This story takes place approximately a year after the War of Nerves started, and
shortly before Captain Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel became a couple.
A “Captain Scarlet & the Mysterons” story
By Chris Bishop
CHAPTER 5
Rhapsody Angel stood on the
bank of the river, staring dejectedly at the wild current relentlessly flowing,
which was effectively cutting off her way to Les Abrisseaux.
This was a drawback she didn’t expect or need – certainly not when time
was such a matter of life and death. 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 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 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 she
could reach the town, of course. But to do so, she needed to cross the river;
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; it was just too frustrating that she might be
forced to make a large detour in order to reach it.
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; it should be 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. Somehow, it seemed all too good
to be true.
She shook her head. 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,
and was 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 look.
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 lower lip against the physical
exertion on her wounded arm as she held herself over the dirty waters flowing
below her feet. 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,
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 now, she heard a sound from her
right, and froze. Then she turned swiftly on her heel to check, 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 if they were following the bank of the other river…
She received her answer the next
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.”
“We thought it might be
Captain Scarlet, Williams added in turn. Imagine our surprise when we realised
it was you. 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 seize her by the shoulder. She figured she had nothing left to lose
and had to act now. She swiftly 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 seized the
opportunity, and rammed Baxter in the shoulder with all her body weight, aiming
towards the gully. He tripped, and 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 the bridge,
destroying what was left of it under their combined weight, and completely
cutting the precarious link 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; she was
disappointed when it didn’t happen. Kneeling at the top of the ravine, she
watched as the two commandos, cursing loudly, struggled to get back onto their
feet and free themselves. She stood up, nearly slipping 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, 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 flying out
of his hand. There was a lot of splashing around as Williams desperately tried
to fight against an invisible underwater foe which was 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 emerged 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 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 visibly carried on underwater, as the splashing continued on the
surface.
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. He was now 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.
Rhapsody imagined he would probably
get up the courage to do so eventually; so it was up to her to take the
opportunity to put as much distance as possible between them. She knew for sure
Baxter would contact his accomplices, and that the rest of the commandos would
learn soon that she was alive and well, and on her way to town.
No matter, she had no choice now.
She desperately needed to find 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.
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. 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 seize 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.
That reminded the sheriff of the
Riley affair, many years ago, which had ended up in a horrible tragedy.
He was very young back then, but it had made quite an impact on him at the time,
and on all the inhabitants of the area.
He would be damned if he would let
the same thing that happened to Riley happen
to his prisoner as well.
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?
If he’s really having them, that is.”
“I don’t think he’s lying about
them.” Evers reached 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
d’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 a clue of where it was coming from,” Masters
explained.
“Residual memories, perhaps?”
Evers mused. “So it might be possible he’s truly amnesiac.”
“I still say he’s fakin’ it, and that he’s leadin’
us on,” MacGibbons replied. “Anythin’
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.”
“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 ’55.”
“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. 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. And you know what I have even more than that? The fact 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 ain’t
dead… 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 at his deputy’s words. “Weren’t
you supposed to leave for Baton Rouge today? 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 feelin’ 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 doin’ my job, really. So, how are we doin’
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 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 commented. “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 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
garbage dumpster 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, and 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 shocking 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 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 don’t know what exactly.”
“I’m guessin’
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 tellin’
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 somethin’ 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 different.
It was a strange sensation, an
uncomfortable feeling that seemed to originate from an outside source.
A thought imposed itself to his
mind.
“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 the vague thought became a
certitude. He swallowed hard. “We’re in danger,” he said finally.
“Ha!” MacGibbons
loudly scoffed. “That’s no danger
you’re
feelin’, 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. Still, he was feeling very uneasy. There was definitely
that sensation 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. The car skidded to a
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 the devil are 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.”
“What is exactly official about
Spectrum?” MacGibbons asked with a shrug. “What they
do is supposed to be secret. You know, like fightin’
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’m disappointed. I
really had hoped for a colour-coded agent.”
“Well, that
ain’t
colour-coded uniform they’re wearing,” Masters muttered. “They look more 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 any kind of 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 goin’
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 goin’ 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, should there
would be a need.
“Hey there!” he called out loud.
“You’re the Spectrum unit we’re supposed to meet?”
The man standing in the middle took
a casual step forward, 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’re 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 them.”
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 blood-covered 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 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 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 she tells 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.” 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
commented. “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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