Why?
Blade clenched his ponderous fists and glared at the rising sun. His sinewy body, fully recuperated after six weeks of rest and rehabilitation, assumed a posture of defiance, his square chin jutting outward. The late August air was cool and refreshing.
Why, Oh Spirit, was it necessary for Brian to die? Why was constant hardship and struggle the lot of those still toiling to wring a living from the hostile land? Maybe Hickok was right. A person should take what they could get while the getting was good. Look at Joshua. He was continually striving to live spiritually, and his inner turmoil never ceased. The run to Thief River Falls had been a horrifying experience for Joshua, yet Hickok had enjoyed himself immensely. Hickok craved action, Joshua longed for peace. They were living, sterling examples of diametrically opposed viewpoints. Which one of them was right? Hickok? Or Joshua? The preeminent gunfighter or the spirit child of a Cosmic Creator? Or was the answer lying somewhere between the two extremes, somewhere…
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Blade whirled, mentally lambasting himself for leaving his Bowies in the corpse. The Commando and the Vegas were in B Block, but he still carried the Solingens, the daggers, and his Buck knife. His right hand gripped one of the throwing knives as he turned, expecting another attacker.
It was Plato.
“Commendable reflexes,” Plato remarked. “I saw the body near the SEAL…” He stopped, his eyes resting on the form in the grass beside Blade. “Who…” he began, then he recognized Brian.
“It’s Brian,” Blade stated needlessly.
“Oh, dear Lord, no!” Plato said quietly, the wrinkles on his face etched in an expression of profound sorrow. “Not Brian!”
“Afraid so.” Blade placed his left arm around Plato’s narrow shoulders.
“How did it happen?” Plato asked.
“I didn’t see it,” Blade replied, “but I surmise the guy in black did it.
Brian was probably on his way to the shop. He said he wanted to get an early start on some work on the drawbridge, and you know how conscientious he was.”
“I know,” Plato affirmed sadly.
“It will be a while before the Family is all up and about,” Blade mentioned. “I better remove the body. No need for any of the children to be exposed to this.”
“We have some time first,” Plato said. “I need to talk with you.”
Blade nodded. “I have some things I want to say to you too, but you go first.”
“Any idea why the man in black was here?” Plato questioned.
“Not yet,” Blade admitted. “Let’s check.”
They walked to the body of the interloper and Blade knelt, searching the man’s pockets and his pouch.
“Anything?” Plato inquired.
“Nope.” Blade shook his head. “No identification of any sort. Just his pistol and these two devices in his pouch. One looks like a timing device of some kind. Don’t know what the other thing is.”
“What does he look like?” Plato asked, pointing at the mask.
Blade pulled the woolen mask over the dead man’s face. The stranger had been young, maybe thirty, with brown hair cropped close to his head and a scar on his left cheek.
“Reminds me of a military-style haircut,” Plato remarked.
Blade stood and stepped back. He spotted something lying near a front tire, crossed to it, and read the label as he picked it up. “Explosive,” he read aloud. “Issue number two-three-seven-seven.”
Plato took the packet and studied it. “Thank the Spirit you were able to prevent him from completing his task. We would be lost without the SEAL.”
“Thank yourself,” Blade corrected as Plato pocketed the packet.
“What do you mean?” his mentor inquired.
“You were the one who told me last night we were to leave today. I was here so early because I was too antsy to sleep. I decided to activate the solar panels so we would have a full charge in those unique batteries Carpenter spent a fortune developing.” Using his key, he unlocked the front door and threw a red lever located under the center of the dashboard.
Plato’s brow was furrowed as he contemplated the implications. Finally, he glanced at Blade. “I still want Alpha Triad and Joshua to depart this afternoon for the Twin Cities.”
“Are you nuts?” Blade countered.
Plato smiled. “Thoroughly sane, thank you very much.”
“You know what I mean,” Blade said, annoyed. “Think about the potential for harm to the Family with one of the Warrior Triads out on another run. Before we left the last time, you said there was a power-monger in the Family, an aspiring dictator, someone who wants to forcibly remove you from your position as our Leader. Then there are the Watchers. We know very little about them, except they’re deadly and engaged in some sort of containment strategy. They don’t seem to want anyone running loose over the countryside. Add these factors up and you’ll have to agree we should remain here.”
“I do not agree,” Plato replied.
“You are nuts!” Blade snapped.
“Bear with me a moment,” Plato patiently advised. “Granted, you voice serious concerns. I still refuse to reveal the identity of the power-monger, but if it will make you any happier, I promise I will give you his name after you return from the Twin Cities. I still feel he isn’t a grave threat at this time, and you’ll simply need to trust my judgment.”
“What about the Watchers?” Blade quickly interjected.
“They haven’t bothered us in the past, so why should they start now?”
“This guy could be a Watcher, for all we know!” Blade countered, irritated by Plato’s complacency.
“True,” Plato acknowledged. “But if the Watchers are after our transport, and you take the SEAL with you, we won’t pose a threat to them until you return.”
“Sheer speculation!” Blade rejoined.
“Granted.” Plato sighed and leaned against the SEAL, easing the strain on his arthritic legs. “Until we acquire sufficient data, speculation is all we have. You know how deeply I love you, and I feel you reciprocate. If so, you must trust me in this matter. I firmly believe our beloved Family will be safe while you make a trip to the Twin Cities. Don’t tarry. Locate the equipment and supplies the Family needs and get back here as expeditiously as feasible.”
“I don’t know…” Blade hedged, unwilling to agree.
“Why do I have a distinct feeling of deja vu?” Plato asked.
“I wasn’t eager to leave last time,” Blade conceded. “I don’t like the idea of leaving now any better. In fact, I like it less.”
“We’ll still have three Warrior Triads guarding the Home,” Plato reminded Blade.
“Have the Elders picked any candidates for the new Triad we want to add?” Blade inquired.
“We’ve selected two of the applicants,” Plato answered, “but we have yet to decide on the third. We’ll announce them as soon as we do.”
Blade faced east, watching the rising sun. “I better get this body out of here.”
“You can place it in C Block,” Plato suggested.
Blade stooped, lifted the saboteur from the ground, and placed the black-garbed figure over his left shoulder. He casually strolled toward the infirmary.
Plato opted to tag along. “You certainly appear recovered from your injuries,” he observed.
Blade whacked his chest with his right palm. “Never better.”
“Hickok is also healed?” Plato asked.
“Far as I know,” Blade stated. “He was fine yesterday when I saw him playing tag with Star, the Indian girl he rescued before we left for the Twin Cities the last time.”
“I’ve noticed,” Plato mentioned, “that Geronimo has been spending a considerable amount of time with Star’s mother, Rainbow.”