This story takes place
approximately a year after the War of Nerves started, shortly before Captain
Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel became a couple.
CHAPTER 5
A “Captain Scarlet & the Mysterons” story
By Chris Bishop
Rhapsody Angel stood on the bank of the river, staring dejectedly at the
wild current flowing relentlessly, effectively cutting off her way to Les
Abrisseaux. This was a drawback she
didn’t need, certainly not when time was such a matter of life and death, and
every precious minute lost might mean losing the race – and the fight.
The river was too wide to cross, the flow too fast and wild. And even if she dared to swim across, she
suspected that underneath that dark, frothing surface, there could very well be
even more danger, that she would be unable to see before it was too late. She felt quite unable to take that risk ,
anyway. Even if it was not hurting, her
injured arm would be a hindrance, and she felt
too tired and hot, after the long race through this way-too-humid
swamp.
She desperately needed a rest, but she knew she couldn’t allow herself
the luxury.
Annoyed, she wiped the
perspiration from her brow with her forearm. In Les Abrisseaux, she would be
able to rest, and to receive proper care for her injuries. Provided, of course,
she could reach the town. But to do so,
she would have to cross the river; and obviously, she would never be able to do
it at this spot. She was so very close
to her objective now, she could feel it; and it was just too frustrating that
she might be forced to make a large detour in order to reach her destination.
She closed her eyes and
thought, trying to recall in her mind the map she had memorised earlier. This
wasn’t the same river that the enemy commandos were presently following;
rather, this was some kind of backwater, a tributary of the main river. She
recalled having seen it on the map, but it didn’t seem that big; more
like a small stream than anything else.
Obviously, it had enlarged considerably, probably following a recent
flood, and had become wild and impossible to get across easily. She thought she remembered a bridge,
down-river… and what looked like a road past that bridge, which seemed to lead
straight into town, a few miles further.
She wondered if she was actually right – or if she was just hoping for
all this. It seemed all too good to be
true, somehow.
She shook her head,
trying to make sure that it wasn’t her imagination making her believe things.
I don’t have a choice, she told herself. I have
to get across, and if there is a bridge – or any other means to cross – I
have to find it.
She jogged down the river. If she was to believe her calculations, she
had outstripped Montgomery’s commandos. But she imagined they couldn’t be that
far behind her. An hour, at best; ten,
fifteen minutes, at worst. In any case,
she couldn’t afford to lose time at all; she had to take advantage of any lead
she might have.
It took her about
fifteen minutes before she finally saw the outlines of the bridge through the
trees; she stopped in her tracks and,
breathing hard, stared at it, as if she couldn’t believe she actually had been
right. A smile spread across her face.
“I knew it!” she
whispered to herself. She started
running again, straight towards the bridge.
As she reached it, she
also discovered the narrow beaten trail leading to it; but it was nearly
completely destroyed by bad weather, and multiple floods, and certainly not
usable anymore. As for the bridge… there was barely anything holding it
up. It was made of wood, all broken and
distorted; most of the planks that made the path were gone, and whatever was
left of the supports didn’t seem solid enough to support any weight. The other end of the bridge wasn’t even
linked to the trail anymore. Rather, it
had fallen about ten feet below, to the foot of the gully forming the bank of
the river, leaning against rocks protruding from the raging surface of the
water, the supports from that side having been taken away by the current. It
was a miracle it was still in place.
Yet, Rhapsody imagined, it was a way to get
across, no matter how dangerous it might prove to be.
She only hesitated a
second or two, before starting to walk carefully onto the rotten and deformed
planks. They creaked underneath her steps, but they held, and holding her
breath, she continued her advance, trying not to hurry, in fear the bridge
would crumble under her feet.
But it didn’t even
tremble; it was, obviously, sturdier than she imagined. Encouraged, she reached
the section of the bridge where there was no path at all, and peered through
the hole, staring at the raging current so close beneath her. Then, she climbed the twisted wooden fence,
which was now the only way to get across. It held her weight and she carefully
made her way through, biting her lips against the physical exertion on her
wounded arm as she held herself over the flowing dirty waters below. She thought she saw something moving as she
glanced down, but as she momentarily stopped to take a better look, she only saw
ripples on the surface. She shook her
head dismissively and continued to cross.
She jumped the last meter to reach the bank of the river, and her left
foot slipped into the water as she landed.
She scrambled up the ditch in a hurry, and finally reached the top;
then, still breathing hard, her brow covered with sweat, she turned around,
rubbing her sore arm, and looked victoriously at the bridge she had just
crossed.
As she was
telling herself that nothing else would be able to get in her way, so close to
her objective, she heard a sound from her right, and froze, turning swiftly on
her heel to check, and listening carefully. It was the sound of twigs breaking,
as if they had been crushed by the weight of something – or someone. There was
a short moment of silence, during which there was only the sound of the raging
river and birds singing; then she heard it again, coming from the opposite
direction, and she whirled round – to see two men emerging from behind the
trees, aiming weapons at her. Her heart
started pounding when she recognized them as two of Montgomery’s commandos.
Williams and Baxter…
But how could
they have beaten her to this spot? That
was impossible…
She received her answer
the following second, as Baxter, sneering, took a step in her direction.
“Surprised, aren’t you?” he said, as he
read the perplexity on the young woman’s face.
“I heard you coming through the bushes, earlier… a few minutes after we
separated from the rest of the group. Of course, we didn’t know at the time who
it was and so we started following to check it out.”
“Imagine our surprise when we realised it was you,” Williams added in
turn. “Never imagined you would have
survived that fall in the lake, to begin with.” He chuckled. “You’re really one
tough girlie, that’s for sure.”
“We thought it a good
idea to keep track of you,” Baxter continued.
“Just to know what you were up to, and where you were going. When we figured that out, it was easy get
past you and reach the bridge before you would. You slowed down considerably in
the last few miles… Maybe you’re getting tired?” He showed her a little plastic
box he was holding in his hand. She recognised
it as a digital electronic map, with its small screen still powered up. “You were going to Les Arbrisseaux ,
right? Hoping to get some help there,
were you?”
Rhapsody exhaled loudly,
and looked around her. There was no
possible retreat; behind, there was the gully ending in the raging river; both
Baxter and Williams were now closing in on her, their weapons at the
ready. She was utterly trapped.
“No place to run, eh,
Earthwoman?” Williams asked mockingly. “Don’t worry, we don’t plan to hurt you…
Not yet.”
“We figure you would
make an excellent bargaining chip,” Baxter said in turn. He was the closest to
Rhapsody, and stopped as he reached her, to look directly in her face with an
evil grin. “I’m sure Scarlet will be
quite willing to exchange the microchip for you anytime. That of course… if he
doesn’t want for you to be killed.”
Rhapsody felt her
heartbeat increase, just as Baxter reached to grab her by the shoulder. She figured she had nothing left to lose and
had to act now. She took a step back, avoiding his hand, and caught his wrist,
pulling as she did, and tripped him, slipping under his arm. Baxter lost his
footing, and slipped forwards; Williams, who was but two feet away behind him,
grabbed his companion in an attempt to stop him from falling, but his own feet
were on muddy ground and he was unable to keep upright; seeing them unbalanced,
and with their weapons aiming away from her, Rhapsody pressed her advantage and
pushed Baxter in the shoulder with all her body weight, aiming towards the
gully. She fell on her knees and watched, while the two Mysteronised men rolled
down the steep slope, straight towards the river below.
They landed roughly on
what was left of the bridge, destroying more of it under their combined weight,
and completely cutting the precarious link still left up until now between the
two banks. They fell through the rotten
wood, and splashed into the water, getting entangled between the broken wood
struts. Rhapsody had hoped that the raging current would take then away, and
she was rather disappointed when it didn’t happen; kneeling at the top of the
ravine, she watched as the two commandos, cursing loudly, were now struggling
to get back onto their feet and free themselves. She slowly stood up, and
nearly slipped in the process, and just had time to catch hold of a tree to
stop herself from joining her enemies at the bottom of the gully.
With Baxter still trying to free himself, Williams succeeded in getting
to his feet, water up to his chest, leaning against the struts to keep his
precarious footing; he looked up in anger towards the young woman, as she was
straightening herself up.
“You had your chance,
Earthwoman!” he snarled, raising his
gun. “No more Mister Nice Guy! Now you die!”
Rhapsody stepped back,
but didn’t expect to be fast enough to avoid receiving a hail of bullets; but
right at that moment, it seemed that Fate stepped in to save her. Before
Williams had time to pull the trigger, she heard his angry yell suddenly
transforming into a painful shriek. She saw him lose his footing to fall deeper
into the water. His gun flew out of his hand, and there was a lot of splashing
around as Williams seemed to be desperately trying to fight against an
invisible foe that was attacking him from underwater and attempting to drag him
under. Red started to tint the dark
water, mixing with the froth.
Baxter was right next to
him, and his eyes suddenly grew wide with horror; he was witnessing, up close
and personal, what Rhapsody herself was seeing from her vantage point: an enormous, scaly tail emerging from under
the troubled and raging water, before disappearing underneath it, as quickly as
it had appeared. Rhapsody gasped in shock: Williams had been caught by an
alligator – maybe even more than one – and it didn’t seem like he would be able
to get free.
The terrified Baxter,
recognising the danger to himself, hurriedly scaled the unsteady uprights
supporting the destroyed bridge, in an attempt to get safely out of the water
as quickly as possible. Mesmerised, Rhapsody watched as the muddy water stained
a darker red around the screaming Williams, who was trying to hold on to the
remainder of the bridge fence. His fingers slipped and he went completely
under, the water stifling his cries of pain and terror. The fighting, however, apparently carried on
underwater, as the splashing continued.
Precariously hanging on
to the broken bridge, Baxter yelled in anger, and started shooting blindly into
the water, obviously hoping to kill whatever had taken his companion.
Rhapsody didn’t wait to
see more. Scrambling away from her position, she started running onto the
ruined beaten path; she still could hear the furious shouting of Baxter, and
the sounds of multiple gunshots. Now he was shouting after her in fury, but she
couldn’t hear his invectives very well, as she was too busy concentrating on
running away. She didn’t know how long
a Mysteron could panic, before recovering his wits, but she sure wasn’t staying
around to find that out.
The gunshots died away in the
distance, but Rhapsody didn’t slow down. She didn’t really count on alligators
to get Baxter, the way they did with Williams; that would be too much luck in
one day. No, it was more than probable
that the man had simply stopped riddling the river with bullets, after seeing
the futility of his gesture. She wondered if he would dare leave the bridge to
get across the raging current in order to chase her, now knowing what waited
for him underneath. Eventually,
Rhapsody imagined he would probably get up the courage to do so; so it was up
to her to take the opportunity to put as much distance as possible between
them. She wondered if Baxter would have a chance to contact his accomplices;
more than probably, she thought, and if that was the case, the rest of the
commandos would learn soon that she was alive and well, and on her way to town.
No matter, she had very little
choice, now.
She desperately needed
to find some help as soon as possible, and Les Arbrisseaux was the closest
place where she could hope to get some.
Sheriff Masters wasn’t happy
with how things were going in this town.
Not happy at all.
There were angry people
outside, in the streets, watching the door of the station with expressions that
reminded him a little too much of vultures waiting to fall on a wounded
prey. Somehow, he had the distinct
impression that, despite his warning, the Holland boy and his gang had told
anyone in town willing to listen about Old Joe’s ruthless murder – and that the
old man’s alleged killer was held in one of the police station’s cells.
Most of the time, Les
Arbrisseaux was a quiet little town; almost too quiet, actually, where nothing
very exciting would happen for months, if not years – except, of course, for
the bad weather regularly hitting the area, with thunderstorms, tornadoes and floods.
When those disasters were too numerous, it could easily destroy a season of
harvest, or a lifetime’s work, and push anyone to the edge of bankruptcy before
long. The inhabitants had somehow learned to cope with these disasters, but
Masters knew all too well that dissatisfaction and anger could ignite into
violence with very little warning. And with no way to defend themselves
efficiently against Nature’s unexpected moods, he also knew that at times,
human beings would not hesitate to grab at any given excuse, whatever it could
be, to vent their mounting frustration.
And unfortunately for
Masters’ prisoner, it would seem that Joe’s murder was such an occasion.
As Masters
stood by the front window, pondering on these thoughts, the door leading to the
cells opened, and Doctor Evers appeared, followed by the sheriff’s deputy, Alan
MacGibbons, armed with a rifle. Masters turned to face them.
“So, Doc – how’s your
patient?”
Evers came to the
sheriff, while MacGibbons sat at his desk, and put his feet up.
“Resigned,” the doctor
answered. “He barely said a word to me,
when I examined him. Only to tell me about those headaches of his…”
“Is that what caused him
to lose consciousness earlier?” Masters asked with a frown. “We were unable to wake him up, Mac and I. That’s why we called you.”
“Well, he’s fully awake
now,” Evers said. “And he doesn’t seem
to be suffering from any headaches. For now, anyway.”
“Any idea why he’s
having these headaches?” the sheriff asked. “If he’s really having them,
that is.”
“I don’t think he’s
lying about them,” Evers said, reaching for the big envelope he had left on the
sheriff’s desk earlier. “And I don’t
think he’s faking any dizzy spells either.”
He opened the envelope and took a big picture out of it, that he handed
to the sheriff. “Here. I finally figured out how to make that scanning machine
work. That’s the latest pic I took of the man’s skull before you brought him
here.”
“Yes, much clearer,”
Masters approved. “We can see that small white spot better now…” He checked the
scan with attention, his eyes narrowing.
“That looks odd… What is it?”
“Like I suspected, a
foreign body of some sort. Maybe a
slug, or something similar…”
“A slug?” The sheriff
looked inquisitively at Evers. “He has
a bullet inside his skull?”
“It does look like it,
but I can’t be absolutely sure of it.”
“And he’s still alive?”
“Don’t be so surprised. It is possible. If the bullet
has not touched any vital area of the brain, that is… Although, considering
where this thing is right now, that seems rather extraordinary.” Evers made a short pause, as Masters
continued to examine the picture. “What
is even more extraordinary,” the doctor continued, “is the fact that I couldn’t
find any sign of an entry wound for this thing.”
Masters raised a
brow. “Say that again?”
“No scar tissue
anywhere. Nothing on the surface, nor
inside. It’s like this thing grew in
there. Out of nothing.”
“Another surprise from
our mysterious prisoner, then,” Masters grumbled, putting the picture back into
the envelope. “And you think this object is what’s causing him these headaches
and spells?”
“More than probably,
yes,” Evers answered.
“He says he doesn’t
remember anything about himself,” Masters said thoughtfully. “Assuming he’s telling the truth – could
this thing cause amnesia?”
“That also is a
possibility,” Evers admitted. “But I
thought he told you himself his name was O’Hara?”
MacGibbons chuckled from his seat, causing
Evers to turn to him. The tall, slim man was cleaning his gun. “Yeah.
Scarlet O’Hara,” he said. “How do you find that?”
Evers raised a doubtful
brow and looked at the sheriff who shrugged.
“I don’t know if he
thinks he’s serious or what, but when I talked to him and he gave me that name,
I had the impression he didn’t have , it didn’t have a clue it was coming
from,” Masters explained.
“Residual memories,
perhaps?” Evers mused. “So it might be possible he is truly amnesiac.”
“I still say he’s faking
it, and that he’s leading us on,” MacGibbons replied. “Anything to make us
believe he’s not entirely responsible for Old Joe’s death.”
Evers shrugged, before
turning to face Masters again. “I would suggest you give this envelope to
Spectrum when you deliver your prisoner.
It could be useful to them.”
“Is our prisoner able to
travel?”
Evers hesitated for a
fraction of a second. “I would say yes. If you really must.”
“Well, I think it became
necessary, yes.” The sheriff turned back towards the window in front of which
he was standing. “Look outside. The word about Joe’s death got out. It would not be a good idea to keep this guy
here.” He muttered under his breath.
“It feels like it did back then in ’48.”
“You mean after that
bank robbery in New Orleans?” MacGibbons said. He had been Masters’ deputy for
a good four years, and he knew that sometimes, his colleague and friend could
be quite the pessimist. “Nah… It’s not the same,” he said. “If I remember
correctly, back then, there was quite a hefty amount of money involved… And
that’s really what people were after at the time, wasn’t it?” He lowered his gun to the floor, like some
kind of cane, and leaned on it, his brow furrowing. “Did that Riley guy
actually tell anyone where his loot was hidden, anyway?”
“I doubt it very much,”
Masters replied dryly, leaving his position at the window. “Or maybe he
wouldn’t have ended up hanging from that oak tree in the bayou, where my
predecessor found him.”
“What a horrible story
that was,” Doctor Evers muttered under his breath, shaking his head in dismay.
“We never found out who killed that guy.”
“As you can see, not everyone
was after the money back then,” Masters continued, addressing his deputy.
“There were those who were after blood.” He thumbed towards the window. “I can
read the signs. There might be people out there after O’Hara’s blood right
now. Maybe the same people who killed
Riley all those years ago. Just for the heck of it. Or maybe someone else…
seeking to hide the truth.”
“You still think he
might be innocent?” Evers asked.
MacGibbons raised his
brow with scepticism. He shook his head
dismissively. “That would mean that Jasper’s gang is behind it, though. None of
them ever did anything that bad before…”
“There’s always a first
time, ain’t there? Anyhow, I don’t
know… Feels like something is not quite
right with all this. And I hate that. What I hate more is that when
O’Hara’s gone, I won’t be able to continue my investigation – not as
efficiently as I would like to.”
“It’s out of our
jurisdiction, Sheriff,” MacGibbons replied. “When Spectrum is concerned…”
“That’s another thing,” Masters mumbled with a renewed frown. “Why
should we be taking our prisoner to Spectrum, instead of them coming over here
to collect him?”
“Isn’t that highly irregular?” Evers asked.
“Is there anything
regular, with Spectrum?” MacGibbons asked with a sly smile.
“I wouldn’t know. It’s the first
time I’ve dealt with them.”
MacGibbons looked in the
direction of the door leading to the cells. “Well, for one, I’ll be glad when
he’s gone. That guy… he gives me the creeps.
First he’s dead, then he’s not… And then that thing he has in his head…”
“I understand, Mac. I’m
just frustrated that I might never be sure if he’s really responsible for Joe’s
death or not.”
“I’m sure you’ll learn
the truth soon, Leonard,” Evers said. “When will you be leaving, then?”
MacGibbons rose to his
feet. “I think we should prepare him to go now.”
“We?” Masters
frowned. “Weren’t you supposed to leave for Baton Rouge today?” he asked his
deputy. “Your aunt needs you to help her with the arrangements for your uncle’s
funeral …”
“Well, I have my work to
consider, Leonard, and you know I’m not one to shy away from my duty.” MacGibbons smiled. “Besides, I’m curious to
see these Spectrum guys. I don’t expect I’ll be lucky enough to meet those famous
colour-coded officers, mind you. And I
can always leave after we are done with the transfer. That won’t take long, and then I’ll be on my way to Baton Rouge.”
He pointed towards the window with his index finger. “And you know, if your feeling is right, you might need me to
help you get him out of town.”
“He’s right
about that, Leonard,” Evers approved.
Masters smiled, and
nodded his gratitude. “That ain’t an offer I will say no to, Mac. I really appreciate your help.”
“Don’t mention it. Just
doing my job, really.” MacGibbons smiled in turn. “So, how are we doing this,
Sheriff?”
“How long before the
prisoner’s ready?”
“I handcuffed him when
the doc performed his examination just now. I didn’t free him as yet. So he’s ready to go, whenever you give the
word.”
Masters nodded quietly.
“Then I suggest you go get him. I’ll go
out through the back door, go fetch the car and bring it to the back, and we’ll
give the slip to those people waiting up front.”
“Won’t you be leaving
early?” Evers asked.
“We will be, and so
nobody will know we’re gone,” Masters said with a shrug. “By the time they
realise we’re not even here anymore, we’ll be far away – and maybe O’Hara will
already be in Spectrum’s custody.”
“Sounds like a
plan, Leonard,” MacGibbons said. “I’m
all for it.”
The sheriff reached for his hat. “You’ll ride in the
back with the prisoner, Mac. Bill, I think you’d better leave in about five
minutes, using the front door. That’ll
distract that band of vultures outside, while Mac and I will slip out by the
back door.
“I’ll be happy to help
you however I can, Leonard,” the doctor answered. “And the two of you will be careful, won’t you?”
“Of course we will,”
Masters answered with a sly smile, as he walked towards the door leading to the
cells, followed by his deputy. “After all, it’s just a prisoner transfer. What
could go wrong?”
* * *
Johnny Monroe was hiding in a
narrow alley between two old houses, checking the back door of the sheriff’s
office, when he saw Leonard Masters stepping out to go to his car, which was
parked only a few meters down the dead-end street. He watched in silence and interest as the sheriff brought the car
in front of the door and, keeping the motor running, got out of the vehicle and
went to open the door, looking around to make sure nobody was watching. He
missed Johnny’s presence, as the young man was crouching behind a huge garbage
container that smelled so bad that Johnny suspected there might be a dead dog
inside.
Johnny then saw the sheriff’s
prisoner walking quietly out of the station, his hands handcuffed in front of
him, the cuffs attached in turn to a chain belt. Behind him walked Alan
MacGibbons, looking very serious, one hand resting heavily on the prisoner’s
shoulder, while he held a huge gun in the other. He directed the
captive towards the back door of the car, that Masters opened, and helped him
climb in, before taking his seat by his side. Masters closed the door, then
walked around the car to get behind the wheel. The whole operation took barely
two minutes, before the car finally left the narrow street, passing in front of
Johnny’s hiding place.
Johnny stepped out from behind the
dumpster, and watched the car turn the corner and disappear into the larger
street. He doubted that anyone other than himself had seen it, as no-one probably
expected the sheriff to leave with his prisoner that furtively. No-one, that
was, except Jasper, who apparently had anticipated this.
In fact, Jasper had gone further
than that.
Earlier in the day, Dallas had
reported to Jasper that he had learned from
that blabbermouth Billy Ray MacGibbons, the deputy’s nephew, that
Spectrum wouldn’t actually come to Les Arbrisseaux to pick up the prisoner, as
was previously thought, but that it was up to the sheriff and his deputy to
take him to an already appointed rendezvous, out of town. At this point, Jasper
already had his crazy idea to go against the sheriff’s earlier warning and,
with the rest of the gang, had started telling everyone in town their version
of the gruesome murder of Joe Benson – and the rumours had started spreading
widely around. Somehow, Jasper suspected that if the sheriff thought that the
safety of his prisoner might be put in jeopardy by angry townsfolk who would
like to avenge Old Joe’s death, then he would do everything in his power to ensure
that the man would remain alive, to be taken safely into Spectrum’s
custody. It didn’t take very long for
people to start voicing their concern and anger, and to glare meaningfully in
the direction of the sheriff’s office, giving the impression that they would
like nothing better than to get their hands on the killer kept inside, and to
dispense justice their own way. As it had happened before, so many years ago.
Marvelling at how well Jasper had
been able to predict what would happen, Johnny took his cellphone and quickly
dialled a number. It barely had time to
ring twice, before he heard Jasper’s voice swiftly answering the call.
“Yeah?”
“They’re on their way. As you said they would,” Johnny announced.
“Perfect. Take your bike,
then. And come join us. We have work to do.”
Jasper hung up quickly. Johnny shoved his phone into his pocket and
ran out of the alley and into the main street of Les Arbrisseaux.
* * *
Sheriff Masters left town using a
secondary road that took him to a beaten path – which he often used as a
short-cut through the bayou to access the main road – a couple of miles north
from town. Once they had passed the
last inhabited house that was officially part of town, and joined the road to the bayou, Masters rolled
down his window and stuck his rotating light on top of the car. Seated in the
back with the prisoner, who was looking out the window with an adrift
expression, MacGibbons noticed the sheriff’s gesture.
“Is it really necessary to put that
on?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t want to attract attention to us.” The
sheriff always used his personal car in the course of his work – the county
didn’t have sufficient money to pay for an official police vehicle. When he was
off-duty, he simply didn’t use the light, and kept it in the glove compartment.
At his deputy’s question, Masters shrugged in a dismissive way.
“I just put it there, I’m not
planning on turning it on,” he said.
“Besides, we still have to meet these Spectrum guys on official
business, don’t we?
“Yeah, well,” mumbled MacGibbons,
“I still find it pretty strange that we have to meet them in the Bayou, of all
places.”
“That guy from New Orleans that I
talked on the phone with said they were already in the vicinity on business,”
Masters answered. “For some kind of
investigation.”
“I’m guessing it’s probably related
to our guest, here,” MacGibbon ventured.
“That’s quite possible.” Masters
looked through the rear-view mirror in the direction of their very quiet
captive. “What can you tell us about
all this, O’Hara?” he asked.
Scarlet barely reacted, seemingly
too absorbed in his contemplation of the verdant landscape which speedily
passed by through the window to actually notice Masters had addressed him.
MacGibbons nudged him in the side with the muzzle of his gun, drawing him out
of his reverie. “The sheriff asked you
a question, punk,” the deputy said between his teeth.
The prisoner didn’t seem half as
intimidated by the threatening weapon as MacGibbons had hoped he would be, and
simply glared at him in silence for a few short seconds, before lowering his
gaze.
“Ah, forget it, Mac,” Masters said
with a dismissive shrug. “If it’s true he doesn’t remember a thing, then he
would unlikely be able to answer. Isn’t
that so, O’Hara?”
Scarlet looked down at the weapon.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t remember,” he said in a low voice.
“Right, because of that slug you
have in the head, isn’t it?” MacGibbons asked.
Scarlet looked straight at him,
frowning at his words, not sure if he had heard well. “What slug?” he asked in
confusion. “What is this about?”
“You’re telling us you don’t even
know you have a bullet in your thick head?” MacGibbons asked. “Seems it’s been there for a while, ‘cause
there’s no trace of recent entry visible…”
“Mac, drop it,” Masters repeated
from up front. In the mirror, he could see the sceptical expression on
Scarlet’s face. “The doctor isn’t even sure it’s a bullet anyway… although it
sure looks like one. Nor how it got
there in the first place.”
“Well, I don’t see many ways for a
slug to get there,” MacGibbons retorted.
“I have… a bullet in the head?”
Scarlet repeated. He seemed horrified at the thought. “How… is it possible?”
“If you don’t know that, O’Hara,
how can you expect us to tell you?” Masters said.
“I have no idea…”
“That figures.” MacGibbons sat back
comfortably into his seat, sighing. “Well, one thing seems certain anyway. I don’t know that many innocent men walking
around with a bullet in the skull. To catch a thing like that, I’m pretty sure
you did something to deserve it. If you
catch my drift.”
“That’s enough, Mac,” Masters
warned again. “Leave him alone. It’s obvious we’re going nowhere with this.
We’d better leave it to Spectrum to find out the truth about this guy.”
“My bet is, they already know
the truth about him, Leonard.” MacGibbons was glaring in the prisoner’s
direction, with a look of aversion that clearly meant that he didn’t trust him
in the least, and would keep his guard up with him.
However, Scarlet didn’t seem to
care about the policeman’s obvious antipathy towards him. He was trying to make
sense of what he had just learned, without really succeeding. The more he was
learning about himself, the more confused and lost he felt.
His brow furrowed in concentration,
he suddenly felt a twinge hitting him between the eyes, and he gave a low
grunt; for a second, he thought it was yet another of those aggravating
headaches that had been assaulting him since he had woken up in Joe’s cabin.
But he soon realised that this was definitely different.
It was a strange sensation, an
uncomfortable feeling that seemed to originate from an outside source.
“Something is wrong,” he murmured
under his breath.
“What do you mean, ‘something is
wrong’?” Masters asked, glaring once again at his prisoner in the rear-view
mirror.
“I don’t know, I…” Scarlet shook
his head. The faint, prickly feeling was still there, and now he could feel
nausea mounting in him. “It’s a feeling I have… I can’t explain what… It’s
like…” He stopped suddenly, as a certitude hit him. He swallowed hard. “We’re in
danger,” he said finally.
“Ha!” MacGibbons loudly
scoffed. “That’s no danger you’re
feeling, friend! That’s fear. You’re about to be handed over to people who will
know what to make of you. And you don’t like it one bit. Isn’t that so?”
Scarlet glanced in the direction of
the deputy, then at the gun constantly aimed at him. No, it wasn’t that, he
reflected inwardly. He didn’t know, nor did he care, what Spectrum was, or what
it might mean to him. But he was feeling very uneasy. There was definitely that
feeling of impending danger approaching, but he was unable to say where it
would come from and what it could actually be. Nor why he could sense it
so palpably and be so certain of it.
They drove for a good fifteen
minutes without seeing anything but the surrounding woods and green landscape.
The path was becoming narrower and bumpier as they advanced into the bayou.
Then at the next turn of the road, an unknown and uncontrollable urge forced
Scarlet to look up front. He froze, and he felt as if his heart missed a beat,
as he saw, straight ahead, standing in the middle of the road, three men
dressed in camouflage clothing and armed with sophisticated weapons, seemingly
waiting patiently for their arrival.
Masters hit the brake, as he didn’t
expect such a sudden apparition in the middle of the road, and the car skidded
to an halt, only a few meters away from the three men. They didn’t even flinch
from their spot. He glared at them through the windshield, chewing his bottom
lip, wondering.
“Now, who’re they?” he muttered.
“Spectrum, you reckon?” MacGibbons
suggested from the back. “We’re at the appointed rendezvous point, after all.”
“Nearly there, anyway.” Masters
slowly nodded at the remark. “But they don’t exactly look like official
representatives from any security setup I know of,” he replied.
“What is exactly official about
Spectrum?” MacGibbons asked with a shrug. “What they do is supposed to be
secret. You know, like fighting these Mysteron fellas who appeared a few months
back… You know what Worldnet says about these guys?”
“Not you too! You’re not gonna tell
me that you believe they’re aliens from another planet?” scoffed Masters.
“You’ve been checking the same crazy website as the Holland boy.”
“I don’t know about aliens, but
these guys here look like professionals,” MacGibbons said. “Frankly, I have to
say I’m a bit disappointed. I really
had hoped for a colour-coded agent…”
“Well, that ain’t colour-coded
uniform they’re wearing,” Masters muttered.
“Mo re like the army, or something like that.”
“Spectrum is a military-type
set-up, Sheriff. So they must be it.”
“Danger…” Scarlet’s whisper was nearly inaudible, but Masters
heard it from the front of the car and turned around to look at his prisoner.
The latter’s face was filmed with sweat, and very pale; he was looking
haggardly at the three camo-dressed men, who were still standing like statues
in the middle of the road. MacGibbons was glaring sceptically at him, his
finger caressing the trigger of his gun, which was still trained on the prisoner,
as if he was expecting him to make a false move at any moment.
But clearly, Scarlet didn’t pose
any threat. He didn’t look in any condition to put up a good fight.
“What’s the matter, O’Hara? You
don’t feel right?” Masters asked. “You look like you’re about to throw up. Your
headaches bothering you again?”
Scarlet shook his head, as much as
to answer in the negative as in an attempt to clear his mind. Nervously, he
nodded in the direction of the three commandos. “These men… I feel…danger
coming from them.” He blinked and detached his eyes from the men, to fix them
on the sheriff. He swallowed hard. “We have to leave,” he finally said. “Now.”
“Bullshit!” MacGibbons said, with a
louder scoff than before. “You’re scared stiff, O’Hara, that’s what you are!” He opened his door and got out. “I’m gonna
go talk to them.”
“Mac, wait,” the sheriff started.
“Don’t go near them,” Scarlet
advised with urgency. “I tell you, we have to leave this place.”
“You're not going anywhere, scum,
if you know what's good for you.” MacGibbons brusquely slammed the door, before
leaning to Masters’ window. “Keep a close eye on him, Leonard. He ain’t going
nowhere, restrained as he is, but who knows… With all the strange things we
know already about this freak…”
“I don’t know, Mac,” Masters said
hesitantly. “These guys… They don’t look right.”
“Hey, we were supposed to meet
Spectrum exactly here. And they certainly fit the bill of a paramilitary
security organisation.”
“You think so?”
“Who else could they be?”
MacGibbons straightened up and looked directly at the three men still standing
at the same place, a few meters in front of the car. They had not made a single
move; they simply seemed to be waiting. The deputy raised his gun and rested
the barrel on his shoulder, keeping ready to use it, in case.
“Hey there!” he called out loud.
“You’re the Spectrum unit we’re supposed to meet?”
The man standing in the middle took
a step forward, casually enough, while the two others stayed where they were.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” he answered calmly in a clipped voice.
MacGibbons narrowed his eyes at
him. “You’re here for the prisoner?”
The man who seemed to be the leader
nodded. “You are to hand him over to
us,” he said. “Get him out of the car.”
“Uh-uh. Before we do that, soldier,
you’ll have to show us the warrant, properly signed, stating that you take full
responsibility for him.”
The man tilted his head to one
side. “We have your papers here,” he
answered quietly.
MacGibbons nodded with
satisfaction. “I’ll get it.” He offered
Masters a confident grin. “I won’t be a minute. Then we’ll give this freak to
them and that’ll be good riddance.”
Masters nodded his assent almost
mechanically. His deputy left the side of the car and started walking, quietly,
in the direction of the three men.
Scarlet, in the back of the car,
let out a low moan. “No, don’t approach them…”
Masters was about to turn around
and order him to shut up when at that moment, he saw one of the two men who had
stayed behind, advance two steps in front of his leader, raise his automatic
weapon and aim it at MacGibbons. What followed was so very fast that the
sheriff didn’t have time to react – and neither did his deputy.
There was a loud crackling sound,
and Masters saw fire and smoke emerge from the soldier’s weapon. MacGibbons was
mowed down by a series of projectiles, the force of which threw him backwards,
straight onto the front of the car. Droplets of blood spattered onto the hood
and windshield, making a startled Masters blink for the space of a second. Then
he saw the limp body of his deputy slowly slide off the hood to drop onto the
ground, out of his view, while his gun escaped his lifeless hand and clattered
off to the side.
Frozen in shock, Masters kept
staring at the blood-smeared spot on the hood from where MacGibbons had
slid, almost unable to detach his eyes
from it. The three men were still standing in the middle of the road, without
any expression apparent on their faces.
“Oh my God…” the sheriff murmured.
“Look out!”
The shout from his prisoner drew
Masters out of his shock, in time for him to spot the same man who had shot
MacGibbons down raising his weapon again and aiming it in his direction,
through the windshield. With a curse, the sheriff threw himself onto the
passenger seat, a fraction of a second before the weapon fired again.
There was one single shot this
time, almost deafening, and a large star appeared on the windshield where the
bullet hit. From his lying position, Masters put the car into reverse and
pressed the accelerator down hard. The car started backing at full speed; but
Masters couldn’t see where it was going, and it quickly collided with trees by
the side of the road, stopping it on the spot.
Masters pushed himself up behind
the wheel; the first thing he saw in front of him, was the bloody body of his
colleague and friend lying in the dust on the road; beyond it, he could see the
three camo-dressed men coming in his direction, weapons at the ready. A cold
anger gripped Masters’ heart, and his mind filled with a grim determination
that these men, whoever they might be, Spectrum or not, would pay somehow for
the death of his friend.
He changed gear again, and pressed
down the accelerator. The car jumped forwards, in a cloud of dust. Clearing
MacGibbons’ body, Masters directed the vehicle towards the right, straight at
one of the men coming at him. He recognised him right away as the one who had
killed MacGibbons. Masters didn’t slow down;
the soldier didn’t have time to get away, and the car hit him violently
and threw his limp body to the side of the road. Masters barely blinked to
register the loud thump; he didn’t stop, looking ahead as his vehicle raced
down the road, glancing only once at the two remaining soldiers who were now
shooting at his fleeing car, in the hope to stop it.
The car disappeared round the next
turn of the road, leaving its pursuers to vainly race after it on foot.
* * *
“Damn!” Major Philip Montgomery
stopped running, and watched helplessly as the vehicle disappeared from view,
carrying his much-wanted prey with it. “Damn it all to hell!” he roared again
in deep frustration. He turned around and aimed a furious kick at the dead body
of Palmer who lay broken and bloody in the middle of the road. “We
nearly had him! If only this imbecile hadn’t shot at that policeman when
he did! Why didn’t he wait for Scarlet to be safely delivered into our hands?!
It was only a matter of five minutes!”
“What do we do, now?” asked
Petroski, standing by his side.
“What can we do?” Montgomery
replied crisply, turning to him. “We have to get our hands on
Scarlet! He has the microchip that we
want. And we need that microchip!”
Petroski nodded his assent, and was
about to add something, when rustling sounds made both of them turn around in
alarm, their guns raised; they saw Baxter emerging from the bushes, running to
join them.
Gasping for breath after a long
race, he came to stand in front of Montgomery. “Sorry I’m late, Major.”
The latter narrowed his eyes and
glared murderously at him. At the moment, Montgomery was less than happy about
the way the mission was going; and for more than one reason.
“Not only did you deliberately
disobey my earlier orders,” he growled icily, “but you also missed the
rendezvous. Why didn’t you come straight here after our last radio contact? We
could have used you here.”
“I had trouble finding my way,”
Baxter explained. “You can easily lose your way in these woods.”
“Don’t you think we know that?”
snapped Montgomery.
“Scarlet escaped,” Petroski
informed. “And Palmer is dead.”
Baxter looked down at the dead body
at their feet. “And so is Williams,” he said, returning his gaze to Montgomery.
“These bayous are even more treacherous than we first imagined.”
Montgomery exhaled slowly. “From what
you told me earlier by radio, the bayou is not the only reason why Williams is
dead.” He poked Baxter in the chest with his index finger, angrily. “Next time,
you make sure you follow your instructions, or I’ll kill you myself.”
“If we had followed your orders to
the letter, we would not have discovered that the Angel pilot was still alive,”
Baxter commented boldly.
“The Angel’s survival is of no
consequence,” Montgomery answered frostily, trying his best not to lose his
temper. “What exactly can she do against us, tell me? She’s a woman alone, lost
in the woods. Only Scarlet is of importance to us.”
“She’s obviously trying to reach
Les Arbrisseaux. If shetells the
authorities what’s going on…”
“Don’t argue with me!” Montgomery
roared suddenly, unable to contain his anger much longer. “That was your human
counterpart’s flaw, Baxter. I should have expected it to stay with you after
being revived into the Mysterons’ service. The sheriff of Les Arbrisseaux is on
the run, we killed his deputy – and the man in charge of the Spectrum office in
New Orleans is ours. Williams is dead because you both thought better than to
follow your orders, and now we’ve only got three men left to complete the
mission, not counting Whitaker waiting for us at the helicopter. Do I have to remind you that time is running
out?”
“Sir.” At the call behind him,
Montgomery turned around. Petroski had walked a few meters away from them, and
was now crouched on the ground, checking something he had found in the middle
of the road. Both Montgomery and Baxter came to him and he stood up, to show
his hand, covered with fluid.
“Gas,” he announced quietly. “We
must have hit the tank at some point.” He pointed at a large smear right at his
feet, and followed a trail with his finger, that seemed to run the length of
the road in the direction the sheriff’s car had taken. “The car is losing a
lot. They won’t get very far.”
“…and there’s nothing in that
direction, but wilderness,” Montgomery commented. “Les Arbrisseaux is the other
way. They can’t go back without running through us.” He raised his gun. “All right, we might still be able to see
this mission through, then. Let’s move, men. We’ve got to catch them.”
“What about Palmer?” Petroski
asked. “His tracker’s skills might still prove useful if Scarlet and that
policeman leave the car and go into the woods to try and reach civilisation.”
“For all I care, Palmer can rot
where he is,” Montgomery replied crisply. “It’s his fault we lost Scarlet this
time.” He turned around to face the road in the direction the car had
disappeared. “We’re not totally inept.
We certainly can follow tracks without his help.”
He was about to take a step to
start the chase when he heard sounds of engines coming from nearby. Not from a
car by the sound of it, and not from anywhere on the road. His eyes scanned the
woods, searching, but it was Petroski who first saw the three ORVs racing
wildly between the trees, a few meters from them, following the approximate
direction the car had previously taken.
There were whooping sounds and laughing coming from the riders who
didn’t even seem to notice the three commandos standing in the middle of the
road.
Montgomery grunted and shook his
head. “Kids having fun at whatever game they’re playing, that’s all,” he
said thoughtfully. “They’re unimportant, and no danger to us at all. It’s a
shame, though… those vehicles they’re riding might have been very useful to
us.”
Shrugging it off, he gestured
forward and broke into a run in pursuit of the sheriff’s car.
Petroski and Baxter followed suit.
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