Total War

Chapter Eight

"I've read all the books and articles you put out, John. Fascinating stuff. The thing on hyperthermia should save a few lives, I'd say."

"That's the idea, Major," Rourke said, slumping back into the overstuffed chair. "It was nice of you to invite me to your home, by the way."

"Stranger in a strange country, and all that. Anyway, I had an ulterior motive," the Royal Canadian Mounted Police inspector said, smiling and handing Rourke a drink.

Rourke took the whiskey and sipped at it, then said, "And what was your ulterior motive?"

"As you probably know, John-It's not much of a secret-our services here are looking into quite a number of modern small arms for the military. Made me give some thought to weaponry for our specialized teams in RCMP. I know survival isn't your only thing. You know weapons too. Thought I might pry a few opinions from you while I ply you with some whiskey and my wife's home cooking."

"Ply away," Rourke said, smiling.

"Your mind is somewhere else, isn't it? That snowstorm sort of put the squeeze on your plans to fly out tonight. But the meteorology people are saying everything will be clear by midday tomorrow. Tonight, just take it easy."

"I'm worried about my family-all this war talk."

"Just talk, I think. I hope," the Canadian said brightly.

"Change of subject," Rourke said, raising his voice slapping both knees. "Now, what do you want to know?"

"Well," the inspector said, touching his left hand to his small moustache, "when you're not teaching survivalism, but instead working with counterterrorist weapons, what do you use?"

"You mean, which guns do I like best for myself-or which would I recommend for you?"

"I've read your recommendations on various things more often than I can remember, John. But what about you? What do you use?"

"All right," Rourke said, standing and walking toward the small library bar. Leaning against it, he said, "Short and sweet, then-I can smell dinner. I've got a lot of guns and knives and other stuff-but the things I really bank on are just a few. I always carry these." He spread his coat open, revealing the twin stainless steel Detonics .45s in their Alessi shoulder holsters. "Best automatic I know, bar none-when you consider effectiveness of the round they throw, reliability, and concealment characteristics. The stainless steel they use is the best quality. I almost never get the time to clean these things, and there isn't a spot of rust or corrosion. They work every time, and you can interchange the standard government model magazines, the whole bit."

"What else?" the major said.

"What else?" Rourke repeated. "When I'm in the field, I've got this Metalifed six-inch Python, had the barrel Mag-Na-Ported, got a set of .22 Long Rifle conversion chambers, and a barrel liner for it from Harry Owens-good for everything that way from a small bear in a pinch to a squirrel for the pot. Sometimes I use a Metalifed Colt Lawman snubby, too-when I want a third gun that I can conceal." Rourke paused and lit his cigar, and as he started to speak, he heard the inspector's wife coming.

"I think you gentlemen might want to listen to the radio," she said, her voice subdued.

Without saying anything else, the attractive, middle-aged woman walked over to a corner of the built-in bookcases beyond the bar and clicked on the radio in the stereo. "...told that informed sources indicate the U.S. president and the Soviet premier have just completed a lengthy conversation, and that nothing has been resolved. An anonymous high-ranking military source at the Pentagon in Washington indicates U.S. Long Range Strike Force elements-a mobile military unit comprised of persons from all U.S. services analogous to our Special Commandos-are at this moment being air-lifted toward Pakistan. Official Washington has been unavailable to confirm or deny this report. We now rejoin our regularly scheduled programming. More bulletins will be forthcoming as information becomes available." The inspector's wife clicked off the set.

"That's Roger Carrigborne," the major said, mechanically, tossing down his drink. "Fine chap-one of the best of the reporters-"

"I gotta get out of here," Rourke said, hammering down his half-emptied drink on the bar and spilling whiskey.