“A traitor,” Ben replied.
James and Captain Rayle walked toward Ben and Ike, a young Rebel between them. The man had been disarmed. His face was pale and he was scared as he faced Ben.
“You remember Larry Armstrong, Ike?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen him around.”
Ben fixed the young Rebel with a cold stare. “Some Indian tribes have a saying, Larry. That it’s a good day to die. You ever heard that?”
“Can’t say that I have, General,” Larry replied. He was sweating and his skin appeared clammy. His eyes were constantly moving from left to right, flitting like a snake’s tongue.
“You didn’t do much accurate shooting from the ridge, Larry,” Ben said. “Matter of fact, you didn’t hit anything except air and trees and grass. Care to explain that?”
“I reckon you already know the answer, General. Else you wouldn’t have brought me here unarmed.”
The camp had gathered around the men, standing silently. The staring eyes were cold and menacing.
Larry looked at the circle of men and women. He blurted, “Ya’ll are following a false god! You got no business comin’ in here, pushin’ people around and tryin’ to make others bend to your will. It ain’t right.”
“Who have we pushed around, Larry?” Ben asked. “And what “w”’ are you talking about?”
“We got a right to live the way we want to live,” the
young man said, his face sullen with anger and fear.
“Yes,” Ben told him. “As long as you don’t violate the basic rights of innocent people. But you Ninth Order folks don’t seem to want that.”
Gale almost dropped her sandwich. Almost. “Ninth Order!” she gasped. “You mean … Ben, you mean you’ve known he was part of them all along?”
“Since before we pulled away from the main column,” Ben said, not taking his eyes from the young Rebel. “Or at least I suspected. I wanted to see just how deeply Voleta had penetrated our ranks. How long have you been part of her group, Larry?”
The young man sensed the longer he talked, the longer he would live, for he had no illusions as to his ultimate fate. “Since last summer. I was on patrol when I ran into some of the Ninth Order people up in north Mississippi. Got to talkin’ with them. What they had to say sounded pretty good to me. Love and peace and all that. Sure beats fightin’ all the time, like it is with you, Raines.” Sure death had restored bravado.
Ben shifted his bleak eyes to a young woman. “Mary, take this traitor and shoot him.”
The young woman hesitated briefly. That was all that was needed for two Rebels to move close to her, effectively blocking any lethal moves on her part.
“Let her live,” Larry begged.
Mary spat at Ben, the spittle landing on the toe of one boot.
“Why?” Ben swung his eyes back to Larry.
“God, I hate you!” Larry hissed the words. “I hate everything you stand for.”
Again, Ben had to ask, “Why?”
But Larry would only shake his head. He refused to answer any further questions, from any of the Rebels.
Ben looked at Mary. “Why did you switch sides, Mary? That bothers me. What is it that we-the Rebels-are doing that is so … so repugnant, so evil, that would change you into a traitor? Why would you turn your back on your friends?”
But she would only shake her head.
Ben looked at James Riverson. “Dispose of them, James.”
“With pleasure, sir,” James said.
A minute later, two shots rang out from the edge of the camp.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Tony Silver had jumped to his feet, his hands balled into fists, his face flushed with rage. “What in the hell do you mean, you killed my boys? And who in the hell are you?”
Captain Jennings lifted the muzzle of his AK-47, the gesture stopping Tony cold.
“Steady now,” Sam Hartline said with a smile on his lips. “That’s a good fellow. You have my deepest apologies, Mister Silver. I assure you, it was an accident. I was operating under the assumption those were the troops of Ben Raines. We all make mistakes. Oh, excuse me. I’m Sam Hartline and this is my CO, Captain Jennings.”
Under the circumstances, there was little Tony could do except stand easy and back off. He calmed himself and looked at the big mercenary standing just inside the open doorway of the old motel. Tony sighed and shook his head. “Well, what’s done is done, I suppose.” Then he smiled, the smile very sarcastic. “So you and your boys blew it with General Raines, too, huh?”
Hartline caught the sarcasm. He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “That is … one way of putting it, yes, Mister Silver. However, I can assure you, there
will be a day of reckoning.”
I hope so, Tony thought. He waved the men to chairs. “Coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe something a bit stronger?”
“I never drink during the day,” Hartline said, as primly as a nun confronted with a stiff cock. “But some coffee would be very nice. I take mine black, with one sugar.”
“Hot and black,” Jennings said.
Tony smiled. “I like “em like that myself ever” now and then.”
Both Hartline and Jennings smiled at that. They sat down in chairs around a coffee table.
Steaming mugs of real coffee in front of the mercenaries, Tony sat opposite them across the low table. Tony looked at the men through slitted eyes for a moment, then dismissed his own men with a wave of his hand.
Hartline smiled. “Trust is so important between prospective allies, is it not, Mister Silver?”
Tony merely grunted his reply, not sure exactly what the mercenary meant. “Whatever,” he said. “All right, world conditions being what they are, I don’t think you boys came down here just to offer your heartfelt condolences for wasting my people. So let’s cut out all the bullshit and get down to brass tacks, huh?”
Hartline never took his cold eyes from Tony. “A man of most direct action,” he said. “I like that. Very well. How many men do you have left, Tony? Excuse me. May I call you Tony? Thank you. I’m Sam.”
Tony’s years as a streetwise punk in New York City loomed up strong within him. Something about this
mercenary fairly oozed confidence. And Tony fought down ithe bitter taste of fear that welled up within him. “You hit me pretty hard,” he admitted. “Pretty hard.”
“Yes, I suspected that,” Hartline said, after taking a sip of coffee. He smiled. “Just right. I do love good coffee. It’s becoming so difficult to get. You must have a good stockpile.”
It was not a question and Tony did not reply to it.
Hartline’s smile was knowing. “Tell me, Tony. What are your feelings toward black people?”
“Niggers? Shit, I don’t like “em. Don’t trust ‘em. What is there to trust about a jungle bunny? Sometimes you can find a high-yellow gal to fuck, but that’s about all they’re good for. Other than to do work that’s beneath a white man. I have-had,” he corrected with a grimace of distaste, “a bunch of ‘em workin” my farms down south. We’ve, ah, had some trouble down there.”
“Yes,” Hartline said, leaning forward. “We intercepted several radio messages-some of them quite frantic- indicating you had, ah, something of a problem on your hands. Something about a slave revolt, I believe it was.”
And Tony knew then his organization was laid wide open to the scrutiny of this hard-eyed mercenary. Hartline had missed nothing. And would miss nothing.
Tony reluctantly nodded his head in agreement, waiting for the other shoe to fall. “That’s right, Sam.”
“Very well, Tony,” Hartline said. “Let us strike a bargain. You see, I believe that together, you and I,
why, we could build an empire. You seem to be quite good at organization, while I am quite good at my profession. You are a businessman, I am a soldier. You take care of the business end, and I shall, ah, take care of the more, shall we say, physical problems that might arise. What do you think about that, Tony?”
Tony stared at Hartline for a short moment and then rose from his chair. He walked to the motel window and
