As they went through the gate and toward the visitor's center, they failed to notice the two large SUVs waiting about a mile away, well off the dirt road and outer RV camping area.
* * *
Jack, Mendenhall, Sarah, and Dr. Nathan walked down the path after parking in the lot next to the visitor's center. It was now close to seven thirty and the area was deserted with the exception of a green pickup truck that had a National Parks Service emblem on its door.
Jack tried the door to the battlefield museum first and found it locked. He leaned close and peered through the glass but could see the building was empty. Construction materials were strewn about, as the visitor's center and museum were readying for a much-needed expansion. But the workers had all left for the day hours before.
"Hi there, sorry, the museum closes at six on weekdays," said a man walking down the path toward them. He wore a Smokey the Bear hat and a tan uniform.
Jack stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Jack Collins; I believe you were contacted earlier by my boss in Washington," he said. He noticed immediately that the man was armed.
"You the army, Major?" the ranger asked, shaking his hand.
"That's me."
"We expected you before closing time, Major; my partners out front are locking up the gates right now, and the others are around on Reno Hill making sure no one gets locked in."
"Well, we have to see the exhibits. It's very important," Jack said, releasing the taller man's hand.
"National security, I heard your boss. What department did you say you worked with again?"
"The Smithsonian Institute, and Ms. McIntire and Dr. Nathan here represent the National Archives," Jack answered, the small deceit rolling easily from his tongue.
"Well, my boss in D.C. said to let you in, so I guess we'll let you in," said the ranger. "But I must ask that none of you handle anything in the museum. You're to look only, that clear?" he asked, looking beyond Jack at Sarah, Mendenhall, and Nathan.
They all nodded.
"Good, then welcome to the Little Bighorn. I'm Park Ranger McBride, and you're in for a treat if you've never been here before," he said proudly as he pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket.
McBride opened the door that guarded the past of Custer, his men, and the American Indians who had pulled off the biggest upset in the history of the American West, and they followed the ranger inside.
* * *
Another ranger was at the front gate saying good-bye and joking with a group of Northern Cheyenne protesters who were a part of the revitalized American Indian Movement (AIM), men the park ranger had come to know by name, as many were there every day in rotating fashion, just like clockwork, to let the public know their discontent on the current state of Indian affairs in Washington, which as always was nearly nonexistent and what little was there was very poor. The ranger laughed with them; he had grown very close with a few. About five of the AIM discontents were members of their separate tribal council police departments and wore their badges inside their coats. As the ranger started to swing the gate closed, he stopped when he saw two large Mercury SUVs coming down the paved road, nearly missing two of the Cheyenne as they drove past, drawing angry glares and a few curses. The ranger stopped with the gate partially opened and went out to greet the park-goers. He held up his hand as the first vehicle pulled up to the gate.
"Sorry, folks, we open again at eight in the morning," he said as he stepped up to the passenger window.
The window rolled down and the ranger was face to face with a man with a thick mustache. The ranger saw the silenced pistol as it was raised and aimed at approximately his right cheek. The rear door of the SUV swung open and he was quickly pulled inside. The ranger was knocked unconscious and stripped down to his underwear. A man of approximately the same size and weight quickly dressed in the ridiculous ranger uniform and then stepped from the SUV. He walked over and pulled open the gate, and the two vehicles entered the park, and then the man closed and secured the main gate with the keys that were still hanging from the lock. Then the imposter walked over to the ranger's truck and followed the first two vehicles as they went toward the visitor's center.
* * *
The strange scene at the front gate had not gone unnoticed. Fifteen Cheyenne Indians no more than three hundred yards away knew the park was closed to visitors at night. And they also knew that a place they held as sacred was filling up with white men once again, and that was bad news.
* * *
As the four visitors entered the exhibition hall, McBride turned on the fluorescent lighting and the museum came alive around them. There were magnificent representations of all the tribes that had taken part in the battle. Also mannequins dressed in uniforms of the Seventh Cavalry were there, and others were garbed authentically as Plains Indians. Behind glass enclosures were artifacts that had been recovered from the many sources they had eventually come to after June 25, 1876. There were horse bridles, several rusted and broken Springfield rifles, and Colt pistols. Bullets and balls of every caliber were on display, along with very old powder horns for old flintlocks used by some of the tribes. Broken lance points and arrowheads were well protected behind glass. There were reproductions of the Regimental flag, the blue and red swallowtail flag sporting Custer's personal choice of two crossed sabers. Jack perused these items and then turned to McBride.
"The artifacts we're interested in are the recent finds from the dig that was just concluded."
"Ah, I see, those are removed every day to the storeroom so work can be continued on them until noon every day; that was the price we had to pay to keep them on display. They're right back through here." He gestured to a door at the back of the museum.
"This is a going concern here; I didn't expect all this, to tell you the truth," Sarah said admiringly.
McBride stopped with keys in hand as he turned toward Sarah.
"We found out a long time ago that there is something that has lodged in the cumulative American psyche about the battle here, be it Indian or other cultures. It's hard to put a finger on because there have been so many far more devastating defeats on this continent for the American military," he said as he inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. "But for some reason the Little Bighorn haunts this country, maybe not because it was the last stand for Custer and his men, but maybe because, as it turned out, it was the last stand for the men and women he fought against. The tribes here may have won this battle, but it doomed them as a free-roaming people, thus in truth, destroying them. My personal belief is that Americans have always pulled for the underdog, and this place reminds them of what we did to these great people. Besides, all the men, no matter what side they fought on, in this place at least, had to have been the bravest there were at the time. You feel them here. You can even see them here when you're alone."
Sarah knew what the ranger was talking about. She knew they all did, from the moment they laid eyes on the fenced monuments on Last Stand Hill. This place was alive and they all felt it.
McBride turned on the overhead lights as he escorted the quartet into a room that had examination tables from one end to the other. The artifacts they had come to see were in varying positions on the tables, left as they were when the lab was closed for the day. Jack and the others took all this in with a feeling of awe.
"There you are, the latest field finds. Some amazing stuff, to be sure," McBride said.
Jack's eyes went immediately to the time-worn and — eaten saddlebag. The bottom was nearly rotted completely through as it lay under a circular magnifier-lamp. He walked over and snapped on the light, which lit up the lens, and then he pulled out a chair and sat.
"Hey, I said you're not supposed to touch anything!" McBride called out.
"Easy, chief, we're not here to harm anything," Mendenhall said as he grabbed the larger man's arm, restraining him. With his free hand he reached out and deftly removed the ranger's nine-millimeter handgun.
"What the hell is this?"
McBride protested.
"I believe you were told there were national security issues involved," Mendenhall said.
"Really, we're not going to harm anything," Sarah chimed in, in an attempt to calm the ranger.
"Oh my," was all Dr. Nathan could muster, staring at the pistol that Mendenhall had removed from McBride's holster.
Jack was meanwhile engaged in looking through the magnifying glass. "Has anything been found in this saddlebag?" He looked across at the ranger, who was still in Mendenhall's arms.
"No, it hasn't even been examined yet."
Jack nodded and took a deep breath. He leaned over and examined the old leather pouch again. Taking a large pair of tweezers, he carefully lifted a small corner of the leather flap. It tore away and Jack cursed.
"You'll destroy it!" the ranger said angrily.
Nathan stepped forward and removed the tweezers from Jack's fingers.
"I think we can probably x-ray that, Major. That should show us the contents pretty clearly." Professor Nathan gently carried the saddlebag to the lab's X-ray area that was behind a screen.
"Just like a bull in a china shop," Sarah mumbled as she leaned over the table to examine the old steel box that had been recovered along with the saddlebag.
Jack shrugged his shoulders at Sarah's halfhearted reproach.
It took Nathan all of five minutes to get the shots of the saddlebag done. He reported, "The only items left in the saddlebags were more than likely organic in nature, perhaps field rations the Indians didn't find. Nothing even remotely resembling a cross, I'm afraid. There was no metal left on the leather at all; even the leather rivets had rusted away."
"Damn." Jack turned and looked at Sarah.
She was turning the metal box over and Jack saw it was the same box as they had seen in the pictures back at the complex. The initials W.K. were on the back in between the rusted hinges.
"Open it," Jack ordered.
"I'm not opening this; I can't do it without destroying it," she protested.
"So why don't you put it down?" McBride asked, fuming over the destruction these people could be causing to the valuable finds he was in charge of protecting.
"You know we're looking for a cross," said Sarah. "Why won't you help us?"
"Because my job description says nothing about assisting thieves and vandals, whoever you are," he said to Sarah's back. Then he turned halfway around and faced Mendenhall, who twirled the ranger's automatic on his right index finger and then quickly placed it back in McBride's holster.
"There, a gesture of trust and goodwill, Ranger. If she destroys the box looking for the cross, you can shoot me," Mendenhall said, looking over at Jack, who nodded his head.
McBride looked away for a moment in thought. Then he looked back at Will Mendenhall and actually brought his right hand up halfway to his holster. Then he dipped his head and relaxed.
"Dammit!" Sarah said. He'd called her bluff. She put the box down.
Jack shook his head and pursed his lips. "Well, that's that. They were the only items linked to Keogh."
McBride cleared his throat. "Don't ask me why I'm telling you this," he said as he stepped toward the examination table nearest him. Mendenhall looked questioningly at the major, who shrugged his shoulders. "But those aren't the only items Captain Keogh had on him at the time of his death." He reached out and pulled a black cloth away from a lone Christian cross that had been placed on the table for examination.
Sarah's heart raced when she saw what had been right in front of them. It was a large cross measuring seven inches by four in width. It didn't resemble any of the crosses they had seen in the original ISO photos at the Event Group meeting.
"That wasn't in the report and pictures we received," Jack said.
"Well, it wasn't cataloged until this afternoon."
"What makes you think it was Keogh's?" Sarah asked.
"Since its discovery, it's been cleaned and examined by experts." McBride addressed Jack. "And his name is on it, in small letters on the crossbar of the cross itself. And our historians also know its Keogh's because there are several accounts of his having one just like it delivered to him before he left the fort."
Jack's eyes lingered on McBride a moment as he remembered the Libby Custer account Niles had mentioned. He knew the man had to be telling the truth because he was not only a park ranger, he also was a tour guide and one that had to be very knowledgeable about the battle and all its strange aspects.
Jack walked over and looked at the cross more closely. He picked it up and turned it over; sure enough, engraved in small script on the back of the cross member was the name: Myles Keogh, for Papal Service.
"I'll be damned," he said.
Sarah went up on her toes to see it. Then her eyes widened and she gently removed the rust-spotted cross from Jack's fingers. Why didn't the Parks Service experts see this? she wondered as she stared at its base.
"The pope and his archives people were sly ones." She gestured for the others to come over as she felt the goose bumps rise on her arms. She slowly twisted the bottom of the cross, and they all heard it crack in her fingers. McBride grimaced, thinking she had broken it. Then they heard a small pop as if a cork had been pulled free of a bottle.
"Would you like to have the honors, Ranger McBride?" Sarah asked while holding out the cross.
He shook his head quickly. He wanted nothing to do with the new discovery by whoever this woman was.
Sarah looked at Jack.
"You go ahead, Sherlock, it's your show," he responded.
Sarah gently tapped the top of the cross as the others slowly leaned inward. Nathan had his mouth open as if that would help whatever was inside come free. She tapped again and nothing happened. She tapped once more and again nothing. She tapped it harder against the stainless-steel table and, as they all watched, the edge of a piece of yellowed paper could be seen. Sarah swallowed and laid the cross down. She reached for a pair of tweezers and a pair of surgical gloves. She then picked up the cross and used the tweezers to gently pull on the corner of the exposed paper. It slid out as easily as if it were placed inside only yesterday. She lay down the tweezers and cross and carefully unfolded the paper. The paper cracked along the fold lines but Sarah pushed on. Particles of very old fiber floated around the map. They all breathed a collective sigh of relief when it was fully open.
The map was eleven by seven inches. Its cursive lettering and artwork were meticulous. Sarah took a deep breath and let out a small whoop, startling the others and making Nathan duck as if a ghost had taken a swing at him.
"Sorry," she said.
"What is it?" McBride asked.
"Just a five-hundred-year-old map that was written by a very brave man," she answered exuberantly.
As they examined it, they could see it was very detailed and showed the route to the valley and the giant lagoon clearly. They even had to smile when they saw that the area was marked with a small X. Then they all noticed one thing at the bottom, near the spot marking the lagoon, written more boldly than the other calligraphy: a warning Padilla had penned so that anyone could read it. Unfortunately all but the ranger understood the simple Spanish immediately.
Aguas Negros Satanicos.
"What does it say?" McBride asked as the sound of a helicopter slowly started to penetrate the wooden structure.
Sarah looked at him and then the others. "Roughly translated, 'The Black Waters of Satan,' " she answered a split second before bullets smashed through the door, slamming into her and Ranger McBride.
* * *
Jack and Mendenhall drew their sidearms and hit the tiled floor before the echoes of the attack had faded. Jack crawled over to Sarah, who was unmoving on the ground where she had fallen; she had tried in vain to cover the park ranger. When he saw blood spreading out in an ever-widening pool around the two prone bodies, his own racing blood froze in his veins.
Mendenhall fired three quick shots, two hitting drywall on either side of the door and one t
hrough the door itself, after rolling away from Sarah and McBride. The sergeant couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Professor Nathan standing upright as bullets slammed into the walls and fixtures; the man was slowly walking toward the rear of the examining room as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Apparently the sudden explosion of violence had unhinged the professor's thought processes and he thought just leaving would make it all stop. Mendenhall saw what had caused it. Dripping from Nathan's chin was blood and brain matter. "Get down, Professor, for Christ's sake!" he shouted as he fired twice more through the closed door.
"Sarah, Sarah!" Jack called loudly over the gunfire.
His heart lurched when she turned over and rolled under the lab table where Jack was lying. "God, are you all right?"
"Yeah, one barely clipped my shoulder. Not much of a wound but it stings like hell. Ranger McBride's had it though, caught one in the head."
"Goddammit!" Jack said. Then he looked up and saw the feet of Nathan as he slowly walked toward the rear door. "Nathan, get your ass down!" he said loudly.
"He's in shock, Major!" Mendenhall called out.
More automatic fire erupted and chunks of drywall started flying around them. Even more of the rounds were striking the examining tables.
Nathan continued for the steel back door. Mendenhall quickly popped up and returned fire. Six shots left his Beretta and slammed into the drywall separating the examining room from the museum as he tried to cover the oblivious professor. Then all hell erupted through the false ceiling as more rounds penetrated through the roof of the building. A heavy-caliber weapon had just opened fire from the unseen helicopter.
Jack rolled until his body struck McBride's. He felt the ranger's still-warm blood as it soaked through his shirt and Windbreaker. He quickly rolled the man over and unsnapped his gun from its holster. It was a Beretta like his own. He checked McBride's belt, opened one of the leather pouches, and pulled out two extra clips of nine-millimeter ammunition. He slid the weapon and clips over to Sarah, who immediately checked the gun's chamber and removed the safety. Without rising, Jack reached up and started feeling around the tabletop until his fingers found what they were searching for: Padilla's map. He quickly stuffed it into his pocket, ripping the map almost in two as he did so, and then rolled again. He grabbed Nathan by the foot and pulled his leg out from underneath him, then grabbed his belt and tugged until the professor fell onto his back.
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