Black Box (22 page)

He lost sight of her quickly, but the noise
from the bike was telling. She had moved off a ways, but she would
be back. Beckett lowered himself to the ground and tried to get a
fix on her position. That bike gave her a physical advantage so
unseating her should have been a priority. But, of course, she knew
that so her defense would be arranged around it. It was a fool’s
game of
which cup has the poison?
and he was the fool.

She was coming back. The buzz of the engine
grew louder and he still couldn’t get a fix. In fact, the closer it
came, the harder it was to spot. Soon she would be upon him. Her
sweep would be fast and brutal. On the bike, she didn’t need to
know where he was. All she needed to do was clip him at a decent
speed and he’d be finished.

Finding himself near the body of the
Danielle Smith, Beckett put on his light and stuffed it under her
arm. The angle illuminated the clearing and he was giving away the
plan of using the corpses as decoys. But if all fell properly, it
would be worth it. Rodrigo was never going to go near that light.
As she plunged back into the clearing, she caught sight of it and
the blood sticky shoe that Beckett had left half visible. In the
light it seemed ridiculous that anyone could have fallen for so
transparent a ruse.

What the light did for Rodrigo was nothing.
All she knew was that he had been there moments before. What it did
for Beckett was priceless. It illuminated the clearing almost
fully, throwing Rodrigo and her bike into the spotlight. Up until
that moment, she had still been under the impression that it was
four against one. She had left her rifle slung in favor of riding
two handed. It would be easier to run people down than to try and
shoot them. Beckett, meanwhile, had worked his way around to the
other side of the clearing and gotten behind the other body. With
all of his strength, he lurched the corpse out into the open,
holding on behind and running with it. Rodrigo reacted, veering the
bike and gunning the engine. Beckett released the body and
sidestepped the attack, getting behind her as she bashed aside the
man she’d killed hours before. At the same time, Beckett reached
out with both hands and tore her from the bike. It swerved wildly
and skidded to a halt just beyond the tree line.

Anabelle Rodrigo knew fighting tactics for
all situations. Currently, she was unbalanced and held by a man
with greater weight, greater strength, and lesser years. Her
soldier’s brain ticked through her options one by one at a speed
that would make a computer jealous. She had two or three tactics
that she could use, but the one she liked best involved turning the
tables. It involved a redistribution of her weight that would cause
him to over-compensate the strength needed to hold her. In the end,
she would pop out of his arms as easily as if she were coated with
grease.

But, of course, Beckett knew this.

So he let go.

And Rodrigo lost her balance entirely and
fell to the ground.

Now the advantage was completely his and he
knew several ways to press it. She also knew this and knew several
ways to counter any attempt he might make to press that advantage.
But enough was enough and the time for subtlety had passed. Beckett
moved in like a freight train, putting all of his weight forward
and clenching his fists into miniature anvils. Rodrigo was strong
and she could take punishment, but not what her good friend had in
store for her. Avoiding her armored chest and not bothering with
her vulnerable face, Beckett went straight for her wounded
shoulder. There was an armored pad covering it, but it was no match
for his fury. He tore it free with one hand and pressed her to the
ground with the other. Powerless, Rodrigo watched as his first blow
came down hard against the bandage. Lightning flashed in her mind
as the pain crunched her shoulder, arm, and the right side of her
torso. Blood exploded against the bandage, a dark blotch in the
night. The sound that issued from her throat was nothing like she
had ever heard herself utter.

But Beckett did not let up.

He hit her again and again until her arm was
numb. All of a sudden Rodrigo was on the other end of a see-saw
she’d been riding all of her life. She and panic made introductions
to each other and she began to flail about. But even the adrenaline
spitting into her blood stream could not fuel her enough to win
this battle.

And still, Beckett did not let up.

When he was done, the shoulder was wet and
useless. Though there was no damage to the bone, the muscle there
would take months of rehabilitation to regain even a bit of its old
strength. When he was done, he took his bloody hand and slapped his
palm against her face as a show of disrespect. Another man might
just have spit on her.

“Ted…” she murmured as he got up and stood
away.

“Shut up!” he hissed and he turned his back
on her. A few feet away, the air bike was still idling where it had
stopped. He disentangled it from the leaves and mounted it
carefully, checking to make sure there was no damage. Rodrigo’s
rifle was still lashed to the side. Good. He would need it. Her
blood was only the first he would spill.

With no real threat in the jungle and the
instruments of the vehicles to guide them, the mutinous squad of
foot soldiers pulled up at the
Einstein’s
landing site at
almost the same time that Rodrigo reached Beckett’s location. The
site of the ship was more than they’d expected. Even a jarhead like
Knudson could appreciate the history in front of his eyes.

The
Einstein
had the look of an old
time space shuttle. It was long with a hooked nose and fins jutting
out of the edges and top in the rear. There were black wings on the
sides, pitted and marked from reentry. These old ships had
originally been designed to blast off with rocket boosters and land
on a runway. Once on the runway, the ship would have to be lifted
into an upright position with new rocket boosters attached. But not
the
Einstein
. That would not have done for planetary
exploration. The designers had originally worked from schematics of
the first moon lander. It was light and the design was efficient,
but in real gravity, they didn’t think they could pull it off. The
best bet was a shuttle, but the trick was getting the thing down
without a runway and then off the ground again. There were books
and books written on what they had done and much of the design had
been used as inspiration to create ships like the
Valor
.
There were landing struts on the underbelly of the ship. It had no
wheels. For take-off, there were motorized legs folded into the
rear of the ship. These legs would come out and lift the ship into
the original upright position. Beyond that, it was just a matter of
the proper mix of fuel and fuel consumption to get the ship off the
ground and out of the atmosphere. No one ever believed it would
work. They tested it with smaller models and then, eventually with
the real thing and, wouldn’t you know it, it worked on the first
try. That’s the thing about odds. The longer they are, the more
things seem to tip against the balance.

As Bonamo and his reluctant followers
approached the
Einstein
from exactly the same side as the
mutinous squad, he was working on calculating his chances of
success. He tried to analyze his options and make a cold decision
but that decision kept leading him along a path he wasn’t sure he
could follow. Negotiation seemed out of the picture. Rodrigo had
killed Cummings. Given any tactical advantage, he was sure that
Tedesco would order the infantry to do the same to him and his
companions. A ploy at capturing them seemed ridiculous. Long odds
was one thing. No odds was something else. They were outnumbered
and outgunned. Even the element of surprise would not help with a
capture. Tedesco would not surrender and trying to wound with
sniper shots probably wouldn’t work because they’d still have
access to their guns. That left assassination. If the three of them
split up and shot to kill they’d probably be able to do enough
damage to at least stall the operation.

He did a decent job of disguising the
turmoil going on inside his head. As they approached Walker’s
landing site, they could hear the humming engine of the
rumbler
. Fred MacDonald’s voice was clear over the sound,
issuing orders. Bonamo called a halt so he could listen but the
distance was too great and the background noise too much for him to
decipher the words. The jungle, as it was, didn’t provide them much
in the way of cover. The trees weren’t real trees. Their stems were
soft and pliable. The leaves were large and camouflaging but if
they were spotted then bullets would tear through the foliage
easily enough. Still, they had to approach.

Icknor was at the
Einstein’s
hatch,
setting a charge. The others were spread out around the ship.
Irvin, Knudson, and Goldfarb were missing, presumably behind the
ship, covering an emergency escape hatch. Walker and his crew would
be wedged in.

Bonamo turned to Burbank and whispered so
low that she could hardly hear him. “Circle around back and keep to
cover. Take aim and wait to hear my shot. When you do, open fire.
The first shot
has
to be a kill shot. After that just make
sure you hit the other two guys.”

Cabrera grabbed his arm tightly. “You’re
going to kill them? Just like that?”

“
Shhh!
The captain’s orders were very
specific.”

“I won’t sink to that level.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Swallowing hard, Burbank headed away from
the two of them, moving slowly. Bonamo had to wait for her to get
into position so he drew up some estimates in his head about how
long it would take her, at her present rate of speed, to reach the
far end of the ship once she was out of sight. Meanwhile, Icknor
had retreated from the hatch and the flanking soldiers had taken
cover by the landing struts. On a signal from MacDonald, Icknor hit
the button on his remote and the charges detonated. The hatch blew
apart like so much tin foil. MacDonald signaled to his people.

Leveling his weapon, Bonamo made a choice.
He made the wrong choice, but he made a choice just the same. All
the time, he had been wondering whether to aim for MacDonald or
Alraune. MacDonald was in charge. Even Tedesco, who stood timidly
by the
rumbler
did not give any orders during the operation.
After all, it was a combat operation and she was not combat
trained. So taking out MacDonald
might
have the effect of
damaging the command structure and taking the wind out of their
sails. Rodrigo was nowhere in sight and it hadn’t taken Bonamo long
to reason that it was she who’d gone to meet Beckett. Alraune, on
the other hand, was a ridiculously good shot and, therefore, the
greatest danger. If he could eliminate her first, their odds in the
upcoming firefight would be that much greater.

He chose to fire at Alraune. He was not the
best marksman on the ship, probably ranked somewhere near the
bottom. But he was skilled enough to take aim and hit an
unsuspecting target. The bullet hit her square, her head snapping
back with the impact, her body following a split second behind.

She was to the right of the blown hatch,
approaching with her face to Bonamo and just ahead of Rafferty. On
the other side stood Yamata, with Icknor ahead of him. By the
motion of her body, it was easy for them to identify Bonamo’s
position.

Bonamo had time for one more shot, but no
time to choose and no time to take aim. His bullet took Rafferty in
the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

“
Sniper!
” shouted MacDonald.

“
Move!
” Bonamo hissed at Cabrera and
started off into the shrubs.

Burbank’s shot came a little late. Irvin
shouted a warning and then all hell broke loose. MacDonald took off
at a run towards the back of the ship. While he did so, he shouted
orders at his three remaining soldiers up front. Yamata turned and
began spraying bullets into the trees. Icknor charged the blown
hatch. Tedesco sought cover behind the
rumbler
. It was not
what Bonamo had wanted. Sniper shots tended to cause confusion, but
MacDonald was too rock steady to be shaken by something as
innocuous as a dead soldier. He adjusted his plan of attack in less
time than it had taken for Bonamo to decide who to shoot.

Halfway toward the back of the ship they met
up with Burbank. There was sweat on her face and on her hair and
she clutched her gun the way a mother clutches a baby. Bonamo shot
her a look but it was clear why she hadn’t followed the plan. Her
shot had missed. Either she hadn’t been in position when Bonamo had
fired or she had hesitated. Either way, none of the three foot
soldiers at the back of the ship had been killed or even wounded.
Bonamo, Burbank, and Cabrera had now been identified and were on
the run. Despite taking down their enemy’s best marksman, they were
at a tremendous disadvantage.

Crouching low, adjusting the position of his
rifle, Bonamo fixed his gaze on the ship. He ordered Cabrera deeper
into the trees and Burbank to his flank. There was nothing else to
do. They could all retreat and survive but then their mission would
be a failure. When the captain had ordered him to prevent the black
box from being launched he had known that it was critical to the
lives of everyone on board the
Einstein.
Somehow the
Einstein
had come forward 200 years into the present day.
Somehow, that black box had gone back through time and floated in
space for 200 years, eventually finding its way home. Somehow those
two events coincided to produce a scenario where Captain Beckett’s
mutinous infantry slaughtered the Earth’s greatest pioneers.

That did not sit well with Kevin Bonamo.