With several thousand members of the Devil’s Princes at large on the Chicago streets and likely to remain so even though their leaders were all in custody and their economic base was destroyed, Darwin Hughes had thought it the better part of valor to avoid spending another night in the Windy City. And he regretted that. The Art Institute of Chicago was one of the finest museums of its type in the free world, the Lake Front, even in winter, a thing of beauty. The restaurants, the theaters. But, foregoing all of that, he had booked out to Athens, Georgia, via Charlotte, North Carolina. And Lewis Babcock had elected to spend a few days with him before settling out his personal affairs long enough to get up to New York and help convince Cross to join the team again once the Empress Britannia had arrived in New York.
Hughes had found himself grateful for the company, his mountain retreat a lonely place at times. He found it good to run against someone again, especially a superb athlete such as Babcock, good to shoot against someone, especially a marksman such as Babcock. And Darwin Hughes realized there was a great deal he had missed—the action.
Hughes was sitting on his porch, the weather in the mountains with rare exception perpetually comfortable. Babcock had just come back from a session on the range with the sniper rifle, the black synthetic stocked Steyr-Mannlicher SSG .308 held in the crook of his arm like a field shotgunner might carry his smoothbore. Babcock stood at the base of the twenty-three steps. “You know, Mr. Hughes, by the end of the day, these steps get a bit ridiculous.”
“I’ll have the porch lowered, Lewis. Remind me in case I forget, will you? Or would you prefer the ground raised, instead?”
Babcock shook his head and started up the steps. The telephone rang, Hughes catching up his glass of tea, the ice clinking as he moved quickly, attempting to outrace the answering machine. He caught the phone just before the machine would have clicked on. “Hello.”
“Hughes. This is Argus. Have you been watching television?”
“Quit the military, have you, and gone to work as a Nielsen polster?”
“Very funny. I assume you haven’t. Turn it on. I’ll wait.”
“I have a satellite dish. Any particular station?”
“Any of the networks.”
Hughes set down the phone, saw Babcock entering the great room and told him, “General Argus is on the telephone. Evidently something’s happening.”
“I thought we weren’t committed until we talked with Abe Cross?”
“We’re not,” Hughes answered. He turned the power on and tuned to the nearest network channel. He recognized the face of the newscaster.
“… or approximately four A.M. Greenwich Mean Time, only a little more than an hour ago. The Empress Britannia, flagship of her line, has been described by many as the most luxurious of the great ocean-going vessels. Although there has been no formal list of demands from the terrorists who identify themselves as, I quote, ‘champions of Northern Ireland liberty,’ informed sources in London, speaking on condition of anonymity, say they believe the hijackers are members of an outlawed wing of the IRA with a record of violence to their credit. This may include the recent bombing in Belfast of a police barracks which has claimed one hundred and twenty-three lives.
“For those of you who may have joined us late, the Empress Britannia, one of the finest of the—” Hughes cut off the television.
“Cross is on board,” Babcock said quietly.
“Indeed.” Hughes nodded, going back to the telephone. He picked up the receiver and said to Argus, “I assume that’s not all, what they’re saying on the television. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called. It sounds more like something the British would be involved with.”
“No. It isn’t all there is. I’m sending a chopper for you and Mr. Babcock. I can fill you both in then. Any problems with that?”
“None. Are we moving out directly or coming back?”
“Directly would be best, for a number of reasons.”
“How soon before the chopper gets here?”
“About—hang on—about another thirty minutes.”
“If you’re in touch with the pilot, tell him to watch out for the air currents up here. They’re a bit tricky at times. Should we bring things we might need?”
“It won’t be necessary. We have all that’s needed.”
“Splendid. Thirty minutes.” Hughes hung up and looked at Babcock. ”I doubt they’re thinking of dispatching us just to rescue Abe Cross.”
“We haven’t trained.”
“Well, let’s hope our Irish friends haven’t either then, shall we?” Hughes looked at his watch. There was a great deal to do and very little time to do it. “Open the safe and get rid of the rifle and scour up the other guns.”