“And he didn’t put any tracker on Pamela’s car?” Armstrong said.
“No. I’m positive. What must have happened is that the guy called Colderon anyway.”
“No one would have answered,” Cassandra said.
“Then how do you explain the kidnapping?” Chad asked.
“More guys watching the rest stop,” Cassandra said.
“I’m not buying it. They would have tried to do the same thing as the kid at the motel. This required planning. They were waiting for us. They knew where we were going and when we’d get there.”
“I know what’s going on,” Ray said. They all looked at him. “I should have realized it. Casimir has done it before. He can have someone’s phone number forwarded to headquarters. If the motel guy called Colderon, he may very well have reached my brother.”
“If that’s true,” Armstrong said, “our killing Colderon didn’t do any good at all. Every place we might stop, there will be spies, all looking for a reward.”
“I have an idea,” volunteered Pamela. “I’m supposed to be the expert in navigating us to New America. Now I can finally earn my fee. All we have to do is get to my friend’s house in Idaho.”
“Is that the housekeeper you told me about before?” Eugene asked.
“Exactly! Her name is Jeanne. She was my grandfather’s housekeeper. I gave her some of my inheritance so she’d have a comfortable retirement. She lives in Midmountain, near the Snake River. It’s about five hundred miles from here, but only about two hundred miles or so from the border with New America.”
“That will mean one more fill-up,” Chad said. “What’s there, about three hundred miles from here?”
She checked her maps and found a small town in neutral territory. “All right, we’ll aim for there,” Chad said. “Everyone stick together. Stick to fifty miles an hour and ride the right lane. We have to make the gas last. No stopping at any more motels on the way. Anyone have any questions?”
No one did.
“All right, Pilgrims, saddle up!”
Chapter 22:
The Conqueror
The new pilgrims had been driving for about an hour when suddenly they heard the whistles of the Lightning Squad. They had triangulated Sandy, the last car in the queue. They all pulled over and watched in horror as the squad leader pulled Sandy from her car and forced her onto his bike. Armstrong called over to Pamela. “Are we in Squad territory?”
“No, Chad. This is neutral territory, but the police side with both paramilitary organizations. They won’t stand up to the Squad. The police are known to look the other way when they show up.”
Chad told Pamela and Eugene to get in the car and be prepared to drive out on Armstrong’s command. Eugene hesitated. “You too, Eugene,” he said. Then he turned to Ray, Cassandra, and his two sharpshooters. He said softly to them, “You guys still remember how to triangulate?” They all grinned. “Watch for my signal. Don’t make a move until you see it. Ray and Cassandra—you take lead point. Wrenn and Foote—you take midpoint. On my signal.”
The squad leader knew Armstrong was up to something, but not what. He turned to his pointmen and told them to be on their guard. Then he turned to Armstrong. “Now, where’s Eugene, Armstrong? That’s right. I know your name. I’ll betcha right now you kind of wished you’d killed those two yokels. I strapped a tracker to the ankle of one of those guys. We came and got them as soon as you left. We followed you the whole way.” The squad leader cackled, right along with the other two men.
Armstrong stood about fifty feet away, just in front of the forward pointman. He had a smirk on his face and cocked his head a bit. “Well, it seems that you have an advantage over me. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
The squad leader gleaned his yellowish rotting teeth, looking behind him to the trailing pointman, and then back up to Armstrong. “Pizzaro’s the name. Just like the conqueror.” His pointmen just guffawed. They sat comfortably on their bikes; their weapons sitting on their laps. Armstrong stood empty-handed in front of Pizzaro and about twenty feet in front of the forward pointman.
“Guess you’re probably saying to yourself, ‘but I didn’t see any bikes.’” More laughter. “We had the bikes in a van. We passed you a short while ago and got the bikes out. Then surprised the girl. Now, down to some business. Where’s Eugene?”
“Hand over Sandy, first,” Armstrong said, calmly.
Pizzaro smiled at him. “You’re in no position to make demands.” Then he looked around, grinning. He looked at his men, sitting comfortably on their bikes, rifles out, and hands on the trigger. Then he looked at unarmed Armstrong standing in the open, and the scared faces of those still in the car. “I could cut you down right where you stand.”
“Your men should have you on suicide watch.”
Pizzaro enjoyed that one, flashing his decayed teeth while squealing wheels moved into place. He didn’t know what was happening at first, but Armstrong gladly informed him. “You’ve been triangulated, Mr. Conqueror.”
Pizzaro wasn’t grinning. He was positively angry. He climbed off his bike abruptly, grabbing Sandy brusquely, holding her tight to his chest.
“What’s your plan, Armstrong? You shoot, you might hit the girl. Even if you miss her, my boys won’t. She’s a honey, isn’t she?” He caressed her breasts.
“Cut it out, Pizzaro. She’s more woman than you could ever handle.” Pizzaro’s men began howling.
“You want me to stop? Get me Eugene.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Suit yourself, Armstrong. The longer you take, the more fun for me.” Once again, his men laughed. Then he turned to them. “Anyone want to see a live sex act right here by the side of the road?” His pointmen shouted and yelled, “Do it, Sevi.”
Pizzaro just stared at Armstrong, flashing those rotting teeth as he grabbed the inside of Sandy’s left leg. Then he rubbed all the way up to her crotch. She looked up, her face red and angry.
“Stop!” cried Armstrong. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready to fuck the bitch.”
Armstrong wasn’t sure what to do. His men could easily take them out but Sandy would probably die. If there was any doubt Pizzaro flashed a blade and put it at her throat.
“Get me Eugene.”
“All right, but put the knife away.”
Pizzaro just grinned. “Okay.”
Armstrong walked back to Pamela’s car. “Where’s Eugene?”
“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He took the Berretta you gave him from the glove compartment, and got out of the car. Then he ran into the woods. I don’t know what he’s planning. He didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“Damn. That fool wants to play hero. Christ, what a mess now. There’s no telling what that creep will do if I don’t come back with Eugene.”
“You mean you’d trade Gene for Sandy? What kind of deal is that?”
“Not trade. I won’t do that. I need to stall for time. My men will take those guys out when they can get a clear shot and when they can be assured of Sandy’s safety.”
“How will they know when she’s safe?”
“I can’t answer that. They’re pros. They’ll know.”
“What’s the holdup, Armstrong? You planning something? Of course you are. Well we got plans too.”
Armstrong came back to the spot he occupied before, sans Eugene Sulke. “He’s gone. I don’t know where he went.”
“He ran into the woods,” his rear pointman said.
“Ohhhhh, he wants to be a hero, methinks.” He turned around and his men were howling. “Is that true, Eugene?” turning to the woods. “You want to play hero? Rescue the señora? Well, now’s your chance. Come over here and tell me to stop fucking with her, and I will. All you have to do is come here and tell me to stop.”