No, Monte thought, as he crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, this confrontation had to be. If he could get Ben Raines out of the way, the entire United States would be open to him, and his perversions could go unchecked for the remainder of his worthless life.

  But, he thought, as a sour taste lay on his tongue, that damned Russian, Striganov, had given his troops the go-ahead to pursue Monte to New York; two battalions of Russian troops and one battalion of Canadians were hot on his tail, rushing to help Ben Raines, Colonel Rebet commanding the Russians and Major Danjou commanding the Canadians.

  Goddamn them!

  Monte smiled as a plan slipped like a poisonous snake into his brain. Yes—it might work.

  After all, Manhattan was an island—at least on three sides. He would send a runner to the Judges.

  “They are spread dangerously thin,” one of the Judges spoke. “But they are aware that most of us can tolerate light for a time.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” another Judge asked querulously.

  “It means they are ready to fight all the time. It means we cannot use our aversion to light to surprise or trick them into an ambush.”

  “They are slowly, slowly advancing,” the woman Judge who sat in the center of the council circle said. “But advancing is the key word.”

  “Where is Monte?”

  “Coming, but with trouble on his heels. A Canadian and Russian combat force is pursuing them. They will surely link up with the Hated One.”

  “We could slip out, get away,” it was suggested.

  “Even if that were possible, which I doubt, they would just find us again. No,” she spoke with a sigh, “this must be a battle to the finish. But we must change our tactics.” She leaned forward. “I have a plan . . .”

  “Who in the goddamn hell OK’d her transfer up here?” Ben spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Ben,” Lamar tried to calm his friend, “whatever you and Jerre had—and according to you, it was damn little and all one-sided—happened years ago. Her name would be meaningless to some young man or woman in records.”

  “Guess this pretty well blows away the rumors that she died.”

  “Would you prefer her dead, Ben?”

  Ben did not reply.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen her, Ben?”

  “Long time, Lamar. Just a quick glance then.”

  “And you still love her?”

  “Oh, yes. Loved her all the time I was lying to Salina. Loved her all the times I was lying to all the others.”

  “What is it about her, Ben?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s . . . ah . . . just one of those loves that only come around one time in a person’s life. And you never forget them. Never. Her face has been just behind my eyes all these years. Jesus! No fool like an old fool sure tags me right.”

  “How old is she now, Ben?”

  “Let’s see . . . she’d be . . . thirty, I suppose.”

  “Hell, Ben, the difference in your ages is not that great, man!”

  “I’m not sure that age had anything to do with it, Lamar. I still have the letter she wrote me; left it on my pillow early one morning. Wanna hear it?”

  “You memorized it!”

  “Sure.”

  “God, Ben! The love bug didn’t just hit you—it ran clear over you!”

  Ben chuckled, his usual good mood returning. “Damn sure did, Lamar. She wrote: ‘Dear Ben, I’ll make this short ’cause if I try to write too much I’ll just tear it up and stay with you, and I think that would be bad for both of us—at this time. Maybe what I’m doing is foolish. I don’t know. But I feel it’s something I have to do. The world is in such a mess, I have to try to do something to help fix it. Maybe the young can. I don’t know. In my heart I kind of doubt it, but we have to try—right?

  “‘I don’t know what my feelings are toward you, Ben. I like you a whole lot and I think I probably love you a little bit. That’s a joke—I think I probably love you a whole lot. That’s one of the reasons I have to split. There are other reasons, of course, but my feelings toward you are right up there at the top.

  “‘You’ve got places to go and things to see before you find yourself—your goal, preset, I believe—and start to do great things. And you will, Ben. You will.

  “‘I hope I see you again, General.’”

  Ben’s voice was breaking as he finished it. “‘Love, Jerre.’”

  Lamar let a few moments pass before he asked, “When was the next time you saw her?”

  “I drifted for a time. That’s when I found Juno—you remember the husky. Shortly after that I ran into Ike and that funky radio station he’d built down in Florida.” Ben laughed aloud, a hearty laugh that felt good to both men. “Radio station KUNT. I married Ike and Megan right round Christmas. Shortly after that, the group split up, and I started wandering again. Drove up to North Carolina, looking for Jerre. Lost her trail. Met some more people who thought like me. Pal and Valerie . . .” He sighed. Both of them dead now. “I ran into a group of young people in Oklahoma who told me that Jerre had put together a bunch of young people and headed west. So I knew she was still alive. Shortly after that, I met you.”

  “I remember.”

  “I learned later that Jerre was deliberately avoiding me. I never learned why. By then I’d returned to Louisiana and gotten involved with Salina. I don’t regret that. I regret that I lied to her. Anyway, months rolled by, and we were all settled into the Tri-States when Jerre walked up to me. More beautiful than I remembered. Said she wasn’t staying in the Tri-States. She had some beefy young man with her. I think she married him and later dumped him. I tried to keep track of her as best I could over the years. I helped her from time to time—without her ever knowing it, of course—but I haven’t seen her in a long time.” Ben fell silent.

  “You know, old friend, we’re supposed to be manly and tough and all that happy horse-shit. Men don’t cry and all that. So I’ll confess something to you. Way back, years ago, before I met my first wife—God rest her soul and God damn Hilton Logan to the pits of Hell for killing her—I was a young doctor on a tin can. Got some shore leave in Spain. Her name was Maria. I still remember her. Love? God! Walking into walls type of love. No point in going into all the tearful details. But do I still love her? Oh, yes, Raines. I still do. I think the last thing that will pass my eyes before death takes me will be the face of Maria.” He patted Ben’s knee. “You hang in, old friend. You and your Jerre just might make it yet.”

  He rose, cussed as his bad knee popped, and walked away.

  Leaving Ben alone.

  As usual.

  A condition he should be accustomed to by now.

  But somehow never quite got the hang of it.

  Jersey shook Ben awake at three in the morning.

  “Guards at post three are gone, General.”

  “Gone!” Ben sat up in his blankets and looked at Jersey. She had obviously just been awakened.

  “Yes, sir. And I mean gone without a trace. I personally checked before waking you.”

  Ben pulled on his boots and grabbed his Thompson, then followed Jersey to post three. Tina and Dan were already there.

  “What happened, people?”

  “We don’t know, Dad,” his daughter told him. “They failed to report in and when this post was checked, they were gone.”

  Ben got down on his hands and knees and sniffed the pavement like a hound dog.

  “What in the world are you doing, Dad?”

  “No Night People came close to this post. Their odor lingers for hours.” He looked at Dan.

  The Englishman took it. “So they were lured away. But these were seasoned combat veterans, General. Both of them in their thirties. They’ve been with us for years. What on earth could have pulled them away?”

  “You know,” a Rebel spoke, “I could have sworn I heard a baby crying about an hour ago. But we had a little breeze blowing at the time and that’s what I chalked it up to.”

  Dan and Ben exchanged glances, Dan saying, “You probably did hear a baby crying. And so did these men here.” He stabbed a finger at the deserted guard post.

  “A captive baby,” Tina’s words were soft. “Kidnapped or from one of the breeding farms.”

  “Pass the word, people,” Ben told the small gathering. “No matter what you might see out there,” his finger stabbed the dangerous night, “or think you see, no one leaves their post.”

  The screaming of the captured Rebels began bouncing and echoing around the brick-and-concrete streets. The hideous wailing would continue until dawn.

  At first light, teams began the second day of their search-and-destroy missions. Beginning at Bridge Street, Ben’s teams began working slowly up the center of Manhattan, while Dan and Tina began working inward from West Street and South Street. After securing Beaver Street over to Broad, working toward Dan’s sector, Ben called a rest for his people.

  “It’s going to take us five years at this pace,” Ben bitched to Doctor Chase, who had just joined him. “There has got to be a better way.”

  “Bring the older buildings down with explosives,” Chase suggested.

  “I thought of that. It would work for perhaps one day; then the creepies would move in captives under the cover of darkness, and we’d be right back to square one.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “Are you having second thoughts about this objective, Ben?”

  “No.” Ben’s reply was quick. “It’s just that we’ve got to get as much done as quickly as possible. We know that the Canadian warlord, Monte, is moving toward us, with Rebet and Danjou right on his heels. But Monte has perhaps five times the number of men of those pursuing him. Rebet and Danjou can’t afford the luxury of a head-to-head confrontation; they’re going to have to wage hit-and-run warfare.

  “We can’t cordon off the city and starve the nasties out—troop strength being just one of the reasons. And I’m going to have to assign a full platoon to go outside the city in search of fuel. Wood-cutting and kerosene. In about three weeks, winter is going to be full on us. And I don’t have to tell you that since the war, the winters have been getting rougher and longer. Fighting as we’ll be doing, the people are going to have to be fed very substantial meals; cold will sap a person’s strength faster than anything.”

  Ben sighed. “And at the rate we’re progressing we’re weeks away from breaking through to where we think the survivors might be located.” Ben opened his map case and again studied the problem. “We’ve got to have a place to land our birds and store equipment. That’s imperative.”

  “No smaller airports?”

  “None that would do us any good. They’re all way to hell and gone from the city. J.F.K. might as well be on the moon. We’d have to fight our way through Brooklyn and Queens to get to it. Westchester is out of the question, as is Fairfield. Teterboro would be ideal. But getting to it is another matter. Linden is too far south. I guess I’m going to have to chance some patrols—volunteers only—and check out Teterboro Airport. I’ve already ordered a low-level flyby of it. But the pilots have to land down here,” Ben punched at New Jersey, “and then make their way back up here—the last leg by boat. Jesus! It’s a damned logistical nightmare, Lamar. The Indians got the last laugh after all.”

  Dan strolled up to the men. “General, we found what is left of Peters and Dickerson. They died awfully hard.”

  Ben and Chase both turned, the doctor saying, “I want to see them.”

  “Brace yourselves,” the Englishman warned them both. “It is anything but pleasant.”

  That was putting it mildly, Ben thought, standing over the tortured remains of the two dead Rebels. Chase and one of his medics had knelt down, inspecting the bodies. The doctor rose slowly, his face a hard mask of fury.

  “They were tortured by experts, Ben. Probably kept conscious the entire time.”

  “Pull the people in a few at a time,” Ben ordered. “I want them all to see what manner of subhuman filth we are confronting. Pass the word: no quarter, no pity, no mercy, and no prisoners.”

  Chapter 7

  “Tina has volunteered to take the patrol up to Teterboro Airport,” Dan informed him.

  Ben did not hesitate. To do so would have been showing favoritism, and Tina would have been highly irritated. “All right, have her start pulling equipment. Dan, how in the hell is she going to get across?”

  Dan traced the route with his finger, as he leaned over the hood of Ben’s Jeep. “I have suggested this: she backtracks through Staten Island and picks up this Two-eighty-seven loop, following it all the way to Interstate Eighty; then she’ll cut back east. This way will also give us some intel as to how far out this despicable bunch extends.”

  Ben agreed. “Same route I would choose. I want her on the road this afternoon.”

  The two men stared at one other across the hood of the Jeep. “Something, Dan?”

  “I feel it is my duty to inform you of something, General.”

  Typical British always-do-the-right-thing attitude. Ben kept a straight face and let Dan plow on. Even though he knew damn well what the man was going to say. “All right, Dan.”

  But Ben was only half right.

  “As you know, General, I’ve lost some Scouts and am hesitant to pull any regulars out of the city to send with Tina.”

  Ben leaned against the fender, puzzled. It was not what he had anticipated hearing. “You take the people you need, Dan. How many do you want? It can’t be many.”

  “No, sir, not many. Tina is two short of her usual complement of twenty-five. Of the new replacements just arrived, only two have completed Scout training and they have requested immediate assignments. It is my belief that out there,” he jerked his thumb away from the city, “would be a better place to test them than here in the city.”

  “I agree, Dan. OK. What’s the rub?”

  Dan looked awfully uncomfortable. He sighed and exhaled slowly. “I am loath to approve their requests, General.”

  “Why, Dan?”

  “Because one of them is Jerre and the sissy-looking one with her is her boyfriend.”

  “Holy shit!” one of West’s mercenaries breathed, looking through binoculars.

  “What’s wrong, Curly?” the mercenary leader asked him.

  He was called Curly because he was totally bald.

  “It’s worse than what we seen over at the Linden Airport, Colonel. Those spooky creepies have destroyed the runways.”

  West lifted his field glasses and studied the wreckage. Great holes had been blown into the concrete; entire sections had been torn loose, rendering the airport useless. West motioned for his radio man to come forward. He lifted the handset from the backpack and started to report in, then hesitated.

  “What’s wrong, Colonel?” Curly asked.

  West shook his head and replaced the phone. “Funny feeling. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being monitored.” He waved for his XO. “Take over here. I’m going over to talk with Ike.” He turned to another merc. “Get a platoon together. Two light tanks. We’re going straight up Ninety-five then cut east across the bridge. Ford, no critical chatter on the air. Keep it all crap. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Dan had walked away, leaving Ben alone with his thoughts. And they were not pleasant ones.

  It would be like her, Ben acknowledged. To wave some son of a bitch in his face like a matador’s cape to a bull and then smile that smart-aleck grin and see what took place next.

  Ben had told Dan not to worry about it. If Jerre and her latest heartthrob wanted to join the Scouts, so be it. They needed every breathing soul they could muster.

  Dan was dubious, but merely shrugged and said he would take care of it.

  Ben smiled grimly. He hoped Jerre didn’t get up in Tina’s face. Tina was a few years younger, but she was tough as a paratrooper’s boot and knew more of that Oriental kung-fu stuff than just about anyone else Ben could name. Except for Dan, who had been Tina’s teacher.

  And Jerre wouldn’t have told her current sweetie about Ben. During their time together, she had told him she liked to do that to boys.

  Ben had been forced to admit, some years back, that Jerre was a purebred bitch!

  Didn’t make any difference, though. It hadn’t changed his feelings; he still loved her.

  “Shit!” Ben shouted, turning a dozen heads. He kicked at a can, missed and hit his toe on the curb. He sat down, grabbed his foot, and then proceeded to turn the air coarse with profanity.

  It seemed that everybody suddenly found some urgent task that just could not wait.

  All except for Jersey. She stood a few yards away, holding her M-16, watching the antics of her general. . . and trying very hard to keep a straight face.

  West chanced a short coded message to Ike. Ike radioed back that come hell or high water—or nasties—he’d meet him on the bridge.

  “Have any trouble, Ike?” West asked, getting out of his Jeep and walking to the man. They shook hands, two warriors who understood the hard business of war.

  “No. And after yesterday, that surprises the hell out of me. You?”

  West shook his head. “Not once we got up to the airport. We haven’t seen one ugly. And by the way, the airport is ruined.” He gave him a short report about the runways, then said, “I guess the lack of unfriendlies got me to thinking, Ike. I think we’re being monitored. I think these uglies know every move we’re going to make.”

  Ike stuck a lollipop in his mouth—he always had a pocketful of the homemade suckers for the kids—and offered one to West. The mercenary smiled and shook his head.

  “That may be what’s been causin’ that uneasy feelin’ of mine, West. We’re gonna have to turn this problem over to Katzman. What he and his bunch don’t know about communications and electronics ain’t been thought of yet.”