Plato felt the wind on his neck. For an April night, the air was exceptionally chilly. He buttoned the top button on his faded blue shirt.
Someone was coming.
Plato straightened. He stood outside the front door of his cabin, just one of many situated in a line from north to south in the center of the Home. The cabins were the residences for the married Family members, and his was the seventh from the north. The row of log cabins served to separate the eastern section of the compound, maintained in a pristine natural state and devoted to agricultural cultivation, from the western half, where the gigantic concrete blocks were located and the Family gathered together most often.
A lantern suspended from a metal hook imbedded in the exterior wall to the left of the cabin door threw a ring of light over the nearby grass and trees.
The light also revealed the approaching woman. She was tall and lean, with blonde hair and green eyes. Her thin lips were pressed together in frustration, accenting her prominent cheekbones. Her attire consisted of baggy green pants and a brown blouse. She conveyed an initial impression of frailty, an impression promptly dispelled by the inner strength reflected in her face, by her firm tread, and by the Smith and Wesson .357 Combat Magnum in a holster on her right hip. The revolver was indicative of her status as one of the Family’s skilled defenders; she was a Warrior.
“Any success, Sherry?” Plato inquired as she neared him.
Sherry frowned. “We can’t find a trace of them!” she snapped in disgust. “Where the hell can that ding-a-ling husband of mine be? And where’s Blade?”
“I’m positive Hickok is all right,” Plato assured her. “He’s one of the best Warriors we have.”
“And the idiot also has an uncanny knack for getting his butt into trouble,” Sherry remarked pensively. “I just don’t understand how he could disappear!”
“Didn’t you find anything at all?” Plato asked her.
Sherry sighed. “We may have found something. As you know, all of the Warriors are scouring the compound. It’s hard to find any sign in the dark, but Geronimo has found some tracks.”
Plato nodded. Geronimo was the best tracker in the Family, and he was a member of Alpha Triad, the same Warrior unit Blade and Hickok belonged to. “What did Geronimo find?”
“He found evidence of a fight,” Sherry said. “He thinks several big men may have jumped Blade.”
“Big men? Where did these men come from? How did they enter the Home unchallenged?” Plato asked.
Sherry shook her head morosely. “I can’t answer that. I’m only repeating what Geronimo told me.”
“Go on,” Plato stated.
“Geronimo also found something strange. Deep impressions. He thinks they were made by giant wheels of some kind,” Sherry said.
“Giant wheels?” Plato repeated skeptically. “He’s certain of that?”
“That’s what he says,” Sherry confirmed.
Plato, mystified, scratched his beard. “Giant wheels? Belonging to what? What type of vehicle could enter and leave the Home unseen? An aircraft, perhaps. But they normally require a runway.”
“Yama thought it might have been a helicopter,” Sherry mentioned.
Plato considered the notion for a moment. Yama was another Warrior, a member of Beta Triad. “Possibly. But helicopters, I believe, create quite a racket when airborne. It would be impossible for a helicopter to enter the compound, even at night, with the Warriors on guard, patrolling the walls.”
Sherry sighed again. “Well, whatever it was, it sure as hell was something! Rikki thinks Hickok and Blade were kidnapped.”
Plato pursed his lips. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the head of Beta Triad, and a consummate martial artist.
Sherry’s chin sagged, her shoulders slumped. “Hickok and Blade have made a lot of enemies over the years. Any one of them could have abducted the two for revenge. Or it could be someone we don’t even know about.”
Plato could see the anxiety on her face. He walked over and gently placed his right arm around her shoulders. “There! There! Even if they were abducted, Blade and Hickok can take care of themselves. You should know that better than anyone else.”
“I know that,” Sherry conceded.
“Why don’t you return to your cabin and try to get some sleep?” Plato suggested. “I’ll oversee the search operation.”
“I couldn’t sleep at a time like this,” Sherry said. “And I’m real sorry I had to wake you up in the middle of the night. But I didn’t know what else to do, after Hickok didn’t come home.”
“You acted properly,” Plato assured her. “How is Jenny taking all of this?” Jenny was Blade’s wife, and he could readily imagine how distraught she must be over Blade’s disappearance.
“She’s terribly upset,” Sherry disclosed. “She’s at my cabin, watching the children. Ringo and Gabriel are sleeping through this, thank the Spirit!”
“Well, if you can’t sleep, you can rejoin Rikki and the rest,” Plato recommended. “They might find something more.”
“They already have,” Sherry said.
“What do you mean?” Plato queried her.
“Geronimo found some other tracks,” Sherry informed the Family Leader. “Familiar tracks. They were in the vicinity of the wheel imprints.”
“You said they are familiar tracks?” Plato observed.
“Yep. Geronimo thinks they belong to Lynx, Ferret, and Gremlin,” Sherry said.
“And where are our three jovial mutants?” Plato inquired.
“That’s just it,” Sherry stated. “We can’t find them either.”
“What?” Plato exclaimed in surprise.
“That’s right. They’re not in B Block, like they should be. Rikki is organizing a hunt for them too,” Sherry disclosed.
“Blade and Hickok,” Plato said thoughtfully. “Lynx, Ferret, and Gremlin.” He paused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the Doktor was involved.”
“But Blade took care of the Doktor,” Sherry mentioned.
“True,” Plato affirmed.
“So if it isn’t the Doktor,” Sherry commented, her tone betraying her emotional turmoil, “Who is it?”
Chapter Eleven
Blade tensed as the helicopter dropped toward the transport. The copter’s spotlight swept over the truck cab, bathing them in a white light.
“They’ve found us, yes!” Gremlin cried.
Blade swerved the truck to the left, reacting instinctively, feeling exposed in the light.
There was a loud blast from the direction of the helicopter, a pronounced whump, and the avenue to the right of the transport erupted in a spray of asphalt and dirt. The concussion from the explosion rocked the truck.
Blade fought to maintain control as he began swerving the transport from side to side, striving to present as difficult a target as possible.
“The suckers have a rocket on that copter!” Lynx shouted.
Blade had lost sight of the helicopter. “Keep your eyes peeled!” he ordered. “Tell me where it is.”
“It went over us after firin’ the rocket,” Hickok said. “It might be comin’ up from behind.”
It was.
The helicopter was swooping toward the transport like a great bird of prey. The pilot was adroitly maneuvering the craft in the airspace above the avenue, precariously flying the copter between the tall structures on either side.
Blade spun the steering wheel for all he was worth, keeping the transport lurching from right to left, from left to right, hoping the tactic would hinder the helicopter pilot and would interfere with the launching of another rocket. His hope, though, was in vain.
The road in front of the truck abruptly exploded, showering dirt and chunks of the avenue on the windshield.
Blade felt the transport’s front wheels leave the ground as the force of the detonation nearly flipped the huge truck over. But the front wheels slammed to the road again, jarring everyone in the cab, and the transport swerved to the right as Blade struggled with the steering wheel.