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A latecomer pushed his way through the crowded kitchen. He argued with Albert about whether breakfast was still being served, and then made straight for Vickers. There were people sitting on either side of him but it didn't seem to deter this young man. He tapped Bronce, who was on Vickers' right, on his shoulder.
"You want to move down one?"
"I'm through, I was just leaving anyway."
"Great."
He turned his attention to Vickers. He had something of a unique ability to shovel food into his mouth as fast as he could while talking at the same time.
"You're Vickers, right?"
"Right."
"You worked for Contec, right? Killed all those people in front of the Plaza and got fired, right?"
"In actual fact, someone was firing a 50 cal. frag gun at me. They did most of the killing, but otherwise you're just about right."
The young man looked like a pirate in his torn sweatsuit and red patterned do-rag. He had a large gold hoop in his left ear and one of his front teeth was missing. He put down his fork and extended a hand.
"I'm Eddie Fenton. We're sharing a room. I thought we ought to get acquainted."
"I'm pleased to meet you. It was you we woke up this morning?"
"Don't worry about it. Stretcher's always pulling shit like that. It's the army in him. I ran into assholes like him in the Yemen."
"You were in the Yemen?"
"Sure was. All the fucking way."
"I was out there too."
"I know. I heard stories about you. I wasn't exactly in your league."
"What league?"
"You know what league. You were one cold motherfucker. I was only a grunt. My only claim to fame was when I shot two lieutenants and a captain in the middle of that mess at Shabwa."
Fenton was coming on strong, trying to build himself up to Vickers. Vickers smiled while he was wondering what he wanted.
"What had they done?"
"They wanted us to go up that hill in the middle of the town while a bunch of fuzzies were at the top with K10s and a T-launcher. We figured it was suicide and drew lots. I won. They were never able to pin it on me but it was a rodeo while they tried."
"So how did you get here?"
"Mossman got me out of Joliette."
Now Vickers was surprised. "Out of jail?"
"I didn't complain."
"What were you doing time for?"
Fenton put down his fork. "You really don't know who I am, do you? I thought you were just being cool."
"I don't have a clue."
"You must have been out of the country. Shit, we were famous."
"I'm sorry."
"You really never heard about the First National Security hijack?"
"You're that Eddie Fenton? The Mad Dog? The one who blew away…" Vickers hesitated. Fenton gri
"Twelve counts of murder in the first degree. I'm what they call a sociopath. Paradoxically, though, I also have an exceptional talent for team cooperation. I guess that's why Mossman had me pulled out. I was grateful."
"Do you have any idea what he wanted you for?"
Fenton had finished his food. He glanced around.
"Listen, why don't we go back to the room. We can talk there while we get things squared away. I've made a bit of a mess while I've been bunking on my own. I do it to hang up Streicher but you may not want to live in a pigsty."
"Don't call them the Chorus Line. Only Streicher calls them that. Nobody else likes it, particularly the girls themselves, and don't jump to the conclusion that they're just four long-legged bimbos put here for our entertainment. Debbie can shoot as well as I can and Linda could probably break you in half. The other two aren't far behind, either."
Vickers raised an eyebrow. "It gets stranger by the minute."
"Don't it just? You've only started. Wait until you've thought about it a bit."
Mad Dog Eddie Fenton sat down on his bed and opened a beer. He had clearly thought about it a good deal and was going to give Vickers at least some of the benefit. Vickers also sat down. Squaring away their belongings in the small guest cottage didn't take very long. Neither of them had very much. It was mainly a matter of throwing out the garbage that Eddie had accumulated while he'd had the place on his own. Inside of ten minutes he'd pulled out a six pack and the domestic effort was at an end.
"For a start, what would you say if I told you that this place was a high-tech fortress?"
"I wouldn't be that surprised. I suppose you could look on us as valuable property."
"Pretty damn valuable according to the stuff they've got strung out around this Hollywood nightmare. You want to see the red room."
"Red room?"
"Electronic defense control center. Red scopes, sound scoops, ground radar, heat sensors, tremblers, every bit of it is state of the art. They got some nasty stuff out on the perimeter too, remote Claymores, lasers, Bouncing Bettys, crossfire traps. This is no place to go taking an unscheduled stroll."
"Will I see this red room?"
Fenton nodded. "I'd imagine so. We all pull guard duty and all that means is that you sit in the red room and stare into the screens."
"They trust us with all that stuff!"
"We stand guard in threes. One of them and two of us."
"Who's them?"
Fenton treated Vickers to a look of scornful disbelief.
"You should have figured it for yourself by now or else you ain't as smart as I thought you were. You must have seen that Stretcher's got four of his boys and the rest of us are recruits. Guess they think it's safe to put two of us to their one because, as of now, we don't have too much to be in cahoots about."
"It's a pretty weird bunch of recruits."
"You noticed that?"
"I've been wondering what you could expect from a bunch like that. We're a very odd combination for any kind of mission."
"And?"
Vickers smiled. He knew that he was expected to give out with something. Fenton seemed to be making a kind of overture. Vickers wasn't sure what he wanted. Was it just an offer of mutual back-watching or was something deeper going on? It would have been handy to note the sex of Fenton's earlier bed companion. He was fresh out of jail. Vickers decided to play along.
"I can't see how we could have been assembled for any specific missions. We don't fit any project that I could imagine. We're not a conceivable team. With the exception of you, everyone's either a loner or a couple. We're all general issue, all-purpose killers. There are no specialists. Only you, and possibly the four girls, have a record of being team players. There's just one function that fits us all like a glove."
It was Fenton's turn to smile. "Yeah?"
"We're intimidating. If you wanted to put the fear of God into someone you'd only have to walk in with the whole bunch of us. There's an old western movie called The Magnificent Seven."
"The Magnificent Seven! You got to be putting me on. I thought you were supposed to be one of the best."
"You know the movie?"
"Of course I know the movie. I was brought up on it, wasn't I."
"So think it through."
"Okay, listen up. You all look like shit. You've all got these big, inflated reputations but the truth is you're soft and lazy. You've been sitting here with your thumbs up your asses for too long. A lot of money's been spent on you and it's now time to start justifying it. It's time to go back to work."
It was eight thirty in the bright desert morning of Vickers' fourth day at El Rancho Mars. It seemed that, with the arrival of Vickers, Streicher had his full complement of recruits and he was now ready to start whipping them into some sort of shape. They had already been at it for two hours. They'd run five laps on a track that completely circled the house and had followed that with a strenuous bout of calisthenics. Some took the punishing exercise in their stride while others were a little green and sweaty behind it. Vickers stood halfway between the two extremes. The sudden exertion hadn't hurt him but he knew, as he fought for breath after fifty sit-ups, that he could have survived without it. After this first taste of what Streicher considered work, they were given fifteen minues for breakfast, fifteen minutes for a shower and then were expected to reassemble by the heart-shaped pool wearing combat clothes and with their weapons.