Dream of a Falling Eagle

'A guy on a motorcycle. He doesn't stop. He just drives in, drops an envelope with the clippings on the ground, then drives off again.'

'Does he have a schedule?'

'No.'

'When was the last time he was here?'

Piggott thought about it, shrugged. 'Last week-a couple of days after that lady kike on the Supreme Court died.'

'The woman on the radio told you that Mabel Roscowicz was going to die?'

'I just said so. I knew about the guy who died just before her too. Any outfit that can take out two ZOG kike justices like that is one I'm going to take seriously. That's why I take orders from the woman.'

'So what else has this woman asked you to do besides send somebody to try to bribe me and provide a shooting range for the two crew cuts?'

He looked away. 'I said I didn't kill the poem guy. I didn't have anything to do with that. I wasn't even told about it.'

'That wasn't the question. How many people have you and your friends here killed?'

'We haven't killed anybody. And the woman hasn't asked me to do that many things. Our main orders are to sit here and wait.'

'For what?'

'To fight ZOG when the time is right. The woman says there are big changes coming in the country, and we're going to be foot soldiers on the front lines.' He paused, glanced back and forth between Garth and me, then continued, 'You're both white guys. You'd better start thinking about lining up on the right side before it's too late.'

Garth said, 'Pretty slim pickings here, Mongo. This is just a reserve unit of thugs and errand boys who probably don't know what day it is.'

'Yeah, well, the trip hasn't been a total waste of time. Paulie here will make a colorful witness to the mystery lady's predictions. Also, we now know that they're not planning to use snipers at long range; the shooters plan to do their work up close and personal. The information will help the Secret Service.'

'Maybe, maybe not. The president and vice president aren't going to let the Secret Service lock them up in a closet until November. The shooters get to pick the time and place, and they expect to die. It's going to be hard to stop them.'

'True. But we've done our bit for the Republic. We have verification that the two justices were murdered. The FBI will want to chat Paulie up, and he shouldn't be too hard to find if and when congressional hearings are ever held.'

Piggott's voice was coming back. 'Hey, wait a minute!' he said, sitting up straighten 'I'm not testifying to anything! You guys are likely to be dead soon! ZOG will be on its knees!'

Garth ignored him. 'Yeah, but we've used up two days going on three, and we're no closer to finding Fournier or identifying his associates in the company. Those are the people you and I are after.'

I nodded as I sighed in resignation, then walked across the room to the radio with the single, preset frequency. 'This is a dandy piece of CIA equipment. No serial numbers, but experts might be able to trace some of the components and identify the manufacturer, who might be able to link it to the company. Too bad it's too heavy for us to lug out of here.'

'What do you mean, CIA?' Piggott said with genuine indignation. 'The CIA's an arm of ZOG!'

'They're the people you've been taking money and orders from, shithead,' Garth replied without looking at the man.

I walked around the radio, peered through a cooling vent on the side. I'd turned the radio off, but there was a small blue bulb still glowing inside. I felt my stomach muscles tighten. 'You leave this radio on all the time, Paulie?'

'What, do I look stupid? That would run down the batteries. I turn it on when the woman wants to talk to me.'

'When she contacts you on your beeper?'

'Yeah. I already told you that.'

'And you carry your beeper with you all the time?'

'Sleep with it under my pillow, carry it with me to the crapper. Those are my orders. What was that shit you were saying about the CIA?'

I reached under the table and disconnected the cables linking the radio to the dry cell batteries. When I peered through the vent again, the blue light was still on. The radio had its own internal power source, and this was not good. I glanced at my watch; forty-five minutes had passed since we'd entered Paul Piggott's cabin.

'Bad news, Brother,' I said tersely. 'It's like Kranes's offices. The radio and beeper are bugged. Our company friends have known where we are from the moment we walked in here. They're not going to like what they've heard. I suggest we depart henceforth.'

'Or sooner,' Garth said, abruptly stepping close to Piggott and clipping him under the chin with the palm of his left, ungloved hand. Piggott slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Together we scurried out into the night, sprinted around to the back of the cabin, and began clawing and scrambling our way back up the mountain.

Fear is a powerful motivator, and we made it back up the mountainside in twenty minutes, not much longer than it had taken us to climb down, but the all-out exertion was wasted, and we would probably have been better off fleeing on foot in a different direction. Now it was too late.

We heard the THWOP- THWOP- THWOP of the helicopter rotors a few seconds before the unmarked Apache rose like some giant, malevolent bird of prey over the crest of the mountain. Mounted searchlights probed the dark mountainside, and one finally caught us in a blinding glare. We scrambled to the copse of trees, where I snatched loose the reins of our horses from a tree limb, handed Garth's to him. The horses were frightened, rearing.

Garth hesitated. 'We'll be easy targets on horses, Mongo!' he shouted over the thrashing roar of the helicopter, which was hovering just above the tree line, raising a cutting, abrasive cloud of broken branches, needles, and leaves all around us.

'Not if we keep to the trees!' I shouted back, vaulting into the saddle of my horse, which immediately reared. I wheeled the animal around and brought it under control, then reached out and grabbed the reins of Garth's horse, which was wide-eyed with panic. 'It's our only chance! They can contact the compound by radio. There'll be a dozen of those people after us in a few minutes, and more dozens of searchers by dawn. I don't recall the locals as being too friendly.'

Garth looked at me, then at his horse with its flaring nostrils. 'Mongo, I can't ride like you! I'm not sure I can stay on in these conditions. You go! I'll keep them busy here. The helicopter can't follow both of us!'

'Just talk to her in John Wayne and you'll be fine! Now get on the fucking horse! Remember what I told you about posting!'

'You're on, Pilgrim!' Garth shouted as he put a foot in a stirrup, and lunged up and onto the back of his horse.

I immediately dug my heels into my horse's side, and the animal responded, lurching forward as I ducked under a limb, heading through the trees. I rode a hundred yards, then sensed something was wrong. I reined in the horse, turned to look back, and knew we were going to have a problem.

In my years with the circus I had ridden on the backs of everything from Bengal tigers to Asian elephants, so, even under these conditions, riding a well-trained horse in a well-fitted saddle was a walk in the park, in a manner of speaking. Not so with my brother, who wasn't used to riding anything that didn't come with four wheels and a motor. He had barely gone ten feet. His horse, sensing the nervousness and lack of confidence of a novice rider, was now even more panicked. He was rearing, bucking, and corkscrewing, and threatening to throw off Garth, who had dropped the reins and had his arms wrapped around the horse's neck, at any moment. In addition, the backwash from the helicopter's rotors was surrounding us in a storm of debris that was not only blinding but could also literally put out an eye. We could not go back the way we had come. When we had ridden in during the day, I had noticed dried-out stream beds leading down the other side of the mountain to a broad, forested valley, and other mountains in the distance where there appeared to be narrow canyons and washes where it would be difficult