Doomsday Warrior 19 - America’s Final Defense Read Free Page A

hospital. Quick!”
    Detroit had one end of the stretcher upon which Rockson lay, and McCaughlin the other. Chen ran ahead of them, frantically waving the medivac helicopter in for a landing.
    “This is Rockson,” Chen explained as he ducked under the heliblades. “Get him to Century City. I’ve given him five units of whole blood, but he’s bad. The chest wound is the worst. Get Schecter on the horn as you fly Rockson in —nobody else, understand?”
    The heli pilot nodded and shouted “Okay” as the stretcher was attached alongside the heli’s fuselage.
    “Me go in heli,” Archer shouted, pushing Chen aside.
    “No!” Chen exclaimed, pushing back the tear-faced mountain man. “The heli will fly faster with just Rock aboard. Get back, Archer, and watch the blades!”
    The heli took off at a steep angle, its jet engine flaring out a burst as it went into overdrive.
    Scheransky came running and joined the four other men watching the heli leave. Then the Russian defector sagged down on the ground. He looked at them all, and said, “How bad is he?”
    “He’s dying,” Chen lamented. “Unless our prayers are answered, Rockson will die before he gets to the emergency room at Century City Hospital.”
    Up in the air, two medics were pumping drugs and sealing wounds on Rockson. “Jeez,” the bearded one exclaimed, “get the fibrillator. He’s stopped breathing. He’s in cardiac arrest. God, Rockson, hear me! We need you! Hold on! Hold on!”

One
    O n another continent, seven thousand five hundred miles to the south, in Peru’s fabled Inca fortress called Machu Pichu, Killov, the real Killov, stood at the very top of the rebuilt Temple of the Sun. He admired again, as he did every morning, his “new” capitol. Machu Pichu had been born again as Killov City. And he was the new Montezuma—or whoever the hell the Inca god-king had been. He turned to face a stone-hewn platform. It was always a thrill to look at and touch such a wonderful object. This dark obsidian stone bed was the very altar at which the noble Incas had decapitated and disemboweled over more than a thousand willing sacrifices a day. The stone pallet was worn from the running of so much blood.
    The Incas had offered sacrifices to appease the gods, but all that sacrifice had, Killov knew, failed to stop the Spanish conquistadors from sacking the Inca Kingdom. The Incas had taken last refuge in this city, as Killov had. The great stone temples and residences on the Andean Peak were half wreathed in mists in this warm dawn-time. One could only get a glimpse of the hacked-down jungle that had grown up to cover it over. Now it was clearing, and crews of Killov’s men continued their job with earth movers and weed burners. They had cleaned up most of Machu Pichu in a mere twelve months.
    When they had first arrived, one couldn’t even see it. Then, it was just a ruin. He’d almost despaired at its condition. But Killov had selected Machu Pichu as his new capitol for a good reason: there were secrets here, the power secrets of the Incas—secrets that enabled the ancient Indians to raise hundred-ton stones and fit them perfectly into place. With such power Killov could regain his life. He could defeat the Americans. So he had cleverly set up a double of himself to delay and confuse the worldwide search for him. The false Killov who roamed the Re-United States of America was a brilliant invention. The false Killov would lead Ted Rockson on a merry chase! Smirskov, the double, was buying Killov time while Killov reconstructed his power base in this ancient power place. While Killov gathered strength.
    Now, as Killov ran his hands on the cold slab of stone, he thought, “I will not be a fool like the Incas!” They had come here and perished—isolated, despairing. They had been unable in this high-altitude, rocky terrain to eke out a living on the poor farmland.
    They had also failed in their attempts to use the local tribes as slaves—so the