Holding Their Own: The Salt War Part 16

And then the party was over, Roccos troops lead the doomed man away, as well as the two horses.

Bishop hung back, trying to appear as disinterested as possible. In reality, his mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. A solution had just appeared before his eyes, the answer to all of his problems appearing out of thin air.

After the mob had dispersed, Bishop made for the place he knew Rocco would be. Sure enough, the local jefe was congratulating his fighters, listening to their excited bragging about how theyd come to execute one rider and capture the other.

Like any good leader, Rocco rode the wave of victory, soon ordering tequila and cigars for the brave Tejanos soldiers.

Bishop stayed back, having no desire to dampen the festivities, but wanting to talk to Rocco before they accidently killed the Salineros rider.

Someone showed up with a guitar, soon followed by several young ladies in brightly colored skirts. The tequila flowed, and the dancing began. The Texan grimaced when the partiers starting firing celebratory gunshots into the air. What a waste of ammo, he thought.

After an hour, it became clear that Rocco had more serious tasks on his mind. Slowly, politely, his two top lieutenants and he began shooing the revelers away, gently guiding them to take their celebration elsewhere.

Bishop stayed put, listening as the merrymakers moved a few streets over, their voices, gunshots, and shouting now held down to a dull roar. The Texan checked his carbine, thumbed off the safety, and began walking toward Rocco.

'Evening," he announced, startling the three Tejanos leaders as he appeared out of the shadows. "I understand Im no longer the only gringo in town."

Rocco didnt seem displeased to see Bishops approach, smiling broadly at the new arrival. The two subordinates werent so happy, eyeing Bishops rifle with wary eyes.

"What can I do for you, my friend?" Rocco asked.

"I would like to have a word with you in private," Bishop replied, his tone making it clear something important was on his mind.

Glancing at his two remaining soldiers, Rocco shook his head. "There is nothing my men cant hear. I trust them explicitly."

"Fine with me," the Texan responded. "Ill get right down to business. I want the prisoner and the two horses. Theyre my ticket to get my wife and son back, and our ride home."

A hurt look replaced Roccos smile, almost as if Bishop had insulted the man.

"Senor, while you are my honored guest, your request is impossible. We dont turn captured Salineros killers loose. I cannot do as you request."

"Dont f.u.c.k with me, Rocco. I want my wife and child back, and I dont have any other option. Ill give you my word that Ill come back and make a serious attempt to broker a peace between the Culpepper outfit and your people."

Rocco spread his hands wide in the air, "How about a compromise? Ill grant you the horses and as many of the supplies from your truck as you can pack. You can ride the animals to the ranch? I think this is a fair bargain, no?"

"No. If I show up at Culpeppers front door with two of his mens horses, he might think I murdered them. I need the survivor to guide me in and tell those people that I rescued him."

Rocco shook his head, his voice becoming less friendly. "Im sorry, Bishop, but I cannot grant your request. My men need to see the conclusion to their efforts. My people have to know we are winning."

The two men with Rocco noted the change in their bosss tone, both of them becoming stiff and ready for action. Bishop remained calm.

"Give him to me, along with the horses, or theres going to be trouble. Ive got to get back to my family and make sure theyre okay. Dont press this, Rocco. Its not a fight you want right here in the middle of your hometown."

Bishop saw an odd light pa.s.s behind Roccos eyes, a glimmer of something cold and cruel. "As you wish," the leader replied. "Ill have our captive brought out for you," he added, turning to step to the back of his home. As he pa.s.sed close to his men, Bishop heard a whisper in Spanish. "Kill him."

It was a poorly executed move, the Texan primed and ready for just such a play. Both of Roccos troops brandished AK47 battle rifles, but they werent experienced enough to bring them into play while moving at the same time. Bishop, on the other hand, already had his carbine at his shoulder, centering his red dot before either man on the porch could even raise his weapon.

The M4 barked once, twice, three times, its report blending in with the occasional gunfire still erupting from the nearby celebration. Both lieutenants crumpled to the porchs wooden planks.

Rocco paused, his hands in the air, his back still turned to Bishop. "Will you shoot me in the back?" he asked the Texan.

"No. Like I said, this is a fight you dont want," Bishop replied, walking closer to his former friend. "Bring me the prisoner and the horses. Now!"

Rocco nodded his agreement, taking a half step and then spinning quickly. Bishop saw the flash of s.h.i.+ny steel in the mans hand just as a knife came hurling through the air.

The blade struck Bishop dead center in the chest, but bounced harmlessly off of the Texans body armor, clambering down to the packed dirt surface at his feet.

Rage swelled inside the Texan, the underhanded attempt to kill him sparking an eruption of fury. With his head down and heart pumping, he stepped into Rocco. It would have been too easy to slay the man with his rifle; he wanted the pleasure of thras.h.i.+ng his foe with his bare hands.

Rocco was furious as well, the death of his men combined with the Texans unreasonable demands making him regret ever letting Bishop live. The two men collided.

The larger and stronger of the two, Rocco still was handicapped, his one arm hampered by the injury suffered during the ambush. Still, he was a brave and potent fighter.

While Bishop was the more skilled, his efforts were restricted by the rifle and heavy kit strapped to his chest.

The Texan was far more motivated than his opponent. In addition to the pent up stress from not knowing Terri and Hunters status, he knew the engagement had to end quickly, or local reinforcements would arrive.

Stepping in close, he ducked a powerful roundhouse, popping back up to deliver a punis.h.i.+ng series of quick jabs to Roccos face.

Backing away from Bishops swarming fists, Rocco took a few breaths to recover. "You are no better than the Salineros trash we fight every day. I should have killed you back in the Valley of Rocks."

Bishop ignored the taunt, stepping in with a feigned right while launching his best left. Rocco somehow managed to duck under the punch, delivering a solid kick to Bishops stomach as he pa.s.sed. It was the Texans turn to stagger back and regroup.

"Youre too stupid to realize what Im offering you, Rocco," the Texan managed between heaving breaths. "Im giving you the best chance youll have at peace. To end the killing. To end the suffering. Youre so wrapped up in hate and loathing, you cant see anything other than revenge."

The words seemed to sting Rocco. Growling, he dove into his opponent, good arm throwing two quick punches that insulted nothing but open air. Bishop wasnt there.

A sharp pain bolted through Roccos ribs, courtesy of Bishops elbow. Another blow landed on the larger mans ear, ringing-white lines of pain vibrating through his head. Rocco went down to his knees, unable to stand any longer.

"Being blind to reality is always the way it ends up, Rocco. Really, its not your fault. The pa.s.sion required to lead people through a war doesnt mix with the wisdom it takes to find peace. Im sorry it had to end like this. I really had hoped you would see the light and put a stop to your peoples suffering."

Bishop stepped close, but then stopped, something in his adversarys eyes making him halt the final onslaught.

"Wait... please wait, Senor. I cant give you what you want, my people would never trust me again...."

Bishop was out of time and in no mood for pleading. "Night, night, my friend. Ill see you later," he whispered.

The blow to Roccos jaw sent the now unconscious man tumbling over, Bishop grabbing his s.h.i.+rt as he fell, laying him gently on the earth. He disagreed with Roccos position, but understood and respected the mans pa.s.sion.

Seconds later, the Texan entered the barn and was helping the astonished Culpepper rider up and into his saddle. He found Roccos a.s.sault pack, securing the small amount of food, ammo, and water to the cowboys saddle.

Few in the village heard the two horses race off into the night, most of the residents hoping the loud party would soon end so they could all get some sleep.

Chapter 10.

The Cartersville festival was in full swing by the time Victor and Dr. Hanes arrived. Country and Western music drifted softly across the courthouse square, the lack of electrical power dampening the volume considerably. No one seemed to mind.

The bas.e.m.e.nt of a local church had provided a long row of tables, each in the process of being stacked with food, desserts, and, according to Mr. Gospel, a recently uncovered stash of paper plates and Styrofoam cups.

Along with the miracle of disposable eatery were other staples of a time long past. Cases of soft drinks had been discovered as well as an enormous amount of canned foods. The sugary beverages were being eyed by the eager throng, generating serious crowd appeal and the most finger pointing. Few of the residents had tasted anything sweet in years.

Stan stood over the fruit table, greeting the occasional pa.s.serby as if he were Santa Claus at a corporate Christmas party. Cases of canned peaches, oranges, pineapple and other delicacies drew the attention of the townsfolk. Their eyes glimmered, and their mouths salivated at the prospect of the buffet feast being a.s.sembled.

"Well be open in a bit," Mr. Gospel would smile and announce. "Were going to have a party unlike any since the collapse."

Earlier in the day, Gospels men had made the rounds, informing every vendor in the Exchange that they were expected to contribute to the evenings feast. Victor had eagerly agreed, hoping to gain easy access to the foodstuffs, and use the spray bottle that the good doctor had in his pocket.

The merchant had closed up shop early, rus.h.i.+ng home to put an old family bread recipe into his wood-fired oven.

The two conspirators made their way past the guards and into the food preparation area, Victor carrying one basket of loaves, the doctor another. Stans voice, so boisterous and close, served to motivate both men to complete their treachery with haste.

The doctors serum filled a small spray bottle, the green liquid forming a mist in the hurried backyard testing conducted just a few minutes ago. It was the best they could do.

People were hustling about everywhere, unpacking the crates Stan had so mysteriously uncovered, arranging prepared dishes, and working manual can openers at a furious pace. It was barely controlled bedlam.

A small army of backyard BBQ grills had been wheeled in, another crew responsible for providing the appropriate supply of timber to fire the battalion of grills. No one involved thought it was a textbook example of how to prepare for a festival, but few complained.

Victor and his accomplice were directed to a specific table reserved for breads. The two connivers began unloading each loaf, nervous eyes casting around to get a feel for the ever-present security men.

After the first few rounded hunks of bread were on display, the doctor reached into his jacket pocket and palmed the bottle. He wasnt a magician, his sleight of hand technique lacking in dexterity and stealth.

Victor tried to block his friends clumsy attempt, peering around with nervous glances to make sure they werent discovered. "Are you going to be able to pull this off?" he asked.

"I somehow imagined this would be easier. Im trying to stuff the bottle up my sleeve, but it wont fit. Give me a minute, will you?"

Stan was fifteen feet away, standing next to the chief. "Whats up with those two?" he asked the lawman, nodding towards Victor and the doc.

"They sure look nervous. What is that in Dr. Hanes hand?" the chief responded.

The two bio-terrorists were motivated, but unskilled. Neither had the experience nor training to conduct such an operation, and it was becoming more apparent with each pa.s.sing moment.

Frustration and nerves began to work on the good doctor. At one point he dropped the spray bottle, bending far too quickly to scoop it back up. Victor wasnt helping, his hand-wringing and too quick head movements drawing attention to the pairs nefarious activities.

"Screw this," the physician finally stated. "Im just going to stroll down the line and keep the bottle in front of me. Try to block me with your body as much as you can."

Victor nodded, his head pivoting back and forth, eagerly looking for any security men.

As if he was reaching for a wallet, the doctor moved the spray bottle to the inside of his jacket. Victor and he made every attempt to stroll casually to the first food table where the trays of carved meat steamed into the evening air.

Glancing right and left, the doctor uncovered and aimed his poison, pulling the small trigger pump once, twice and then a third time. Nothing came out.

"Whats wrong?" Victor hissed, now having second thoughts about their scheme.

"Nothing... it just takes a bit to prime the pump," came the response.

Both of them jumped when Stans voice sounded behind them, "Good evening, gentlemen. Are you trying to spice up our meal?"

The doctor tried to return the bottle to his jacket, but the chiefs burly hand darted out of nowhere, clutching the physicians wrist and securing the evidence. "What do we have here?" asked the lawman.

Holding up the bottle so Stan could see, the chief then unscrewed the cap, sniffing the foul smelling substance, and then pulling away with a scowl. "d.a.m.n, Doc, what the h.e.l.l is this s.h.i.+t?"

Neither the sawbones, nor his partner wanted to talk. Stan took his turn, smelling the pungent liquid. "Whatever it is, its toxic as h.e.l.l. Even my untrained nose can say that for certain. What kind of poison are you trying to slaughter us all with, Doctor?"

"Im not trying to kill anyone," replied the doctor. "Its not deadly. Im not an inhumane animal like you are, Stan."

Mr. Gospel laughed loudly, the outburst intended more for the benefit of the gathering group of security men than due to any real humor. Stan knew he had to be careful here. Victor and the doc were well liked and respected. "Do tell, gentlemen, do tell."

"We know about the semi-trailers," Victor managed to confess and accuse at the same time. "We know youve been h.o.a.rding medications, water purification supplies, and tons of cargo that could have saved hundreds of lives here in Cartersville. We are fully aware youve been keeping these critical items back so you could stay in power."

Ignoring the accusations, Stan held up the spray bottle. "And this?"

"It will make people slightly ill," the doctor chimed in. "Nothing more. My plan was to make you reveal the existence of the supplies after you and hundreds of others got sick."

Again, the towns honcho laughed. "Very, very clever, gentlemen. There are just two problems with your betrayal. The first is that you got caught. The second is that Im obviously not h.o.a.rding anything look around you at all the cases of food. Does that look like Im hiding vital supplies? By the time we took inventory of all those trailers, the sickness and disease had pa.s.sed. I was merely managing that stockpile for a rainy day."

"And to feed your security men... to keep them happy and on the payroll," added Victor.

Stan was obviously done with the conversation, waving a hand through the air to dismiss his accusers. "The penalty for treason is death, my friends."

Gospel then turned to the chief and said, "Our discovery of this skullduggery will provide additional entertainment this evening. Handcuff both of them and take them to the central podium."

The chief nodded, turning to issue instructions to his deputies. A few moments later, a small parade of law officers, Mr. Gospel and the two prisoners approached the main stage.

A hush fell over the crowd, most thinking Mr. Gospel was going to announce the much antic.i.p.ated opening of the food tables. Things got really quiet when the bound physician and merchant were hauled up onto the elevated platform.

Stan bent, lifting a pre-positioned bullhorn. "Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you welcome and best wishes," Gospel began. "We, the good citizens of Cartersville, have cause to celebrate this evening. As most of you know, a single fugitive has been troubling our good town, pulling off seemingly impossible acts that have impacted each and every member of our community."

Pausing for effect, the smiling ruler swept his gaze over the gathering of his subjects. "For days, the chief and I have been amazed at how one man could have pulled off such miraculous feats. This evening, an explanation has been uncovered, as well as a plot of terrorism that would have killed hundreds of our friends and neighbors."

A murmur shot through the crowd, whispered voices and grunts of surprise rising into the air.

"But thanks to the professionalism and ever diligent eye of our security forces, this barbaric plan has been foiled, the conspirators captured red-handed in the act."

Stan motioned for the two captives to be pushed forward while at the same time holding up the spray bottle for all to see. "We just apprehended these two men with this bottle. They have confessed that it contains a deadly poison, which they were about to spray on our food line. All of you would have been seriously ill, if not dead, a few hours from now."

Voices of outrage and shock followed the announcement, irate faces gaping at the stage.

"But fear not, fellow citizens. Our security forces have performed admirably and apprehended these criminals. So this evening...."

The doctors voice rang out, overriding Stans bullhorn. "Hes lying! Hes been lying for two years, and we have found out the truth!"