Warrior (Freelancer Book 2) (13 page)

This caught Rick's attention. "What did you call them?"

"Crusaders?"

"No, the people in charge."

"The Inner Circle." Kristee looked puzzled. "Why?"

Eve and Rick exchanged a look, and Rick said, "No real reason. I've just heard something like that before."

Eve cut him off with an eyebrow and then pulled Kristee a little tighter. "Never mind, Kris, get on with the rest of your story."

Kristee leaned her head on Eve's shoulder. "Well, the whole setup was fucked-up from the beginning. Sage and I were put up in a big bunkhouse building way out in the back—in the woods, really—with the other mothers and children. Gary wasn't allowed to stay with us. He was only allowed to visit once a week."

She shook her head. "What was really strange was that it didn't seem to bother him at all. I mean, we might have stayed in Montana for all we saw of him, but he said it was fine. He had to concentrate all his energy on praying for strength and preparing to fight to bring about God's will. Or whatever.

"I mean they kept changing what they believed in. They made me go to special 'women's classes.' What a load of crap. It was like you'd taken Jesus, Saint Augustine, and Che Guevara and mashed them up with bits and pieces of Sun Dance and Blessing Way rituals and cooked them in a pot for a couple of weeks. And when you'd finally learn something like how awful capitalism was and that capitalists were The Real Enemy, they'd go and yell at you because 'everyone knew' that capitalists were their best buddies and radicals and anarchists were The Real Enemy."

She glanced over at Eve. "Most of the guys obviously didn't have a clue what it really meant. However, when Stephen preached, wow, it all made sense and you just felt like you would be…I don't know. Wrong? Evil? If you didn't dedicate your life to making it all happen."

Scotty nodded and, when Kristee looked at him quizzically, said, "Yeah, that's what I thought about 'Cosmic Wisdom' where I took all those lessons. When I listening to them, it all seemed to make sense, and it felt important. But afterwards," he shook his head, "it just didn't cohere into a logical whole."

Eps said, "Dude, that's what we kept trying to tell you."

Scotty looked at the smaller man skeptically. "You think that there are billions of tons of 'dark matter' out between the stars. That's not exactly a sign of an excess of logical consistency."

"Wait a minute! If you take Einstein's equations out to their logical endpoint and then factor in the latest computer runs from the telescopes in Hawaii—" Steve held up his hand. "Guys. Remember the rule. No quantum mechanics around civilians—it just scares people. We'll take dark matter up at lunch on Wednesday like we always do." He broke off and said quietly, "I see a child's size-4 foot at the top of the stairs."

Kristee didn't even get up this time. "Sage! Bed. Now!"

Loud stomping noises came down the stairs. In a softer voice, Kristee called, "I'll be up in a couple of minutes to tuck you in, kiddo."

Rick's muscles were stiff from too many days in a microbus, so he slid down until he was lying full-length on the floor. Eve stretched out a bare foot and rubbed his shoulder. Most of her attention was on the thin woman still tucked into a defensive knot on the other end of the sofa.

"OK, now we know how you got to DC but why did you leave the happy little family out in Warrenton?"

"It was bad enough to be stuck in the back and expected to cook and clean in the Big House." Kristee's face tightened and her eyes appeared to darken with anger. "The women would have to do household chores all morning. Then we were supposed to stick around our bunkhouse in the afternoons and evenings when the guys would take classes and do some sort of weird martial arts training. I think they said it came from Brazil, but it just looked like trying to dance and fight at the same time to me.

"In the beginning, it wasn't so bad. Sage had other kids her age to play with, and I could hang out with the wives and girlfriends, so I wasn't all that lonely even without Gary."

Kristee paused so long that Eve prompted her with a low "but?"

"Yeah, there's always a 'but,' isn't there?" Kristee's face twisted into a quick smile and then returned to its previous introspective impassivity. "When Sage got to be old enough to go to school, first grade, Gary told me that it wasn't allowed."

Rick spoke from the floor. "'Wasn't allowed'? Since when is first grade not allowed?"

"Beats me." Kristee shook her head. "I should have known something was wrong. All the kids went to kindergarten, but the following year, the girls were just left sitting at home. Sage is a real tomboy and usually hung out with the boys. She just wouldn't let it go. Kept bugging me every morning when the bus left."

She took a deep breath. "And she was already almost a year behind because of all the moving around, so I talked to Gary and said we were going to send her to school. That's when we had our first real fight. Just screaming at each other, banging doors, throwing dishes, the whole thing."

Kristee laughed without humor. "I guess having our first fight after seven years wasn't that bad, but we hadn't seen each other for almost four of them."

Her voice sobered as she spread her hands out and shrugged. "I packed, put Sage in the truck, and left. I wasn't really leaving him. I just wanted to get her into school, so we rented a room over a biker bar in Leesburg. In the end, Gary calmed down and even helped us settle in. He still lived at the mansion, but he'd come by and play with Sage on the weekends sometimes.

"I put Sage into first grade and worked the day shift in the bar in exchange for rent. The tips were good, so things were OK. I figured Gary would come to his senses at some point and we'd get back together. Hell, I liked the guy. I still do, for that matter."

She shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was about to say. "But then they came and got us."

Eve broke in, "'Got you?' What do you mean, 'Got you'?"

"One evening, Sage and I were watching TV, and Gary knocked on the door and said he'd come to hang out, but when I opened the door, Gary wasn't standing there. It was these guys, kind of like Stephen's foremen or lieutenants or something. They just walked in, didn't say a word to me. They grabbed Sage, packed up all our stuff, and drove us back to Stephen's."

Steve asked, "Didn't you say something?"

"Hell yes, I was screaming bloody murder, but they didn't pay any attention." She rubbed her cheek. "And that bastard Flick backhanded me three times, real fast and told me that he'd smack Sage next if I said another word. Then we were down the stairs, through the bar, and into the truck."

Rick sat up slowly. "What did you say his name was?"

"God, he was such a horse's ass. He didn't like his real name or whatever, so he made everyone call him Flick like he was a tough guy." She pursed her lips and then said, "And since he was the best fighter they had, no one argued. Why?"

Rick looked at Eve who gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. "Oh, it's a strange name, that's all." He swiveled on the floor and leaned back against the sofa again. "So what happened?"

Kristee sighed. "Well, it was even worse than before. Sage and I had to stay in our room anytime we weren't doing chores, and one or another of Stephen's tough guys was always keeping an eye on us. I think Gary didn't like it, but they were just as angry with him for letting us leave, so he was on lockdown, too. Then it got weird."

"You mean it wasn't weird already?" Eps asked. "What would be your definition of 'weird'?"

"OK, it got weirder." Again, Kristee responded with a hint of humor in her voice, which disappeared fast. "I started hearing stories from the other girls. Stuff about how girls were taken to the Big House for 'special training' when they turned nine, and, well . . ."

She paused and looked off into nowhere, seeing something that wasn't in the room.

A muffled thump came from the top of the stairs.

Eve got up and ran up the stairs, returning with a struggling, pajama-clad Sage over her shoulder. "I think the grown-ups—if you can call us that in this house—have talked quite enough tonight."

She knelt down in front of Rick. "Could you help me? I think these feet need tickling."

Over screams of protest that dissolved into giggles, Rick obliged. Glancing over at Kristee, he was glad to see that she had relaxed her defensive tucked-in position. She was even smiling a very small smile.

Eps stood and went to the battered stereo on the bookcase by the stairs. "Well, I guess it’s time for this place to quiet down but, first, we have something special prepared."

He selected an album, pulled the record out of the cover without showing the front, and placed it on the turntable.

He called over his shoulder, "Everyone up. We need to clear some space."

Rick stood. "Wait a minute. You guys have taken up dancing?"

Scotty just nodded solemnly, but Steve took a notebook filled with graph paper from where it was leaning against his chair. "Well, just the one song, really. We saw it twice, and between us, we managed to get it all written down."

He handed the notebook to Rick. It was covered with strange symbols, squares, triangles, and things that looked like stick figures. It was meticulous and dense with intricate lines and dots.

Rick studied the notebook. "What is this?" "Labanotation. It's a way of recording dance."

Steve came around, looked over his shoulder, and pointed at the first figures. "See, this tells you where the hands are, here are the feet, and then you can see how the weight moves in a curve to the left, resting on the ball of the foot as the hands clap—"

"Enough tech talk," Eps said as he dropped the needle and stepped over to Scotty. "Come on. We have five seconds, four, three . . ."

Steve joined the line and, as the drumbeat started, all three began to sway in unison, their arms coming up from their hips as they swiveled from side to side.

"L.A. proved too much for the man."

"Too much for the man." The three men responded together, hands out, fingers wagging, dead-on imitations of the Pips.

Eve clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling. This side of his normally staid friends astonished Rick, and he noticed that Sage had cuddled up against her mother with a big smile on her face.

Spinning, swaying, clapping—the three had every step, every gesture, and every word down perfectly, even the "pull the cord" motion on the "whoo hoo."

When they finished to a round of applause, whistling, and foot stomping, they motioned everyone to join them as the turntable recycled to the beginning of the song and started again.

Dancing wasn't one of Rick's strong points, but Eve had the whole sequence down the first time. By the third time, Kristee joined one end of the line and Sage, concentrating furiously, was in the center with Steve and Scotty coaching on each side, matching them move for move, laughing, and scampering to catch up whenever she missed a step.

The gunshot broke the silence with the flat crack of a bullet that's heading straight toward you.

I'm on the ground before I even realize I've moved. "Incoming! Sarge, where do we dig in?"

No answer. I look to my right where Sgt. Rickard is standing.

He's looking down at his stomach.

Crap! Where did that fucking hole come from? His guts are falling out.

Sarge begins screaming, a terrible high sound. Shit, he's not even taking a breath.

There's another round. Ten.

Twenty.

Fuck! Where are they coming from?

More bullets are smacking into the mud around me with vicious snaps.

Where is it coming from? It has to be back there. Way up in the trees.

Fuck. We just cleared that area!

In front of me, Spandau suddenly loses all his bones and flops straight down.

Wait, he's sitting. No, he's down.

Shit. That guy from C Company.

I can't breathe. My fingernail breaks as I scrabble in the dirt.

I need a hole.

I look around. Man after man after man just…falls. I'm trying to scream.

A warning.

A call for help.

Nothing is coming out. My throat is locked. All around me, the men keep falling.

Jones spins, Brant…Lardner…Bout…disappear in the grass.

More fall. There.

There.

My chest is burning.

I can feel the scream coming up from my chest.

"Whuff!"

A blow in the stomach
chuffs
out Rick’s air and doubles him up. He reacts by whipping his hands forward and grabbing, looking for a strap or a belt that he can use on his attacker. Needles slash into his arm.

Rick opens his eyes.

Max, the house "watch cat," was sitting on his crotch with a paw up and his claws out. A deep warning growl came from his chest.

"Good morning, trooper."

Rick put his hand over the bleeding scratches on his arm and continued to focus on the cat. "This animal is a goddamn menace."

Eve walked over, picked up the heavy orange cat, and began to scratch under his chin. "So are you. Anyway, you hit him first."

"He attacked me." Rick was beginning to come down from the terror and adrenaline of the dream. "I was just sleeping peacefully."

"No. You were screaming, and it was heading up to that wonderful fire-siren sound I've come to know and love." She put the cat out on the porch where it glowered at Rick through the screen door. After a long moment—Rick was sure the cat was vowing revenge—Max stalked off to his tree and disappeared. "So I used Max to quiet you down."

Rick examined the four deep gouges in his arm. He didn't think they'd be fatal. "Couldn't you have just woken me yourself?"

Eve didn't turn from the mirror where she was examining the woman's version of a man's suit she was wearing. "No, I've found it's risky if I'm not already in bed with you. Then I can hold on to your chest until you realize we're not in a rice paddy. Twice last week, you took a swing at me when I woke you up to switch drivers. There's not a lot of space in a VW Bus to dodge, you know."

"Damn. I didn't know that." Rick looked at her with real pain on his face. "I'm sorry."

"No reason to apologize, trooper. You're still fighting the war in there, and I've just learned to take a few safety precautions." She turned to look at him, and he could see her smile. "Like siccing a cat on you. I figured Max could handle himself."

She tossed him a washcloth, and Rick used it to wipe the blood off his arm. "Sure, when I'm asleep AND on another continent. Let's see how tough he is when I'm awake. I'm calling that cat out, best two out of three."

He sat on the side of the bed and wound a clean gym sock around his arm to stop the bleeding. "I need to pick up some weights, don't I?"

"And a motorcycle. I don't think you can get any real relief in a VW Camper."

"It lacks a certain something. Maybe because it can't go over 55 miles an hour and the only real danger is when a strong wind tries to turn it over or blow it off a bridge. But I think I can solve the motorcycle situation today."

Eve finished her critical self-examination, pulled up the grey pinstriped skirt, and began to tug at her panty hose. "I HATE these damn things. Yes, you do need your weights. You couldn't sleep for hours. I could tell by your breathing."

"Well, so much for being considerate and letting you sleep." He headed for the bathroom. "You ready for the first day at the law firm?"

"I'm not putting these glorified socks on for nothing. Damn it!"

Rick looked back to see her bend over, inspect a hole, and begin to peel off the panty hose. "That's three pairs this morning," she complained as she hurled the most recent pair into the trash. "And that's my last pair. You're going to have to stop somewhere so I can pick some up on our way downtown."

She went back to staring at her clothes in the mirror and making minute adjustments.

"Why can't you break with tradition and just wear the clothes you're comfortable in?" Rick asked as he was loading up his toothbrush.

"Because, as an Indian and, even worse, a woman, I've already got two strikes against me. I'm not going to let the other paralegals get any advantage. These aren't clothes, they're armor, and the slightest chink will give them a chance to put a knife in me."

Through a mouthful of toothpaste, Rick said, "Man, you women fight rough."

She turned and began to examine her back and sides. "You have no idea. I had to fight my way into the measly five percent of my law school class that they 'set aside' for women. I'm going to have to go into government because no reputable law firm will allow a woman to take the lead on a case—" She turned to the other side. "And now I'm going to be the punching bag for every legal secretary at Marsden Angle."

Rick spat and rinsed his mouth from the faucet. "Why?"

"Because I'm a 'paralegal,' and no one knows what that is."

Eve walked to the bed and began examining two pairs of dress shoes. "I'm not a secretary, and I'm not an associate, and I'll be doing some of the work of both. Hell, they only invented 'paralegals' last year. I have no idea what I'll be doing, but I can guarantee that every woman who's spent years fetching coffee and getting hit on by her boss is going to hate me."

Rick leaned against the bathroom door. "Speaking of 'getting hit,' what is going to happen with Sage and Kristee?"

Eve picked up one pair of high heels with a clunky, thick sole. "Well, you heard last night that the guys have found a job for Kristee. She's going to do maintenance on the mainframes with Eps over at Riggs. They've already gotten her security clearance and an ID badge."

"What about Sage?"

Eve threw the clunky shoes on the bed and picked up a black, conservative pair. "You know, the guys have genuinely taken to her. By the time I got down for breakfast, Eps had already showed her all the 'cool' features of the house and Scotty was teaching her chess using Lucky Charms for pieces."

She turned around and held out both pairs of shoes. "You pick."

Rick turned and headed for the shower. "I may be dumb enough to go three rounds with a professional 'watch cat' but I'm not dumb enough to do that. Why don't you just go all the way and ask me if that dress makes you look fat?"

"Does it?" Eve spun back to the mirror and Rick escaped into the shower.