The young lieutenant flushed.
Striganov hid his smile. No need to personally berate the young man; the major had done it for him, quite well.
"He's playing a waiting game, sir," the grizzled, battle-hardened major continued. "Cat and mouse, so to speak."
"But who is the cat and who is the mouse?"
Striganov tossed the question out.
A question no one chose to answer.
"On another matter, sir," a captain said. "There is something odd going on in Oregon."
"Odd? With Hartline, you mean?"
"Yes, sir. Our people up there report that Hartline left his base camp for several days.
When he returned, he was, well, different."
"Different? My God, give me something more to go on than different."
"Well, sir, he's spending a lot of time with his communications people, for one thing."
Striganov was immediately suspicious. Sam had not been in radio contact with him, he knew that. "Any idea who he might be contacting?"
"He's using ham radio equipment with special scramblers. Our people are busy trying to break it down now. But they have pinpointed the location of the returning transmissions. South Carolina."
Striganov turned in his chair, gazing at nothing. He had known it was bound to happen, someday.
And that day had dawned.
Sam Hartline was selling out.
"Something wrong, General?" the major asked.
"Yes," Striganov replied, his back still to his men. "Sam Hartline is turning on us. It does not surprise me. Disappoints me, yes, but comes as no surprise."
"Do you wish to send in a K team, General?" the major asked.
"Not yet. Let's let Sam dig his own grave."
"A lot of radio between Oregon and South Carolina, General," Ben was informed.
"Can you make it out?"
"Bits and pieces. We know for certain Hartline is talking with the commander of the Islamic Peoples Army. Not talking to him directly, but the messages are directed to this Colonel Khamsin."
"So the Hot Wind is beginning to blow," Bensaid. "Any further word from our recon teams?"
"Yes, sir. They're in place along the border of South Carolina. Teams from Base Camp One are working with resistance fighters.
Recon reports everything is shaping up, but they're not very large in numbers. Not nearly strong enough to try anything head to head with the IPA."
"How about those outlaws and warlords that pulled out of here?"
"They're linked up with those outlaws Hartline put between us and the Mississippi. They're pretty careless about radio security. We can, so far, track every move they make. And ... something else, sir. I think, our intelligence people think, Sam Hartline is going to turn on the Russian."
Ben nodded his head. "It would be like Sam to do something like that. Sam wants on the winning side.
Always. What else?"
"Your name keeps cropping up in these radio transmissions, sir. And, sir ... General Jefferys has ordered more security around you, at all times."
"Goddammit!" Ben exploded. "I've got a squad around me now. I can't move without bumping into someone."
The Rebel said nothing.
Ben cooled down a bit. "I'm not yelling at you, son. Just letting off a little steam in general."
"Yes, sir."
"James Riverson will be in charge of your security, sir," Ben was informed.
"James is getting entirely too goddamned old for this business," Ben bitched.
The young Rebel wondered how old Ben Raines was. Somewhere around fifty, he thought. He hoped when he was that old he would be as active as Ben.
"Sir? Ike radioed in. His people are getting restless."
"I'm sure," Ben said. "And he's getting too goddamn old for this mess, too."
Again, the Rebel said nothing. Ike McGowan was like a bull, commanding just about as much respect as Ben Raines.
Suddenly, Ben smiled. The young Rebel watched him closely.
"Let's go stick some needles into the IPF,"
Ben said. He slung on his battle harness and picked up his old Thompson. "Like right now, boy."
"All right," Ben told his hurriedly gathered commanders. "Striganov wants us to bring the fight to him. Fine. We'll do just that. A little at a time.
He wants the whole sandwich-we'll give him crumbs."
Ike, Cecil, and Dan began smiling. They had known all along that Ben would not stand and slug it out with the Russian. The Russian had the superior numbers. Ben was going back to his original plan: a dirty little guerrilla war.
"Ike," Ben said, "send your teams in from the south. Dan, your people will come in from the north. I'll come in from the east. Cec, once again I'm asking you to stay in reserve."
Cecil nodded his understanding if not his liking.
Ben glanced at his watch. Noon. "We'll jump off in twenty-four hours. They'll be expecting us to strike either at night or at dawn.
I'm betting they won't be expecting us at high noon, broad daylight. Carry short rations.
We'll live off captured IPF supplies and the land. What you won't be carrying in rations, make it up with explosives and ammo. Until we establish some sort of front, we won't have any heavy support. So our first objective will be to clear the roads and get some heavy support in behind us. It's important we all strike at precisely the same time. Within seconds of each other. Good luck; God be with you all. Take off."
All had noticed that Sylvia was conspicuously absent at the briefing. And all wondered why.
But no one was going to ask.
When the room had emptied, James River son came to Ben's side. The huge Rebel towered over Ben. The two men had been friends for years, since back in '88, and there was no military formality between them.
"Risky, Ben," James said. "Leaving her behind with all the hard evidence we have against her."
"I think I'm probably doing the same thing Striganov is doing, James."
"Oh?"
Ben walked to a window and gazed outside.
Summer was in full bloom in the wilderness. It was a gloriously beautiful day.
James waited, not verbally pushing Ben. He would get to it when he was ready.
Ben gazed at the beauty of nature now uncontrolled by man's interference. He turned to look at James. "We're absolutely certain now that she has met with people from Colonel Khamsin's IPA?"
"Yes, sir. She was followed on two occasions."
"But we still don't know why she was meeting with them, do we?"
"No, Ben, we don't."
"All of a sudden she cooled toward me.
And I don't know why. Why in God's name would she be meeting with representatives of something as odious as the IPA?"
"There again, Ben, I don't know. But I damn sure don't trust her."
"I share your feelings, James."
"What are you and the Russian doing, Ben?"
Ben's face hardened. "Letting a traitor dig their own grave."Chapter
Twenty-five.
None of the commanders told their people, not yet, but they knew that once Ben started this push there would be no turning back for any of them.
Two things awaited them: victory or the grave.
Cecil returned to his battalion in the eastern part of the state. Ike returned to his people waiting just south of Clear Lake and began moving them out in small teams, toward the IPF'S main battle lines. Dan headed back north and began breaking up his people into teams, sending them out toward the northernmost IPF lines. As Ike was doing, Dan's people would be moving into position on both sides of the IPF lines-whenever that was possible. That part of the operation was iffy, for if only one behind-the-lines team was discovered, the entire mission might well be jeopardized.
Ben had already begun sending teams west of Interstate 5, moving them toward the heavy timber and dense wilderness areas.
Ben found Lora and knelt down in front of her, taking her hands. "I'll be back. You look after things around this place, okay?"
"Okay, Ben."
"Keep your eyes on Sylvia, Lora. And don't trust her too far."
"She's a traitor, Ben," the girl said.
"I know."
"I thought she liked you, Ben. I mean ...
liked you a lot."
"So did I, Lora. When did you first suspect her?"
"When she started taking long walks in the woods, by herself. The underground people followed her; some of their kids told me about it."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you already knew."
Ben smiled. "What did she do in the timber, girl?"
"Met with dark people."
"Dark ... like Cecil?"
"No. Not that dark. But darker than a good sun tan."
Members of the Islamic Peoples Army. But why? Why would she do it?
Ben had to find out the why.
"I wonder what they talked about?" Ben said, directing the question as much to himself as to the child.
"I don't know. They never could get that close.
But ..." She hesitated, then made up her mind.