The Survivalist - 02 (16 page)

“That was fast. Did they find anything?”

“Yes, ma’am. They located the emergency supplies that were captured from one of our relief convoys last week.”

“They actually got a visual on the supplies?”

“That’s right.” She handed the president a glossy photo that showed a large tractor trailer with official markings on the side. “There’s no mistake. It’s one of ours.”

“I see,” she said, studying the faces of several men in the photo. “Do you know who these people are?”

“According to our intel, they’re part of a group of convicts operating out of a country club on the northern outskirts of Atlanta.”

“How many are there?”

Yumi looked down at the clipboard.

“Estimates put their number at about sixty.”

“That many?”

She nodded.

“Do you know if anyone was hurt when they took the supplies?”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am. The four guards escorting the shipment were killed. The two drivers were allowed to leave unharmed, once they surrendered the payload.”

The president shook her head, never looking away from the photograph.

“I understand people’s desperation. I really do. But we can’t let that sort of violence go unanswered.”

“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t think so.”

“Do we have forces in the area?”

“General Carr said that two gunships are standing ready. He believes that they would be enough to disrupt the group and destroy any infrastructure they’re building—a simple seek and destroy mission.”

President Glass thought about the ramifications of such an action. By all accounts, the population already hated her government. Using military force, even against murderous thieves, might elicit more violence. Nevertheless, something had to be done. A government afraid to instill order was to be feared as much as one that ruled with an iron fist.

“Tell General Carr that the judicious use of force is authorized. Stress the word ‘judicious.’ Let’s destroy this compound and the payload that they took. The goal is to send a clear message that there’s nothing to be gained from stealing FEMA’s supplies. But, let’s also remember that we’re not at war. There’s no need to hunt down and kill every last one of these bandits.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him.”

“Also, I want this kept quiet. Have him brief only those who need to know. Let’s keep the circle small on this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

President Glass looked at her watch.

“It’s already late. Will they be able to conduct the mission while it’s still dark?”

“The general indicated they would strike shortly after sunrise. He felt that the tactical advantage of darkness wasn’t particularly important for this operation. I can ask him to move it up, if you like.”

“No, no,” she said. “General Carr and his men know what they’re doing.” She looked back at the photo one last time. “Wake me if something goes wrong.”

Vice President Lincoln Pike shifted in his leather chair, staring at the piece of paper like it was the Last Will and Testament of a wealthy uncle. Yumi Tanaka stood behind him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.

“This is too good not to take advantage of,” he said.

“I thought you might say that.”

“If we could get video of this airstrike, it would be valuable propaganda.”

“That’s why the president wants to keep it contained.”

“She knows that if things continue the way they are, it won’t be long before people are in the street, burning effigies of her.”

Yumi kneaded the muscles in his shoulders.

“What can I do to help?”

“For now, just stay close to her. General Hood already has men in the area hunting for the girl. I’m sure they can get the footage for me without drawing unwanted attention.”

“The bloodier the video, the more likely it will serve your purpose.”

“You know . . .” he said, thinking, “if I get a few rumors started about these bandits, the pilots might be inclined to take the fight to them with a bit more fervor.”

She leaned in close, her mouth an inch from his ear.

“What kind of rumors?”

Her warm breath sent goosebumps down his entire back.

“Stories of horrible things they’ve done.”

“Violent things?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Degrading things?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

“Later.”

“Okay,” she said, nibbling his ear. “But I won’t let you forget.”

He nodded, licking his lips.

“What about President Glass? Can you keep her from interfering?”

Yumi straightened up. “The old bag is asleep for the night. We’re good for six or eight hours.”

“Good. She’s been a thorn in my side of late.”

“She’s a bitch, is what she is.”

He laughed. “You’re all wound up today.”

“Seeing her in the meeting . . .” She squeezed his shoulders so hard that her nails pressed into his flesh. “It made me want to cut her eyes out.”

He smiled nervously and reached up to touch her hand. One of the things he liked most about Yumi was her passion, both in and out of the bedroom. What he would never tell her, however, was that her cruel heart sometimes frightened him.

“Patience, my dear. Your access gives us opportunities like this one,” he said, waving the paper. “It’s an excellent chance to stoke the fire of discontent.”

“I like the sound of that, Mr. Vice President. Stoking the fire is exactly what I had in mind.” She reached around the chair and slid her hand down between his legs.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy.

“Before long, everyone will see that she is incapable of leading us out of this nightmare. And then . . .” He let the words trail on, imagining Rosalyn Glass kneeling before a blood-stained guillotine.

“Then,” she said, picking up where he left off, “it will be your turn to rise to the occasion.” She squeezed with her hand.

He swiveled his chair and pulled her to him. When his lips pressed against hers, he felt the familiar heat in his loins, but there was something else. Something deeper and more troubling. Something that could only be described as love.

He didn’t trust it, and he certainly didn’t want it. Especially not with the likes of Yumi Tanaka. But he knew that it would be a mistake not to at least recognize it. Only a fool, he thought, hides from himself. One day he might very well have to put a bullet in Yumi’s head, but, for now, he would enjoy the ride.

CHAPTER

16

Mason drove his truck north along Highway 161, flipping down the visor to block the early morning sun. Coveralls sat with his back against the passenger side door, the Supergrade leveled at Mason’s gut. They had left the outskirts of York, and with every passing mile, Coveralls seemed to grow more irritated.

“It just isn’t right,” he mumbled under his breath.

Mason glanced over at him, not liking the tone of a man holding a gun on him.

“What’s that?”

He leaned over and poked Mason in the ribs with the Supergrade.

“You getting a free pass like this.”

“That rubs you raw?”

“You bet your ass it does.”

Mason stared straight ahead, thinking about the situation and his limited options. Coveralls had just shown a weakness that could perhaps be exploited. He was angry, and angry people made mistakes. He glanced at the glove box, wondering if the Glock was still inside. He put the odds at better than even. If he could get Coveralls’ attention on something else, there was a chance that he could have a pistol in his hand pretty quick. 

“Why do you think Alexus let me go?” he asked.

“What kind of dumbass question is that?”

Mason shrugged. “You think it’s just the gold then?”

Coveralls cocked his head, his interest clearly piqued.

“Why else?”

“No, you’re right. That’s probably it.”

Coveralls leaned over and jabbed him again with the muzzle.

“Hey! There’s no need for that.”

“Why, then?”

“The truth is,” said Mason, “I think she’s a bit sweet on me.”

“That’s a damn lie.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

They sat quiet for a few seconds while Coveralls mulled things over.

Finally, he said, “What makes you say that?”

“You didn’t hear about our little bedroom rendezvous last night? Forget it,” Mason said, waving his hands. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You and Alex? You two . . .”

Mason looked at Coveralls with a big toothy smile.

“That, and then some.”

Coveralls’ face flushed, and his hand tightened on the pistol.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said under his breath. “She’ll hang you when this is all over.”

Mason shook his head slowly.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I think she wants me to step up and help run the militia.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. She’s got me to do that.”

Mason shrugged. “Beats me. Women can be pretty confusing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll keep you on.”

“Just shut up and drive,” Coveralls said, turning to look out the window. “How much farther, anyway?”

“Not far at all. Maybe twelve miles.”

“Twelve miles? You said it would take all day.”

“Getting there won’t take long,” he said, “but retrieving the gold is going to be a pain.”

Coverall squinted his eyes and studied Mason.

“There isn’t any gold, is there?”

“You won’t believe me until you see it, so I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you.”

Coveralls jabbed him again.

“So help me, God,” he said, “if you try to pull something, I’ll put a bullet in your gut and leave you for the vultures to pick apart piece by piece.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No?”

“No. You’ll empty the entire magazine into me, and then stomp me with your boot until even my own mother wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Yeah,” Coveralls said with a grin. “That sounds good too.”

As Mason came to the intersection of Highway 161 and Park Road, he saw a familiar green Camaro broken down along the side of the road. Steam billowed out from under the hood.  Next to the car was the body of a man, lying face down in the road.

Mason smiled. It was an old trick, but one that worked more often than not.

“Slow up,” said Coveralls. “Let me take a look.”

Mason slowed the truck and pulled up alongside the body. Even from the cab of the truck, he could see that it was Cletus. Blood had soaked through the white bandage on his forearm, where Bowie had bitten him.

“You want to get out?” asked Mason, rolling down Coveralls’ window.

Coveralls leaned out the window, trying to keep one eye on Mason while checking out the dead guy. Before he could make up his mind, Cletus suddenly sat up with a revolver in his hand. At that same moment, Blacksmith came hobbling from around the far side of the car, holding a Ruger Mini-14 rifle.

“Hands up!” yelled Cletus.

Mason put his hands up. Coveralls quickly shoved the Supergrade down between the seats and then raised his own hands.

“Out of the truck, ass-wipes,” commanded Blacksmith.

Cletus stood to the side, jumping up and down, laughing and holding the pistol with both hands. He looked like he might wet himself—again.

Coveralls climbed out and stood with his hands raised. He left his door sitting open.

Mason walked slowly around to stand beside him.

“Lookie what we have here,” said Blacksmith. He limped up to Mason. “I told you we’d meet again, Marshal.”

“And I told you what would happen if we did.”

Blacksmith pointed the rifle at his chest.

“What did you do with our gold?”

Coveralls looked over at Mason with genuine surprise on his face.

“You weren’t lying.”

“I’m honest, if nothing else.”

Blacksmith stepped forward and nudged Mason with the muzzle of his rifle.

“I’m not going to ask again, Marshal. Where’s the gold?”

“It’s funny you should ask that.”

“Why?”

“Because my partner and I were just on our way to get it,” Mason said, glancing over at Coveralls.