by Lynn Ames
Hawthorne would just have to find a way around him.
The limousine door opened, a hand beckoning from within.
Hawthorne ducked his head and took a seat opposite Wayne Grayson, head of Grayson Enterprises and number two on the world’s list of top moneymakers.
“Robert, it’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. I’ve kept my end of the bargain.”
“So far. But we’re just getting started. That business in New York was messy. We don’t like messy.”
“I know. Breathwaite was a loose cannon, but he’s out of the way now.”
“Yes, that little stunt out at Attica worked in our favor in the end—
you said yourself it improved Hyland’s standing with the public. It made him look tough on crime and swayed swing voters to pull the lever for him. Very presidential. Heck, if that had happened earlier on in the campaign, we might not have had to bomb the New York state capitol just to make him look heroic.”
Hawthorne was beyond astounded. “Y-you did that?”
Grayson examined his nonexistent cuticles and laughed mirthlessly.
“You were the one who told your colleagues that the governor was screwing up his chances. We thought he could use a boost in the polls, some positive media attention, and an opportunity to look like a leader.
Some of our international friends were only too happy to help us out.”
“People died in those explosions.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Grayson snapped. “Those individuals were martyrs for a good cause. We were only trying to help you succeed, Robert. I’d think you’d be grateful.” Grayson’s eyes turned hard as he narrowed his focus on Hawthorne.
Lynn Ames
“Make no mistake about it. We’ll do whatever is necessary to achieve our goals.”
“And those goals are…?”
“1989 is going to be the year of democracy.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you.”
Grayson moderated his tone of voice as if he were talking to a slow child. “We’re going to shift the way the world works—open up new avenues for our commerce. Change the global economy to expand our markets and further reduce the costs of our manufacturing by moving processes overseas.”
“W-what is it exactly I’m supposed to be doing?”
“You’re going to be the catalyst for change, Robert. We’re going to start in Communist China.”
“Ch-China?”
“That’s right. The United States government is going to fuel a pro-democracy revolution. All behind the scenes and very hush-hush, of course.”
“You want me to get the president and members of Congress to approve monies to overthrow Deng Xiaoping?”
Grayson shook his head. “No. The Commission will supply the money. We just want you to get the covert action approved and the mechanisms in place. You’ve got three months to set the revolution in motion.”
“We can’t just send our military in there to overthrow one of the most entrenched Communist governments in the world.”
“Of course not, Robert. The U.S. is going to get idealistic Chinese youth to do it for them. It has to look as though it’s an internal rebellion.”
Grayson laughed at Hawthorne’s facial expression. “Don’t look so shocked. China is only the beginning. After that, we’ve got our sights set on getting our man installed as leader of the Soviet Union—a fellow named Gorbachev. You’ll like him—he’s got very democratic ideals.
Once we have him in place, the rest of the Eastern bloc countries will fall and the world’s economy will be ours to control.”
Hawthorne was sweating, despite the frigid temperatures outside.
These men were mad, but he saw no choice. He had to succeed, even if it meant subverting the president of the United States.
As if reading his mind, Grayson said, “We’re counting on you, Robert. Don’t let us down—the consequences could be rather dire for you and your family.”
Hawthorne opened the limousine door to exit, but Grayson restrained him with a hand on his arm. “We’ll be watching you. If you need any…help…to facilitate matters, use the code to get in touch with us.”
The Value of Valor
Hawthorne nodded, a hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
That was one phone call he hoped he’d never have to make.
Peter stood on the mesa surveying the area. His work boots and the bottom of his pants were covered in red rock dust and traces of black soot, although he took no notice. He kicked at a charred piece of metal, dislodging it from its resting place underneath a rock. Leaning over, he picked it up in a latex glove-covered hand and examined it closely. He grunted.
The FBI had collected everything they needed for testing and allowed the Arizona Highway Patrol to clean up the accident scene. But Peter had come anyway, hoping against hope to spot something, anything, that the others might have missed. He turned the item over in his hand, looking at it from every angle. It appeared, he decided, to be a fragment from one of the car’s tie rods. He opened one of the evidence bags he had brought along and placed it carefully inside, sealing the bag.
“Still here looking, eh?” Officer Brandan Oakley of the Arizona Highway Patrol stopped a few feet away from Peter. His boss had told him an independent investigator, sanctioned by the president himself, would be out here poking around.
“I’m just going over ground I’m sure you boys and the FBI have already covered. I’m Peter Enright.”
“Brandan Oakley. What are you looking for exactly?”
“I don’t really know.” Peter considered for a moment. “Tell me about this stretch of road.”
Oakley shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. It’s relatively quiet—all this,” he indicated his surroundings, “is Navajo country.”
“So on a Saturday, there wouldn’t normally be anyone around?”
Oakley scratched the stubble on his chin. “That depends. This is an area the locals sometimes mine for minerals, precious stones, plants, and things, but if anyone saw anything, they sure haven’t come forward.”
“Did you interview anyone?”
“We asked around the reservation. Seems like nobody saw or heard anything.”
“You believe them?”
“I don’t have any reason not to. Folks over there tend to mind their own business. They don’t have much use for outsiders and they keep mostly to themselves, but they’re generally cooperative. Other than some drunk and disorderlies and traffic infractions, they don’t cause much trouble.”
“Mmm.” Peter thought for a minute, making a mental note to pay a visit to the Chinle Navajos. “How did you come to find the car if this is such a ‘quiet’ area?”
Lynn Ames
“Got a call from a passing motorist who got out to take a picture. He got a good whiff of smoke and noticed the broken guardrail. When he looked over the edge, he saw the car—or what was left of it—sitting down there on its roof.”
“How long do you figure that was after the accident?”
“Don’t know for sure, but it had to be a while. The car was nothing more than charred bits of metal and upholstery.”
Peter tried to remain objective, but it was hard not to picture Jay driving along, suddenly catapulted into space. It must have been terrifying. He shook his head to clear the image from his mind. Knowing Jay as he did, she would have been wearing her seat belt, so it was unlikely that she would have been thrown clear of the vehicle.
“In your opinion, Officer Oakley, could anyone have survived that crash?”
“I’ve been over it a thousand times in my mind since that day. I just don’t see how, barring a miracle.”
Peter nodded, resuming his search.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, here’s my direct line. Give me a call,” Oakley said.
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
It was several hours later when Peter saw it. It was buried underneath dirt a
nd rocks, just barely visible to the naked eye. He squatted in front of it, studying it for several seconds before pulling a pair of tweezers out of his chest pocket and freeing it—a miniscule piece of cloth, barely as big as his thumbnail, but recognizable in terms of its color and texture. He bagged the find, stood up, dusted himself off, and prepared to call it a day.
From the cover of the same ledge under which he had hidden from sight the day of the accident, Tommy watched the stranger intently.
Every time Tommy drove past the spot, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, yet he felt compelled to look. This was the first time he had seen someone here since the first few days after the crash. He would tell the tribal elders what he had seen.
“Slow down, Tommy.”
“But, sir…”
“It’s okay, son.”
“Describe this man to me again.” Ivan Perry, tribal council elder, held the boy by his shoulders.
“Tall—very tall, thin, sandy blond hair. He was wearing jeans, work boots, and a dark jacket.”
The Value of Valor
“Okay, Tommy. You’ve done well. You can go now.” When the boy had left, Ivan walked swiftly to the healer’s hogan.
“Terri, I need to speak with you for a moment.”
“Of course, Ivan.”
“In the other room.”
“What is it?” she asked in a hushed voice when they were out of earshot of her patient.
“There’s a man on the reservation asking questions.”
“Is he a law enforcement officer?”
“He’s not dressed that way. We can’t take a chance. She must be kept out of sight.”
“James won’t be happy. He warned that others would come.”
“I can handle James. For now, the most important thing is this woman’s safety. Can she be moved?”
“I can get Trystan to help me. Together we can relocate her temporarily to my home.”
“Hurry.”
Without another word, Ivan left.
Terri picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. “Trystan?
It’s your mother. I need your help right away. Can you come to the clinic?”
“I’ll be right there, Amá.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Terri hurried out of her office and back into the room where her patient was sleeping. “Alexa?” She touched the young woman on the hand.
“Wha—?”
“Alexa, I think now would be a good time to see how seaworthy your legs are. Would you like to take a very short walk? My daughter will be here in a moment, and the two of us will help you.”
“O-okay. If you think I’m ready.”
Terri smiled at her kindly. “There’s only one way to find out.” She squeezed Alexa’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“What is it, Amá? Where’s the fire?” A beautiful, exotic-looking woman in her early twenties stood in the doorway of the clinic, her hands stuffed in the pockets of worn blue jeans.
“I need you to help me move my patient over to the house.”
“Is that wise?”
“Don’t question me, child. Just help.”
Trystan recognized the panic in her mother’s voice and clamped her mouth shut. “Right.” She stopped short when they reached the bed and swallowed hard. Even in her current state, the injured woman was gorgeous. Now this could get interesting.
Lynn Ames
“Hi,” the patient tried to smile. “I’m Alexa, or at least that’s what we’re calling me until we can figure out who I really am.”
The bashful look on the woman’s face was enough to melt Trystan’s heart. “Hello, I’m Trystan, Terri’s daughter. I hear you’re ready to get out of bed for the first time.”
“I guess.”
“Well here, let me help you. Just swing your legs over this way…”
Trystan moved in behind Alexa and lifted her gently onto her feet.
“That’s it, lean on me.”
Alexa grimaced as pain shot through her body. She groaned.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine,” Terri said. She shook her head at Trystan. Alexa was nowhere near ready to be up and around yet.
Together, mother and daughter virtually carried the patient across the road to Terri’s house.
“Here, let’s put her in the guest room. Can you hold her for a second, Trystan? I’ll turn down the bed.”
Dutifully, Trystan took Alexa’s full weight against her side.
“I’m sorry for being so much trouble,” Alexa said.
Trystan chuckled. “Believe me, having a beautiful woman hanging all over me is not my idea of trouble.”
“Oh,” Alexa blushed.
“I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you.”
“No, I’m fine. Everything is just a little overwhelming to me right now.”
“I’ll bet.” Trystan looked up at her mother’s signal. “How about if we get you settled in here for a little bit? A change of scenery might do you good.”
“Yes, that would be nice. Where are we?”
“My mother’s house.”
“Mmm, it feels cozy.”
“It is. I grew up here. You’re going to be in my room for the time being.”
“I don’t want to put you out of your room…”
“Oh, you’re not. I have my own house now, about a mile from here.”
“That’s nice.”
Trystan could feel Alexa drifting away even as she was still standing on her feet. “Amá? We need to move her now.”
In an instant, Terri was by Alexa’s other side. “Okay, can you lift her?”
“Of course.” Trystan swept the patient into her arms and cradled her, placing her gingerly on the bed. Alexa was already asleep.
Terri spent several minutes fussing with the covers, the weight of her daughter’s stare boring a hole through her back. “Yes?”
The Value of Valor
“What was that all about?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Terri said.
“Don’t use that innocent tone of voice on me. You don’t just up and move a patient in that condition on a whim. I know there’s something going on.”
Terri turned to face her daughter. “Come out here.” She motioned to the kitchen.
Trystan leaned against the kitchen counter with her arms folded.
Terri whispered, “There is a man on the reservation who was out at the accident site this morning. We moved Alexa for her safety.”
“Do you know that this man is bad? Maybe he’s a friend out looking for her.”
Terri twisted her hands nervously. “Perhaps. But we don’t know that.” She gestured toward the guest room and her patient. “We know nothing about Alexa except that someone wants her dead. This man could tell us anything to convince us he’s got her best interests at heart and we’d have no way of knowing if it was the truth. We can’t risk it.
She’s been through too much already.”
Trystan’s face registered surprise. “You’re really attached to this woman, aren’t you?”
“She’s lost and alone. She needs someone to care.” Terri shrugged.
“Why shouldn’t I be that person?”
“Okay, I’m sold.”
After a moment’s silence, Terri asked, “Can you feel the gentleness of her spirit?”
“Oh, yes. I certainly can.”
“It’s as though it radiates off her.”
“She’s definitely something special.” And someone I’d like to get to know much better, Trystan added silently, smiling as she took her mother’s hand. “She couldn’t have a better advocate. You want me to stay with her for a while?”
“That would be great,” Terri sighed, clearly relieved. “I need to go back to the clinic and put things in order in case this man comes by.”
“Amá?” Trystan waited until Terri turned around. “Be careful.”
“I will. And, Acheehen?”
“Yes?”
“I saw the w
ay you looked at Alexa. Remember that she has a life somewhere that we know nothing about.” She said softly, “I don’t want you to get your heart broken, Acheehen. I’m much too fond of it just the way it is.”
To herself, Trystan muttered, “It may already be too late for that.”
She watched her mother cross the street to the clinic, then turned back to Lynn Ames
the bed, pulling a chair close. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked the back of Alexa’s hand with her fingertips. So soft.
Alexa whimpered in her sleep.
Trystan cooed, “Shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m here. You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
Peter blew out a frustrated breath. So far, he had spent two hours in Chinle on the Navajo reservation, interviewing tribal elders and assorted others; he’d come up completely empty. No sign of Jay and no indication that anyone had seen the accident. Several people admitted to hearing about it—after all, a crash that spectacular was big news in this small community. But beyond that, the reservation was a dead end. There was only one more stop to make—the clinic.
He examined the building critically. It was a hogan, round in shape and made of adobe. Stepping across the threshold, he was surprised at how modern and clean it looked on the inside.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
“Hello, I’m in here,” Terri called from one of the inner rooms. She wiped her damp palms on her pants.
“I’m Peter Enright.” He shook the petite woman’s hand as she emerged. She was very attractive—about his age or a little older, he suspected, with luxuriant reddish-brown skin and rich, dark eyes.
“I’m Terri Lightfoot, the tribe’s resident healer. How can I help you?”
She appraised him openly. He was good-looking—his face was handsome in a rugged sort of way; he was lean and hard, like someone who spent little time behind a desk. His strength was palpable, but she didn’t feel threatened by him. Still her instincts told her he was someone who walked with danger. “You look pretty healthy to me.”
Peter laughed. “So far, anyway. Actually, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“About what?”
“I’m interested in a woman you may have seen. She was in a very bad car accident last week not far from here.”
“That’s awful.”