“Get their weapons! Get their weapons!”
Bryce wasn’t sure who had screamed it. His ears were ringing, and the man’s weight had pinned him against the bench. Dimly he was aware of the truck lurching hard as the driver slammed on the brakes. He grabbed frantically for the weapon, trying to keep the man’s writhing body pinned against him. But suddenly he felt the weapon pull free. He looked up in time to see Neal wrench the rifle away and jam it up against the man’s ribs. Quinn already had the other rifle pointed at the head of the second guard.
“Shhh!” Quinn commanded as he moved toward the back of the truck as far as the leg chains would let him. There was the sound of a door opening in front of them, then quick footsteps. The guard Bryce had hit groaned, but Bryce clamped a hand over the man’s mouth. The footsteps stopped.
“Dave! Manny! Are you okay?”
Lewis threw both hands to his mouth, cupped them, and made a muffled, strangled sound. The flap lifted a crack, then was thrown back. But all the guard saw was the muzzle of Quinn’s weapon pointing directly at his head. “Drop it!” Quinn yelled.
There was a moment’s hesitation, then instant realization that the odds were definitely not in favor of heroism. The weapon clattered to the pavement.
Neal swung around, parted the canvas that hung over the window to the cab, and slammed the butt of the rifle against the glass. As it shattered, he shoved the muzzle of the weapon through the opening and into the face of the startled driver. “Okay, friend,” he said quietly. “Get the keys to these chains and come around slowly or your three friends are going to get blown away.”
And as rapidly as it had started, it was over.
They drove the truck five or six miles up a small dirt road, stripped the four men of their clothing and shoes, and sent them down the mountain in the opposite direction. It was then the argument began. Lewis and Quinn were for heading south, into the province of West Virginia, where Lewis knew of a stronghold of freedom fighters who would provide them safety, food, and rest. Jessie and Neal argued that they should follow the mountains north, into the New England Confederation, where they knew the people and could set up a new base of operations.
Bryce listened quietly for a moment, then walked around to the back of the truck and got one of the uniforms. He began donning it. Quinn and Lewis stopped in mid-sentence to stare at him.
Finally Jessie and Neal turned, then started in surprise.
“What are you doing?” Jessie demanded.
“North or south, it doesn’t matter to me. Just tell me where to find you.”
“Where are you going?”
“And you’ll have to commandeer a vehicle. I’m taking the truck back to Washington.”
“What!” All four shouted it as one.
“If we were going to the Blue Creek Camp, we should have been arriving around nightfall, right?”
Quinn nodded.
“So that gives me about four hours to get back and get the Adams family.”
This time it was Lewis who found his voice first. “That’s insane!”
“Probably,” Bryce agreed, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “But once the ISD learns we’ve escaped, they’ll pick up Leslie and her family first off.”
“Look,” Quinn started, “I understand why you’re doing this, but—”
But now it was Jessie who sided with Bryce. “No!” she said flatly. “He’s right. They won’t stand a chance.”
“You yourself said Paul Adams was the key to everything,” Bryce said evenly to Quinn.
Lewis nodded dubiously. “But that was if you could persuade him to come with us.”
“Well, things have changed. I’ve got to get them out. We’ll try to convince him later.”
Neal was shaking his head too, but he didn’t say anything, and Bryce had the quick impression he was responding negatively to the challenge involved more than the idea.
Quinn blew out his breath. “You’ll have to dump the truck once you hit the city.”
“I know. Where do I meet you?”
Quinn looked to the two Lamberts. “They know you’re from New England. That’s the first place they’ll look for us. I say we head south.”
Jessie hesitated.
“Come on, Jess,” Bryce said softly, “time’s running.”
“Okay, south it is.”
Lewis stepped forward and laid his hand on Bryce’s arm. “If you’re in the clear, find the village of Quaid’s Crossing. It’s about a hundred miles east of Charleston. Stop at the general store. Ask if there are any jobs in Richwood. They’ll direct you from there.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll also need transportation. I have a car in a garage not far from your apartment.” He gave him quick directions as to its location and where the keys were hidden.
Bryce blew out his breath, then shook their hands one by one, except for Jessie, and he gave her a quick, hard hug.
“Good luck,” Quinn said for all of them.
“Thanks.”
And with that, he climbed into the truck and headed down the mountain toward his rendezvous with Elliot Mannington and then his dinner appointment with the Paul Adams family.
Chapter 25
“So you did it!” Mannington spoke even as Bryce climbed down from the army truck in the old warehouse somewhere on the north outskirts of Washington.
He nodded.
“Any problems?” Burkhart asked.
Bryce turned slightly, pulled on one corner of his shirt, and showed them the burn marks where the muzzle of the rifle had been lying when it went off. “It was a little closer than I care to think about, but no one got hurt.” He turned to Burkhart. “Your men are barefoot in the mountains, but they should be back to the highway about dark.”
The third man with Mannington and Burkhart grunted softly, and Burkhart turned. “Bryce, this is Captain James Rodale. He’s directing the field operations.”
Bryce nodded. This was the man who had arrested them the night before, but he made no move to shake hands. Nor did Rodale.
“So there was no question about it being a setup?” Mannington asked.
“None. It could just as easily have gone the other way. And for the moment, they’re elated to be free. They’re on their way to a place somewhere in West Virginia.”
“Where?” Rodale said eagerly.
Bryce ignored him. “Is there still surveillance on the Adams family?” he asked Burkhart.
The head of ISD gave a slight nod.
“Well, pull them off! If Paul spots one of your men now, it could blow the whole deal.”
Burkhart shook his head slowly. “We can’t just pull back all surveillance on your say-so. We—”
“I didn’t say pull them back,” Bryce shot back. “I said pull them off.” He swung around to Mannington. “Everything now hinges on Paul Adams. If he comes with us, we can pull in the others. But at this point, I can’t guarantee he will.”
“Oh, he’ll come,” Burkhart said. “He’s a fanatic. He’ll see this as the perfect opportunity to get back into the spotlight.”
“And if he does,” Captain Rodale broke in grimly, “we can’t take any chance of losing track of him.”
Burkhart was now appealing directly to Mannington too. “If Adams or the others ever suspect Bryce—and we still have to remember that someone knows who he is and what he’s up to— they can dump him in a minute. Then where are we?”
Mannington seemed content for the moment to listen and referee. He turned back to Bryce, one eyebrow lifting questioningly.
“Look,” Bryce said, not trying hard to hide his disgust. “It was that kind of paranoid mentality that nearly blew the whole game yesterday. We’ve managed to patch it up again, but all it will take is one more stupid slip and I will be blown.”
“Is there some reason you are so eager to have all surveillance removed?” Burkhart asked softly.
Bryce threw up his hands. “I give up! Just because Paul Adams is a scarred and b
roken shell physically doesn’t mean he’s not still as shrewd as a wolverine. So you get your little binoculars and your earphones, and you hover around us like a cloud of flies over a piece of rotten meat, and then when he tells me to take a flying leap, we’ll all sit down and have a good cry together. That’s assuming I’m still alive.”
“Will Adams agree to all this?” Mannington finally said.
Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s no question about the bitterness he feels for the government. But the work camps are still pretty vivid in his memory too.” He shrugged again, this time also shaking his head. “I don’t know how to predict it. As you know, I haven’t made any kind of approach to him yet, so thus far he’s clean as a new plate. We have nothing on him.”
He turned on Burkhart. “Did you get me a radio?”
The colonel nodded.
“Good. Lewis has a car I’ll be taking. Could you ever hide the radio in there somehow?”
Rodale nodded for the both of them. “We could put it behind the back seat. That would be easy.”
“All right. Then I can call in every night, whenever possible. You can track my location from that. Or put a homing device in the car, if you’re so worried about losing us. Just pull off the live dogs so Adams doesn’t smell a trap!”
Mannington laughed quietly. He and Burkhart had already discussed at some length how to make sure they didn’t lose track of one Bryce Sherwood. They had already gone into Bryce’s apartment and imbedded a small but powerful transmitter in the battered suitcase they hoped he would take, and another one in the heel of one of his shoes. Now to have Bryce hand them such a simple solution, Mannington had to chuckle at Burkhart’s disappointment.
He turned to Burkhart. “Bryce is right. We can track him with the car. Pull off the men.”
Bryce blew out his breath gratefully. “Well, thank heavens someone listens to reason.”
Rodale started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut and turned and walked to the car and picked up his radio.
“How long do you think it will take before you’ll know on Adams?” Mannington said, ignoring the sullen look his ISD chief was giving him.
Pursing his lips, Bryce considered that. “I’m not sure. If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll start feeling him out tonight. But I’ve got to go slow, see how it develops.”
“I agree.” Mannington gave him a shrewd and appraising look. “How much is this interest you’re showing in his daughter genuine and how much is just doing your duty as an obedient espionage agent?”
Bryce laughed, trying not to show his surprise. Anyone who underestimated Elliot Mannington was a fool. He grinned, a bit sheepishly. “Let’s just say I haven’t found the duty to be unpleasant.”
Now it was Mannington who chuckled. “I thought as much.”
Bryce sobered. “But frankly, she’s going to prove to be as difficult as Paul himself.” He gave a little self-deprecatory laugh. “I think the interest is mutual, and that may help. But she is extremely protective of her father. She’ll do anything to stop him from going back to the work camps.”
“That’s understandable. But I’m like Anthony,” Mannington mused. “I think if you appeal to Paul Adams’s ego and his sense of destiny, he will swallow the bait whole.”
“So where are your friends headed in West Virginia?” Burkhart asked, still not ready to totally surrender.
“You think they’d tell me that already?” Bryce asked incredulously.
“I thought they trusted you.”
“They do trust me, but at this stage of the game it’s information on a need-to-know basis only. If one of us gets caught…” He shrugged. “I make contact in a little village called Quaid’s Crossing. I’ll get further directions from there.”
That seemed to satisfy Burkhart, and Bryce felt himself relax a little. He straightened. “Now, one other thing.” He looked at Rodale, who was still at the car, and lowered his voice. “Any progress on finding what happened to my first report?”
Burkhart shook his head and so Bryce turned to Mannington. “So what are you doing to make sure my next reports don’t disappear?”
“We’re taking care of it,” Burkhart said coldly.
“Look, colonel,” Bryce flared, “it’s not your neck out there on the block. Your people already dropped the ball once, so I want to know what—”
Mannington held up his hands. “All right, that’s enough. We’ve taken every precaution. You’ll be on a secure communications link reserved strictly for your calls. Believe me, we are as anxious to keep you safe as you are.”
Bryce looked dubious but finally let it pass. “Anything else? If not, I’d better get going. I don’t want Adams and the others comparing notes later and finding out that I spent an inordinate amount of time getting back into the city.”
“Where’s this car you’re talking about?”
“Oh, yeah.” Bryce gave him directions, knowing full well that in addition to a homing device, the car would likely be rigged up with a microphone somehow. But there was nothing he could do about that.
As he finished, Mannington stepped forward. “I don’t need to tell you, Bryce. This is perhaps the single most important mission we have ever undertaken. The fate of the nation depends on its success.”
“Yes, I know,” Bryce said quietly. “I know.”
By four o’clock, Bryce had gone to his apartment and showered, changed clothes, and walked quickly to the garage where the car was. It was an older model and beat-up. But the engine turned over immediately and ran smoothly. He nodded in satisfaction. He looked quickly behind the back seat and found that Rodale’s men had already done their work. The radio was small and compact but looked efficient and powerful. He tried it, got a brief response from the operations center, then locked the garage again and left.
He stepped off the bus several blocks from Leslie’s house and started a leisurely stroll through the area, but his eyes were constantly searching for any sign that Rodale had not fully complied with his wishes. He spent nearly an hour circling through the neighborhood, one part of his mind occupied with the search for any ISD presence, the rest of it filled with the tumbling melee of his thoughts.
As Bryce had left Leslie’s house the previous night…He stopped and shook his head. Was it really only last night? It seemed like a week ago. But as he had left her house, he had had only one thought on his mind—get out of the commitment to head west with the others. He would stay with Leslie, perhaps even settle into some kind of normal life.
How vastly things could change in twenty-four hours! From the moment the alarm had sounded in the safe house, Bryce had been plunged into a maelstrom of peril, conspiracy, and battle for survival. His mind was numbed by the constant, highvoltage tension, his body ached for sleep. And yet…
What he was feeling was something akin to “runner’s high,” only so much more intense, so much more consuming that it left him a little breathless. He was numbed, yes, and unquestionably exhausted and strung out to a fever pitch, but there was something more. There was not the slightest question in his mind that one slip in the next days and weeks could, and would, bring him face to face with death. It was deeply sobering and yet positively exhilarating to discover that it didn’t matter. Not enough to make him turn back.
As Bryce started up Walquist Street, finally satisfied that there was no surveillance, his brow furrowed deeply. And what now did this neophyte convert to freedom say to the family that meant so much to him? He had thought of little else on the way down from the mountains.
There was one sure way to remove them from danger, and that was to not say anything to Paul Adams and then to tell Mannington he had refused to join the movement. The man had been through hell. He had already paid his dues to freedom. Who could blame him if he declined, considering the risks?
Bryce gave a quick, frustrated little shake of his head. On the other hand, in these past twenty-four hours he had come afire with the realization that they just mig
ht do it. With Gorham’s help he had snatched victory right out from under the nose of Elliot Mannington. Now, Bryce was convinced they just might pull it off.
The thought of that sent a shiver of excitement through him. And if they did make it, if they did pull off their own Concord and Lexington, would Paul Adams thank him for being kept safe? Would Leslie?
Bryce sighed deeply as he turned up the walk toward her house. Though mentally he was still agonizing, deep inside he already knew what he had to do. And it filled him with dread, for he very much feared he could lose Leslie in the process.
Chapter 26
Bryce managed to keep his mood light and the conversation safe during dinner. But this time, as they finished, he adamantly refused to take a no answer on his offer to do the dishes. He shooed Vera and Paul out onto the front porch, donned an apron, and picked up a dish towel. During the meal, Leslie had shot him several questioning looks, somehow sensing that something was troubling him.
Now as she put some powdered dish soap into the sink and started the water running, she looked up at him. “Is everything okay?”
He laughed softly, simultaneously cursing and loving her perceptiveness. “Couldn’t be better,” he answered lightly.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, thanks a lot.”
She turned off the water, swirled the soap suds idly with her hand, then finally looked up again, the wide, green eyes much troubled. “Bryce?” She was pleading with him now. “What’s wrong?”
He set his dish towel down, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her gently. “Only that I’m finding myself falling deeply in love with a certain teacher from the Hillsburg Secondary School.”