The Kalispell Run

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Still no sign of any tracks?”

“Nothing man-made.”

“I don’t like this. Something isn’t right.” Napoleon placed his hands on his hips and watched Seiko search for prints.

“Are you sure we’re in the right area?” Spartacus inquired, his right hand on the hilt of his broadsword.

“This is the spot,” Napoleon confirmed, scanning the nearby woods.

“Plato told me one of the Omega Warriors on duty above the drawbridge spotted someone out here. He thought it might be another saboteur, possibly one of the Watchers spying on us. That’s why Plato sent us out here.”

“Then there must be someone around here,” Spartacus stated.

“Why can’t I find any tracks?” Seiko demanded. “I may not be as skilled a tracker as Geronimo, but I’m still one of the best in the Family.”

“And one of the most modest,” Spartacus rejoined.

“We must be a mile west of the Home by now,” Napoleon remarked.

“We’ll keep going for another mile or so, but if we don’t find any sign by then, we’re turning back.” He motioned for them to follow and led off, going deeper into the forest. In addition to his revolver, he carried a Browning BPS Pump Shotgun.

They proceeded cautiously, listening for any telltale foreign sounds.

Napoleon was considering an attractive option. If there really was a Watcher out here, they might be able to capture him. Instead of taking him to the Home, a bargain might be struck. If the Watchers knew the Family leadership would be changing hands, they might be willing to agree to a truce or some form of working partnership. This little foray might be the break he needed to open negotiations with the Watchers.

“Hold,” Seiko whispered.

“What is it?” Napoleon asked.

Seiko was intently scrutinizing the grass near his feet. “I thought I saw…” He shook his head. “No. It couldn’t be. I am mistaken.”

“Sounds to me like you could use some practice,” Spartacus joked.

They continued through a dense stand of trees and brush. Birds chirped overhead. All seemed peaceful enough.

“If you ask me,” Spartacus commented, “we’re on a wild-goose chase.”

The trees ended at a large clearing.

Napoleon held his right hand aloft, signaling a halt. “When we get back,” he vowed, “the first thing I’m going to do is find out which of the Omega morons thought he saw someone out here and suggest he get his eyes examined by the Healers.”

Spartacus, swinging his gaze to their right, suddenly tensed. “It looks like the Omega moron was right.”

The others followed the direction of his stare.

“I knew it,” Seiko said, an edge to his voice.

Napoleon gawked for a moment, then hastily recovered his composure.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was standing twenty feet away, his katana, still in its scabbard, held low in both hands, near his knees. He wore loose-fitting black clothes similar to Seiko’s.

“Hi, Rikki,” Napoleon greeted him. “Did Plato send you out here after the man the wall guard saw?”

Rikki walked toward them. “Plato sent me out here, all right.”

“I thought so.” Napoleon grinned.

“After you,” Rikki stated flatly.

Napoleon moved further into the clearing. “After us?” he pretended to be surprised. “Why? Did he think we couldn’t handle it by ourselves?”

Rikki stopped ten feet from Gamma Triad. “You know the reason I am here,” he said quietly.

“I do?”

“I will not play word games with you, Napoleon,” Rikki declared. “I will give you one chance, and one chance only, to recant and renounce your scheme to take over the Family.”

Napoleon, forsaking all subterfuge, smiled sardonically. “How damn decent of you.”

“I do it for Plato,” Rikki clarified.

“Does the old bastard think offering clemency will change anything?”

Napoleon angrily asked.

“He does,” Rikki nodded, then added, “but he doesn’t know how sick you are.”

“And if I tell yon to kiss my ass?” Napoleon snapped.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi grinned. “Then I will kiss your ass.”

“You will?”

Rikki slowly drew the katana, the blade gleaming in the afternoon sun, and dropped the scabbard. “With this.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, bright boy,” Napoleon mocked him.

“What is that?”

Napoleon beamed confidently. “There’s three of us, and only one of you.”

“Uhhhhhh…” Spartacus interjected, glancing at Napoleon.

“What is it?” Napoleon prompted him.

“I have some news I don’t think you’re going to like,” Spartacus informed them.

“Like what?” Napoleon queried, keeping his eyes on Rikki. What other weapons did Rikki usually incorporate in his personal arsenal? Would any of them stand a chance against a shotgun?

Spartacus took a deep breath, girding his nerves. “There’s only two of you,” he corrected the count, “and one of him.”

Napoleon whirled on Spartacus, his face reddening. “What?” he bellowed, enraged.

“You heard me. Count me out,” Spartacus stated firmly. “I want no part of this.” He looked at Rikki. “I won’t help them, but I won’t help you either.

I owe them that much. We’ve been together too long. You understand, don’t you?”

“Perfectly,” Rikki responded.

Napoleon’s lips curled into a snarl. “Why, you yellow bastard!” He began to level the shotgun at Spartacus.

The broadsword was a blur as Spartacus whipped it from its scabbard.

He took four quick steps and pressed the tip of the blade against Napoleon’s jugular. “Don’t even twitch,” he threatened the Gamma leader, “or I’ll take your head off!”

Napoleon’s features were distorted by his unbridled fury. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.

“Lower the shotgun to the ground,” Spartacus directed. “Slowly! One false move, if you so much as blink, I’ll ram this through your neck!”

Napoleon complied, easing to a squatting position and setting the Browning on the grass.

“Now back off,” Spartacus ordered.

Napoleon rose and backed away about three feet.

“Far enough,” Spartacus told him. “And don’t touch that revolver!” He looked at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “That’s as even as I can make it.”

“I thank you,” Rikki said. “This is… unexpected.”

“You wouldn’t be so surprised if you knew I was the one who informed Plato about Napoleon’s plans,” Spartacus revealed.

“You? Plato said one of the Family overheard a conversation concerning the rebellion,” Rikki remarked.

“He made that up,” Spartacus explained. “I told him I didn’t want anyone to know it was me, under any circumstances.” He sighed and stared at Napoleon. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“You traitor!” Napoleon roared, taking a menacing step toward Spartacus. “You lousy, stinking traitor! I thought I could trust you! After all the years we’ve spent as a team!”

“You’ve got your nerve, jackass!” Spartacus angrily retorted. “You’re the traitor here, not me! As usual, you’ve got everything butt backward.” The broadsword made small circles in the air as Spartacus glared at Napoleon.

“Did you really believe I would betray the Family, that I’d go against everything I was ever taught, against everyone who cares for me, my own family and friends, to feed your insane ambition? Did you really think I bought your stupid scheme? And Jenny! What kind of man do you think I am? I would never take a woman against her will. What good is a relationship without love? Didn’t you learn anything from your parents or in school?” Spartacus paused, sadly shaking his head. “Why bother! Everything I say goes in one ear and out the other.”

“You traitor!” Napoleon growled.

“See what I mean!” Spartacus said. “You made mistakes, Napoleon. You assumed I was as dissatisfied with the system at the Home as you are, and I’m not. I don’t have any beef with Plato. He’s a good Leader. I’m not an airhead, Napoleon, despite what you might believe.”

Rikki was viewing the proceedings with intent fascination. They seemed to have momentarily forgotten his presence. Napoleon’s face was an infuriated marble mask. Seiko, strangely enough, was calmly standing to one side, his arms folded across his chest. What was going through his mind? Rikki wondered.

Napoleon looked at Seiko. “Why are you just standing there? Don’t tell me you’re turning against me too?”

Seiko grinned. “Turning against you? Not exactly. But I will confess I wasn’t very keen on your takeover idea. I was going along with you for one reason, and one reason only. I never hid that fact from you. It really doesn’t interest me one way or the other as to who is in charge of the Family. There is only one thing I want out of this.” He deliberately stared at the katana in Rikki’s hands.

Rikki raised the sword to waist level. “Is this really that important to you?” he asked quietly.

“Let me ask you,” Seiko rejoined. “How would you have felt if you lost our match and I was awarded the katana? How would you have dealt with such a tremendous loss of face?”

To carry such a burden all this time! Rikki selected his words judiciously. “Can there be a loss of face between friends, between brothers, between fellow Warriors?”

Seiko’s brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“You know the Family has a huge firearms collection,” Rikki went on, “but our supply of certain other weapons is limited. We only own the one katana. You and I both wanted it. The Elders did what they thought wisest. If your loss bothered you, why didn’t you come to me afterward and tell me? I thought we were close when we were younger.”

Seiko gazed into the distance, frowning. “We were close,” he said in a husky voice.

“Then why allow Napoleon’s poison to taint you?” Rikki inquired.

Seiko raised his right hand and rubbed his palm against his forehead.

Rikki gestured with the katana toward Seiko. “If it means so much to you, my former and future friend, you may have this.”

Seiko’s astonishment at the offer was plainly visible. “You mean that?”

“I do,” Rikki affirmed. “If it will repair the rift between us, and bring you fully back into the fold, then I will relinquish the katana to you.”

“But I know how much the katana means to you,” Seiko objected. “It means as much to me.”

“Can a mere sword mean as much as a living, breathing brother in the Spirit?”

Seiko bowed his head. His voice was barely audible when he finally spoke. “I am shamed to my core, and I have brought dishonor to my name and my family.”

“Will you lighten up?” Spartacus interjected. “We all make dumb mistakes. Don’t make such a big deal out of it!”

Seiko looked at Rikki, his eyes mirroring his self-torment. “There is no apology adequate to equal the injustice I have done you. I will return to the Home and submit to whatever discipline the Elders decree.” So saying, he wheeled and departed, his head hanging low.

“Go with him,” Rikki said to Spartacus. “Keep an eye on him. He may try to commit seppuku.”

“Seppu… what?”

“Ritual suicide. It was practiced by ancient samurai, especially when they suffered what they considered an irretrievable loss of honor.”

“What’d they do?”

“They disemboweled themselves by slicing open their abdomen,” Rikki clarified.

Spartacus began to leave. He paused and glanced at Napoleon. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you brought it on yourself.”

Napoleon’s eyes were livid pools of hatred.

Spartacus shrugged and hurried after Seiko.

Rikki moved closer to Napoleon, holding the katana in chudan-no-kumae, the middle position, with the hilt located near his navel and the blade at a slight upward angle.

“So what’s it to be?” Napoleon arrogantly demanded. “A swift execution? Or do I have some say in the matter?”

“You are going to die,” Rikki said coldly.

“You always were a smug son of a bitch,” Napoleon said, intentionally insulting Rikki. His right hand was inches from his revolver, and he debated whether he could draw and fire before Rikki reached him with the sword. Probably not. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was lightning fast. Psychology was called for. “So what about it? Are you going to give me a fighting chance?”

“No.”

“What? Doesn’t the condemned get a last meal or a final request?”

Rikki shook his head. “This is an execution, Napoleon, not a negotiation.”

Napoleon’s left hand slowly circled his waist, reaching for a pouch attached to his belt. His right hand hovered near his revolver, distracting Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s attention.

“What if I changed my mind?” Napoleon stalled as his left hand stealthily opened the flap on the pouch. He had one chance to escape. His life depended on an untried, untested, antique capsule. “What if I repent and pledge never to instigate a rebellion again?”

“Do you expect me to believe you?” Rikki was carefully closing on Napoleon, keeping his eyes on Napoleon’s right hand, knowing the Gamma Triad leader would not submit without a fight.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Napoleon said, smiling broadly.

Why was Napoleon so… relaxed… about his fate? It wasn’t in his nature. Something was wrong here. Rikki expected Napoleon to resist, he even welcomed the conflict, not wanting to simply murder Napoleon in cold blood, so he fixed his gaze on that right hand, expecting Napoleon to make his draw any second. With his focus on the right hand and the revolver, it took him a moment to realize the left hand was appearing from behind Napoleon’s back, holding a metallic cylinder the thickness of a finger and the length of a hand. In that instant, Rikki realized he’d been guilty of a Warrior’s ultimate folly: overconfidence.

Rikki was throwing his shoulders into a swing of the katana when Napoleon’s thumb depressed a red button on the cylinder.

A stream of odoriferous greenish fluid shot from a small hole in the tapered end of the cylinder and struck Rikki in the face.

Rikki instinctively backed away, his left hand clutching at his face as the liquid burned his eyes, blurring his vision, and filled his nasal passages, constricting his throat and cutting off his air.

What was it?

A foot slammed into Rikki’s stomach, doubling him over. Another blow crashed against the side of his head, dropping him to his knees.

“You won’t be needing this, bastard!” Napoleon declared.

Rikki felt the katana being wrenched from his right hand. He gripped the hilt, striving to retain his grasp. His lungs seemed as if they were on fire, and he was gasping for breath and wheezing.

“Release it, damn you!”

A third time Napoleon struck, kicking Rikki-Tikki-Tavi in the abdomen.

It was no good! He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t hold on to the katana.

Napoleon savagely wrenched the sword free and tossed it aside.

Tears poured from Rikki’s eyes, his nose was running, and he experienced an urge to vomit.

What was it?

“Thought you were going to kill me, huh?” Napoleon clasped his hands together and brutally struck Rikki on the back of his head.

Rikki collapsed on the grass at Napoleon’s feet.

“Guess who’s going to be the one doing the killing now?” Napoleon crowed.

Rikki gagged as the foreign substance continued to sear his respiratory system.

“I’ll teach you! I’ll teach all of you!” Napoleon, in a frenzy, pounded on Rikki’s contorted body. Finally, he straightened and raised his arms over his head. “It won’t be that easy, Plato!” he shouted toward the Home.

Rikki was straining to control his bodily functions, mentally forcing the fingers of his right hand to form a fist.

“I’ll be back, you son of a bitch!” Napoleon vowed, kicking the fallen Warrior in the right side. “The Family hasn’t heard the last of me! I’ll find some allies, maybe the Watchers, and I’ll return and reduce the Home to rubble and enslave all of you. You’ll see!”

His lungs were focal points of agony.

“No, you won’t see,” Napoleon corrected himself. “Because you won’t be around when I return. You’ll have been long gone!” he gloated.

My right hand! Must discipline my right hand! Rikki’s mind strained, channeling his energy and strength into his right arm and hand.

Napoleon slowly drew his revolver, relishing the outcome of their confrontation. “I never did like you, Rikki. You were like all the rest. You failed to recognize my natural ability. I’ll prove once and for all that I’m a master of men.”

Rikki formed his right hand into a tiger claw, tensing his fingers.

Napoleon glared at Rikki’s panting form. “Don’t worry, Rikki. You won’t die from that stuff you’ve inhaled. It’s called tear gas. I found a carton of these cylinders in the armory. Didn’t know if it’d still function after all these years. Surprise! Surprise! Although you don’t look like you’re too happy about it!” Napoleon laughed, cackling at his own joke.

It was not working! His fingers were too limp!

Napoleon crouched and jammed his left hand under Rikki’s chin. “Do you need some air, poor boy? Let me help you.” He forcefully pulled on the chin, snapping Rikki’s mouth closed and rattling his teeth. Chuckling, he elevated Rikki’s face until he could see the water-filled eyes.

Was it his imagination, or were the effects of the green fluid beginning to diminish?

“Can’t see a thing, can you?” Napoleon facetiously inquired. “Pity. I wanted you to see what’s coming, but I can’t afford to dally. Plato might have sent other Warriors to cover you.”

Rikki composed his racing thoughts, directing his mind to envision Napoleon’s position.

“So I guess we should get this over with.” Napoleon cocked his revolver.

Rikki perceived Napoleon was squatting directly in front of him.

Napoleon’s left hand was opening his mouth, so Napoleon’s face couldn’t be too far above his own. But where was Napoleon’s right hand? He had to know where it was…

The barrel of the revolver was rammed into his open mouth.

“Have any last requests?” Napoleon ridiculed him.

Rikki formed his right hand into the proper shape for a snake stab.

“I only wish it were Plato or Blade or Hickok,” Napoleon said. “Still, you’ll do. You’ll serve as an example. The others will know I’m not to be trifled with!” He knew he should pull the trigger, but he hesitated, savoring the feeling of power Rikki’s helplessness aroused in him.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was ready, but he needed the revolver barrel out of his mouth first. He tried opening his eyes, but the itching sensation was too great.

“Give my regards to the other side,” Napoleon nonchalantly commented.

Rikki made his move. He deliberately gagged and choked, making motions as if he were about to puke, to regurgitate all over the revolver barrel and Napoleon.

“What the…!” Napoleon hastily extracted the barrel and drew his right hand away from Rikki’s mouth, disgusted at the prospect of any vomit touching his person.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi surged upward, his right hand a striking snake as it swept up and in, the calloused, compact fingers aimed at Napoleon’s throat.

For an instant, Rikki thought he had missed.

Then his fingers gouged into Napoleon’s neck, shattering the windpipe and driving in up to the knuckles.

The revolver discharged, blasting near Rikki’s left ear.

Now it was Napoleon’s turn to gasp and wheeze, to choke and struggle.

He dropped the revolver and grabbed Rikki’s right wrist with both hands, frantically striving to remove Rikki’s fingers from his throat.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, still blinded by the tear gas, grappled with the madman. His right hand, covered with a sticky liquid, was yanked from Napoleon’s neck.

Napoleon made a protracted gurgling sound, and Rikki felt something splatter on his face.

Had he missed a killing blow?

Rikki, uncertain of Napoleon’s position, tried to gauge the exact location of Napoleon’s face.

What was he doing?

Rikki’s body was lying on top of Napoleon’s bulky form, covering it at an angle. He received the impression Napoleon was reaching for something, was stretching to the right.

But why? Was he in his death throes? Had he finally expired?

Napoleon, puffing and gagging, reached whatever he was after. His body suddenly coiled under Rikki’s, and Rikki was staggered by a jarring blow to the left side of his head.

Napoleon had the revolver!

Wobbly, his head throbbing, the tear gas continuing to ravage his system, Rikki lunged wildly, grasping for Napoleon’s gun arm. His left hand contacted Napoleon’s right elbow, and he held on for dear life, forcing the arm to the grass, hoping he could prevent Napoleon from firing.

The revolver boomed again, and the slug tore a furrow in Rikki’s left side.

Rikki twisted, attempting to place his body on the other side of Napoleon, to present as small a target as possible.

The revolver fired a third time, missing.

Rikki abruptly found himself cheek to cheek with his adversary, and he instantly drove his right hand, with the first two fingers extended and stiff, into Napoleon’s face, aiming for an eye. Instead, his blow struck a glancing miss off Napoleon’s eyebrow.

For the fourth time, Napoleon tried to shoot Rikki.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was rocked by intense pain at the base of his neck, and he knew he’d been hit, knew he was losing consciousness, and realized he had better make his next strike count, because he wouldn’t get another chance.

Napoleon began bucking in an effort to dislodge his foe.

Rikki, adrift in a murky sea of darkness, a whirlpool of vertigo, drew his right hand back as far as he could, then plunged it forward.

The blackness engulfed him.