“He was very young boy when, by himself, he built a larger dam to save water. He grew fine crops. He found new ways to do things. He created devices—what you call machines—to do things. The evil ones decided he was bewitched and killed him.
“They could not kill his thoughts. Those who killed him began to use his magic. They built stronger walls and larger houses and they built other dams. Then they made laws to say who can have water and when. People accepted the laws because they were good and they kept away much trouble. But the ones who said yes or no on water soon made other laws which were not good. So some of us left them and went to a new place to live as we always had.
“They came against us because we did not obey. Some they killed and some they took as slaves, but then we found a place where my ancestor had worked when building things, and we found some other things he had made and some he had begun to make. We used those things to fight them and they left us alone. Johnny helped. He said my ancestor was another Davinch.”
“Da Vinci? Leonardo da Vinci was an artist who invented many things.”
“I think so.”
“You have come over to this side. Have you done this often?”
“It is not permitted. Somehow they know. I do not know how, but instantly they know. If one comes through he is seized. They do not rest until he is taken.”
“What about those who rule? Do they go over?”
“They say no, yet sometimes do. Or once they did and then a great water covered the place and for long time they could not until Erik opened the kiva.”
“But there are other ways? He who drew the line on Erik’s blueprints must have come some other way.”
“There are sometime ways. I do not understand but sometimes there are openings. That is how I am here.”
“The great water was probably what we call Lake Powell. We built a dam to stop the water of the Colorado and drowned most of what was Glen Canyon.”
They were both silent. His eyes sought the street. Suppose they came now? What would he do?
“I must help him,” he said.
“You cannot. They have him.”
“Where will they take him?”
“It is a bad place, a place of fear. It is an old place, a place that was there before we entered into the Fourth World, your world. I have not been there but he who was my mother’s father knew it.”
She looked at him with sudden realization. “Now it is you they must take. They must have you. They wish none to know their world exists and now you do.”
“And you also.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “They know of me. I am hated. I am wanted most of all. I am head of family now, of clan. They look to me. I am descend from He Who Had Magic, the old one who made many things. I must go back.”
“There’s the kiva.”
“No. That is their way. They will watch and they are very near to it.”
“But you came!”
“My way is not sure, very dangerous, but there is a way that is open, most times open. They do not know it. We do not. Only the Saqua know.”
“The Saqua? The hairy ones?”
“You know of them? They are not people, but they know things others do not. They come to hunt or to take sheep to eat.”
“Sheep? From the Indians?”
“They take sheep. I do not know whose sheep.”
He finished his coffee. “We had better get away from here and do some planning.”
Raglan started to rise but a hand dropped on his shoulder. He glanced up.
The man was stocky, strongly built. He wore a badge. “Mind? I’ve a few questions for the lady. For you, too, for that matter.”
He turned and called to the waitress. “Marie? Another cup of coffee.”
He glanced from one to the other. “I’m Gallagher. I’ll ask the questions.”
Chapter 8
*
HE GLANCED AT Mike Raglan, then at the girl. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Kawasi.”
“You from around here?”
“I am…tourist.” She spoke calmly, without hesitation or fear.
“You’re an Indian?”
“Long ago my people live near here. I have come to see where it was.”
He turned to Raglan. “You two old friends?”
“We’ve just met. I recognized her from the description of a mutual friend—Erik Hokart.”
“Hokart? Is he the one who plans to build somewhere down the river? Some kind of scientist, isn’t he?”
“That’s his reputation, but he’s a successful businessman as well. The two do not always go together. Yes, he loves this part of the country and planned to build a home there. He made a fortune in electronics and can afford to live wherever he wishes.”
Gallagher took his coffee from the waitress and sipped it, then turned his attention to Kawasi. “Were you in the restaurant when it burned?”
“No, but I was in it just a moment before. When I saw those men I was frightened. I ran.”
“What men?”
“I do not know them. There were two, perhaps another. I am not sure. Mr. Hokart was afraid and went to the counter to ask the man for a gun. The man would not give it.”
“He was right. What did Hokart do then?”
“I do not know. I am gone.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I hide. Then for room for sleep.”
Gallagher turned to Mike. “What do you know about Hokart? Was he on anything? Narcotics?”
“Not him. He was far too sensible a man. He didn’t need any crutches. He was a sober, almost too serious a man, something of a loner because he did his best thinking when alone. What he really wanted was a place away from the telephone. You know, when a man attains great success, people are forever coming to him with ideas and he did not need ideas from anyone else.
“He wanted a place where he could sit and think. I would not actually call him a scientist. He was an inventor of sorts but he had the ability to make things work. Many of his friends were doing pure research, but Erik had a way of sensing the practical value of things. He knew how to turn their work into money.”
“Anybody want to kill him?”
“Nobody I know. He had no relatives. No heirs. Most of his friends had every reason to keep him alive.”
If Gallagher knew anything, he appeared to have no intention of revealing it. From his questions he seemed to Mike to be feeling his way, searching for some explanation of what had happened.
“Ma’am, you said you were afraid of those men. Why?”
“I am in the desert with Mr. Hokart. He very…very anxious. We get into car and those men jump from behind rocks, but we drove away. Then they come to the restaurant.”
“Where’s Hokart now?”
“We were just wondering about that,” Raglan said. “They must have taken him.”
“Kidnapped?”
“Something of the kind. From what I have heard, no bodies were found in the fire, so he must have escaped that. You have his car, I believe.”
Gallagher sipped his coffee, mulling it over. He was a shrewd, intelligent man and Mike hoped he was accepting the story, which was about as much of the truth as he knew, not referring to speculations. Gallagher glanced at Raglan suddenly. “What’s your business?”
“I’m a writer, mostly about the far-out and far-away. I’ve known Erik for several years and he wanted my advice.”
“On what?”
“This country, particularly. I used to live around here, wandering the back country.”
“What country?”
“Dark Canyon, Fable Canyon, Beef Basin, the Sweet Alice Hills, Woodenshoe—you name it.”
Grudgingly, Gallagher nodded. “Sounds like you know something about it.” He took a swallow of coffee. “Know anybody who’d want to kidnap Hokart?”
“No.” Raglan hesitated. Then he said, “Officer, Hokart and I have exchanged books from time to time, mostly paperbacks. One was left
for me at Tamarron where I am staying. A short time later a man broke into my condo and tried to steal it.”
“Steal a book? What the hell for?”
“You’ve got me. He took it thinking it was something else, I suspect.”
In as few words as possible, Raglan explained about the warning from the girl at the desk, then awakening in his bed with the man standing at the bar.
“Lucky he didn’t kill you,” Gallagher said.
Raglan smiled. “I think I could have persuaded him not to,” he said mildly.
Gallagher looked at him again. “You got a description?”
“About five nine or ten, judging by his height against the bar, dark hair and eyes, swarthy skin. Very broad-shouldered. My feeling was that he was a very tough, dangerous man.”
“What makes you think so?”
“He was under control. Not the least nervous. He took in the situation at a glance. He saw I wasn’t going to try to stop him and knew an attempt to kill me would stir up more trouble than it was worth. My feeling was that he was a professional, knew what he was doing at every step, and was not to be stampeded. He just turned and went out.”
“And then?”
“I went to the window and watched him cross the snow to the highway. He got into a white van. It pulled away toward Durango.”
“You called him a professional. What did you mean?”
“Just what I said. I’ve known such men in a dozen countries. He was a CIA, FBI, KGB type. He knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t plan to do any more or any less.”
“What did he weigh?”
“About my weight. One-ninety, I’d say, but to most people he would look fifteen pounds lighter. Moved like a cat. He was nobody to play games with.”
“This Hokart—he ever work for the government? Secret stuff?”
“Not lately—at least not that I know of. He’s done something of the sort in the past.”
Nobody spoke for several minutes. The officer impressed him, so Raglan decided to take a chance. If he told the man what he believed he might be considered off his rocker, but he wanted to prepare Gallagher for what he might encounter. This was no time to let such a man go it blind.
“I take it you’ve been around here for some time.”
“Most of my adult years. Why?”
Again Mike hesitated. “This used to be considered kind of spooky country. I don’t mean right here, but off there toward the river. When Hokart asked me to come out, I had the impression that whatever was worrying him was from around here.
“You may believe I’m nuts but I think we’re walking on the thin edge of something. I wouldn’t want a lot of people down there, disturbing things. If you decide to go down there, take somebody who can keep his mouth shut and somebody who knows this country.”
Gallagher sat back and stared at Mike. Then he half-turned. “Marie? Bring me a cheeseburger. On rye. And bring us some more coffee.”
He glanced out of the window, following Raglan’s eyes. “You expecting somebody?”
“Yes, and no. Nor was I last night when that man came into my condo. I am watching for a white van.”
“There’s been one around. I’ve seen one twice in the past couple of days.” Gallagher glanced back. “What made Hokart decide to build down there? Of all places?”
“He’d flown over this country going and coming, and fell in love with the beauty of it. He decided he wanted a home atop a mesa, some place where he could sit and think. He planned to build it himself, out of native rock. He was handy with tools, and he was in no hurry.”
“That’s the last place in the world I’d choose.”
Their eyes were on Gallagher, waiting. “Used to be some Paiutes lived down there. All gone now. Nobody seems to know where. There were a couple of mining ventures, too, but they didn’t last long.” He looked directly at Raglan. “Kind of creepy, they said.”
Gallagher nursed his cup in both hands. He was studying Raglan. “I’m beginning to place you now. You’re a writer, you say. Are you the Raglan who debunks mysteries? Haunted houses and the like?”
“Yes, but let’s just say that I investigate mysteries. I’m not debunking anything, really. Just looking for the truth.”
“That why Hokart got you out here?”
“Yes.”
“I guess you’ve seen a lot of odd things. I heard about you being in Haiti, Tibet, and down there in the jungle country of Peru.”
“I’ve been around, and yes, I’ve seen some strange things, and I’ve a hunch, Gallagher, that you know something of what we’re up against.”
The man did not reply for several minutes. “No,” he said slowly, “I don’t. That country down there isn’t in my bailiwick and I stay out of it. Most of us do, and that goes for the Indians, too. They don’t like it much.”
His cheeseburger came, and when he had taken a bite, chewed, and swallowed, he looked at Raglan again. “But that man you were talking about was no ghost. And that fire—”
“Kawasi said one of the men threw some discs and when they broke, there was flame.”
Gallagher looked over at her. “How big were the discs?”
She indicated the top of his coffee cup. “That big, maybe a little larger.”
“Gallagher, at the risk of you thinking me crazy, I want to leave a thought with you. The Hopis say, and apparently the Anasazi believed it, that this is the Fourth World.”
“Everybody around here knows that story.”
“And that they left the Third World because it was evil.”
“That’s the story. What’s on your mind?”
“Suppose when the drought came, and the warring Indians from the North, that some of them went back into that Third World, where it was evil? Suppose some of them knew how to go back and forth?”
Gallagher did not look at Raglan. He looked out of the window and chewed on his cheeseburger. “You’re asking me to believe quite a lot,” he said thoughtfully. “But what about the van?”
“They’d have to have a working base over here. A place to keep the van and whatever else they need. They would want a useful place that wasn’t too obvious.”
He was silent again. People were coming into the restaurant and from time to time somebody spoke, glancing curiously at Raglan and Kawasi.
“If I suggested such a thing they’d say I had a screw loose. Not that a lot of people around here don’t believe in Navajo witchcraft.” Gallagher glanced at Raglan again. “What about you? Are you going to be around?”
“Hokart has disappeared. I am going to look for him. I may get my tail in a crack.”
“You’re likely to, if what you say is true. I’ll see if I can locate that van.”
“Gallagher? If you find it you’d better have a man or two as a backup. I mean it. They will play for keeps, and if what I’m thinking is right they can escape beyond your jurisdiction.”
Gallagher finished his cheeseburger. “Sometimes my jurisdiction is what I want it to be.”
He looked at Kawasi. “Where will you be?”
“With me,” Mike said, “when it’s possible. Tonight she will be in the motel next door. If your people could keep an eye on it…”
“We can and we will. I’ve got some good boys here.” He touched the napkin to his mouth. “That Third World now…?”
“I may have to go there.”
Gallagher took a long look at Raglan. “You really believe all this? I mean—well, I’ve talked to the Indians, and once in a while one of them, when he’s alone and not with any of the others, he’ll come up with some mighty strange tales. But still…” He shook his head.
“At this moment Gallagher, I’ve no other way to go. I have some evidence which I cannot share with you now. It does not belong to me. I believe it is either solid evidence or an example of a weird kind of insanity. In any case, you had a restaurant destroyed in a flash fire. That’s evidence. Erik Hokart has vanished, and that’s a fact. We may find him and we may not.
> “Erik had some weird experiences. He has told me of them. He has met at least one very beautiful woman from the Other Side—”
“Are you kidding?”
“I am serious. And a warning, Officer. If you meet her, leave her alone or you will die.”
“She is a Poison Woman,” Kawasi said. “I believe there are six now.”
“A Poison Woman?”
“The story seems to be that such women are impregnated with poison to which they are immune, but which will kill any man who touches them. Sexually, I mean. I’ve heard such stories in the Middle East and India.”
“Kind of takes the fun out of things, doesn’t it?” Gallagher glanced at Kawasi. “Do you believe that?”
“I do.”
He shook his head. “Well, you’ve got her convinced, anyway.”
“I told him,” Kawasi said. “I warned him as I warn you. She belongs to The Hand.”
“The ‘Hand’?”
“He who rules is called The Hand.”
Gallagher stared at her. “I don’t know what to believe. I started out buying part of this, anyway, but now…well, I don’t know.”
“It is true,” Kawasi said.
“You believe in this Third World?” Gallagher asked skeptically. “You really believe in it?”
She was very cool, and very beautiful. “I believe in it. I have to believe in it. I have lived there all my life until now.”
Chapter 9
*
GALLAGHER STARED AT her for a moment. Then his attention shifted to Raglan. “I’d better deal with something I’m fitted for.
“That man, now? The one who came into your condo? You got anything more than his height and weight? And that he was a ‘professional’—whatever that means?”
“You’re a professional, Gallagher, in your way. He was a professional, too. As to description: He had a scar, maybe two inches long, on his right jawbone. His ears were flat and close-set, not much in the way of lobes. His hairline was low—if it wasn’t a hairpiece, and I doubt it was. His skin color was a little darker than Kawasi’s and his eyes were smaller—a strong-boned, rather hard face, fleshy over the cheekbones.”
Novel 1987 - The Haunted Mesa (v5.0) Page 6