Montoya asked.
Slayne chuckled. “Alpha Triad. I wanted it to be Alpha Team or even the A-Team but he thought Alpha Triad had a ring to it.
You know how he is.”
At the outset they made good time.
Patrick Slayne did most of the driving. He let Soren Anderson and Robert Montoya spell him, but only for a few hours when he needed sleep so badly he couldn’t keep his eyes open. They took 59 to 11 and followed 11 west to Interstate 29.
Full gas cans in a rack at the rear of the Hunster ensured they wouldn’t want for fuel.
For the longest while the roads were empty of traffic. East of the turn to Drayton they spotted a jeep in the distance, but apparently whoever was in it sported them and wasn’t anxious to make their acquaintance. The jeep wheeled off the road and disappeared into shadowed woodland.
Here and there were swathes of fallout. In some areas it was thicker than in others. The Geiger counter often spiked, but Slayne assured them that they were safe so long as they stayed in the Hunster and kept on the move.
They turned south on 29. Almost immediately they came across abandoned vehicles and wrecks.
Between Oakwood and Warsaw they crested a low hill and Slayne slammed on the brakes. The interstate was completely blocked by a tow of wrecked vehicles placed hood to trunk.
“Someone put them there on purpose.” Soren stated the obvious.
In the back, Robert Montoya leaned between the from seats.
“Should we turn around and go to the last exit?” “And waste an hour?” Slayne shook his head and put his foot to the gas pedal.
He held his finger over the red button on the dash. “If it’s what I think it is, they’re in for a surprise.”
“They?” Soren said.
No sooner was the question out of his mouth than men with rifles and handguns rose up from behind the roadblock. A tall man climbed onto the roof of a car and raised a megaphone to his mouth.
“You there! Stop and get out with your hands in the air! We won’t tell you twice!”
“Like hell.” Slayne pressed the red button.
The Hunster shook, and a split second later the ground in front of the car on which the man was standing erupted in a shower of asphalt and dirt. The man and his companions scattered.
Slayne tramped harder on the gas and the Hunster picked up speed. He engaged the battering ram. “Make sure you’re strapped in and hold on tight.”
Lead spanged off the vehicle’s body and windshield. None of it had an appreciable effect, thanks to the armor plating and bulletproof glass.
Slayne roared through the opening he had made, doing sixty miles an hour.
On both sides men cut loose with a fierce vengeance, but they were soon left in the Hunster’s dust. Slayne chuckled. “I love this baby. She’s everything I’d hoped she would be.” He glanced at the rearview mirror to see if they were being chased; they weren’t.
Soren asked a question that had been preying on him. “If this one is so great, what do we need the other one for?”
“The SEAL? Kurt spent millions developing it. The SEAL
has capabilities that even the Hunster doesn’t. And he has very specific plans for how it will be used. Important plans.”
“They must be important to risk your baby and three Warriors,” Robert Montoya said. He was dressed in camouflage fatigues and combat boots. In a flapped holster on his right hip was a Colt Commander .45, while propped on the seat beside him was a Jati-Matic out of Finland, one of the various foreign firearms Slayne had talked Carpenter into adding to the Armory.
“Risk comes with the territory,” Slayne reminded him. “You knew that when you took Kurt’s new Warrior oath.” Slayne wore his dark blue trench coat over the same business suit he had worn the day he retrieved Deepak Kapur in New York City. In twin shoulder holsters nestled twin Mark 23s, the compact models commissioned by the U.S. Special Operations Command but never mass-produced. In a pack around his waist he had spare magazines, two silencers, and a laser spot projector.
“If the SEAL is that important,” Soren broke in, “why did Carpenter only send the three of us? Why not four Warriors? Or even five?”
“Why not all nine?” Slayne rejoined. “That way there wouldn’t be anyone left to protect the Home.” He switched on the map display. “Only having three in each unit was my idea.
As I told Kurt, there’s always an extra if a man goes down.”
Soren gazed out the window and saw his reflection. Black neoprene fit as snugly as skin. So did the neoprene boots and gloves. He looked ready to go scuba diving, save for the power belt. Under lightweight and durable black synthetic chain mail was the computerized circuitry that enabled him to recharge Mjolnir. All he had to do was fit the handle into a clamp in the center, which connected to positive and negative electrodes, and throw a switch. An LCD display showed the recharge rate. As a protective measure, the belt was insulated so he wouldn’t be accidentally jolted.
“What I’d like to know,” Montoya said, “is how we can be sure the SEAL is even there?” “We can’t.”
“Then this whole trip might be a wild goose chase.”
“If it will make you feel any better, think of it as a practice run. We’re the first Warriors, the first Family members ever, to travel outside the walls. What we find will determine Family policy for years to come.”
“I miss my family,” Soren said. He could not stop thinking about Toril, Freya, and Magni.
“Remember what I’ve taught you and you’ll see them again,”
Slayne said. “Rely on your shotgun more than that hammer and you’ll live longer.”
Soren offered no reply. He had already made up his mind about which weapon he would use the most.
The winds hit them near Spiritwood.
They had pulled off the road to switch drivers and stretch their legs. Soren took Mjolnir, as
