dead planets.
‘The extraordinary moment,’ Lock repeated softly to himself, his hand tightening so hard round the grip of his SIG that his knuckles turned white.
38
The cage inched towards the ground, pieces of wooden joist and chunks of plaster still attached to its base. The wait for the chopper to land had been interminable, worse than any time spent in solitary back at Pelican Bay, where seconds could stretch like an eternity. As it made contact with the earth, it toppled over. Reaper went with it, the tightness of the shackles that held him in place saving him from further injury. If Lock hadn’t done his job so thoroughly, Reaper doubted he’d have a bone left unbroken by now. Above him he could see a couple of the ropes slacken and then fall back to earth as they were cut from the helicopter.
Reaper closed his eyes, the downdraught from the helicopter still roaring around him. Then he heard the engine being cut, and the sound of the rotors fell away. There were voices. Men’s voices.
‘Let’s get it upright.’
‘I got bolt cutters in the truck.’
‘Then go get ’em.’
‘We’re gonna need more than bolt cutters. We’re gonna need a blowtorch to get into the cage.’
Kids these days, thought Reaper. He licked his lips. ‘Blowtorch will just weld it together, boys,’ he said. ‘You’re gonna need a cutting torch. Something that runs at a ninety-degree angle. Oxyacetylene. Either that or an angle grinder — you know, like people use for cutting off wheel clamps.’
When it came to engineering technology, Reaper doubted that anyone had the edge on him. A federally mandated right to information had provided him with a wealth of material over the last ten years, plus the kind of time not even tenured academics had to hone their knowledge.
‘I got one of those in the truck,’ said one of the disembodied voices.
‘Then go get it,’ Reaper said, now firmly in charge, the alpha male.
There was the sound of boots sloshing over soaking ground and then the cage was maneuvered so that Reaper was upright.
Reaper could see her properly now. Wow, she was beautiful. A knock-out. And so strong, so commanding. He studied her face, searching out her features. Her deep grey eyes. So clear, so unswerving. Her delicate nose. Those high cheek bones which gave the rest of her face its nobility. Those who doubted that there was indeed a master race need only look at her face to have their objections quelled.
She smiled at him, that same look of shared understanding, then reached in again to touch his hand, pinching his palm between her thumb and index finger. ‘You OK?’
‘I could be on fire, but seeing you would make it all OK,’ he replied, his voice as brittle as a three-pack-a-day smoker.
‘I should have visited,’ she said.
Reaper shook his head. ‘You did what was best.’ His voice grew brittle again. ‘You did good.’
‘We’ll get you out of there real soon.’
Reaper closed his eyes in acknowledgement, and to hide the tears he felt forming. He stayed like that as the men set to work.
Using the angle grinder, they had the cage door open in no time. Once they had one hand free from the cuffs, Reaper helped them with the rest, using a borrowed comb to spring the other cuffs. Then they set to work on the leg restraints.
Half an hour later, he stepped uncertainly from his cage. Chance threw her arms round him and he scooped her up, burying his face in her blonde hair. The men looked away, then busied themselves with other things. Finally, with the softest of kisses to her forehead, Reaper put her down.
‘Let me introduce you around,’ she said, suddenly formal.
Cowboy stepped forward, snapping a salute. ‘An honor and a privilege, sir,’ he said. ‘Not many true patriots left.’
‘That was some damn impressive flying,’ Reaper said.
‘I’m only glad I could be of true service.’
Trooper shook Reaper’s hand. ‘It’s an honor, sir.’
Chance tapped his arm. ‘Come on. We gotta go.’
‘Man, she’s bossy, ain’t she?’ Reaper grinned at Cowboy.
‘You don’t know the half of it, sir.’
Reaper looked at her with pride. ‘Half a dozen more of her in the movement and we’d have cleaned all the filth out of this country by now.’
‘So where now?’ he asked as they walked towards a pick-up truck parked at the edge of the clearing they’d used to land.
‘Going to get you cleaned up. Then we have a private plane chartered tomorrow to get us out of the country.’
Reaper stopped in his tracks. ‘Say what?’
‘You don’t think we should wait? I could try and move it up. We thought they’d be checking all immediate private charters. Plus, we have a couple of loose ends to tie up.’
‘And where were we gonna go? Mexico? Argentina? Some other South American shithole? Hell, no. I didn’t spend ten years down to turn my back on my country.’
‘But if we stay here-’
He put an arm round her. ‘You don’t just light the fuse and then stamp on it. And you don’t turn your back on your country in its darkest hour.’
‘But the movement isn’t strong enough yet.’
‘It was strong enough to get me out. We have an opportunity here. This should be the start, not the end.’
‘But-’
He silenced her with a look. ‘Every day our rights as Americans are getting taken from us. One by one. We got millions of our people homeless and unemployed, getting kicked out of their homes and looking for some leadership. If we don’t have the conditions for a revolution in this country now, then we’ll never have them.’
He opened the door of the pick-up truck, then glanced back at the helicopter, where Cowboy was talking to the other men.
‘You tell those men to remain on standby. I’m gonna have work for them to do.’
For the first time, he thought that she looked worried.
‘All it’s going to take is one big spark, and this country’ll go up in flames. And this time, no one will be able to stop it.’
Chance looked up at him, her dark grey eyes wide. ‘I knew you were gonna be like this.’
‘How’d you know?’ Reaper said, reaching out and putting his arm round her shoulders.
‘I’m my father’s daughter, ain’t I?’ said Chance.
Reaper smiled. ‘You sure as hell are.’
39
Chance pulled the pick-up truck into the driveway of the ranch house and waited for her father to get out the other side. He took his time doing it, peering over the top of new sunglasses at the stand of trees masking the front of the property.
‘Nice and quiet. How long you been here?’
‘Rented it last month.’
