Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse - Gischler Victor (читать книги полностью .txt) 📗

XXXVII

Mortimer sat in stunned silence for nearly a full minute before saying, “Is that all? Anything else? Would you like the moon a little bit to the left?”

“I’m serious,” Armageddon said. “You’re uniquely qualified for the task.”

“First, no way,” Mortimer said flatly. “Second, how the hell do you figure I’m uniquely qualified? And third, no fucking way.”

“Don’t be hasty. Let’s consider this from all angles.”

“Don’t you have people for this?” Mortimer asked.

“We’ve already lost six good men,” came a deep voice from behind them.

Mortimer started, turned his head to look at the newcomer. A tall, broad-shouldered black man in his middle forties, fit, but with patches of gray in his close-cropped hair, hard features and piercing alert eyes of light brown. He wore an olive-green dress army uniform, but of what army Mortimer could only guess. He wore a star on each shoulder, but the pink Joey’s mushroom cloud on each lapel.

“We’ve sent spies and assassins,” the black man said. “None have returned. One was a navy SEAL and another a former FBI agent.”

“Ah. Malcolm, just in time,” Armageddon said. “Please join us.”

Malcolm approached the table, bent suddenly and kissed Armageddon on the lips. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t give it a second thought.” Armageddon gave Malcolm’s arm a gentle squeeze. “We’re having a drink if you want something.”

Malcolm shook his head and pulled up a chair. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

“Don’t start.”

Malcolm turned his attention back to Mortimer. “I briefed those men myself and sent them into enemy territory. I feel responsible for them. We only found out later that there are spies among us, men sending the details of our every move back to the Czar.”

Mortimer sat up, cleared his throat and tried to look apologetic. “Look, I’m flattered you thought of me, but if trained men couldn’t-”

Armageddon held up a placating hand. “Let General Malcolm explain. Then you’ll understand.”

“For months now, we’ve had reason to believe the Czar is brewing something pretty big,” Malcolm said. “And we’ve been brewing our own little rebuttal. We received word that a refinery has begun production again just outside the malaria zone of New Orleans. Think about what I’m saying.”

“Gasoline.” Mortimer remembered all the dead cars along the interstate, the uncomfortable ride in the mule wagon. A plentiful supply of gasoline would change the world. Again.

“With a steady supply of gasoline, the sky’s the limit for what the Czar can throw at us.”

“And it’s not just what he can do to us in a military way,” put in Armageddon. “Shipping will change, the flow of goods and services.”

Mortimer said, “That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

“If he would play along, it would be very good,” Armageddon said. “I would gladly pay Armageddon dollars for gasoline. Others would trade too. If he were smart that’s what he’d do. But tyrants never think like that. No, his Red Stripes have already shown they’d rather take what they need than trade for it. Fueled with unlimited gasoline, they’ll plow through here like locusts and leave nothing, destroying everything we’ve worked so hard to build.”

“Why would he do that? It doesn’t make sense.”

Armageddon shrugged. “How can one understand the twisted mind of the megalomaniac? He is the Napoleon of our time, the Hitler, the Stalin. Every so many years, these men come along and ruin it for the rest of us.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you think I’m the man for the job.”

“Allow me to give you a quick bullet-point list of why we want you involved,” Malcolm said. “One: you’ve proven resourceful, having come through a number of unique dangers just to get here. Two: as a Platinum member, it’s in your best interest to protect Joey Armageddon’s, not destroy it. Three: since you’ve only just arrived, you’re an outsider.”

“Why is that a plus?”

“As I said,” continued Malcolm, “we have spies among us. Even if I picked one of my most trusted men, I don’t think we can prevent word getting out. The Red Stripes would be waiting for him, and I’m not losing another man if I can help it. We’ve already fabricated a story for your arrest. We plan to stage your escape. Then the Czar and his men won’t suspect we’ve sent you. We have strong evidence that one of our guards is on the Czar’s payroll, and I’ll arrange for him to be on duty when you break out. He’ll report to the Czar that you’re not one of my soldiers.”

Mortimer shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Just because I’m not one of your soldiers doesn’t mean the Red Stripes are going to throw me a welcome party. Why should they care if I got drunk and thrown in jail?”

“We’ve thought of that,” Armageddon said. “Tell him, Malcolm.”

“We’re going to let it leak that you’ve stolen our defense plans,” Malcolm said. “The Czar won’t be able to resist that.” To Armageddon he said, “I’ll have one of my people leak it to the kitchen staff. That’ll be like broadcasting it on the radio.”

“Naturally, we’ll supply you with everything you need,” Armageddon assured him.

“And what’s my motivation to say yes to this suicide mission?” Mortimer asked.

“Beyond defending our tenuous grasp on civilization from the marauding forces of darkness?”

“Way beyond that.”

“We would compensate you, of course. Say twenty thousand Armageddon dollars.”

“No amount of money will-how much?”

“Twenty thousand,” said Joey Armageddon.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Mortimer rubbed his eyes. His hangover was coming back double. “It still doesn’t have to be me. You could bribe anyone.”

“We thought you’d want to undertake the mission, considering certain personal reasons,” Malcolm said.

“There are no personal reasons,” Mortimer said. “There are personal reasons not to do it. To keep my person from getting killed, for example.”

“I’m afraid there are personal reasons. Reasons that you might find compelling,” said Armageddon. “The Czar has Anne. Your wife.”

XXXVIII

What kind of man would leave his wife in the evil clutches of somebody called the Red Czar?

I would, damn it. I had an epiphany. Doesn’t anyone respect my goddamn epiphany?

Nobody respected his epiphany.

Joey Armageddon and his gay general were right. They had Mortimer’s number. He had to try to help Anne. Mortimer waffled. But eventually he agreed to do it. He’d see this thing through to the end. He would find Anne. For better or for worse.

“If I’m going to do this,” Mortimer said, “then I’m going to do it my way. And I’m going to need some things. Get a pen and paper.”

Mortimer told them what he needed, and the general briefed him on how it would work.

“We’ll arrange a contact who will guide you when you get there. He’s trustworthy.”

“How will I know him?” Mortimer asked.

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm told him. “He’ll know you.”

Armageddon took Mortimer’s hand, shook it firmly, looked him straight in the eye. “I know you’re not crazy about this, probably even feel somewhat coerced, but you’re going to do some good. Frankly, you’ll be a hero.”

Mortimer returned the handshake, could only nod and smile weakly. Hooray for me.

“We can’t take him back to his cell like this,” Malcolm said. “He looks too good.”

“You’re right,” Armageddon said. “We’re supposed to have interrogated him to get our defense plans back.”

“What?” Mortimer didn’t like where this was headed.

Malcolm came up behind him. “I’ll hold his arms. Work over his face a bit.”

Back in his cell, Mortimer prodded at his puffy eye with his fingertips.

They enjoyed that. Assholes.