Thunderbird

by Susan Slater

  One of the two men, perspiring under the weight of his black suit coat turned slightly as Tommy approached. That’s not a happy camper, Tommy decided. The set of his jaw said he was disappointed with his welcome—or lack thereof. It was obvious that he and his pal hadn’t been invited in, and might not be.

  “Is the family fluent in English?” the man asked Tommy in an undertone.

  “Last time I checked. You’re still on U.S. soil here.”

  Now it was Tommy’s turn to sound a little flip. This wasn’t going well.

  “I’m Tommy Spottedhorse.” He held out his hand but thought the agent blanched and would have probably uttered an expletive if he hadn’t been surrounded.

  “Word travels fast. I don’t think we need any help.”

  “Might be better if you have some from the look of things.”

  The agent chose to ignore him, turned toward the screen and held up his credentials.

  “Ma’am, we need to talk with you. It’s important that you give us a few minutes.” The agent started to say something else, hesitated and then closed his mouth. He seemed stymied.

  “Tommy, is that you?” The screen door opened and a round Indian woman leaned out. “I thought it was you. Do you know these men?”

  “They need to ask you some questions, Mrs. Cachini, that’s all. They won’t stay long.” Tommy almost crossed his fingers to stave off a lie.

  “Well, if you say it’s okay.”

  The woman pushed the screen open and the two agents pressed close, the tangy scent of Aqua Velva floating up and away. Mrs. Cachini stepped back from the threshold and motioned for Tommy, Manard and the two agents to enter. She didn’t look happy, just accommodating.

  “We can sit in here.”

  The four followed her into the living room and found seats. Tommy chose one of the plump, gold, crushed velvet sofas, the agents sat on straight-backed chairs brought in from the dining room. Ronnie’s mother sat down heavily in a rocker. No one was at ease and there was an awkward pause of shuffling feet and adjusting ties, before one agent asked, “Is Mr. Cachini home?”

  The woman looked at the floor, and Tommy jumped in to say that Ronnie’s father had passed away about three years ago. The agent made a note on a small pad that fit into his shirt pocket.

  “I apologize for what I’m about to say. Let me preface it by saying I do not believe that you, personally, are involved.”

  Tommy leaned forward. This woman lost her son, for god’s sake, what was all this swearing to innocence?

  “Mrs. Cachini, I have the duty to tell you that your son did not die in the crash of the F-117A aircraft as previously reported.”

  He paused but no one uttered a word; the room itself seemed struck dumb—then everyone spoke at once.

  “What do you mean?” Tommy was half out of his chair. “Didn’t die? Ronnie didn’t die?” His mother rose from the rocker and Tommy moved to steady her. “I don’t know what you are telling me. What’s he saying?” She turned to Tommy who shook his head.

  “Simply that the body presumed to be the pilot’s—that of your son—wasn’t his. We have not identified the body that was found, but we have proved conclusively, through dental records and x-rays on file, that it is not your son.”

  “Ronnie’s alive!” The statement was a wail. The woman took a step forward, teetered and sank against Tommy who helped her sit back down. “But where is he? Do you have him?”

  “Uh, no, we’d like to know where he is as much as you would.” The agent cleared his throat. “Ma’am, this isn’t easy, but I know you want to know the truth. We suspect that your son was involved in a covert operation to steal and possibly sell national secrets to those hoping to gain from advanced knowledge of our fighter’s electronic configuration.” The agent took a breath and went on. “We are looking for your son to question him. At this time your son has not been charged. But the longer he eludes us, the rougher it’s going to be for him.”

  They think Ronnie’s a traitor. Tommy was stunned. He glanced at Ronnie’s mother but didn’t think the impact of what the agent said had sunk in.

  “Have you or any member of your family been contacted by Ronnie or his girlfriend, Brenda Begay?” the second agent asked.

  “Brenda?” Tommy hadn’t meant to say anything but it slipped out. Were they thinking Brenda was involved? Somehow supporting Ronnie? Of course, he could see it on their faces.

  “There is reason to believe that Miss Begay is an accomplice.”

  “How can you say that?” Tommy took a step and leaned down so that he was in the agent’s face. “A woman struggling to graduate from college so that she can provide for her daughter and her mother. And is this far away from doing just that.” Tommy held his index finger and thumb about a half inch apart.

  “Officer, step back. You’re out of line here.”

  “I’m out of line?” Tommy didn’t hold his anger back nor did he step back. He was convinced that Brenda was innocent; he just couldn’t prove it. Brenda had accepted an invitation for coffee that night. With him. She did not have espionage on her mind. He’d stake his life on it. “You can’t come into a person’s house making accusations, ruining the names of innocent people. Telling a mother her son’s alive and then saying he’s a traitor.”

  “There’s substantial evidence to—”

  “Believe me, Brenda Begay has done nothing wrong.”

  “We think otherwise, Mr. Spottedhorse. Let me remind you that any information that you might have concerning Miss Begay must be reported—”

  “This is ridiculous!” Tommy was barely under control.

  “Easy, Tommy.” Manard clasped his arm.

  “I know Ronnie Cachini! He’s a patriot! How many times has he been decorated?” Tommy looked around wildly but no one seemed to know the answer. “I can’t think of anyone more … devoted to his country,” Tommy finished lamely.

  No one said anything. The sound of quiet sobbing permeated the room.

  “Mrs. Cachini, I’m sorry. I can’t believe what they’re saying. I know Brenda and Mariah and Ronnie. Brenda wouldn’t do something like this. And we know Ronnie’s record. There’s been some mistake.” Tommy knelt before the woman, his anger dissipating.

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” the agent said. “There’s been a citing of a couple matching their description in California.”

  How could someone go from dead to America’s most wanted in 60 seconds—and which was worse? From the looks on the faces of the agents, death would be preferable, Tommy thought. But if Ronnie was alive—and he knew that Brenda had been there that night … he had to admit it looked bleak for the couple. If they weren’t involved in something criminal, why hadn’t they come forward?

  Tommy walked out the front door and then leaned against the chipped rock side of the house warmed now by the sun. His thoughts were a jumble. Ronnie Cachini alive. And didn’t that make a pretty good case for Ronnie Cachini being the mysterious Ian? Abruptly, Tommy turned back.

  “Mrs. Cachini? Did Ronnie have a tattoo?”

  “Don’t you remember? He got one the same time your younger brother got that cat on his shoulder. Only Ronnie’s was a Thunderbird.”

  Tommy thanked her and promised to stay in touch. He recalled Edwina’s diary. A man in fatigues comes into the Center, loads up on junk food, uses the phone to call his mother … that was the first lie. Tommy was certain of it. If the man at the Information Center was Ronnie, he didn’t call his mother. But who did he call?

  Tommy closed the screen door behind him. “What a mess.” He didn’t say it to anyone in particular. There’s no way that Ronnie’s a traitor. And no way that Brenda’s involved. He kept repeating the phrases under his breath. But Pansy Manygoats saw an alien pick up an Indian girl and run from the scene of the crash. An alien? No, more like a man in a flight suit or the test gear of a pilot. But why was he holding her hostage? Or was he? Head over heels in love … What wouldn’t you do if you were head over heels in love? You�
�d team up with your partner—that’s one thing he knew. Had going for coffee been a smoke-screen? Would she have begged off, hopped out of the Bronco anyway even if he hadn’t been called to work?

  “Shit.”

  Had he been taken? Betrayed by someone he really cared for? Wouldn’t be the first time. Had he been set up to give Brenda an alibi? He felt the churning of anger. Because there was nothing he could do now—not to change anything, anyway. A pickup turned the corner. Tommy watched until it was out of sight. He couldn’t seem to move into action. If a couple was spotted in California meeting their description, Brenda was long gone. He might not ever have a chance to hear her side of what happened. Did he feel better knowing that Brenda was probably alive? He didn’t know. His anger was doing a good job of burying any feelings.

  + + +

  “Hello, Mariah.” Ben recognized the child peeking around the office door. The secretary had said that she’d scheduled a crisis patient, but Mariah? He picked up the chart from the wire basket. Sure enough. Mariah Begay was his four o’clock. No wonder the secretary had put him in the child psychiatrist’s office. Yet, as he watched, the bouncy three year old seemed in excellent spirits—anything but a crisis.

  Sam Begay stood and shook hands. “Hi, Doc. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.” His palm was moist and he seemed a little embarrassed to be there.

  “This is a treat.” Ben eased a red enameled chair with stenciled yellow flowers across the back out from the play table in the corner and folded his six foot plus frame into it. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  Mariah was already stacking blocks on the table’s Formica top.

  “I think Mariah has something to tell you,” Sam gently prodded.

  “I saw my mommy.” The child offered the information matter-of-factly as she fitted a green “A” block on top of a blue “B.”

  “Where was this, Mariah?” Ben glanced up at the uncle and saw the deep concern etched across his face.

  “In my bedroom.”

  She seemed on the verge of saying more, but the C, D, and E blocks had to be strategically placed first, though not in alphabetical order, it seemed.

  “It was dark. But I wasn’t scared.”

  Sam whispered, “Last night.”

  “Your mommy came to see you last night?”

  Mariah nodded her head until her braid flopped up and down.

  “Did she talk to you?”

  “Uh huh.” Mariah dumped a box of plastic figures next to the blocks. Thank God the child psychiatrist was on vacation. It would have been difficult to meet in the office usually assigned to him.

  “Doc, we’re worried that this isn’t normal. She could be getting sick in the head from all this.” The uncle tapped his temple.

  “I see.” And Ben did see. It wouldn’t be unusual for the child to fabricate, if not actually believe that the missing loved one was still a part of her life. There was certainly reason for Mariah to have slipped into her imagination and now confused it with reality.

  “My mommy said she was coming back, an’ I had to be a good girl.”

  “When is your mommy coming back?”

  Mariah shrugged. The blocks had just toppled and were demanding all her attention in order to be righted again. “Before the snow.”

  Interesting answer. Would a three and a half year old—even a precocious one—come up with that on her own? Or had someone coached her?

  “My mommy lives with my daddy.”

  This sounds more like imagination, Ben thought. “Where’s that?”

  “In a house in a hill, in a big round hole with a little hole for a door. Mommy climbs up and mommy climbs down.”

  This last was accompanied by Mariah “walking” her two fingers back and forth across the table.

  This definitely sounds like fabrication, Ben thought. It was possible she was beginning to make up her world the way she wanted it to be.

  “I think Brenda reads to her too much,” Sam offered, “in English. These ideas aren’t good. She takes her to the movies, too.” This last seemed to seal Brenda’s suspect parenting skills, at least according to her brother.

  Living in a hole smacked of Alice in Wonderland, but Ben doubted that Brenda would introduce Alice quite yet …

  “I can’t go with mommy now but maybe tomorrow.”

  Sam looked at Ben nervously, “Do you think she’d try to run away? Go find Brenda on her own?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t your mother with her most of the time?”

  “I’m not sure she’s able to watch her every minute. She’s getting old.”

  “Mariah, I want you to listen to me.” Ben waited until she turned toward him. “You can’t try to find your mommy. You have to stay with your grandmother—wait for mommy to come back. If you go away, mommy might not find you.”

  “I know.” She turned back to the table and stacked the G and then the H block on top of the E and F. The tower was good size now. “I have to be a good girl. Do you know my Daddy?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “My daddy drives airplanes up in the sky.”

  At least he did, Ben thought to himself and couldn’t shake the sadness that settled over him. Mariah would never know her father.

  “I don’t think she’ll try to leave.” Ben stood and walked behind the desk leaving Mariah to her blocks. “I’m guessing that her imagination is going to be active for awhile and then with time … let’s just see if there are any changes—that’s about all we can do. To be on the safe side, bring her back in a week.”

  Ben walked them to the door of the office and said good-bye, reassuring Sam once again that he felt Mariah would be fine. He watched the two of them pass the receptionist’s desk, the man taking small, half-steps so the toddler could walk beside him. Mariah turned once to smile back at him. The child was beautiful. To think that her mother might not—

  “Could I have ten minutes of your time?”

  Ben started. He hadn’t seen the man sitting in a chair blocked by the open door to his office.

  “Colonel Anderson?” Ben’s first impulse was to lie. But he did have a few minutes before his next patient. “Come in. I don’t have anyone scheduled until the half-hour.”

  “Good. I apologize for not calling first, but I had some business at the Tribal Office. As long as I was out this way, I thought I’d drop by.”

  Ben indicated a chair next to the lone window in his office and moved to sit behind his desk. He waited for the colonel to speak first.

  “I’ll come right to the point. We have reason to believe that Ronnie Cachini and Brenda Begay are involved in espionage.” The colonel hastened to fill Ben in on their discovery of the pilot’s identity or rather, lack of.

  “I can’t believe that Brenda is guilty of anything like that.”

  “I appreciate your sticking up for one of your students, but I think you’re being a little naïve. There’s some big money to be had in the sale of this country’s secrets. But that’s not the reason for my visit.”

  Ben waited. The colonel seemed to be weighing his words, reluctant even to say why he was there.

  “I guess it’s best if I just put it on the table. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t concerned.”

  “Concerned about what?” Ben was beginning to feel irritated. There was too much staging in the colonel’s delivery. Ben wished he’d just say whatever it was and get it over with. “Word’s gotten back that your friend, this Mr. Spottedhorse, didn’t make a very good impression on a couple of Federal Agents. I might add that this investigation has enlarged somewhat in scope—thanks to some recent developments. Your friend is tampering with something the United States Government has a pretty big stake in.”

  “How is Tommy tampering?”

  “Let’s just say by not keeping us informed when he finds something out. I’m over at the Information Center at Chaco a little earlier and one of the rangers lets drop that this Edwina woman kept a diary. Seems the man who lured her to her death w
ore fatigues. One of the rangers even saw him leaving the Center. Now, that sounds like a military man to me, what do you think?”

  Ben knew he wasn’t expected to answer.

  “It could be that Ronnie Cachini and Brenda Begay never left this part of the country. And that puts a whole new spin on things. So I call the dead girl’s mother and lo and behold she’s given this diary to your friend.” The colonel leaned forward. “I need to see that diary. It could have a direct bearing on our case here. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Why are you telling me all this? Why not just talk to Tommy’s superiors?”

  “I don’t necessarily want to get him into trouble … yet. And you may have some influence. But due to the fact that you’re a government worker and all … might just behoove you to be cooperative. We’re all together in this under one flag. Do I presume correctly?”

  Ben chose not to answer.

  “I suppose you’ve seen the diary?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.” Ben had nothing to hide and he didn’t hide his irritation. In all truthfulness, he wished he could tell the colonel that Tommy had turned the diary in, given it to someone who had the authority to do something with it. But it bugged him that Tommy assumed that he could simply keep it, use it for his own investigation. This was the reservation but in a case like this, they weren’t in a vacuum. “I really didn’t think there was anything of importance. Just a lot of babbling by a love struck woman in her forties.”

  “I guess I need to be the judge of that. Where’s the diary now?”

  “You’ll have to ask Tommy.” Ben rose to see him to the door.

  “You’re positive there weren’t any clues to her murderer?”

  “Not exactly. She’d met some guy who was camping at the park. The guy made a call from the Information Center. He said he was calling his mother, but the records might prove differently. It’s not clear if this man could have been involved with her murder.” Ben immediately wished he could take the words back when he saw the set of the colonel’s jaw and a flash of anger in his eyes. He braced for another tirade on the obstruction of justice, but none came. The colonel just turned, started down the hall and continued out the front door.