Raynor paused to give the animal a pat on the head before following Tychus over to the bar. The man standing behind it had a shaved head, bushy eyebrows, and the fist-flattened nose of an amateur prize fighter. Pictures of him could be seen here and there on the walls. Most were of him standing in some ring or other, bloodied fists raised in victory. Hurley perhaps? Yes, Raynor thought so.
The proprietor ran an eye over Tychus as if sizing him up before nodding politely. “Good afternoon, gents. What’ll it be?”
“A couple of beers,” Tychus responded.
“Coming up,” the bartender replied, as he removed two mugs from the shelf over his head. “Would you like anything else? Something to eat, maybe?”
“Yes, we would,” Raynor replied genially. “We’ll take a look at your menu in a minute… . But first maybe you can help us out with some information. Some friends of ours were passing through the area recently, and they haven’t come back. We’d like to find them. Any idea of who we might talk to? Or where we could look?”
Raynor saw the man’s eyes cloud over as some suds ran down the side of the second mug. “Sorry to hear about your friends, mister… . But these are troubled times. People shouldn’t travel at night. That’ll be five credits.”
“I didn’t say they were traveling at night,” Raynor said evenly, as he slipped some coins into the other man’s hand. “But they were. We aren’t asking you to name names. We’re justtoday announced an exciting new looking for some information, that’s all. Keep the change.”
Hurley opened his hand to see two large coins. “Why don’t you gents have a seat at one of the tables?” the proprietor suggested. “I’ll bring a menu.”
“How expensive was my beer?” Tychus asked as they went to sit down.
“Fifty credits,” Raynor replied.
“That makes a hundred altogether,” Tychus observed. “These beers had better be good. Sucker.”
Raynor and Tychus ordered enough food to feed themselves, Doc, Kydd, Harnack, and Feek. Then, with take-out bags in hand, they left. It wasn’t until they were back in the truck, passing out thick sandwiches, that Raynor found the hand-drawn map. He grinned and gave it to Tychus. “Don’t spill anything on my hundred-credit map… . How’s your lunch?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Confederate sources today announced an exciting new plan that would allow UNN reporters onto actual military bases to observe the course of the war. This should silence many of the critics who have dubbed the Kel-Morian engagement ‘the Quiet War’ due to the Confederacy’s hand in limiting media exposure. As one of the journalists selected for this opportunity, I’m very excited to get into the action and document the bravery of our soldiers. My security monitoring detail has assured me that it will be as unobtrusive as possible.”
The hand-dug pit was located in the middle of the barn, where it wouldn’t be spotted from the air, and was sheltered from both sun and rain. Silas Trask, the man who made decisions for the gang, called it “the tank.” As in “storage tank,” because that was where he kept the women he doled out to his men, and captives that someone might be willing to pay for.
Half a dozen people occupied the miserable hole at the moment. That included the soldiers, who had been held for nearly two days, an elderly couple, and two terrified teenage girls—both of whom were slated to serve as entertainment the next time the bandits decided to party.
All of them stood in six inches of muddy ground water and stared upward as a bright light appeared over their heads. “Hey, you two scumbags,” a male voice called out, “you’re up.”
There was a splash as a ladder came sliding down to hit the bottom of the tank. Zander went up first, closely followed by Ward, as the other captives watched from below. It was hard to know what to hope for. The tank was horrible—but so were the men above. And once summoned there was no way to know what would happen to them next. Some people were returned to the tank and some were never seen again. Were they free, having been ransomed? Or were they dead? Zander prayed under his breath.
Heavily armed bandits were waiting. One of them pushed Zander toward the tractor-size door. The soldier could see that it was evening. “Get moving,” the man said, and pushed again.
As he stumbled forward, Zander’s eyes darted from side to side, searching for anything that might help. He was shorter than his captors, but he was strong, and all he needed was some sort of weapon. A shovel, a pitchfork, anything would do. But nothing of the sort was within reach as the two men were pushed, shoved, and kicked into the barnyard beyond. Two of the planet’s moons were still up and arcing across the velvety blue sky.
The soldiers were marched across an open area to a modest farmhouse that was lit from within. That was something of a surprise to Zander, since he would have expected the bandits to black it out, but maybe they wanted the place to look normal.
Three wooden steps led up to the front door. It was already open and gave access to a brightly lit but mostly empty interior. Part of the ceiling had been damaged by a leaky roof, which explained why the bandits were living in the vehicle shed instead.
Trask, a dark-haired man with flashing white teeth and a taste for gaudy, clearly stolen jewelry, stood waiting for them. He scowled as the captives entered the room. “Look at that! Muddy footprints on my clean floor… . Have you no manners?”
Zander rolled his eyes and glanced over at Ward, who was quietly looking at his feet. Zander turned back toward Trask just in time to receive a swift knee to the groin. He doubled over, groaning, but was pulled back to a standing position by the thugs. “No, I guess you don’t.” Trask said patronizingly. “Please, gentlemen, have a seat.”
Trask indicated two chairs that were positioned in the middle of the brightly lit living room, which, thanks to the shattered windows, was open to the outside. Zander didn’t want to comply, not if Trask wanted him to, but was forced to step forward when a gun barrel jabbed him from behind. Ward was equally recalcitrant, but submitted with less of a struggle because he could see the odds were stacked against them. He was far from cowed, however, as was apparent from both his facial expression, and the set of his shoulders.
The chairs were positioned directly in front of the windows and securely fastened to the floor. Trask came around to stand directly in front of the two men as they were tied in place. “You want to hear something funny?” he inquired cheerfully. “Two men came looking for you! It appears your stupidity is contagious. They paid one hundred credits for a map that will lead them here. That means they have money. My money. Or it will be soon.” And with that Trask chuckled contentedly as he and his men left the house.
“The bastard is using us for bait,” Ward rumbled. “When the guys move in on the house they’ll run into an ambush.”
“Yeah,” Zander said thoughtfully. “That’s the plan anyway, but our buddies aren’t stupid.”
“Jim isn’t,” Ward agreed soberly, “but what about Tychus and Hank? They’ll just come barreling in here without a second thought.”
“Or a first.” Both men let out a chuckle, which faded into contemplative silence.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” Zander said regretfully.
Ward shrugged. “It don’t make much difference, Max. I’m not afraid to die.”
“I just … I feel terrible is all. This was my idea and I screwed up. If we would’ve made it, we could’ve helped so many people, but … I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”