The Circle War (25 page)

Calypso walked over to the door and greeted the Circle leader, as the rest of the gathering watched in hushed silence. It was like two heads of state meeting.

"Welcome to my city," Calypso bellowed. "We're honored to have someone of your stature here with us."

"Thank you," Viktor said in a vaguely accented voice, adding, "We must talk."

"Talk?" Calypso asked, handing Viktor a cocaine-260

laced cocktail. "Surely we will talk. But first, let me introduce you to my guests. Then, you can introduce me to this lovely creature with you . . ."

Meanwhile, in the corridor outside the function room, a disturbance was taking place. The sergeant who was stationed on the top of the WTC building now found himself pinned up against the wall by four Circle storm troopers, four Uzi barrels pointed at his head. The sergeant had foolishly burst into the corridor right after Viktor had entered the function room, and the Circle soldiers were on him in an instant.

"I tell you, there's a guy flying around outside!" the sergeant tried to tell the storm troopers. But they were looking at him as if they didn't speak the language.

The sergeant tried to wiggle free but the Circle soldiers didn't flinch. A number of Calypso's personal security guards were Ipoking on, but no way were they going to buck the Circle storm troopers.

"I'm trying to tell you," the sergeant pleaded. "There's a guy —he's in a little airplane —a rocket jet or something —flying around outside! I saw him!"

A Circle major appeared and leaned into the man. "He's drunk," the officer whispered sternly.

The man tried a third time. "Look, we're up on top of this 'scraper to be on the lookout, right? Well we've seen something!"

"A man in a 'little jet?' " the major mocked him. Then, he motioned the four soldiers to take care of the man.

The storm troopers hustled the now-screaming and 261

kicking man out the exit door he'd come in through, and back up to the roof.

They didn't stop until they reached the edge. Without a moment's hesitation, they threw the struggling man off the roof and watched as he plunged 112

stories to his death.

The three other Calypso grunts had watched in terror as their boss was pitched over the edge. One of the Circle troopers turned his attention to them. He was dressed entirely in black and looked like a vision of death to the Calypso soldiers. "Anyone of you assholes see a man in a little jet?" he asked.

Inside, Viktor had already tired of Calypso and his crude excuse for a party.

But he was here to deal.

He pulled on the obese man's robe. "We must talk, Mr. Calypso," he said.

"Yes, talk!" Calypso said loudly. "Let us talk. Here. In front of my friends.

I have no secrets."

Viktor shifted his eyes around the room. Mid-Aks, Family, air pirates. All losers. Even the Russians were cowering in the far corner as if they had left home without their guns. He decided to show them all how a real winner operated.

"Very well. I call for a toast to you, Mr. Calypso," Viktor said loud enough for all the guests to hear. "To a man of real courage. A man who knows wealth and how to use it!"

"Hear! Hear!" the crowd laughed.

"Now, let us make a deal," Viktor said. The crowd gathered in a little, forming a loose circle around the two men. "I understand you have a map. A very

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valuable map."

Calypso smiled broadly and nodded.

"I am prepared to pay you one hundred million dollars for that map, Mr.

Calypso," Viktor declared.

An audible gasp ran through the crowd at the mention of the large amount of money.

Calypso laughed again, this time louder. "I don't want your money, Mr.

Robotov," Calypso said.

"Two hundred million in real silver," Viktor said quickly. He enjoyed the bargaining.

Calypso shook his head. "No, not money," he replied.

"Three hundred million dollars . . ."

"Please!" Calypso said, drunkenly looking for his cocaine cocktail. "I have enough money."

"Then what do you want, Mr. Calypso?" Viktor asked, showing some authentic curiosity.

Calypso smiled and reached inside his pocket. He drew something out and slowly unfolded it. It was the photograph of Viktor and Dominique, the same one found all over the Badlands. He handed the photo to Viktor, then set his eyes on Dominique.

"This, sir," Calypso said lecherously. "This is what I want."

The partygoers were on the verge of shock by this time. It took a few seconds to sink in that Calypso had turned down $300 million in real silver.

Viktor looked at Dominique. Her eyes had been cast down since they had entered the party. She had fulfilled her role nicely over the past several years, he thought. A student of mass hypnotism and propaganda, Viktor knew that Dominique's mysterious

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sexual allure would serve to increase his control over the vast Circle Army.

Carefully staged photographs, released only sporadically at first, were the vehicle used to introduce her to the troops, while their field commanders were under strict orders not to let them near anything even resembling a woman.

Thus, Dominque became the pin-up girl for this war—an X-rated queen in a land that hadn't seen a nudie magazine in more than five years. It was that

"something about her" that got to them all. She became New Order America's fantasy girl, at least in the Circle lands east of the Mississippi. "People will fight for a king," Viktor was fond of saying. "But they will die for a queen." And that she was Hunter's love made it all the more appealing to Viktor.

Dominique had been his prisoner since the day two of his agents kidnapped her right after she stepped off the plane in Montreal a few years earlier. Hunter had put her on that flight shortly before the Mid-Aks put Hunter's former employers —the Northeast Zone Patrol —out of business. Some way —she never found out exactly how — Viktor knew of her close relationship with Hunter. His agents knocked her out with a drug, then she was shipped to some unknown country—possibly Switzerland — where she was held against her will in a huge chalet. She was confined to a suite of rooms, though she never wanted for anything. Except her freedom.

Viktor would sometimes come in the middle of the night and take photographs of her, frequently drugging her food beforehand. Sometimes, he'd take her. She resisted at first. But he had convinced her of one 264

thing which made her give up hope. Hunter was dead, he told her, over and over. Killed during the Battle for Football City. Viktor even went through the trouble of showing her photographs of a crashed F-16, the bloody remnants of the pilot clearly visible through the wreckage. She didn't want to believe him at first, but he broke her down. And although she never really accepted in her heart that the man she loved was really dead, she frequently questioned whether it was true.

And that's all Viktor needed.

"But, Mr. Calypso!" Viktor said. "This is my queen ..."

Calypso took Dominique's hand and kissed it. "Yes, he said. "And this is what 1 want."

Viktor laughed. He owned her. He could give her away.

"Granted." he said.

Another gasp ran through. ,the captivated crowd. Even the air pirates — slugs who worked hard at maintaining their reputation — were fascinated at the ritual of high shelf white slavery.

Calypso held up his hand. "Wait, Mr. Robotov," he said. "You have only heard half my offer."

Viktor looked at him curiously. "I have given her to you, Mr. Calypso. What more could you want?"

Calypso leered at Dominique. The cocaine had his hormones boiling. She looked so innocent, standing there, shy, like a schoolgirl, yet dressed in a gown so low, he imagined he could see the outline of her nipples. Her long blond hair was curled so seductively. She reminded him so much of Bridget Bardot.

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A soft little sex kitten, yet really a mature young woman. This is what Calypso knew he needed.

"I want her," Calypso said. "Here. Now." With that, he clapped his hands. Some one of his aides, off in another room unseen, pushed a button and two fur-lined chains slowly descended from the ceiling. The room doubled as Calypso's sexual playground. For the first time, Dominique looked up. She felt a shiver go through her. Did the man really want to chain her up and force love on her? In front of the crowd?

"Wait!" Viktor said, bringing a quick end to the hushed conversation that had rippled through the guests. "My queen is one thing. To expose her is another.

. ." He bit his lip in thought, then said: "What else do you have to offer, Mr. Calypso?"

The man had not taken his lusting eyes off Dominique. "Name it, Mr. Robotov.

It's yours. Jewels. Gold." Calypso started to undo his toga's belt.

Viktor countered. "I have jewels, Mr. Calypso. And I have gold. I want something of value."

Two words popped into Calypso's head. "The black box," he said, smiling at the black uniformed, goateed man. "It belonged to the U.S. Air Force before the war. God knows what it does. But I'm sure you —or your allies —would want to disassemble it. Study it, perhaps." With that, the big man clapped his hands and a moment later, another aide appeared, carrying the black box.

The Russian officers looked on enviously as Viktor took the box and examined it. He was smart enough

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to know it was more valuable than all his money. Or his queen.

He looked at Calypso, then at Dominique. He ran his hand through her blond hair and laughed.

"Take her . . ." he said finally. "Do what you want with her."

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It took Calypso's men just a minute to secure Dominique to the fur-covered chains. The drug-induced guests cheered as she hung helplessly, her arms stretched out, her feet barely touching the ground. Calypso undid his tunic to reveal his lardish plump body, grossly clad now only in briefs. Once Dominique was secured, he ripped off the front of her dress, exposing her pert breasts to the crowd. She gasped and moaned: "No . . . please. No." But her pleas only brought laughs and jeers to the crowd. Even the paranoid Russians seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

Viktor laughed as Calypso stepped up and roughly fondled Dominique's beautiful body. He ran his hands down her breasts to her exposed soft stomach, then down one of her black-stockinged legs. He tried to kiss her, but she spit at him, much to the crowd's delight. He then slapped her cruelly and removed his briefs to reveal a stubby erection.

"I am the king of New York City!" he proclaimed, drunk and drooling. "What I want ... I get!'

With that, he charged forward and attempted to

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enter her.

One of the Russian officers saw it first. A flame, outside one of the huge plate glass windows, clearly reflecting against the night sky. It was getting closer —moving very fast . . .

"What the fuck is ... "he began to say in Russian. But before the words came out, he had his answer.

There was a mighty crash, ear-splitting with the sound of exploding glass, as one of the huge windows near where Dominique was about to be raped exploded inward. The glass, shattering into pebble sized shards, flew all over the room like a million diamonds, reflected in a ball of flame.

Behind the smoke and the shower of the glass was the minijet — with Hunter behind the controls.

The hole in the huge window caused a violent whirlwind around the room. The lights flickered, objects were flying everywhere. The noise was tremendous.

Things began getting sucked out as the difference in air pressures caused a great vacuum effect. One of the air pirates went first, screaming as he was unwillingly drawn out into the night. A Family thug and his moll went next, their desperate attempts to grasp on to something —anything —failing. Calypso was the next victim of the vortex —his large frame slamming against the jagged edges of the glass, ripping his jugular as he went out the window and plunged to a bloody death. Dominique, although close to the hole, was prevented from being drawn to it as she was still secured to the rape chains.

Everywhere in the room, people were screaming,

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holding on for their lives. Other windows started bursting. Two of Calypso's men were slowly drawn out a new, smaller hole, though the slow suction made it a long and painful prelude to death. One of the storm troopers, vainly holding on to the edge of the sill, finally weakened and allowed himself to be sucked out, but not before letting out a chilling scream. Another Family moll followed right behind him.

The minijet sat in the middle of the confusion, its jets still smoking and sparks from its engine starting small fires around the room. The canopy popped and Hunter came out, his helmet visor down, his .357 Magnum blazing. He took out two of the Circle storm troopers first, then spun around and shot a Family goon right between the eyes. Storm troopers out in the corridor had recovered from his bursting in and started to return fire, but they were shooting so wildly, they were hitting some, of the guests instead of Hunter.

The noise inside the room was like a tornado. More windows were exploding.

More people, some no more than bloody masses of pulp, were being sucked out.

Glasses, bottles, lamps, ashtrays were whipping around the room like missiles, striking people before disappearing out of one of the broken windows.

Hunter quickly jumped down from the minijet and made his way toward Dominique.

She had fainted by this time. Hunter reached her by carefully crouch-running from one secured object to the next. Another couple of windows exploded, showering the

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already bloody guests with more sharp pieces of glass.

Hunter knew that every window that exploded served to balance the air pressure, reducing the danger of being sucked out into the night. He had to move quickly. Rescuing Dominique was his first priority, but getting the black box ran a close second. He was also looking for Viktor, but in the darkness and confusion, the man was nowhere to be seen.

Hunter reached Dominique and two quick blasts from the Magnum busted her chains. She fell into his arms, and at that moment, in the swirl of blood, flame of death all around him, he tenderly held her close to him. "I've got you," he whispered to her.