by E B Corbin
“Not very smart of them,” Henry said. He looked at Sam. “No wonder you decided to leave.”
“They can be a bit heavy-handed. I didn’t always agree with their tactics, but this sounds completely over the top. They could have spoken to Toby when they were alone. Sounds like he might have been assigned to some newbies. Not being in the field for long, new agents aren’t always skilled in handling situations.”
“No matter the reason, they screwed up, and Toby may have to pay the price. Someone in the bar that day must have told the conspirators. Toby said they have not been back since. The first of the bullies showed up where I work within a few days.”
“If they haven’t changed their plans, they’ve definitely changed their meeting place. We need to find out more about what they’re planning and figure out a way to stop it.” Henry rapped the table with his knuckles.
“Easier said than done.” Sam adjusted her position on the bench once more. “Toby already tried the police and the FBI—we don’t have too many options left.”
“Do you know anyone in the Portland office of your FBI?” White Cloud asked. “I do not like to work with the white man’s police, but sometimes it is all you can do. We must make sure the reservation stays safe.”
“I don’t know anyone personally, but I can make a few calls and see if anyone I used to work with does.” Sam turned to Nina. “Try not to worry too much. We’ll see what we can do. Both for you and Toby and for the others on the reservation.”
Nina gave a curt nod. “I must get back. I teach a tai chi class at ten.”
“Go. We will be in touch.” White Cloud stood and moved the bench to make it easier for Nina to exit then sat back down.
“What do you think?” Henry asked.
“I think we need to talk to Toby and decide how reliable he is.” Sam slapped the tabletop. “Shit! I forgot to ask Nina where we can find him.”
“He is at home,” White Cloud said. “Nina told me before you joined us.”
“We were just there. No one answered the door and no car was around.” Henry pushed a stray lock of his auburn hair out of his eyes. He needed to find time to get a haircut or soon he would be wearing his hair in a ponytail like their taxi driver friend.
“Nina said he sleeps late, and it is difficult to rouse him before noon.”
“Well, we’re going to disturb him,” Sam said. “We need to find out more about his story. There may be something he didn’t tell his mother so she wouldn’t worry too much.”
✽ ✽ ✽
This time, Henry pounded on the door, not letting up until a lethargic young man eased the door open. “Stop that damn hammering!”
Sam stepped closer to see the man’s features. He looked like his mother, with high cheekbones and a strong chin, but his eyes were a clear blue-gray that seemed incongruous with the rest of his appearance. His skin was a paler shade of Nina’s burnt orange hue. The overall effect made him a handsome man who seemed unaffected by his impact on strangers. He stood close to six feet tall, only a hair shorter than Henry, but his shoulders sagged in the posture of someone not quite awake.
“Toby Martin?” Sam pushed through the door.
The man ran his hand through his sandy-blond hair. “Yeah. Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Sam Turner. These are my associates, Henry Samuels and White Cloud.”
The young man’s eyes ran over the two men standing behind Sam, but he made no move to stand aside to let the two men enter. “White Cloud? Like the toilet paper?”
The Native American remained expressionless. “You may call me Jim, if you prefer. Jim Miller.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Sorry, it just struck me as funny.” Toby took one step back. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I have encountered it before.” He nodded as he followed Henry into the house.
Sam had asked the same question when she first met White Cloud and felt relieved that she wasn’t the only one to make a bad joke about his name. No wonder White Cloud called himself Jim Miller on his driver’s license and other legal papers. Worrying about what to call him left her mind as she stepped into Nina’s home and looked around.
The interior sparkled from a good scrubbing, something Nina must do often. The wood plank floors gleamed as if newly waxed. The furniture in the living room was old and sparse, but what there was of it had Native American touches. An old Indian rug with horses and other figures covered the center of the room, the colors faded slightly but still compelling. The only sign of wear were the ragged edges.
A colorful blanket covered a sofa, most of it red with stepped diamond designs between lines of black and yellow. Sam had seen similar blankets at a Navaho-craft exhibition at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. They were priceless, and Sam wondered if it was authentic, not a copy so often seen at Native American stores in the Southwest.
A small dreamcatcher hung on the wall behind the sofa. The hoop was wrapped in leather and the feathers were white and black. Sam knew that traditional dreamcatchers were just a few small inches across, and this one looked like the real deal. Nina’s ability to add such distinctive touches to her home did not surprise Sam.
If the articles were all authentic, they were probably handed down through the generations and well cared for. Sam broke away from admiring the room and sat on the edge of the couch. White Cloud remained near the door, and Henry leaned against the wall.
“What are you people doing here?” Toby crossed his arms and yawned. “If you want my mother, she’s at NAYA this morning.”
“We already spoke to your mother,” Sam said. “Now we’d like to speak to you. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Chapter Eight
Toby ran his hand down his face and shook his head as if to clear it. He glanced at his visitors. “What do you want with me?”
“Your mother told us about your suspicions,” Sam said. “Please, sit down. We’d like to hear the story from you.”
Toby remained standing. “There’s nothing to talk about. My mother gets a bit carried away with her fears at times. She’ll get over it. Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
“Then why are some skinheads, or their ilk, harassing her at work?” Henry straightened his stance.
Toby’s eyes widened as he collapsed into a nearby chair. “They’re hassling her? What the hell! She didn’t tell me.”
“She would not.” White Cloud moved into the room away from the door. “She would not want to worry you.”
“We witnessed it ourselves yesterday.” Sam gestured to include Henry. “We drove her home to change after one of the lowlifes threw hot coffee on her.”
“They’re attacking her?” Toby jumped up and balled his fists. “God dammit! Those bastards.”
“We want to help,” Sam said. “So why don’t you tell us what you know?”
Suspicion filled Toby’s face as he began to pace in the small room. “Why? Who are you and why do you care?”
Sam did not yet feel comfortable telling Toby about his mother’s good luck in getting hundreds of thousands of dollars back. If Nina wanted to share the news with him, it was her business. Sam didn’t know Toby well enough to judge his character. “I used to be with the FBI, and I think you got a rotten deal from them. We’d like to try to remedy the situation.”
White Cloud cleared his throat. “And I know several people at Warm Springs. I would not want anything to happen to them.”
“She told you everything?” Toby swung around to face them.
“As much as she knew, I believe.” Sam took out her phone and set it on the raw wood coffee table. “Do you mind if we record our questions and your answers?”
Toby stared at the phone. “I… I don’t know. How do I know I can trust you people? You pop into my house out of nowhere and tell me you want to help. It seems a bit… suspicious to me.”
Sam nodded. “I can understand you would feel that way. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to trust us.”
/> “My spirit guide has instructed me to help,” White Cloud said. “And I enlisted my friends.”
“Spirit guide!” Toby scoffed. “I don’t believe in that crap.”
“You should. It has saved my life a time or two,” Sam said.
Henry nearly choked as he tried to hide his surprise. He had felt certain Sam considered White Cloud’s spirit guide a bunch of baloney. Maybe his boss wasn’t as closed-minded as he assumed. Then again, it was possible Sam would say anything to get Toby to cooperate. It was something to file in the back of his mind for future consideration.
Toby shifted his attention from White Cloud to Sam. “Maybe so, but I still don’t believe in it.”
“Whether you believe or not, will you at least answer our questions?” Sam gave Toby what she hoped was an innocent look.
Toby sank back into the chair. “What did my mother tell you?”
“She said you uncovered a conspiracy of white supremacists who are planning to overrun Oregon and Washington and secede from the rest of the country.”
Toby nodded. “That’s about it in a nutshell. But no one believed me, so…” He lifted his shoulders and let them drop.
“We believe you,” White Cloud said.
“Why should you three believe me when no one else did? Oh, wait, I forgot: your spirit guide told you.” Toby covered a grin with his hand.
“I did not know the details of your problem until we spoke with your mother. I just knew you needed help and I could not ignore it.”
Toby let out a long breath. “Okay, so what do you want to know?”
“Tell us how you came to suspect these men were trouble—from the beginning.” Henry joined Sam on the sofa.
“The bar I work at is a bit of a dive, so it’s not unusual to see lowlifes like the two skinheads who first showed up. It was unusual to see an older white guy in a suit cut to hide his big belly come in and join them. I didn’t know if they would cause trouble or not but wanted to be ready just in case. I told the waitress that night I’d handle the back booth; she could cover the bar for me.”
“Didn’t they think it strange that the bartender came to serve them instead of the waitress?” asked Sam.
“I never saw them in the place before, so I don’t think they even noticed.” For a moment, Toby looked to the dreamcatcher hanging on the wall behind Sam’s head. “At any rate, they quit talking when I approached. After I brought them their drinks, beer for the skinheads and a Coke for the dude in the suit—he wanted some kind of special Scotch, but when I told him we didn’t have anything but Old Crow, he made a face and asked for a Coke instead.”
“A real gem,” Sam said.
“Yeah, I was surprised he didn’t take out a white handkerchief and wipe down the seat before he sat.”
“What made you think they were trouble?” Henry said.
“Nothing specific. It was just strange to see the three of them together, you know? I couldn’t figure out why they were there.” Toby ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I hung around, taking some orders for customers nearby, wiping down tables that were empty and close enough for me to hear. They didn’t talk very loud, but at one point, one of the skinheads got angry and raised his voice. I heard him say, ‘Don’t give me that political bullshit! We need the money now!’
“I just kept my head down, wiping the table while keeping my ears open to find out what they needed money for. At that point, I was just curious.” A half grin, half grimace slid across his face. “I should have just let it slide.”
“You did the right thing,” White Cloud said. “You uncovered something that could be very bad.”
Toby snorted. “Yeah, well, I think I’d be better off minding my own business from now on. When I was a kid, my mother always told me my snooping would get me in trouble.” He looked off to the side. “Instead I got her in trouble.”
“What made you think they were doing something treacherous?” Sam fidgeted on the sofa, anxious to get to the meat of the situation.
“Well, one of them called to me and demanded more beer. When I returned with it, I approached slowly from behind the two skinheads. One of them was saying something about how taking care of those damn Indians would be hilarious. They didn’t see me, but the man in the suit did and signaled to them to shut up.
“I’m part Native American but people don’t usually pick up on it when they see me. The guy in the suit knew I had heard the remark, so I decided to join the conversation to feel them out. I said something about how I’m glad we don’t get many Indians in the bar, that they stick to the drinking spots just outside the reservation. One of the skinheads agreed with me, but the man in the suit stopped him and asked me for another Coke. His glass was still half full, so I knew he was trying to get rid of me. I let them be and went back to tending bar.
“But they came in the next night and took the same corner table. That time I overheard something about a delivery of ten javelins that arrived that day. I didn’t know what javelins were exactly or what they were doing with them, but I didn’t want them to know I heard, so when I got home I googled the word. They didn’t seem like the kind of people that would be into track and field events like javelin-throwing and the only other thing that came up was a portable missile that cost a hundred and seventy-four thousand dollars. That would come to over a million dollars for ten of them.”
Henry leaned forward. “Unless they stole them.”
“That’s some serious fire power if they have them,” Sam said. “But it wouldn’t be easy to get their hands on military-grade weapons.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” said Toby. “But what the hell would they be doing with ten spears? I was pretty sure they were talking about missiles. That’s when I went to the police, but they weren’t interested. They told me to talk to the FBI. The feds didn’t seem alarmed, either. They told me I was imagining things—no missiles were reported missing. They told me to come back when I had more to go on.
“The same guys showed up the next night, and this time the man in the suit had a briefcase with him. When they left, the skinheads took the briefcase. That’s when I decided to find out exactly what was going on. If I was wrong and it was innocent exchange, I didn’t want to lose sleep over it. I found a store that sold spy stuff and bought a small wireless microphone that fed into a USB stick which could be planted more than a hundred feet away from the source. I took my laptop to work with me that night and set it up back in the office. The owner is never in at night, so I had the room to myself. Then I stuck the microphone under the table. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but it did.”
“That’s a lot of trouble to go through out of curiosity,” Sam said.
Toby leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, I know, but I was sure I was onto a big conspiracy and it had something to do with the Indians on the rez. My mom was good friends with a lot of them and took her heritage seriously. I was afraid something bad would happen, and I just… I don’t know… I guess I just felt I should do something. Seems crazy now.”
“It was meant for you to discover,” White Cloud said.
Toby glanced at him then turned back to Sam and Henry. “Yeah, well, I wish I would have minded my own business. I never wanted to drag my mother into it, but if those guys are bothering her, I have to do something.”
“Tell us what you heard on the recording.” Sam slid to the edge of her seat. “It must have been something incriminating. Your mother said the FBI went to your bar and talked to people.”
“Yeah, that was a fucking nightmare.” He stopped abruptly and looked at Sam. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Sam waved it away. “I’ve heard the word before. Go on.”
“They talked about recruiting people to help them achieve their goal, but they were never specific about what that was. The skinheads said they had over two thousand new recruits and more coming into the state every day. They talked about how they would be ready in a couple of weeks. That’s when the man in the suit said his
people were prepared to take over the state government when the time came. He sounded so pleased with himself as he boasted about how Oregon would become the perfect new Shangri-La for people like them.” Toby looked at the floor and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“Then they started discussing how the stockpile of weapons was in place just outside the reservation. When the time came, they were going to fire a few of the missiles at nearby towns and make it look like the Indians did it. Then they’d use the rest to hit the rez as if the townspeople fought back. They figured the government would crack down on the ‘Injuns,’ as they called them, and while everyone was focused on the ‘timber niggers’,” Toby bit his lower lip and glanced at White Cloud. “Sorry but it’s the term they used—they would infiltrate Portland and stir up trouble in the city. The state would be overwhelmed and ready for law and order by the next election. Their candidates would campaign on keeping Oregon safe.”
“It sounds as if they were trying to influence the outcome of the election, like the Russians did in 2016,” Henry said. “But what if it didn’t work? It’s hard to guarantee the outcome.”
“Unless they rig the vote,” Sam said.
“No, no, I don’t think that was part of their plan. At least I don’t think so. They never mentioned anything like that.” Toby pushed back the hair that had fallen across his forehead. “That’s why they were actively recruiting white supremacist groups and other radicals. If the election didn’t go as planned, they were going to take over by force.”
“That’s all kind of hard to believe.” Sam glanced at Henry then White Cloud to see their reactions. Both were stone-faced, keeping their thoughts to themselves.
Toby leaned forward. “I didn’t just make it up! It was right there on the recording! There weren’t any specifics and it was all a bit jumbled, but it was there!”
“But the FBI found no one willing to corroborate?” Sam asked.
“Those assholes! They came barging into the place and scared the shit out of everybody. Of course, no one knew what those three were planning. It wasn’t as if they included everyone in the bar in their conversation.” Toby wrung his hands. “It was laid out in their own words.”