Everybody Pays (38 page)

“Only if the people know,” the woman with the scar reminded him.

“
Sí.
But Roberto says the radio they gave us, it will work. Even on the generator, for at least ten minutes. And it will reach every corner. Far beyond Quitasol.”

“But how will they take the tower?”

“This I do not know. I know this man Cross cannot be a traitor, for he has no loyalty. He is a businessman. I assume he is a liar, then. All businessmen are liars. But I believe he can do it . . . Do not ask why, I just do. And as Rosita said, we have risked nothing of value. Not so far. Only if the tower stops transmitting do we go into the streets, agreed?”

The nods were no less emphatic for being silent.

“You ready to take your medicine without any trouble this time, bitch?” the guard asked the woman in the shapeless bleached gray shift.

She nodded weakly, opening her mouth like a trained dog following a command.

“Too bad,” the guard sneered at her. “It was more fun the last time.”

“It’s ready,” said Fal, inspecting the runway. Dusk was falling. “I’m transmitting . . . now.” He flicked a toggle switch on a black box he had taken from the pocket of his jacket. A green light glowed. “Buddha knows now. He should be in after first light tomorrow. We’ve got a good ten hours to cover less than three klicks and find shelter. I’ve been there four times already. The path is marked. That part’s easy. Getting back, there’s where we have to work.”

This was a long speech for Falcon. Ace and Princess squatted next to him by the fire, waiting.

Falcon flicked another switch, watched another light glow green. “Cross knows now, too. We wait for the acknowledge. That comes, we’re gone.”

“They just alerted Buddha,” Cross told Tiger. “If he signals back, that means tomorrow, sometime after sunup.”

“I’m ready,” she said. “And I’ll tell Rhino when I wake him up for his shift.”

A red light glowed on the black box Falcon held in his hand. “Buddha’s got it,” he told the others. “Let’s move out.”

“I swear I’m gonna miss this place,” Crystal told Candy the next morning, both of them lounging in customer-magnet negligees. “I never worked a place so nice in my life.”

“Yeah. I don’t know about you, but only two guys even
tried
to get rough. And one look at that monster we got, and that was the end of it.”

“He
is
a big one.” Crystal chuckled. “I wonder if he’s
got
a big one.”

“Whether he does or not,
you’re
not gonna see it.”

“How could you know?”

“’Cause I don’t think he swings that way.”

“Which means
you
offered him a little on the side.”

“What if I did? I mean . . . what else is there to do here? Watch more
Baywatch
reruns? That is one lame show.”

“You think they all bought theirs?” Crystal asked, flicking her hands across her pneumatic breasts.

“Sure, girl. Who doesn’t? You believe even the marks think we came stock from the factory like this?”

“I guess not. Although nothing these idiots do would be that much of a surprise.”

“It doesn’t matter much. We only have three more days here.”

“Yeah. Well, you can stay if you want. Me, I miss the States. And I don’t like being locked up.”

“I guess you don’t,” Tiger said, walking into the room, the semi-auto leveled. “That’s why you were so quick to sell me to the feds, huh?”

The Harrier popped straight up out of the dense green Honduran jungle, hovered momentarily, then shot forward like a malevolent wasp. It headed toward the capital of Quitasol, less than twenty miles away, the roar of its vector-thrust turbofan engine blanketing the ground below into stunned silence. The radar found the little plane immediately, but even as the Quitasolan Air Force—four surplus Russian MiGs—was scrambling to alert, the Harrier let loose a single air-to-ground Maverick missile, the electric-optic system guiding the warhead right to its target. The top half of the radio tower disappeared—fire engulfed what was left. The Harrier banked sharply and darted back across the border before any of the MiGs could get into the air.

Throughout Quitasol, all radios went dead.

They didn’t stay dead for long. As the Comandante screamed orders from the palace, electronics experts worked with triangulators trying to locate the new source. A source that was broadcasting over the single station available, and broadcasting so powerfully that it reached the remote mountain settlements, as well as the dense streets of the capital.

The streets quickly filled with people as radios were turned to maximum volume. Soldiers responded. The crowds moved back, but the radios continued to blare the news. . . .

The Harrier came shrieking across the border again, this time aimed in another direction entirely, flying over ground unprotected by radar systems.

La Casa de Dolor loomed in Buddha’s vision. He fired both his 25mm Aden cannons at the walls, muttering, “Just like a fucking video game,” as the walls started to tumble. The Harrier twisted back, hovered just above the prison, and released its cluster bombs right onto the tops of the exposed buildings.

Several of the guards fired their rifles futilely at the buzzing jet. The rest of them ran for cover. Buddha emptied his rocket pods, not bothering to aim, knowing he couldn’t miss at that range, but being careful to hit only the south side of the prison.

Some of the guards were stalking through the prison, systematically slaughtering the inhabitants of the cells even as their comrades urged them to run for it.

Fal let loose with his shoulder-mounted LAAW at the north wall. Four more shells, and the wall itself was only rubble. Ace and Princess stood and watched: Ace with his scattergun ready in case any of the fleeing guards came their way, Princess adjusting a complex shoulder harness made of nylon, his face frozen.

Falcon dropped the antitank weapon, pulled a small scanner from his pocket, hit a switch. “Got her. Full thermal. Let’s move out.”

The men walked rapidly but purposefully, Princess in front, sweeping the area with his heavy machine gun, a creature from nightmares, moving robotically in response to pushes from Falcon on either shoulder.

The prison was in ruins. Humans who could still move were trying to run. To run anywhere.

The three men made their way through the carnage, Ace occasionally blowing away anyone in uniform and mechanically reloading.

The woman was in the last cell at the end of the corridor. A lone guard walked that corridor, aiming his pistol into each cell, pulling the trigger several times. He seemed to have an endless supply of fresh clips. His back was to the approaching men. Ace and Princess fired simultaneously. Pieces of the guard flew off. Falcon never looked up, his eyes only on the transmitter. He came to the end of the corridor.

“Marlene?” he asked.

“Oh, God. What’s happening? Are you—?”

Falcon nodded. Pulled a pistol and, aiming parallel to the cell door, blew off the lock. Princess stepped inside. The woman fainted. Ace and Falcon strapped her into the harness on Princess’ back. Falcon took the machine gun and the point. Princess followed, carrying the woman on his back, his treasured Lone Eagle Magnum in one fist. Ace brought up the rear, shotgun barrels seeking new prey.

The prison yard was no more. Everyone was dead, dying, or running. No one challenged the strange group.

“Double-time now,” Falcon called back as they came upon the trail he had marked.

They reached their camping area just as the Harrier made a helicopter’s vertical landing at the far end of the strip. The rocket pods popped free. Princess gently loaded the girl into one of the empty tubes, then climbed in there with her, cradling her frail body in his enormous arms. Falcon and Ace scrambled into the other. Buddha hit the switch and the pod faces closed. He looked grimly down the makeshift runway, nodded to himself, and gave it maximum thrust.

The Harrier cleared the edge of the jungle by three feet, climbed vertically, straightened out, and rocketed back to its nest.