Anaheim Run Page 5

  “What did you hear?” Blade inquired.

  “I attended a briefing on the summit, on the different groups in the Freedom Federation,” Di Nofrio explained. “You live in a thirty-acre walled compound in Minnesota, right?”

  “Right,” Blade confirmed.

  “Why do you call the compound the Home? And why do you call yourselves the Family?” Di Nofrio queried.

  “Kurt Carpenter, the man we call the Founder, the wealthy filmmaker who built the retreat just before the war broke out, was a very spiritual man, a moral man,” Blade expounded. “He wanted his followers to live in peace together, to devote themselves to their close-knit group, to live like one big happy family.”

  “So Carpenter named his followers the Family,” Di Nofrio deduced.

  “Exactly. And to insure his followers and their descendants viewed the compound as theirs, and not just his, he—” Blade began.

  “He called the compound the Home,” Di Nofrio said, finishing the sentence.

  “You’ve got it.”

  “We were also told about the Warriors,” Di Nofrio mentioned. “You fifteen guys have quite a reputation.”

  “We have eighteen Warriors now,” Blade divulged. “And three of them are women.”

  “Women Warriors?”

  “What’s wrong with having women as Warriors?” Blade asked. “You have female soldiers in the Free State Army.”

  “I know. It just never occurred to me you’d have women Warriors,” Di Nofrio said.

  “We also have three mutants,” Blade disclosed.

  Di Nofrio, in the act of dabbing the gashes with peroxide, stopped and glanced up in surprise. “Mutants?”

  “Mutants,” Blade confirmed. “The animals weren’t the only species to experience mutations because of all the radiation and chemicals unleashed during World War Three. Human mutations are quite common in some areas.”

  “You have some of these human mutations at your Home?” Di Nofrio asked in stark amazement.

  “Just the three Warriors,” Blade elaborated. “And they weren’t by-products of the war. They were created by a scientist, a genius in genetic engineering.”

  “Mutant Warriors,” Di Nofrio declared, as if boggled by the concept.

  “The arm?” Blade prompted.

  “Oh.” Captain Di Nofrio resumed his ministrations.

  “Tell me about your borders,” Blade stated.

  “Our borders?”

  “Yeah. California’s borders. Do you patrol them? Are sections fenced?

  How do you keep undesirable elements from entering the state?” Blade inquired.

  “Oh. We use fences and patrols,” Di Nofrio answered. “There are checkpoints on all the roads and highways.”

  “On every one?”

  “Every one,” Di Nofrio replied. “I was stationed in eastern California a few years ago, assigned to checkpoint duty. I was bored to tears.”

  “Little traffic, huh?”

  “Are you kidding? There was no traffic,” Di Nofrio mentioned. “No one in their right mind would want to leave California, so there’s never any outgoing traffic. And incoming traffic is sparse. Except for California, the Civilized Zone, and a few other spots where there’s some semblance of civilization, there aren’t many cars and trucks in running order. So the few arrivals we do see have had to walk here. Those coming from the east must cross the Nevada desert, and I imagine most of them die before they reach our border.” He paused. “Decades ago it was different. Right after the war, and until about forty or fifty years ago, there was incoming traffic on a regular basis.”

  “What about your northern border?” Blade questioned.

  “We do have more incoming traffic from the north,” Di Nofrio said.

  “But it’s still not much compared to what it was years and years ago.”

  “Would it be easy for someone to sneak in?” Blade asked.

  “Sure. We can’t patrol everywhere at once, and it would be impossible to fence in the entire state. And there’s always the Pacific Ocean. The Free State Navy, which is made up of old Coast Guard and U.S. Navy ships and boats, patrols our coastal waters, but it would be a breeze for a boat to land on any of our secluded beaches.”

  “So if professional assassins wanted to enter the state, they could practically do it in their sleep,” Blade summarized, frowning.

  “Do you really think these attacks were by professional hit men?” Di Nofrio inquired.

  “Do you have a better explanation?” Blade rejoined.

  “Nope. Guess not.”

  Blade heard footsteps and turned to find Plato and Hickok approaching, Plato attired in a uniform with his beard tucked under the shirt. “You look spiffy,” Blade joked. “Maybe you should enlist.”

  “Are we ready to depart? I’m eager to reach the summit site,” Plato stated, addressing the captain.

  “I’m done with Blade,” Di Nofrio said. “But we should wait for the helicopter to arrive.”

  “The copter can catch up with us,” Blade stated. “Let’s leave now.”

  Di Nofrio shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

  “Looks like we’re causin’ quite a stir,” Hickok remarked, pointing to the northwest.

  Blade swiveled, espying a line of traffic blocking the Freeway several hundred yards distant. Three soldiers with M-16’s were preventing the cars and trucks from proceeding.

  “We can use this jeep,” Di Nofrio proposed. He took off his helmet and handed it to Plato. “I’ll be right back.” He moved off, barking orders to his men, organizing the escort to depart.

  Plato placed the helmet on his head, then carefully tucked his excess hair underneath. He looked at Blade. “One aspect of the attack on the limousine puzzles me.”

  “What aspect?”

  Plato gazed at the wrecked vehicle. “Why didn’t our assailants destroy the limousine first? Why did they destroy the two jeeps?”

  “I can answer that,” Hickok spoke up. “If those cow chips were usin’ a mortar, they couldn’t bank on hittin’ our limo with their first shell. A movin’ target is hard to hit with a mortar, even when you know the exact range. So they took out the jeeps, knowin’ it’d slow us down or force us to stop, which it did. Once we stopped, we were easy pickings. Most likely, they had an approximate range on that low hill, but they didn’t want to tip their hand by tryin’ for our limo first.”

  “That’s the way I see it,” Blade agreed.

  Hickok lifted his clenched left fist and commenced extending his fingers, one by one.

  “What are you doing?” Blade asked.

  “Countin’ the days until I see my missus again,” the gunman replied.

  “The blamed summit is supposed to take three days. There are meetings today, a banquet tomorrow, another day of meetings, then the farewell shindig. So we won’t fly to the Home until the fifth day.” Hickok sighed.

  “Pitiful.”

  “What is?” Blade queried.

  “Havin’ to put up with five days of this if we don’t nail those buzzards sooner,” Hickok said. “At the rate this trip is going, when we get back I’ll need a vacation from my vacation.”

  Blade watched a flicker of orange flame sprout from the demolished limo, his facial contours tightening grimly, bothered by a somber thought.

  If we get back!

  Chapter Four

  Governor Melnick had explained his reasons for selecting Anaheim as the summit site in a letter to the leaders of each Freedom Federation faction, a letter relayed by President Toland a month before the summit. Toland had initiated negotiations with the Free State of California by sending two envoys to the state under the protection of a Civilized Zone army convoy.

  Under explicit orders from Toland, the two envoys had remained in California for months, arranging the details of the summit. On their return to Denver with the good news, the envoys had carried the letters from Melnick.

  Governor Melnick had picked Anaheim for several reasons. The state capital had
been relocated from Sacramento to Los Angeles twelve years after World War Three. The rationing of fuel and the decline in the number of functional vehicles had made traveling to Sacramento increasingly difficult for the populace. Finding themselves relatively isolated from the major urban centers on the coast, the lawmakers and the governor had elected to move the seat of government. Because of Anaheim’s proximity to L.A., and because one part of Anaheim, in particular, was ideally suited for the summit, Melnick had chosen the city as the site.

  As with every other city in the state, Anaheim had suffered a drastic drop in population after the war. Six months prior to World War Three, close to 250,000 citizens had resided there. One hundred five years after the war, only 20,000 called Anaheim home, and the majority of them occupied the northern half of the city. The southern section was sparsely populated, and Governor Melnick had wanted a site where the summit would not attract undue attention, would not be surrounded by crowds of the curious every day. Melnick knew the leaders would require an undisturbed atmosphere for their discussions, and he picked the perfect spot.

  Before the war, an elaborate amusement park, now fallen into decay, had drawn tourists by the millions to Anaheim. But while the park no longer resounded to the peal of laughter and the hubbub of excited voices, a hotel southwest of the park was periodically utilized for seminars, conferences, and other governmental functions. The hotel, Melnick had decided, was the ideal place for the summit.

  Blade mentally reviewed the letter from Governor Melnick, which Plato had allowed him to read, as their Free State Army escort wheeled onto West Street. He saw the hotel ahead to the left, and off to the northeast was the dilapidated amusement park. The hotel and vicinity were literally crawling with soldiers, all of them carrying M-16’s and bolstered pistols.

  “I’d like to see those assassins try something here,” Captain Di Nofrio commented from behind the wheel. He steered the jeep toward the curb in front of the hotel.

  Seated on the passenger side across from the officer, Blade frowned at the idea. “I wouldn’t,” he said.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about here,” Di Nofrio assured the Warrior. “Our security is airtight.”

  “If there’s one lesson I’ve learned from my years as a Warrior,” Blade remarked, “it’s never to become overconfident.”

  “Look at all the troopers we have here!” Di Nofrio stated. “How could the assassins possibly get past us to kill the leaders?”

  “Where there’s a will,” Blade noted, “there’s a way.”

  “Never happen,” Di Nofrio said obstinately.

  “I hope you’re right,” Blade mentioned.

  “Do you have guards on the roof of the hotel?” Hickok asked from his seat behind the captain.

  “Of course,” Di Nofrio replied. “And there are guards posted at ten-foot intervals all around the perimeter. I’m telling you, if those sons of bitches get in here then I’ll eat my shorts.”

  “Well-done or rare?” Hickok retorted.

  “Never happen!” Di Nofrio reiterated.

  Blade saw the helicopter hovering above the hotel. The whirly-bird had caught up with them about seven miles from Anaheim.

  Captain Di Nofrio braked the jeep, then turned off the motor. He glanced over his right shoulder at Plato. The Family Leader was quietly sitting next to Hickok, serenely contemplating the activity around him.

  “The other Federation members are probably in the lobby,” said the captain. “They’ve been socializing since their arrival, waiting for President Toland and yourself to arrive. They know you are due to arrive about this time.”

  “And there haven’t been any attacks on the other leaders?” Blade thought to inquire.

  “None,” Di Nofrio said.

  “No incidents of any kind?” Blade queried.

  “There was one incident,” Di Nofrio answered, the corners of his mouth turning downward.

  “What incident?” Blade asked.

  “One of the Cavalrymen caused quite a stir yesterday,” Di Nofrio disclosed. “The Cavalry leader, a Mr. Kilrane, brought two bodyguards with him. A Mr. Boone and a Mr. Hamlin.”

  “And?” Blade prompted.

  “Well, Mr. Boone apparently took it upon himself to conduct some target practice without notifying security,” Di Nofrio elaborated. “He took a half-dozen bottles from the bar and went into the gardens behind the hotel. You can imagine the commotion when he started shooting.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Blade questioned.

  “No, but some heated words were exchanged,” Di Nofrio detailed. “A corporal made the mistake of referring to Mr. Boone as an ignorant clod…”

  Hickok cackled.

  “…and Mr. Boone flattened the corporal,” Di Nofrio concluded.

  “That’s Boone for you!” Hickok said. “I love it!”

  “You know Mr. Boone?” Di Nofrio inquired.

  “Sure do,” Hickok said. “Kilrane, Boone, and Hamlin have been to our Home a number of times for Federation get-togethers. Boone has a rep as being fast with his irons, almost as fast as me.” He paused, recollecting the fiasco at the airport. “Of course, he probably shoots straighter.”

  “What makes you say that?” Di Nofrio asked.

  “Never mind.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Plato suggested. He removed the helmet and handed it to the captain, then extracted his beard from under his shirt.

  “I’ll go with you,” Di Nofrio offered. “Governor Melnick has appointed an officer to act as your official liaison during your stay. I’ll find him for you.”

  “You’re not our liaison?” Blade queried.

  “No. The liaisons are all high-ranking officers,” Di Nofrio responded. “I believe a colonel has been assigned to you.”

  “Well, you find this colonel and tell him we already have our liaison,” Blade instructed.

  “You do? Who?” Di Nofrio asked, clearly confused.

  “You,” Blade told him.

  “Me!” Di Nofrio exclaimed. “I’m not your liaison!”

  “You are now,” Blade stated.

  Di Nofrio’s brown eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. I’m under orders to escort you here and then report to internal security. I expect to be assigned to oversee the guard detail on one of the hotel floors.”

  “Tell your superiors your assignment has been changed. I want you as our liaison,” Blade directed.

  “I don’t know,” Di Nofrio said, apparently flattered but unwilling to make waves.

  “Give me one reason why we can’t have you as our liaison?” Blade demanded.

  “It’s most irregular,” Di Nofrio said.

  “That’s not a reason. Governor Melnick has gone out of his way to supply all our needs while we’re here,” Blade pointed out. “And he said if there was anything we wanted, anything at all, just say the word and it’s ours.” He paused. “I want you as our liaison. If your superiors want to know why, tell them I’m impressed by your professional behavior.”

  “You are?”

  “Now why don’t you go check in?” Blade advised. “We’ll be in the lobby if you need us.”

  “Me? Liaison?” Di Nofrio climbed from the jeep, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I’ll be right back,” he promised and hurried off.

  “Okay, pard. Clue me in,” Hickok stated. “What’s the real reason you want this tenderfoot as our liaison?”

  “I’d relish learning your motive myself,” Plato added.

  “Di Nofrio is housebroken,” Blade said.

  Hickok chuckled.

  Plato glanced from one Warrior to the other. “Would you elucidate?”

  “What was the first thing your wife, Nadine did with that puppy President Toland gave her last year for her birthday?” Blade asked.

  Plato reflected for a moment. A grin creased his features. “She disciplined the canine whenever it urinated or attempted to defecate in our cabin.”

  “She taught it to behave,” Blade said. “The dog is un
der her control, under her thumb so to speak. Well, Captain Di Nofrio is under our thumb.

  He won’t give us any grief if we decide to deviate from the official program, and we might need the latitude if worse comes to worst.” He smiled. “Besides, I like him. He reminds me of Nadine’s puppy.”

  Plato stared at the hotel entrance. “Let’s venture inside. I’m eager to visit with the other delegates.”

  Blade stepped from the jeep, admiring the structure. Because the government regularly used the hotel, the building was maintained in superb condition. The polished glass doors glistened in the sunlight.

  Hickok stretched after clambering from the vehicle. “I hope they’ve got some grub in there. I’m starved.”

  Plato joined them, carrying his flannel shirt and corduroy pants bundled under his left arm. “Shall we?” He motioned toward the glass doors.

  Blade walked up to the doors, nodded at a pair of guards standing at attention, and opened the right-hand door for Plato.

  The Family Leader squared his sloping shoulders and marched inside.

  Hickok halted, indicating Blade should enter next. “You’re the chief Warrior. Protocol and all that.”

  Blade laughed, followed Plato. “What do you know about protocol?” he queried over his left shoulder.

  “Enough to know I should wear my knee-high moccasins when dealin’ with political types,” Hickok answered. “Do you recollect our history lessons in the Family school? Back in the old days, before the Big Blast, the politicians were either feedin’ the folks a load of bull or stealin’ them blind.”

  “The Freedom Federation leaders aren’t stealing their people blind,” Blade remarked, “and they don’t feed anyone a load of bull.”

  “Oh yeah?” Hickok rejoined. “Then why is it, every time I attend one of these summit shindigs and listen to all those long-winded speeches, I get a mite soggy from my knees down to my feet?”

  “If you’d use a toilet or a tree you wouldn’t have that problem,” Blade quipped.

  The hotel lobby was ornately furnished, with plush blue carpet, mahogany furniture, freshly painted walls, and potted plants in profusion.

  Packed from wall to wall with prominent and minor bureaucrats, military types, assorted gofers, and members of the hotel staff, the lobby was filled with the hubbub of dozens and dozens of intermingled voices.