now and had practically given him the run of the camp—which was exactly what Cody wanted.

D
eftly balancing a stack of clean white towels on one hand, Cody opened the front door with the other. He whistled as he passed the two guards stationed in front of Sidoron’s private office. They paid no attention to him. He always seemed to be hanging around. It was his job to clean the office, deliver the laundry and bring the commander his evening meal.

Colonel Sidoron was sitting behind his desk puffing on an expensive cigar. When he
noticed Cody, his face broke into a relaxed grin. “And how is our little White Fox today?” he asked in accented English.

The teacher in Cody’s new world order history class had first given him that nickname because of his ability to learn quickly and because of his white-blond hair. The camp guards had picked it up and now it was the only name they used for him.

Cody bowed the way he had been taught to do when addressed by a superior. Then, in the commander’s own language, Cody assured him that things couldn’t be better. He lowered his eyes and asked if there was anything His Excellency the colonel desired.

The colonel stood up and stretched. “No. You may clean my office now. I have something important to attend to.”

And I bet I know who she is, Cody thought. He bowed again and waited for the colonel to leave the room. Pretending to put the towels away, Cody moved to a window and looked out through the half-open blinds.

“Just what I thought,” he said under his breath. He watched the colonel and two
guards walk straight to the isolation cells behind the office. These were metal boxes buried in the ground with only an iron grate for a roof. The sun, rain, dust and rats had easy access to them. Prisoners were sent there for punishment and most never left alive.

The colonel yelled down into one of the boxes, then spat on the prisoner below. The guards opened the padlock, pulled the grate off and lifted the woman out.

Cody drew a sharp breath. The woman’s face was a mass of bruises, swollen to twice its normal size. Her broken arm had been twisted so that it now hung behind her at a crooked angle.

One of the guards pushed her with the barrel of his rifle and ordered her to walk ahead of him to the interrogation room. She took one step and fell. Instead of helping her up, the guards began kicking her in the stomach and ribs.

Cody clenched his fists and turned from the window. It wouldn’t do either one of them any good for him to watch this. He would just do what he’d come here for and leave.

Quickly he put his towels on the shelf and moved to the colonel’s desk. What he was looking for wasn’t on it. He stepped to the file cabinet. From his pocket he took his latest pick wire, put it in the tiny lock and easily opened it.

He had already searched this cabinet several times, so it was a snap for him to recognize the new folder. The tab had the name McLaughlin printed on it in large block letters.

Cody thumbed through it. The woman was a pilot. Major Toni McLaughlin, formerly of the United States Air Force and lately of the U.S. Army Rebels. She had been shot down in a Blackhawk III chopper not far from the camp.

Cody rubbed his chin. Now, this was something. He had been told that the American holdouts were few in number and that they had no military capability. Apparently he’d been lied to. If the rebels had planes, they must have a base. And if McLaughlin knew where the base was located …

A door opened down the hall. Cody
slipped the file back into the cabinet and pushed the drawer shut. He picked up a feather duster and moved to the windowsill.

A young guard stuck his head in the office door. “Oh, it’s only you, White Fox. You may carry on.”

Cody bowed and managed a fake smile. Don’t worry, sucker, he thought. I’ll carry on, with or without your permission.

I
t was dark but it didn’t matter because the perimeter of the compound was well lit and a searchlight swept the area at regular intervals. The guards in the towers paced back and forth with their submachine guns watching for anyone who was careless enough to get caught in the firing zone.

Cody was squatting on the soles of his feet outside the commander’s office waiting for Sidoron to finish his meal. One of the labor inmates had taught him a magic trick and he
was showing it to the guards. First he tossed a shiny button in the air. Then he let them examine it. When they returned it he rubbed his hands together and … 
poof
, it disappeared. The guards clapped and asked him to do it again.

He was about to make it vanish a second time when Sidoron called for him. Cody jumped to his feet and went into the office to retrieve the evening dishes.

The commander lit one of his smelly cigars and put his feet up on the desk. He watched Cody as he cleaned up what was left of the meal. “It is so hard to understand you Americans.”

Cody didn’t answer because the man seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else.

Sidoron continued. “In the old days, it was easy to make people talk. Take away the food and water, maybe a few beatings. If necessary, shoot one of the relatives. My grandfather was an interrogator,” he added proudly. “There was never a prisoner he could not make confess.” He dropped his feet to the
floor and sat up. “What is this foolish patriotism you Americans possess? Why would you be willing to be tortured?”

This time he was addressing Cody so the boy stopped gathering dishes onto the tray. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, I don’t know what you mean.”

The commander sighed and leaned back in his squeaky chair. “Never mind, White Fox. You have become like us. I think perhaps you would not understand after all. Don’t worry, it is not an insurmountable problem for me. I will look on it as a challenge.”

Cody knew that Major McLaughlin was the problem Sidoron was talking about but also knew it would not serve his purpose to give that fact away. Instead he pretended to cheerfully pick up the tray and bowed his way out of the room.

Tonight Sidoron had left on his plate half a piece of white bread and a long strip of fat from his rare roast beef. Usually Cody would have gobbled it up the second he was out of sight. Compared to the watery porridge the inmates were served, anything
tasted good. But tonight he had a plan for the leftovers.

He nodded at the guards and carried the tray out the side door. Wadding up the fat inside the bread, he held it in his hand until he was a few yards from the punishment cells. Quickly he tossed it at
her
box and kept walking.

When he was almost to the steps of the kitchen, he could have sworn he heard a whispered “Thank you” from inside the box.

He smiled.

T
here were no adults in the children’s barracks. The CCR didn’t want them around to contaminate the younger inmates with poisonous American philosophies. Three times during the night a guard would make an inspection of the area. Everyone had to be on their bunk and no talking was allowed.

Cody was considered the ruler of this barracks. The other kids came to him to settle disputes and to discuss their problems. His cot was the only semiprivate one in the whole
room. He had an entire corner to himself. Sometimes at night before the guard came he would entertain the rest of them by telling them about movies he’d seen or books he’d read. He even taught them a ball game they could play sitting on their bunks using a roll of wadded rags.

Tonight, though, he had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. He had work to do. For the past six months he’d been working on a plan to escape. The biggest problem was that he had no idea where he was or what he would escape to. But now that problem was taken care of.

The instant he had read her file, he’d decided that the major was the key. She would know what lay on the outside and where the American rebels were hiding.

The lock on her punishment cell would pose no real obstacle. The padlocks all over the camp were the same brand. He had already opened several of them just to stay in practice. But getting her across the compound to his and Luther’s escape route would take a little planning.

Luther. That brought up a new problem. What would he think about bringing the major along? They had worked out an escape for only two people. One more, a possible invalid at that, might endanger the whole thing.

The doorknob at the far end of the barracks turned. A tall guard with a gun slung over one shoulder marched in. He walked down the center aisle silently marking off the prisoners, making sure everyone was accounted for.

Cody stretched out on the hard bed and watched the man under half-closed eyelids. This guard was no different from the rest. They all assumed that the inmates of the children’s barracks were not much of a threat so they never bothered to search them. Cody thought about the wire he had hidden inside his cotton mattress, which he used to make lockpicks. And carefully tacked to the underside of his board mattress was a full CCR uniform, his latest acquisition.

The guard left and Cody felt a tug on his left sleeve. It was Tasha, a five-year-old girl
who had been brought in only three days ago. A large tear rolled down her cheek.

Cody wiped it away, sat up and lifted her onto the bunk beside him. “Hey, cut that out. I told you, you have to be brave in here.”

Another tear escaped. “I been trying, Cody. Really. But I miss my mommy so bad. When do you think she’s comin’ for me?”

Cody sighed and put his arm around her small shoulders. “Sometimes it takes a while. You know how grown-ups are. They have a lot of business to take care of.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. That her mom was probably lying dead somewhere with a CCR bullet between her eyes.

He gave Tasha a squeeze, carried her back to her bunk and pulled the threadbare, scratchy wool blanket over her. “Now, you stay in your bed. And try to get some sleep, okay?”

Minutes ticked into hours while Cody waited for the second inspection of the night. When the guard left, he quietly slipped off his cot and lifted a plank out of the wooden floor.

A grown man would have had trouble
squeezing through the small opening, but because of his age and the lack of nourishing food, Cody was able to slip through easily onto the ground under the barracks, carefully pulling the plank over the hole behind him.

He crawled to the corner of the barracks and waited for the searchlight to start moving in the opposite direction. When he was sure it was safe he ran to the next barracks and again waited for the light.

Luther’s barracks was the third one down. Once more Cody ran through the darkness and waited. Then he ducked under the building and counted the floor joists as he felt his way along. When he reached the sixth one, he stopped. Quickly he tapped out a modified Morse code they had worked out, asking if Luther was listening.

In moments Luther’s answer came back. No taps were wasted. Cody came right to the point. He told Luther about his plan to bring the woman. It was several seconds before Luther answered. It was simple—
no
.

Cody frowned. He tapped again, explaining that the major knew where the rebels
were hiding. She could help them. Luther was adamant. They weren’t taking the woman and that was final.

A scowl crossed Cody’s face. He didn’t have time to argue. The next inspection was coming up and he had something else he wanted to do before he went back to the barracks.

Swiftly he slid out from under the building and made his way across the yard. To be caught out in the open like this meant they would shoot him on sight. Cautiously he edged his way past the vegetable garden and stopped near a truck tire until the searchlight had scanned the area.

He took a deep breath and dropped to his stomach. Like a slow-moving snake he crawled across the dirt to the edge of the punishment cell.

“Psst. Major, are you there?”

There was no answer and the spotlight was sweeping back toward him. “Major?”