“Yep.”
“I can’t believe it!” Casey exclaimed, awed.
“How do I turn off the fence?” Hickok inquired.
“There’s a circuit breaker in a box to the left of the gate,” Casey revealed.
“What’s a circuit breaker?” Hickok responded.
“Look for an orange lever,” Casey said. “Pull it down and you’ll turn off the current.”
Hickok moved to the window and watched the trio of guards heading for the flaming debris in the mine field.
“Who was on the trike?” Casey asked.
“Nobody,” Hickok answered.
“But trikes don’t run by themselves,” Casey stated.
“They do if you help ’em along a little,” Hickok said. He motioned toward the stairs. “Let’s go. You first.”
Private Casey led off. “Are… are you going to kill me?”
“I’m not in the habit of gunnin’ pipsqueaks,” Hickok declared. “But don’t push me or I might make an exception in your case.”
They reached the steps to the ground. “How did you do it?” Casey queried as he descended.
“Wasn’t too hard,” Hickok said. “A bozo by the name of Spencer told me how the trikes run. To pick up speed, you have to turn a thingumajig on the handlebars. And to shift, your foot presses on a thingamabob. Hope I’m not bein’ too technical for you.”
“I know how to drive a trike,” Casey told him.
“Then you’ll appreciate how I did it,” Hickok remarked. “I fired her up, with the shift in neutral, and turned the accelerator to where I wanted it.
Then I tied it in place with Spencer’s shoelaces. Those grips have deep ridges in ’em, so it was real easy to keep it from slippin’ too much. After that, I kicked the buggy into gear and—presto!—the decoy I needed.”
“Pretty clever,” Private Casey admitted.
Hickok sighed. “Where’s Geronimo when I need him?”
“Geronimo?” Casey said, puzzled.
“A pard of mine,” Hickok stated. “Believe it or not, I don’t get complimented on my smarts too much. I wish he’d been here to hear it.”
“Wasn’t one of the other Warriors captured with you named Geronimo?” Casey asked.
Hickok stopped. “Yeah. Have you heard anything about him or my other buddy, Blade?”
“You know they went to New York City?”
“So I was told.”
Private Casey shifted uneasily. “I don’t know how to tell you this.” He stared at the pearl-handled revolvers.
“Give it to me straight,” Hickok directed.
“It’s not official,” Casey said anxiously.
“Spill the beans!” Hickok ordered.
“We lost contact with them,” Casey disclosed. “Now remember,” he quickly added, “it’s just some scuttlebutt I picked up. It hasn’t been confirmed.”
Hickok’s features were obscured by the shadows. They were standing near the fence, the gate illumined by a spotlight on top of the guard tower.
“Turn off the current,” he said gruffly.
“I thought you were going to do it,” Casey said.
“I can’t. You see, I’ve got me this new motto I live by,” the gunman declared.
“New motto?”
“Never, ever trust a lyin’ skunk of a Technic!” Hickok stated harshly.
Private Casey gulped.
“Now kill the blasted fence!” Hickok commanded.
Casey immediately complied.
“Now the gate.” Hickok tossed the key to the trooper.
Private Casey unlocked the gate and shoved it open.
Hickok strode up to the soldier and glared at him, nose to nose. “You’ve got two ways of playin’ this, pipsqueak. You can run upstairs after I leave, and blab what happened to the bigwigs. Or you can play it safe and keep your mouth shut. It’s up to you.”
“If I report this, I’ll be court-martialed,” Casey predicted. “I’ll wind up in prison or in front of a firing squad.”
“So keep your big mouth closed,” Hickok advised. “No one will ever know I was here except for us. They’ll all reckon I was blown sky-high in the mine field. I left the varmint who owned the trike tied up back at a worm farm. He’ll get loose soon and tell the authorities I stole it from him.
They’ll put two and two together.”
“I really am going to live!” Private Casey exclaimed.
“I told you I wouldn’t kill you.”
“But they said you’re a cold-blooded murderer,” Casey remarked.
“A lot of folks think that way,” Hickok conceded. He thought of the boy lying in the pool of blood. “But they don’t know about my other new motto.
Never, ever kill unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“I like that motto,” Casey remarked.
Hickok grinned. “You’re all right, pipsqueak.” He started through the gate, then paused. “Say, will they know you cut the juice to the fence?”
Private Casey nodded. “It’ll register on the monitor in the Central Core.”
“If they ask, tell ’em you don’t know a thing,” Hickok suggested.
“Lie?”
“Can you come up with a better way to save your hide?” Hickok asked.
Casey considered for a moment. “Nope.”
“Then as soon as I skedaddle, close the gate and open the circuit. They might believe it was a temporary short.”
“All of a sudden you’re not as dumb as you act,” Casey said.
“Thanks. I think.” Hickok walked through the gate, holstered his left Python, and waved. “As a pard of mine might say, may the Great Spirit bless all your endeavors.”
The night swallowed the gunman.
Private Casey blinked a few times, wondering if the incident might have been a dream. The killer of the Minister had spared his life! He hastily closed the gate, reset the circuit breaker, and ran up the stairs to the tower. The red light above the headset was blinking. He scooped it up and cleared his throat.
“Private Casey here… Sorry, sir, I was watching the mine field… Yes, they’re almost to the point… No, the captain hasn’t arrived yet… Turned off the fence? No, sir. Why would I do that?… No, sir, I didn’t notice. I was watching the mine field… Yes, sir, those damn transformers can be a pain in the ass… Of course, sir.”
Casey replaced the headset, beaming. He’d done it! Now there was just one thing he wanted to know: what the hell was the Great Spirit?
Chapter Nineteen
Everything was proceeding according to the Minister’s plan! The Home would soon be history!
Lieutenant Alicia Farrow smiled, her white teeth a sharp contrast to the inky night. Her luminous watch indicated the time was 15 minutes past midnight. In another 15 minutes the demolition team would come over the west wall, and she must be there to greet them. She had crept from B Block 10 minutes ago, and now was poised at the foot of the stairs leading from the inner bank of the moat to the rampart. The wooden stairs were located a few feet south of the closed drawbridge. She cautiously climbed the steps, scanning the rampart, searching for the Warrior on duty. She knew Omega Triad was scheduled, and she expected to find Ares manning the west wall as was his custom.
A dark form moved to her right, directly over the drawbridge.
Farrow squinted. It was a Warrior, patrolling the rampart. But something was wrong. The figure wasn’t tall enough to be Ares. It was definitely a man, which ruled out Helen. And it lacked a hat, eliminating Sundance because he always wore a black sombrero.
So who the hell was it?
Farrow reached the top of the stairs and stopped, perplexed. The figure was gone! One instant it had been there, the next it had vanished! Had whoever it was seen her? Was he—
“Hello, Alicia.”
Farrow gripped the rail to keep from plunging into the moat. Her senses were swimming. Not. him! It couldn’t be him!