Special Assignment: Baby. Debra Webb

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      Two technicians monitored the equipment, paying little or no attention to the intrusion. The man was clever, Court had to give him that. Joshua Neely was networking on a level that no one would ever suspect. This wasn’t just some little half-baked setup he had going here…this was the whole enchilada. Joshua Neely had much more going on than anyone, even Court, had first suspected.

      “Now for the grand finale,” Raymond announced as they walked back into the corridor.

      “What’s at the end of the tunnel?” Court asked, halting Raymond’s tour to peer toward the far end of the passage. Now that he was closer, he could see that the corridor took another hard left.

      “That leads to the escape tunnel,” Raymond explained. “If we’re ever in danger of being overrun by the feds, we can escape to safety. It comes out deep in the mountains.”

      Court nodded. “Cool.”

      “Damn right.” Raymond ushered Court to the last door on the right. “Now, the one we’ve been waiting for.”

      Once they stepped inside the final doorway, Court stood, stunned for several seconds. The room was white—walls, ceiling, floor. So white and so brightly lit that it took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust. In stark contrast to the whiteness, a round, gleaming black conference table occupied the center of the room. Nearly a dozen men were seated around it, leaving two empty chairs of the same polished ebony as the table. Joshua Neely’s larger, more thronelike chair sat in the designated place of honor.

      Neely stood. “Welcome, Court.” He indicated those seated around the table with a sweeping motion of his right arm. “These are my leaders, my lieutenants.”

      Court nodded first to Neely, then surveyed those seated. Ferguson and a few of the others he recognized, Potts and Beecham. One of the empty seats was to Neely’s immediate left, the other on Ferguson’s right. The men seated didn’t bother to rise, they merely stared at Court, measuring and considering. Raymond hustled around the table and sat down in the empty chair beside Ferguson, leaving Court standing alone outside the strange dark circle.

      The Knights of the Round Table. The crazy notion came out of nowhere. Court resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the ridiculous thought. He started to speak, but one of the men, Greg Potts, if Court remembered correctly, rose from his chair, cutting off his question. He’d noticed the quiet, soft-spoken man before. As yet, Court hadn’t figured out just what his expertise was. But if he worked this closely with Neely, Potts had something on the ball. Potts walked deliberately to Court and embraced him.

      “Brother,” he said before releasing Court.

      Court blinked, uncertain what was expected of him. “Brother,” he replied hesitantly.

      One by one, each of those seated followed suit. Ferguson was the last to approach Court. The embrace as well as the greeting was forced. This man, Court knew at that instant, would be his most powerful enemy. He’d been getting bad vibes from him since day one.

      When Ferguson would have backed away, Court drew him closer. “Brother,” he murmured fervently.

      Ferguson tensed, fury in his gaze when he drew back. The gauntlet was down now. Court watched Ferguson retreat to his station on Neely’s right. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, Court reminded himself silently. That would keep both of them out of trouble. Court restrained the smile of secret amusement that twitched one corner of his mouth.

      “Brother Brody,” Neely announced, drawing Court’s attention to the one remaining person in the room who had not participated in the little ceremony.

      “Come forward, brother,” Neely instructed.

      With the others watching his every step, Court moved toward Neely. They’d already given him one induction last night. What was this all about? Maybe Neely just enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of it all.

      “Last night we welcomed you to our brotherhood,” Neely began as if reading Court’s mind. “Today, brother—” he placed a hand on Court’s shoulder “—we welcome you into the ranks of our leaders.” He gestured to the vacant chair at his left. “Take your place of honor among those who, like you, possess the special gift. The calling.”

      Court sank into the designated chair, his gaze fixed on Neely’s. Something in that pale blue gaze sent a chill straight through him.

      “Now, Brother Brody, select your challenger,” Neely directed.

      “Challenger?” Court schooled his expression so as not to show his unease or his surprise. Whatever test Neely had in mind, he would deal with it. Anything to maintain his cover. But it was always an advantage to know what “it” was.

      Neely nodded. “Each new lieutenant must endure the challenge, a simple survival test, in order for us to know that he is pure of heart and thought. You will select the man from among these pure ones before you, and that one will be your challenger.” Neely looked from one attentive face to the other. “At midnight on this night you will be blindfolded and taken deep into the wilderness. Your challenger will be in pursuit at half past the hour. The men in this room are highly trained, as I’m sure you well know. If you survive until dawn, you will remain in this place of honor.”

      Anticipation of the unexpected battle instantly sharpened Court’s senses. He scanned the men around the table. Raymond would probably be his wisest choice. Though Raymond was a good marksman, and a more-than-competent opponent in hand-to-hand combat, Court was well enough acquainted with the man to know his weaknesses.

      “One month has passed since this circle was complete,” Neely continued, no doubt loving the sound of his own voice. “It is time we replaced our fallen warrior. Make your decision and we shall be done with formalities.”

      Court had a pretty good idea that the so-called fallen warrior was the man charged with killing a Livingston businessman last month. Running for political office, the businessman spoke out vehemently against the militia, making himself a target. The shooter had turned the gun on himself when threatened with capture. To prevent interrogation, no doubt, thus protecting Neely. Of course, there was no way to prove whether the man had acted on his own or under orders from his esteemed leader.

      Whatever the case, Court now had the opportunity to slip into the upper echelon. All he had to do was pass Neely’s little test. Court studied those seated around the table a moment longer. If he selected Raymond, Neely would know he had taken the easy way out. This was a test, and Court had to prove his worthiness. Finally, his gaze settled onto the man he would seriously enjoy taking down a notch or two. “Brother Ferguson is my choice,” he announced.

      Ferguson smiled, a gesture rich with malice and anticipation. “It will be my pleasure, Brother Brody.”

      “Excellent choice, Brother Brody,” Neely commented, obviously pleased. “I am certain that you will prove an outstanding lieutenant.”

      SABRINA CLOSED ONE EYE and focused on the target. She pulled the trigger and hit a little to the left of the outermost circle of the bull’s eye. She swore. She could do better than that. Her father had taught her how to handle a rifle when she was only twelve years old. Just as she had taught Charlie. Frustrated, she jerked off the ear protection and swiped the perspiration from her brow.

      She considered the requirement for teachers to participate in basic combat training pretty stupid. She was only here СКАЧАТЬ