Free The Distance Beacons by Richard Bowker Page B

started bad-mouthing the government, but no one with any brains would have, I supposed. And if Marva was any indication, he had followers who would be more than willing to do his bidding.
    Unfortunately, none of this added up to very much. Maybe he was a fiendish plotter against the government, or maybe he was just another one of the many sincere people around nowadays who carry their ideas a little too far. I had no real basis for deciding which was the truth.
    And I also couldn't decide how I felt about his ideas. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools/The way to dusty death , I thought. But would Flynn Dobler's tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow be any better? I had no idea.
    Mickey turned on the headlights. "Didn't get very far on your case, huh?" he remarked.
    "Afraid not. But I've got time."
    "I know you can do it, Wally. And look on the bright side. You've got Bobby all worried. You told him we'd be back by dark."
    I smiled. "There's that," I said. But if driving in general made me nervous, driving after the dark outside the city terrified me. And it didn't make me any calmer when Mickey pulled the van over to the side of the road and stopped. "What's the problem?" I asked.
    "Oh, I dunno. Radiator hose, maybe."
    "Can you fix it?"
    "Have to take a look."
    Mickey didn't sound worried, but his response wasn't particularly encouraging, either. He got out of the van and went around to the back, where he rummaged for tools and parts. I Picked up the shotgun and stared out into the darkness. Shortly before I went to England, Mickey and Bobby and I had been ambushed by a couple of O'Malley's men on another highway.
    It had not been a pleasant experience. I doubted that anything so well planned would happen out here, but there were enough crazies lurking in the woods and the abandoned suburbs to make me long to be anywhere else—even Charlestown.
    Mickey came around to the front of the van and started tinkering under the hood. His flashlight cast a feeble gleam in the darkness. "How's it going?" I called out to him.
    "Okay, I guess," he said.
    This did not greatly encourage me. Wild dogs started howling somewhere nearby. And then a car approached, chugging mufflerless along the road. It slowed as it pulled alongside us, and I tensed. Then it speeded up and roared past, leaving us to our fate. That was okay with me. I had a feeling I would have done the same thing, if I had been in the car. Good Samaritans can too easily end up dead Samaritans.
    "Going any better?" I asked Mickey.
    "Maybe."
    He tinkered for a few more minutes, then closed the hood and got back into the van. "Fixed?" I asked, daring to hope.
    "Well, let's give it a try." Mickey started the van, and we headed slowly forward. After a couple of minutes he said, "I guess we'll make it," and I allowed myself to exhale. We crept back to the city without incident.
    Mickey dropped me off in Louisburg Square. "Thanks, Mickey," I said. "I owe you one."
    "Happy to help. Those people gave me the creeps, though."
    "Try not to think about them. And tell Bobby I'll pay him for the use of the van."
    Mickey merely grinned. I got out, and Mickey drove off to South Boston.
    It felt good to be back in the city, on my home turf. The square was deserted and dark, except for the flickering yellow beams of lamps in a few windows; but the square was not the wilds of Concord, and my town house and my little family were just a few steps away. I turned to take those steps, and perhaps I relaxed a little too soon—you should never relax in this world—or perhaps it was a little too dark.
    Whatever the reason, I didn't see the two men until it was too late.
    They came out of the shadows by the front steps. They wore masks. They were silent and very efficient. One of them grabbed me from behind, clamped a gloved hand over my mouth, and twisted my right arm behind my back. The other set to work on me. I tried fending off his blows with my free arm and even kicking out at him, but the first