There wasn’t long to wait.
Boot steps pounded on the tile floor.
“—hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” replied the second Hound.
“It sounded like he was hanging himself,” suggested the first.
“There’s nothing in his cell he could use to hang himself.”
“Maybe he had something concealed in his clothes, something we missed.”
“Shit. The King will have our hides if this guy is dead.”
Rikki flattened on his stomach at the inner base of the door.
There was the sound of breathing at the barred window. “Damn. I don’t see him!” declared one of the guards.
“He’s got to be in there.”
“Look for yourself.”
A shuffling noise was followed by an exclamation. “Son of a bitch! Get this door open.”
Rikki heard a rattling in the lock as a key was inserted, and he edged away from the door until he was just beyond the radius of the farthest point of the door’s anticipated inward sweep. If he was correct, the guard would fling the door open and miss him by a hair.
The key was twisted and there was a loud click.
A rush of air touched the Warrior’s face as the door was shoved wide, and the first guard rushed into the holding cell. The Hound’s left boot caught on Rikki’s shoulder, and with a startled. “Hey!” the guard tripped and fell.
“What the—!” blurted out the second Hound, about to enter the room.
Rikki was already in motion, swinging his feet around and in and slamming his heels into the knees of the second Hound. A sharp crack, a screech of pain, and the second Hound was toppling forward, trying to level the AR-15. Rikki deflected the barrel of the automatic rifle with his right forearm, then rammed a leopard-paw strike into the Hound’s throat as the man came down.
The first guard, on his hands and knees, was scrambling to face the prisoner.
Rikki arched his back and sprang erect, spinning as he rose, delivering a kick to the tip of the first Hound’s chin. The man grunted and sagged, and another kick rendered him insensate. Rikki glanced at the second guard, who was flat on his back, gasping and convulsing, his hands pressed to his crushed windpipe.
The Warrior disliked seeing his foe suffer.
With a precisely angled sword-hand chop to the Hound’s nose, Rikki ended the man’s misery.
No one else had appeared in the hallway.
Moving swiftly, Rikki grabbed the AR-15 and raced down the corridor to the stairs. He checked, verifying the safety was off, and ascended, a step at a time, all the while gazing overhead to insure more Hounds weren’t stationed above him. What should he do now? He asked himself. Escape the mansion while the opportunity presented itself? Or try to slay Aloysius the First and terminate the madman’s demented scheme for global domination? Either way, his main priority was reclaiming his katana.
General Thayer must still be on the estate. Rikki doubted the officer would leave prior to the execution. Once he found Thayer and recovered the katana, he could decide which course to pursue.
A closed brown door blocked his path.
Rikki halted at the door and listened. He was about to reach for the doorknob when he heard voices approaching from the opposite side.
Without hesitation he threw himself behind the door as it opened.
“—wants to talk to the prisoner again,” General Thayer was saying.
“I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, sir,” remarked one of the two Hounds accompanying the officer, both of whom had AR-15’s slung over their right shoulders.
The door closed as they started down the stairs.
“Hello, Spartan,” said someone in a low tone to their rear.
They whirled together, General Thayer’s eyes widening in astonishment.
“You!” the Spartan exclaimed.
The two Hounds appeared thoroughly confounded, and neither made a move for their weapon.
Rikki held his automatic rifle loosely in his left hand, the barrel slanted downward. “I’ve come for my katana.”
General Thayer was on the third step. The pair of guards were at the edge of the landing. All three were less than six feet from the Warrior.
“What do we do, sir?” the tallest of the guards inquired nervously.
“You’ll get your orders in a moment,” Thayer replied, then smiled at Rikki. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”
The martial artist did not respond.
“What happened to my men downstairs?” Thayer inquired.
“They have passed on to the next realm.”
“They’re dead?”
Rikki nodded.
General Thayer sighed. “The King sent me to escort you upstairs. He wants to see you again.”
“And I want to see him. But first, my katana,” Rikki stated, extending his right arm.
“You know I can’t give it to you. I’d like to, but my duty is to the King.”
“Duty should be measured by wisdom and guided by the Spirit.”
General Thayer looked sad. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”
“So am I.” Rikki responded.
Thayer glanced at the two Hounds. “Kill him.”
Chapter Fifteen
The leader of the Hound patrol was a lean sergeant with sandy hair and an arrogant attitude. He sneered at the quartet in front of him and crossed his arms on his chest. Strapped around his narrow waist were a pair of Smith and Wesson Model 459’s. “Well, well, well,” he declared sarcastically. “What have we here?”
Behind the noncom were Five Hounds, each armed with an automatic rifle.
“Howdy,” Hickok said, the M-16 held loosely in his right hand.
“Howdy, my ass,” the sergeant responded. He studied the blond man in the buckskins and the little girl, then shifted his attention to the giant and the brunette beyond them. “You’re the ones!” he exclaimed.
“We are?” Hickok replied.
“You’re the ones the platoon was sent after,” the sergeant stated. “They must have missed you.”
“Nope. They found us,” Hickok said.
The Hound sergeant scanned the street. “Then where are they?”
“They’re buzzard bait,” Hickok answered.
“What?”
Hickok slowly raised his left hand and slashed his forefinger across his neck. As he did, at the moment every Hound was watching his left hand, he surreptitiously tilted the M-16 barrel with his right and squeezed the trigger.
The Hounds were caught napping.
A stunned expression was on the sergeant’s face as he was struck in the chest, the slugs stitching his torso from his navel to his right shoulder. His arms flung out as he was smashed onto his back by the impact.
With only his right hand on the blasting, bucking rifle, Hickok could not fully control his aim. The barrel swiveled to the right, the M-16 sending rounds into two of the thunderstruck Hounds, perforating their chests and slamming them to the ground.
Three Hounds were still erect, and they sighted on the gunman and little girl even as their companions died.
Someone else fired before the Hounds could, adding the din of her AR-15 to Hickok’s M-16. Bonnie held the stock pressed to her shoulders, and her lips were a grim line as she aimed carefully and fired. Although not an expert markswoman, at a range of 30 feet she could hardly miss.
Her shots smacked into the Hounds below their necks, dotting each man’s upper chest with crimson holes.
The three Hounds toppled in a tidy row.
Hickok ceased firing and walked to the sergeant. He nudged the body with his right toe. “Cocky bunch of turkeys,” he commented.
Shocked by the abrupt violence. Chastity ran to the gunman and grabbed his left leg. “Are these the bad men who took Uncle Rikki?”