I Will Fight No More Forever

by E B Corbin

  Henry paid no attention to her protest—no way was he letting Sam enter the hotel alone even after she took all her weapons from the glove compartment. Sam had to admit she would feel more secure with Henry by her side, so the two of them clamored out of the back seat while White Cloud drove away to find a parking spot behind the hotel. He would enter through the service entrance in the kitchen.

  Henry debated leaving Sam in the hall while he cleared the suite against keeping her by his side. He compromised by having her stand in the living area while he checked out the rest of the rooms. Henry pulled his gun when the door shut behind them.

  Sam sighed, relieved to be back in familiar territory. Standing there, feeling fragile and useless, she remembered that Kat had more than likely bugged the place when she bluffed her way into the suite the other day. How else would she know they were on the reservation?

  When Henry returned, his gun in his holster, she put a finger to her lips and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. “We need to ask for another suite.”

  He had come to the same conclusion and whispered back, “Let’s wait for White Cloud.”

  A few minutes later, the Native American tapped on their door. Henry stepped into the hall and told their friend they were changing rooms.

  “That is wise. It might be best to change hotels also.”

  Henry thought it a good idea but didn’t think Sam was up to dealing with more right now. Maybe tomorrow. He went down to the front desk while White Cloud stayed in the suite with Sam. They communicated through notes on hotel stationary when necessary while Sam tried to quietly pack her things. As usual, Henry’s stuff was still neatly packed in his duffel so he would just have to grab it when he returned.

  Since they were still the only ones on the tenth floor, the move went smoothly and in thirty minutes they were settled in the suite across the hall, a mirror image of the rooms they’d just left

  Sam sank onto the sofa and, hoping to put her jitters behind her, asked about the missiles.

  He told her he had not managed to disable them because he was never left alone with them, but that he had some good info to hand over to the FBI. They needed to act quickly—he had a feeling whatever was planned was going down soon. White Cloud told her he had alerted Uncle and the rez police, and they would intensify their vigilance.

  Sam had a hard time concentrating, her mind wandering back to her captivity. She shook her head to free herself from those thoughts. “We have to turn it over to Singer tomorrow morning.”

  “I’d like to email it to him tonight.” Henry ran a hand through his tangled hair.

  “We can do that. Although, I don’t know how often he checks his email. I don’t have a personal address, just the FBI one.” Sam realized she still wasn’t one hundred percent. She hoped a good night’s sleep would dissipate the remainder of whatever drug was left in her system. She’d do some research on it and see if she could come up with what it was that Kat used on her. The thought of that woman sent a shiver right through her.

  “I’ll send it tonight anyway and hope for the best.” Henry picked up on Sam’s unease and took it upon himself to quickly end the planning session.

  White Cloud would bring Nina up to speed. Sam and Henry would try to set up a meeting with Pete Singer away from the federal building. If anyone did manage to follow them, they would merely be meeting a friend.

  Henry hoped talking about tomorrow would relieve some of Sam’s anxiety for what she went through today. She never mentioned exactly what occurred in the hours that she was missing and brushed it off whenever he asked. He thought it not a good sign.

  Now Sam’s eyes were drooping, and she could barely hold her head up.

  Henry decided it was not a good time to bring up the subject again. He forced a yawn. “I think that’s all we need to cover tonight. Do you all agree?”

  White Cloud stood up. “I will go to Nina’s tomorrow morning unless you think you need me here.”

  “We should be fine. We’ll sneak out the back as usual.” Sam was so worn out, her words jumbled as she spoke.

  Once White Cloud was gone, Henry took her hand, pulled her up from the sofa, and led her into her room. “Will you be all right from here? Or do you want me to tuck you in?”

  Sam managed a small grin. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  But she wasn’t fine. The first time she woke up screaming, Henry nearly had a heart attack as he rushed into her room, gun in hand, only to find her half awake, sitting up in bed, her eyes glazed as she wailed at the wall. He got her to lie back down, and she immediately closed her eyes and fell back asleep.

  The second time Henry heard her shout, he didn’t bother to grab his gun. Her eyes were closed as she tossed back and forth on the bed, shouting, “No, no, no.” He shook her shoulders to wake her. She blinked, then her expression morphed into one of mortification.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep having these dreams…”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen to you tonight.” Henry sat on the opposite bed and watched her until her eyes closed and her breathing evened out.

  The third time Sam cried out, Henry was there saying he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  She seemed to accept him at his word and snuggled into his chest. “Stay with me.”

  Henry knew she wasn’t herself and she’d probably regret her words in the morning, but he couldn’t let her spend the night in terror. He’d leave before she woke, to avoid an awkward morning.

  Sam slept the rest of the night without any outbursts, and Henry managed to untangle his arms without waking her as he slipped out of bed and back to his room somewhere around six a.m.

  After her restless night, Sam felt marginally better. Her muscle control had returned, but she was still jittery. She had a dim recollection of Henry beside her in her bed, but she didn’t know if it was real or a dream. She dared not ask him—she somehow knew the answer would prove embarrassing. She jumped in the shower and dressed for the day as if nothing had happened yesterday to turn her world upside down.

  Henry sat in the living room with breakfast waiting. He made no mention of the night before, and Sam wondered if it was all a dream. Should she ask him about last night? If her recollection of the nightmares was real, should she apologize? She decided to let it go. Nothing to be gained from humiliating herself again if her vague memories were true.

  She took a bite of toast and checked her phone for messages. Pete Singer had texted that he would meet them at a coffee shop near their hotel at eight o’clock. Sam hit the thumbs up icon and told Henry.

  He nodded with his mouth full of hash browns. When he swallowed, he said, “We’d better get going or we’ll be late.”

  They used the same method as yesterday to leave the hotel: down the steps, through the kitchen, into the alley. This time, Sam felt her knees grow weak as they stepped out into the morning drizzle. She scrutinized the alley to make certain it was empty.

  Henry noticed her hesitation but said nothing. He would let her heal in her own time. Now they had to convince the FBI that the threat was real.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  She felt her attention drifting away as they sat in a coffee shop several miles from the FBI office. Pete Singer, dressed in jeans and a beat-up Harvard sweatshirt, told them they had received an alert about the missing missiles and were ready to act in conjunction with the Department of Homeland Security and the ATF. They would raid the compound as soon as Monday if all the agencies got their shit together.

  Singer twirled his coffee cup in the saucer. “You know how it is with bureaucracies. It’s a miracle they pulled this together as quickly as they did. I’ll get the information on the thumb drive to them this morning, but I doubt they can get everything together any sooner.”

  “There’s a powwow at the reservation on Sunday. Hundreds of visiting Native Americans will be there. Families, elders, young men and women showing off their t
raditional attire, even horses will be dressed up.” Henry leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “We’re fairly certain the attack will happen then.”

  “I get your concern. But I know the raid cannot happen tomorrow. There’s too much to coordinate.”

  Henry slumped against the back of his chair. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, you mean.”

  “Exactly.” Pete Singer took a sip of coffee. “But to be honest, I don’t know that I could pull my people together for a raid of this size any quicker. It’s a lot to organize at the last minute.”

  Henry let out an exasperated sigh. “I understand. We’ll handle it ourselves.”

  “Now wait a minute. Don’t be going off half-cocked!” Singer’s raised voice caused heads to turn in their direction.

  “Somebody’s got to do something to prevent a major disaster.” Henry remained calm and wished Sam would jump in with her thoughts.

  She sat, sipping a cappuccino, playing with her fingers.

  Henry gave up on any help from her. “I’ll see that you’re not implicated in whatever action we decide to take.” He glanced out the window before returning his gaze to Singer. “What are you going to do about Buckley?”

  The FBI agent shrugged. “The stuff you recorded is good, but we’d like a bit more on the senator before we arrest him. Neither the ATF nor Homeland is interested in Senator Buckley. They’re entirely focused on the missiles, so if we tried to arrest the senator, the FBI would be on their own. We need incontrovertible proof.”

  Henry had no idea if the senator would contact him again. His task of checking the missiles was completed yesterday, and he hadn’t had any further contact. He assumed that Doughboy or Coveralls had relayed to the senator that all was well. He wondered if Toby had any additional contact with Buckley. He mentioned that Toby might know something since he’d managed to infiltrate the group, too.

  Pete frowned at the news. “Dammit! Civilians shouldn’t interfere in federal business.”

  “I guess he figured it was his business, too, since he was the one who brought them to your attention.”

  “He should have bowed out after that.”

  “That’s hard to do. His mother has close ties to people on the reservation.”

  “Doesn’t mean he should stick his nose in where it can be cut off.”

  “I guess, for some reason, he doesn’t truly trust the federal government to keep them safe.” Henry didn’t hide his disdain.

  Sam remained silent, holding her coffee, not even bothering to sip it. Pete looked at the ex-agent. “What are your feelings about this?”

  Sam twitched when addressed by Pete—a small tweak—but Henry picked up on it. “Sam agrees with me.”

  She managed to nod her head.

  “You’re mighty quiet this morning.” Pete frowned at her.

  She could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to come up with why she was acting so strange. She shrugged. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

  “I heard you caused quite a commotion yesterday.” Pete raised his eyebrows as he stared at Sam.

  “It was nothing, really. One of my father’s minions trying to force me to return his money.” Sam sipped her cold coffee for time to gather her thoughts. “Henry found me and helped me escape.”

  “It’s that serious with your father?” Pete’s face showed concern. “Do the prison authorities know about this?”

  “Sort of. There’s not much they can do. No one can prove it’s him because his assistant, Jules Stein, is pulling the strings from outside.”

  “Why wasn’t this Stein guy arrested along with your father?”

  “No proof.” Sam smiled with a shrug. “At any rate, I was out of commission most of yesterday, and Henry is the one who made contact. Do you think what’s on the thumb drive will help?”

  Henry noticed how Sam changed the subject without dwelling on her circumstances yesterday. He knew she hadn’t recovered. The question was, did she know it?

  Pete gave her a strange look before he answered, almost as if he had noticed her evasion, too: “The film of the missiles will put a fire under the ATF, that’s for sure. I don’t see how it will help me with the senator.”

  “What about the shots from the men’s club?” asked Henry. “Buckley is right there, on tape, asking me to check out the missiles.”

  “I just don’t know if it’s enough for a conviction. A good defense attorney can argue entrapment or some such shit. I’d like to wait for the results from his financials, I’m hoping it gives us more evidence.”

  Sam slammed her cup on the table and straightened up. “So that’s it? The ATF and Homeland Security get their missiles back, but the chief instigator goes scot-free?”

  “Sam, I’d love to put him behind bars, but my hands are tied.”

  Henry stilled Sam’s hands as her fingers beat on the table. “If they stop the missiles from destroying the casino, that’s a win,” he said.

  “It’s not enough,” said Sam. “No one should be allowed to plot such a horrible thing and walk away with no consequences.”

  “The US has broken every treaty it’s made with the original inhabitants of this land,” Henry said to Sam, keeping his eyes on Pete Singer. “Is it any wonder the federal government won’t stand up for the rights of Native Americans now?”

  “Hey, I’m not saying we give up on Buckley. I’m just saying we need more. I don’t like it any more than you do. They’ve been trampled on since the white man first came to this country. I know that. I’m not trying to justify Buckley’s actions. If we don’t stop him now, what’s to say he won’t continue rounding up more followers and try something again?” Pete’s voice held anger and frustration. “Believe me, I’m on your side.”

  Before Sam or Henry could react, Sam’s phone rang.

  Henry watched her carefully, but her face and voice betrayed no emotion. This was not like Sam. He worried that whatever happened to her yesterday would have a lasting effect. He could see they were getting nowhere with the FBI—it was stupid to think they could speed up bureaucracy.

  When Sam hung up, she took one last sip of her cappuccino and stood. “We have to go.”

  Stunned, Henry looked at Pete Singer, whose mouth hung open.

  “I guess we’re done.” The agent remained seated as he addressed Henry. “Do you have the equipment?”

  Henry nodded and pointed to Sam’s messenger bag. “Everything but the receiver. But I’d like to keep it all a few more days in case Buckley gets in touch with me.”

  “Do you think he will?” Pete leaned in, resting his arms on the table.

  “No reason to think he won’t.” Henry raised his hands and let them drop.

  Pete stared out the window for a few seconds. “All right. Keep it for now.”

  Sam had dug the box holding the pin transmitter out of her messenger bag and placed it on the table. When Pete agreed to let them keep it, she scooped the box back into her bag. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, nodded at Pete, and turned toward the door.

  Pete Singer frowned at Henry. “We need it all back.”

  “We’ll get it to you as soon as this is over,” Henry said.

  Pete noticed Henry’s gaze following Sam. “What’s with her?”

  “She’s still shaken from yesterday.” Henry pushed out of his chair. “She’ll be fine.”

  Sam knew she was rude. With one hand on the door, she waved goodbye to Pete with the other. She hoped her smile, albeit insincere, made up for her discourtesy.

  Henry shook the agent’s hand and shrugged in Sam’s direction. “Excuse her, she’s not herself today.”

  Pete Singer eyeballed Sam as he watched Henry catch up with his boss.

  She’d called for an Uber before Henry could ask about the phone conversation. As they stood on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop, Henry raised an eyebrow at her.

  “It was White Cloud. He’s at Nina’s, and Toby’s there, too.” Sam tried her best to sound normal
. She knew she’d been rude to Pete Singer, but her mind didn’t seem to want to function as usual. “I’ll apologize to Pete the next time we see him. He just made me so mad…”

  When their Uber pulled up, Henry took her elbow and led her to the curb. “Is that really all that’s wrong?”

  Sam sighed as she scooted into the mid-sized SUV. “No. I owe you an apology, too.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. What did White Cloud have to say?”

  “He said that Toby was beside himself, ranting about the missile attack, It’s definitely scheduled for Sunday. He wants us to go with him to talk to Uncle about canceling the powwow.”

  “It might be too late for that.” Henry stared out the side window. “I’ve been thinking I could disable the missiles tonight.”

  “Do you think you can do that?”

  “If I can sneak onto the compound. I’d need some tools—a bolt cutter and some other things. Nothing too complicated.” Henry shook his head. “I hate to think about destroying millions of dollars’ worth of weapons, but what choice do we have?”

  Sam fell into silence. Henry didn’t know if she was thinking about what he planned to do or was lost in her nightmares again. He thought it best to leave that discussion for later; the Uber driver didn’t need to hear it.

  When they arrived at Nina’s, White Cloud and Toby were standing in the front yard. The look on their faces made it obvious they were arguing. Sam stopped on the sidewalk, but Henry approached them as if nothing was wrong.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  Toby glanced at Henry and pointed to White Cloud. “He says I can’t go with you guys.”

  “It might be best if you don’t.” Henry stepped closer.

  “Not you, too. Dammit! I know the danger. All the people on the rez and their visitors are in more danger than me!”

  Henry patted the air with both hands. “Calm down. There might be something you can do.”

  “He does not need to risk his life any more than he already has,” White Cloud said. “His mother is begging him to stay home with her.”

  “Does she know about the scheduled attack tomorrow?” Henry asked.