Free Survivalist - 22 - Brutal Conquest by Jerry Ahern

uniformed duty was a luxury he could not afford now. The importance of on-the-ground intelligence gathering in these dark days could not be measured. And, although he was only a small part of a large operation, each fragment of information acquired had the potential to be a breakthrough.
    War was coming.
    If the when and where of it could be determined, its toll might be less telling.
    As he rounded the corner, he saw a tall, almost impossibly long-legged silhouette against the lights of the early evening traffic. It belonged to Manfred Kohl, his partner for the last two years.
    “James,” the figure said, stepping back into the shadows.
    “Manfred,” Darkwood nodded. Kohl lit a cigarette, the downturned corners of his mouth and the worried look in his eyes visible for the briefest instant in the momentary flaring of his lighter. “So?”
    “Martin’s in there. Has to be. I saw the usual motorcycle escorts, everything. Went in through the underground garage. That means our friends did not make it.”
    “You’re jumping to conclusions, Manfred.” James Darkwood lit his own cigarette. The lighter was an original Zippo, identical to the one John Rourke carried, a gift from Rourke to Darkwood. Jason Darkwood was a non-smoker, but according to stories told concerning him, he had a genuine fondness for antiques. Aside from John Rourke’s, James Darkwood had only seen two similar lighters in his entire life. This one was solid brass, marked “1932 ZIPPO 1987” at its base. It was probably worth more than the Steinmetz James Darkwood wore on his left wrist.
    Darkwood inhaled the smoke of the cigarette deep into his lungs.
    Kohl said, “Why am I jumping to conclusions, James?”
    Darkwood exhaled, saying, “Well, for one thing, we’ve never been able to tell for certain that those motorcycle escorts really are for Martin. And we don’t know what Martin looks like. Only a handful of his people do. And, even if Martin did come back, that doesn’t mean the Rourke Family failed in its mission or got caught. It only means Martin wasn’t there. Maybe. You’re a worrier, pal.”
    Kohl’s shoulder shrug was just visible in the shadows. “Perhaps.”
    Darkwood looked at the orange glowing tip of his cigarette. A lot of people smoked these days. The Germans had developed non-carcinogenic tobacco more than a century and a half ago, and in the last fifty years or so, the habit had caught on again. It was still possible to smoke to excess and cause other sorts of damage to the body, but the moderate smoker who kept to something like a pack or so a day could smoke all his life without any fear of physical repercussions. Synthetic nicotine provided taste satisfaction, but there was no chance of nicotine addiction.
    The only person alive who’d smoked the real things regularly more than six centuries ago was Major Tiemerovna. She smoked these now and approved of the taste.
    He watched the building. It was the tallest in Eden City.
    From the outside, no one would have suspected it was the actual seat of government. The capitol, two blocks away, was a quaint structure, centuries old in appearance. Few persons knew that a tunnel, traversed only by highspeed battery-powered cars, connected the two structures.
    He agreed with Manfred Kohl. The motorcycle escorts seen from time to time had to be for Martin.
    And maybe something had gone wrong for the Rourkes.

13
    Tall, lean, shaven head, the skin so tight over his skull that the veins could be seen pulsing, Croenberg stood in the doorway, right hand in the pocket of his jacket. Michael Rourke looked at him for an instant longer, then asked, “What is it?”
    “1 had hoped that I could speak with you, Martin.”
    “I am tired. As you know, I started the day rather poorly.”
    “It will only take a moment.” Croenberg smiled. Michael Rourke didn’t like the smile because it reminded him of a death mask.
    “All right.” Michael stepped aside and Croenberg walked inside. The door