TW10 The Hellfire Rebellion NEW (22 page)

“Oh. God." said Moffat. very softly. "Sally . . ." A tear rolled down his cheek.

Lucas stood. "Leave him alone now.” he said softly, he shook his head sadly.

“Poor bastard.”

They left the room and softly closed the door.

Johnny Small was frantic. He couldn't find Andre and the others anywhere.

The innkeeper at the Peacock Tavern said he hadn't seen them and there was no one home at Hunter's house on Long Lane, either. It was as if they'd all simply disappeared without a trace. It was his job to watch them and now he had no idea where they were. He fingered the Liberty medallion Sam Adams had given him. Adams had expressed confidence in him and now he'd failed him. He had no idea what to do.

As he walked through the dark streets of Boston, he tried to think where they might have gone. They wouldn't have gone to one of the radical taverns, surely, because except for Hunter, they were all posing as Tories. The last time he had seen them. Andre had been on her way to meet with Hunter, so perhaps they were with him, but where? He tried to think where Hunter might have gone, who his close associates were. Perhaps one of them could tell him where Hunter could be found. He tried to think and then it came to him.

Hunter had been sponsored into the Sons of Liberty by Ben Edes and Ebenezer Macintosh. The hour was late and Edes was known to retire early, but Macintosh was a notorious carouser. He hurried to The Bunch of Grapes, but was told that he'd missed Macintosh by only twenty minutes. He had gone staggering home, full of rum, as usual. Johnny showed his Liberty medallion and said he had an urgent message for Macintosh from Samuel Adams and the he produced Macintosh's address. He ran all the way there, desperately hoping that Macintosh Was not so drunk that he would be passed out by the time he arrived. As he ran, he had no idea that he was being followed.

"Mac, wake up." said Hunter.

"Whhuh? Who izzit?"

"Mac! Come on. Mac. wake up, God damn it!"

Hunter grabbed Macintosh by his shirtfront and slapped him several times across the face. He had fallen into bed completely dressed, without even bothering to take his shoes off. Macintosh came awake with a drunken roar, sat up in bed, and took a wild swing at Hunter. Hunter easily avoided it and threw him out of bed onto the floor. Macintosh rose to his hands and knees and shook himself. He looked up and saw Hunter.

“Reese! Damn your eyes! What in God's name are ya doin' here?" he said, his voice thick with drink. "How'd ya get in here, anyway?"

"You left the door open, you drunken idiot. Come on, get up. We've got to get you out of here."

Macintosh remained sitting on the floor, squinting at Hunter.

"Man can't even sleep in peace . y’want? Breakin' inta a man's home at this ungodly hour.”

"Mac, get up!" said Hunter. "If you want to live, move yourself!"

“What kinda way is that ta talk? Go 'way. Lemme alone."

"Damn it, Mac . . ." Hunter went over to the washstand and picked up the basin. He threw the water into Macintosh's face.

"
Aaarrghr

Macintosh lunged up off the floor and came lumbering at Hunter like an angry bear. Hunter ducked his swing and gave him a sharp jab in the solar plexus.

Macintosh wheezed and doubled over. Hunter threw him up against the wall and slapped him twice across the face.

"Snap out of it. Mac, damn you!"

Macintosh made a small stunting, squealing sort of noise. "Gonna be sick . .

."

"Oh, for Christ's sake

Hawke Hunter stepped away as Macintosh doubled over and threw up on the floor.

"Mac, you're a fucking mess." said Hunter.

Macintosh wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Now look what ya gone an' done,"

he said. "I'm gonna break yer bloody neck . . ."

"It's your own neck I'm trying to save. you fool." said Hunter.

"They're going to hang you!" Macintosh blinked. “What?
Who
? What the devil are ya talkin' about?"

"The Tories! The Hellfire Club. you idiot! The followers of the headless horseman! They could be on their way here right now to lynch you, just like they did to those four friends of yours!"

Macintosh paled. "The horseman's men'? They're gonna
hang
me?"

"That's right, you fool. Sober up if you don't want to die! You've got to get out of hem right now!"

"Sweet Mother o'God," said Macintosh. "And ya come ta warn me. God bless ya.

Reese. you're a real friend. I'm sorry I took a poke at ya--"

"Never mind that now," said Hunter, impatiently. "You've got to get out of here. Are you sober enough to remember what I tell you?"

"Aye, if comes to my own neck, that I am," said Macintosh, rubbing his face.

"They're not gonna hang Ebenezer Macintosh. by God!"

“Listen to me carefully," said Hunter. "We haven't got much time and lives depend on it. The horseman's men are going to try to kill off the leaders of the Sons of Liberty, one by one. Get to your South End boys. Tell them that they've got to place a constant watch on Adams and the others or they'll wind up dangling from the Liberty Tree. Have several men watch each of them at all times, especially at night. And you stay out of sight, yourself. You got that'?"

Macintosh took a deep breath and nodded. “The horseman's men are gonna try ta kill Adams an' the others. Have my boys watch 'em, day an' night."

"Good man. Now come on, we've got to get you out of here. Have you got a place to go where you can hide out?"

"Aye. I'll go an' see my boys. They'll take care o' me. They'll know what ta do."

"All right, get moving. Quickly, now!"

Macintosh grabbed his coat and hat and lumbered down the stairs, Hunter right behind him. "God bless ya. Reese," he said as they stepped outside. "You're a good friend. I won't forget this--“

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a saint, I know. Get moving. And for God's sake, keep to the alleys. Don't let anybody see you. And don't forget what I told you."

"I won't forget. I'm on my way." He shambled off into the darkness and turned into an alleyway. Hunter sighed with relief. And then he heard the sound of running footsteps. His fingers closed around the butt of his Beretta, but he relaxed when he saw Johnny Small come running up to him.

"Mr. Hunter! Mr. Hunter! Thank God I've found you!" The boy was out of breath. Hunter grabbed him by his shoulders.

"Steady on, lad. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Its'—it's your friends, Mr. Hunter." Johnny gasped for breath. "Andre and the others. I—I can't find them anywhere! I—have to—"

"Easy, lad, easy, get your breath back first," said Hunter.

"Hold it right there. Hunter!" said a voice from the darkness. "Don't move or the boy gets it!"

Two men with drawn weapons came walking out of the darkness. They both looked a little out of breath. As they came closer, Hunter saw that they were dressed in colonial clothing, but holding laser pistols, Network men. They must have picked the kid up at his old place and followed him. Johnny glanced up at him with fear and uncertainty.

"All right, hands out from your sides, very slowly, and clasp them on top of your head," one of them said. Hunter did as he was told. Looking at him fearfully, Johnny did the same.

"Get lost, kid." the other Network man said.

Johnny didn't move: "Didn't you hear me'?" the man repeated. "I said get lost! Run! Get out of hem!"

"No," said Johnny. "No, It—I will not run. I have my duty!"

"Stupid kid. You want to die? I said, get
out
of here!"

"Do as he says," Hunter said.

"No. No, I will not leave you like a coward."

"Damn it, Johnny." Hunter said, "don't be a fool. Get out of here! Run!"

"No, I won't run away!"

"Have it your way, kid," the Network man said, aiming his pistol at Johnny.

"Drop your weapons,
now
!"

The Network men spun around and Neilson's pistol coughed rapidly, four times. The first shot from the Colt took one of the men right between the eyes.

The second shot struck the other man's gun hand and he cried out as he dropped the laser, then the third and fourth shots struck each of his kneecaps dead center, knocking his legs out from under him as if someone had yanked the street out from beneath his feet. He fell to the ground, moaning with pain. Hunter hadn't even had the time to draw his gun.

Neilson ran up and quickly stuffed a handkerchief into the wounded man's mouth, jamming it in deeply. The man started to gag. He was already in shock.

Neilson picked up the laser pistol the second man had dropped and tucked the Colt into his waistband.

"Jesus Christ." said Hunter. flabbergasted. "Priest said you were lightning with a gun, but . . .
Jesus
! Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?"

Johnny stood, speechless, staring at Neilson with astonishment.

"Practice." Neilson said. "Lots and lots of practice." He pulled a disruptor out from underneath his coat. He aimed it at the dead man and fired a stream of neutrons. The corpse was briefly wreathed in the blue glow of Cherenkov radiation, then it disappeared.

"Let’s get out of here." he said, nervously glancing up at the surrounding windows. It had all taken merely seconds, and fortunately, there hadn't been much noise. "Come on. We'll have to take him with us," he said, nodding toward Johnny as he adjusted his warp disc to a wider pattern.

Johnny didn't understand what had happened. The stringer had fired his peculiar pistol four times, with astonishing accuracy and impossible speed, all without reloading, and it had barely made a sound. And then he had somehow made the dead man's body disappear without a trace in that strange blue glow that came from that even stranger, second weapon. He was still trying to take it all in when Hunter brought him up to stand close beside Neilson and the wounded man and the next thing Johnny knew, he was no longer standing in the middle of the street outside Ebenezer Macintosh's house, but in the center of a room somewhere, in a completely different place, and he was feeling nauseous and dizzy. He gasped and looked around him wildly, and then his eyes rolled up and he fainted. Hunter just barely managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

Moffat was missing. Drakov didn't have to wonder where he was. He would never have had the nerve to take all somewhere on his own without first asking permission and saying precisely where he was going and when he would return Both he and the female were like servile dogs in that respect, thought Drakov, falling all over themselves to attend him. Moffat's disappearance could only mean one thing. The Time Commandos had him, which meant there was no question of returning to the house on Newbury Street. It was no longer secure.

Moffat would hold out against interrogation for a while, but they were sure to break him, as Drakov had intended that they should. He knew that people always valued something a great deal more when they had to work for it and they would have to work to break down Moffat, but break him down they would, and then they would believe him when he talked—as Moffat would, of course, believe himself—when the fact was that neither of the hominoids knew what the real mission was. They believed the plan was merely to kill Samuel Adams, the revolution's Grand Incendiary, as Thomas Hutchinson had christened him, but if the Hellfire Club succeeded in assassinating Adams, which was entirely possible, it would only be an added bonus. But though it was part of what Drakov intended to accomplish, he did not need Adams dead to achieve what he had planned.

The hominoids had served their purpose. Moffat would distract the Time Commandos and by the time they realized their mistake. it would be too late for them to do a thing about it.

Steiger heard the door open and, slowly raised his head, staring at the newcomer through swollen eyes. He was dressed in well-tailored, elegant colonial, clothing with a silk brocade waistcoat and lace at the throat and cuffs. He heard the man expel his breath sharply as he saw him.

“Jesus Christ." he said, staring at Steiger. "What the hell is going on here? What did you
do
to him?"

“Softened him up a little," said the other man, still wearing the black leather gloves he'd donned to administer the beating.

“What for?' said the man who'd just come through the door.

"What
for
? What are you, crazy? Don't you know what's going on? Don't you know who this guy
is
?"

"Do you?"

"You'd damn well better believe I do." the gloved man said. "He's Col. Creed Steiger, head of the goddamned I.S.D."

"You didn't have to do this." said the newcomer, his mouth tight. "There was no call for this."

"No call for it? Are you nuts? The son of a bitch is lucky he's alive!

There's a contract out on him, in case you didn't know. You know what he's worth dead?"

"Is that what it's come, to, Stevens?" said the newcomer.

"We're taking contracts now? We're hitting our own people'?"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard! Don't use my name in front of him!"

"What difference does it make? Do you intend to let him live?”

"Only as long as necessary." Stevens said grimly. "They got Carruthers. They took out Stiers and Aaronson, as well. Left no trace of them, not even a wet spot on the floor. This bastard's our security. They come after us, we got a hostage."

"How much is he worth dead?" asked the newcomer.

"A smooth five mil." said Stevens. “Five million fucking dollars."

"And you'd kill one of our own people for it," said the newcomer.

"He's not one of our people, you damn fool! He's I.S.D.!"

"And what the hell is the I.S.D.?" the newcomer snapped.

"It's the internal security division of the goddamn agency, you moron!'

"Don't talk to me that way!" -Do you even realize what you're
doing
?" the newcomer said. "It's one thing to run a few illegal operations to make some money, but what you're talking about now is murder!"

"They took out Carruthers and the others," Stevens said harshly. "What do you call that?"