by E B Corbin
“Where are you now?”
“We’re trying to locate his other homes. We know he owns several—one on the coast and another near Mount Hood. But so far, he hasn’t been at any we know about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he owns others in corporate names.” It sounded as if Pete put his hand over the speaker. “Sam, I gotta go. Homeland Security’s on the other line, and I think they’ve moved on the compound.”
“But you said they weren’t going to do that until tomorrow.”
Pete sounded harried. “They must have changed their minds. Talk to you later.”
Sam stared at the phone in her hand. Newly motivated she jumped in the shower, smiling to herself when she realized this was the first time since they’d been working together that she was up before Henry. She’d call room service and have breakfast, or lunch, or brunch, or whatever, ready for him when he awoke. Wouldn’t he be surprised.
But when she came out of her room, dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt, she found Henry at the table with an omelet and orange juice waiting for her.
“Damn. I thought I’d be the first one up!”
Henry smiled. “Not today. I got a call from White Cloud. Seems there was a raid on the compound today.”
“I heard. Pete called me. So, what did White Cloud tell you?”
“He said they blocked the road leading to the compound with tanks early this morning. An Army unit spread out at the entrance. He said the scouts never saw anything like it. There were people in uniform all over the road.”
“An Army unit? Wow—they weren’t taking any chances.” Sam yawned. “Does it seem like overkill to you?”
“No one uses that road anyway. It dead-ends at a collapsed bridge.” Henry held out a chair for Sam. “I guess with close to a thousand people there, Homeland wasn’t going to take any chances.”
Suddenly realizing she was famished, she gulped down the orange juice and picked up her fork.
“I thought Singer said they weren’t going to move until tomorrow.” Henry watched her wolf down the eggs.
She swallowed. “Pete said the stuff you sent them caused some big shots at the FBI to issue an arrest warrant for Buckley. I guess the FBI didn’t want Homeland Security to get all the credit and Homeland didn’t want to be caught with their pants down waiting until tomorrow. Sounds like they pulled out the big guns and moved fast.”
“No one wanted the other one to get the glory.” Henry topped off his coffee from the pot and held out an empty cup to Sam with a raised eyebrow.
With a full mouth, she nodded at the cup. Then she swallowed and said, “The best way to get a government agency to do something is to have another agency ready to make a move.”
“Rivalry at its finest. Saw it many times in the SEALs.”
“Human nature.” Sam took the last bite of the omelet and reached for the coffee cup. She raised it in a toast. “At least something was done. Thanks to you.”
Henry shrugged. “I did what had to be done.”
“You recorded the conversation with Buckley that convinced someone at the FBI of his evil intentions. And you disabled the missiles to prevent a major catastrophe at the powwow today. I’d say you did enough.”
His smile brought out the dimple that transformed him from a good-looking man into a handsome one. “Okay, maybe I did do a lot. I wish I knew about the raid before we risked our lives going in there last night. Toby got lucky his bullet wound wasn’t worse. He could have died.”
“He got shot in the shoulder. I wouldn’t call that almost dying.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sam realized how callous she sounded. “I mean, uh, everything turned out all right. Toby will be fine, won’t he?”
“I suppose, and I think he’s come to appreciate the Native American half of himself better. I guess it wasn’t such a waste, after all.” Henry stood up and began to stack the empty plates on the room service tray. “With Buckley under arrest and, I’m assuming the compound will be cleared out today, our job is done.”
“Not exactly. They haven’t found Buckley yet.”
“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about him blaming us. There’s no way he could know about our part in his downfall.” Henry stuck the tray in the hall, leaving the coffeepot and two cups on the table.
Sam’s phone rang before she could respond to Henry.
“What the hell did you do?” Pete Singer’s angry voice bellowed out of the speaker.
She pulled the phone away from her ear. “What are you talking about?”
“I just got reamed out by the Homeland guy in charge of the raid. He pulled out all stops to get enough backup to take over the compound only to find that the missiles were useless. The cost of the operation is coming out of his budget because the missiles were inoperable, so it wasn’t top priority after all. He’s blaming me for the bad information.”
Sam put the call on speaker so Henry could hear. “It wasn’t bad info. There was a plot to attack the reservation and the means to carry it out.”
“Not with inoperative missiles. If they tried to fire them, nothing would have happened, obviously.”
Henry moved closer to the phone. “Pete, it’s Henry. Those missiles were fully operational until I disabled them last night.”
“What? Why the hell did you—”
“Because of the powwow today. We didn’t feel we could take a chance.”
“Homeland is a bit miffed about ten useless missiles, and I’m getting the blame.”
“Put it all on me.” Henry paced beside the table with his hands in his pockets.
“I…” Pete paused then let out a loud sigh. “You’re a civilian. There could be repercussions against you. I’ll shoulder the blame. If we locate Buckley, it will all blow over anyway. There’s enough evidence between the recordings and his financials to justify his arrest. Then I’ll get a commendation for it when he’s convicted. But, please, I don’t want to hear from you two again.”
The call disconnected.
She checked her phone to make certain the call was over, then her gaze met Henry’s and they smiled.
“He sure told us,” Sam said. “I guess we won’t be getting any more info from him.”
“I’m sure we can find out the rest of the story on the news.”
“If you can believe the news.” Sam refilled her coffee. “Fake news and all that, you know.”
He took her hand and pulled her into a hug. “I think we deserve to congratulate ourselves.”
Sam did not pull away. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “We certainly do. How about a couple days off? We can lounge around here today and do nothing.”
“Sounds good.” Henry stepped back enough to look in her eyes. “You’ve recovered.”
Sam nodded. “I feel a lot better.”
“No more nightmares, no more doubts?”
“I still have doubts, but I can push them away now.” She stepped out of his arms and fingered the pouch around her neck, trying to decide whether to tell Henry. What the hell, she might as well confess. Maybe if she shared her secret with him, he’d tell her what it is about him that he and White Cloud seem to be keeping from her.
She took both his hands, aware that this closeness would have made her uncomfortable only a few days ago, and looked him in the eye. Then she let go of one hand and pulled out the pouch. “Thomas gave this to me.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “You think it helps?”
She nodded. She didn’t know why—it might just be the power of suggestion—but she felt better with it around her neck. “I think something has helped push back the terror I felt at not being able to move a muscle.”
“I can imagine. It must have been horrible.” Henry reached out and inspected the pouch, weighing it in one hand. With his other hand he pulled a similar pouch from under his shirt. “It works, I wear mine all the time.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that your secret?”
“What secret?”
“The thing you and White Cloud
have been keeping from me.”
“We haven’t been keeping anything from you.”
“Yes, you have.”
Henry tried a phony shrug. “Okay, you caught us. You should wear it all the time like I do.”
“I intend to.”
“Thomas is a wise man.” Henry waged a battle as to whether this was the time to tell Sam the truth about the buzzing. Fearful that she would think him a freak, just as they were becoming closer, he said nothing.
Sam noticed the turmoil in his eyes and knew he was lying. She hoped he would open up without her asking again. When he said nothing, she decided to let it go for now. When the time was right, he’d tell her. “I’m going to move the money around and then I think I’ll read a book.”
“Do you want to check to see if Jules has tried to reach you?”
She thought about it. “Not today.”
“I almost forgot. White Cloud said Thomas offered to open the museum for us tomorrow if we want to go through it.” He hoped the change in subject would remove the hurt from her eyes.
“I’d like to, what about you?”
“I think it would be interesting.”
“Yeah, sounds like fun.” Sam headed for the laptop in her bedroom.
Henry watched her go, amazed at the difference in her. She seemed softer, more pliable. Not that he doubted she could kick ass if needed. He could not recall one time since he’d known her that she said something would be fun—she was always so serious. He wondered how long this new Sam would last. However long, he liked it.
Epilogue
White Cloud dropped them at the entrance to the museum. The parking lot was empty, and the building appeared to be locked up tight. A young Native American woman met them at one of the front doors, held it open, and offered a guided tour. They thanked her but wanted to take their time to absorb the history on their own. The woman said her name was Susan Sleeping Wolf. She would be in her office at the rear of the building, and, if they had any questions, they could reach her on the phone at the front desk. She pointed them in the direction of the first room.
They spent time soaking in each exhibit, admiring the beadwork and craftsmanship of the handmade artifacts, learning about the time before the white man came and took over the land. Before they knew it, several hours had passed.
“We should probably let that poor woman have the rest of the day off,” said Sam. “I’m sure she’s not thrilled about babysitting us when she could be with her family.”
“Or boyfriend,” Henry added.
They were deep in the womb of the museum, trying to find a sign leading to the entrance, when the lights went out.
Sam took Henry’s arm and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. “Do you think she got tired of waiting?”
“I think it’s pretty rude if she did.” Henry had no doubt they were in danger from someone. The buzzing had started when they entered the museum, but he had ignored it, his interest claimed by the care and thought that went into the exhibits.
He had been in the Native American section of the Museum of Natural History in New York, but that seemed like the white man’s viewpoint of Indian life. This was the real thing—the heritage, the history, the connection to the people who lived and worked here today. The time and effort put into each piece displayed, each description, grabbed his attention and left an impression.
But it all fell to the back of his mind when the buzzing overwhelmed him. Dammit, he should have been paying more attention.
As Sam’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she scanned the hallway. “Do you have your gun?”
“Didn’t think we’d need one.” Henry scowled as he poked his head around a corner. He couldn’t see the lobby from their location. The phone at the reception desk might have been in Alaska for all the good it did them. He steered Sam across the room toward the entrance to another exhibit hall. “There should be a back way out of here.”
Sam spotted a door at the far end of the room they’d just entered. She pointed and started moving in that direction. Henry stayed close behind, watching their rear. She held her breath as she reached for the door handle, hoping it was not locked. There was no “Exit” sign above it—if it led to the offices, they could call for help.
They entered a long narrow hallway with more doors lining the left wall. The hallway curved, so they couldn’t see where it led. She tested several doors, but all were locked.
“Shit.” Sam turned to Henry. “Which way?”
Henry wished his so-called gift included more than just buzzing. He could use a more in-depth signal. He took a few steps to his left, fixating on any change in the level of the buzz. When it remained the same high-pitched sound, he swung around and started to the right. No change. He’d have to trust his gut.
He pushed Sam ahead of him down the hall to the right and grabbed each door handle as they went past. All the doors were locked. As they rounded a corner, they spotted a steel door at the far end with the sign “Employees’ Entrance.”
Sam picked up speed with Henry right on her heels. She pushed the metal bar and flew out into the gray misty late afternoon. Then she came to a dead stop causing Henry to barrel into her.
Senator Buckley stood a few feet away from the door, surrounded by four men. Henry recognized the two he’d seen with Patterson the night he attended the first meeting. The bodyguards, he’d dubbed them. Now they held AK-47s pointed at Sam.
Next to them, also with an automatic rifle, Doughboy glared at Henry. On the other side, Coveralls, as Henry knew him, had a shotgun in his hand. His finger twitched on the trigger.
They heard the door open behind them and sensed two people approaching.
Buckley had an evil glint in his eyes, which made his smile frightening. “You had me fooled, Mr. Samuels. I don’t care to be made to look like a fool in front of my followers.”
“I thought your followers had all been arrested.” Henry stepped in front of Sam as if he could somehow protect her.
“Unfortunately for you, there were a few who managed to slip out.” Buckley gestured to the men with weapons. “Fortunately for me, they were some of the most loyal.”
“You won’t get away,” Henry said. “The FBI is looking for you even as we speak.”
Buckley glanced at his feet then lifted his head to leer at Henry. “The key word is ‘looking.’ Finding me is another thing. But you won’t have the same problem. We intend to put you, or rather your bodies, on display so that there is no chance of your being overlooked. I thought your friend, that Indian taxi driver, would be quite surprised to find you displayed in the museum here.” Buckley rubbed his chin with his knuckles. “But now I’m thinking that maybe scalping you and dumping your bodies in front of the casino would be more effective. That might make all those gamblers who throw away their money think twice about patronizing the place. Without the income, this reservation will wither and die.”
“You’re despicable,” Sam said moving around Henry to be seen. She appreciated his attempt to protect her, but there was little he could do to stop a bullet.
Buckley ignored her, lost in thought. “Yes, I think the casino is a fitting place for a traitor like you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Henry raised his hands palms out. “I didn’t do anything but check out the missiles the way you asked me to.”
Doughboy stepped forward. “Yeah, then who broke into the compound last night from the reservation? You gonna tell us it was those redskins? They don’t know beans about how to sabotage a missile. You do.”
Buckley held up a hand to silence his associate. He nodded at the two men behind Sam and Henry. “Bring them along.”
But the men did not make a move. Out the corner of her eye, Sam could see one standing stiff as a board. She turned her head to see the second man standing there with his mouth hanging open, his gun slack in his hand.
“What’s wrong with you two?” Buckley growled.
Sam shifted at the sound
of Buckley’s voice and saw movement on the hillside leading down to the museum. She blinked, barely believing her eyes. Then she smiled.
Over the rise on the hill, like the Native Americans in so many old Westerns, several horsemen appeared, the horses prancing with pride.
Thomas sat astride the tallest—a midnight-black Arabian who strutted in front and cantered slowly down the hill. At least fifty others followed. As the riders grew closer, many more Native Americans topped the rise and walked behind—men, women, children, young and old with serious expressions, intent on their mission.
All were dressed in traditional garb, but Thomas stood out in his eagle feather warbonnet with buffalo horns—a necklace made of bear teeth around his neck. He wore no facepaint but several of the others had painted their faces and their bare chests. Some held rifles, others carried bows with the arrows slung over their backs. Thomas carried a long spear, decorated in feathers.
On the elder’s right, White Cloud rode, dressed in buckskin, a rifle in his hand, a tomahawk on his belt. He wore a headband with two feathers sticking up in the back.
Sam almost couldn’t believe her eyes when she caught sight of the rider on Thomas’ left side. Pete Singer, dressed in the traditional FBI suit and tie, rode easily on a chestnut mare.
“I said bring them along.” Buckley’s face grew red with anger when the two men still did not move. He turned his attention to Sam. “And what are you smiling about?”
Thomas and White Cloud pulled their horses to a stop and Pete continued a few steps further. He made sure his voice projected enough for Buckley to hear. “Probably because you’re under arrest.”
The senator whirled around, stuttering as he took in the mass of Native Americans. One of the two bodyguards started to raise his AK-47 but dropped it with a grunt when an arrow pierced his shoulder.
Another group in war paint, approached from the side of the building. One had his bow poised and ready to shoot again while several others had rifles raised.
As one, Buckley’s men dropped their weapons, their eyes wide with fear. Buckley swiveled his head to take in his accomplices. No one would look at him. “This is preposterous! They can’t do this. They have no authority on an Indian reservation.”