Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames

by Richard Paolinelli

  “I thought you had horses to tend to?”

  Del Rio didn’t reply, just stood there and waited.

  “Okay,” she relented, stepping aside to let him come in.

  “Without the recorder on this time,” he said as she closed the door and he took a chair next to the table in the room.

  “Is that why you denied who you really are out at your place?”

  “Partly,” he acknowledged. “Mostly though because it would be better if it didn’t become common knowledge as it will if you write your story.”

  “And you are here to get me to not write that story?” she asked, suddenly thinking maybe inviting him into her room hadn’t been a smart idea. She placed her hand on her bag, where she carried a pepper spray canister, in case she needed to defend herself.

  Almost as if he could read her thoughts and figured out she had some kind of weapon in her bag, Del Rio gave her a sad look.

  “I’m here to ask you not to write it and I will try to tell you as much as I can to explain why,” he said, with a look at her bag before adding, “And whatever it is you’re reaching for you don’t need with me. I didn’t come here to kill you to keep my secret, I came here to talk.”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

  “Because I caught up with you before you left the Res and followed you here, Miss Sanders,” Del Rio replied. “If I was going to kill you to keep my secret, I would have done it out there and no one would have ever found your body.

  “But if it will make you feel better,” he continued, slipping a snub-nosed revolver from his jacket and holding it out to her to take. “You can have this to use on me if you feel threatened. Be careful, its loaded.”

  “So this is an off-the-record conversation?” she said as she took the gun and saw that it was indeed loaded. “And if I decide to go ahead and run with the story? What happens then?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” Del Rio replied. “Probably nothing good I imagine. I’ll likely have to pack up and disappear again and I’d rather not do that. You saw my place today. I’m kind of fond of it.”

  “It seemed nice,” she admitted, setting the gun on the bag next to her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “Look Agent Del Rio, I’ll hear you out, but I won’t make any promises. You made a name for yourself hear on the Res and then again in D.C. before allegedly dying. Now, four years later, you are alive and well and living under an assumed name in the middle of nowhere. Why was your death faked? Was it to keep something secret? Even you have to admit that it’s a major story.”

  “Not when you look at it from my perspective.”

  “Then tell me,” she replied. “Maybe I’ll see it from yours after all.”

  Del Rio thought it over for a moment. What the hell, he decided, it was worth a shot. Maybe he could convince her to drop it. He wasn’t looking forward to trying to disappear again, especially since it seemed he hadn’t succeeded with his first attempt.

  So he told her his story, all of it save those things had to remain secret at all costs, from his time in London to his investigation of the serial killings on the Navajo Reservation five years before. He told her what he could of his involvement with the attempt to overthrow the U.S. Government by assassinating President Arthur. He omitted his role in the Inauguration Day assassination of the Vice President, the traitor from within who’d intended to hand his country over to an old enemy.

  He told her of Laura Cassidy, Lucy Chee, Sara Tomassi, his brother and parents. All that he had lost as part of the price he had paid over the years for standing against those that would do evil.

  “That place of mine out on the Res,” he concluded. “That’s pretty much all I’ve got left in this world. It’s up to you now, I suppose, if I’ll get to keep that or lose it too.”

  Del Rio got up from his chair and walked toward the door, pausing to collect the handgun he’d given her and slip it back into his pocket. He’d started to open the door when she stopped him.

  “Agent Del Rio…”

  “Call me Jack. I haven’t been an agent of anything for a long time.”

  “Jack. I’ll think about what you’ve told me tonight. I’ll let you know before I do anything, either way.”

  “Thanks,” Del Rio said, opening the door and closing it behind him as he left.

  It was out of his hands now. Even if the paper’s publisher could be talked into killing the story, she would know the truth and there were far too many ways in this day and age for someone to get their story out if they really wanted to.

  He drove back home to wait for her decision. If she ran with it he wouldn’t be able to remain on the Res, there were those out there that would want him dead and would send someone for him.

  There was one way to ensure her silence of course, but Del Rio never considered it for a moment. He had killed in defense of his life and his country. But he was no cold-blooded murderer.

  SIX

  “I’m becoming quite impatient with your people,” Soors snapped into the phone. “You were supposed to keep track of every move they made with Del Rio’s bastard and the bitch that spawned her. How are we supposed to know when to move our people against him?

  “No, they haven’t pinpointed his location yet,” she all but snarled. “That’s why we need to have them moved to Arizona, so they can lead us to him! Call me back when your people managed to find their asses with at least one of their hands!”

  Soors slammed the phone down in frustration.

  “More problems, Georgina?” Wells asked, no longer bothering to mask his contempt for her.

  “Those idiots!” she raged. “We get the Brits to move them, but instead of heading straight for whatever hole Del Rio burrowed into, they head somewhere else. First they thought they’d gone to the Faulklands, then they thought Hong Kong. Now they think maybe Canada but no one knows for sure because they went and lost them.”

  “It is frustrating when your opponents don’t play like you expect them to,” Wells quipped. “Perhaps it’s time for you to drop this foolish vendetta once and for all and focus your efforts on something else?”

  “Never,” she snapped in reply. “Until the last Del Rio on this planet is in its grave there is no something else to focus on.”

  The phone rang again and Soors snatched it up quickly.

  “Yes? I see. What? You expect me to congratulate you for being less capable of finding one man that some nobody reporter in the desert?”

  Soors slammed the phone down again.

  “We’re going to have to order in some more phones if you keep that up,” he observed.

  “Those idiots have stumbled around out in Arizona looking for the only white man in a pack of damn Indians and they can’t even get a single lead on him,” she groused. “Now it seems some reporter out of Phoenix may have found him first. He’s liable to take off again and we won’t have a clue where he’s going because none of them thought to follow her to see if she’d lead them to him. I’m surrounded by fools!”

  She got up and stormed out of the room without so much as a goodbye. Not that Wells was sorry to see her go. He was in far too deep to just up and walk away from this. He’d tried now for these last four years to steer Soors back onto the original plan’s path.

  He’d hoped by returning to Karpov’s original intent back when he had sent the ancestors of Wells, Soors and the Del Rios to America in 1945 that something good might come out of this.

  But Soors’ hatred of the Del Rio family had fully consumed her, blinding her to any deviation from the path she had chosen, no matter the cost. But it was a price that he could no longer pay.

  His parents had been born in Russia, had taken the American name of Wells and he had been born shortly after they had arrived in Virginia in 1946. He had been raised to continue the idea of Russia and the United States becoming close allies and friends.

  Soors was determined to make America another satellite of Russia and he had gone along with it because the majority had support
ed this choice. But now it was just himself and her remaining among the original families. It was time for him to either salvage the original plan or put an end to this once and for all.

  But for the life of him, he didn’t have a clue how he was going to do it without getting himself killed by one of Soors minions.

  * * * * *

  Vlade Karpov had retired from the spy game three years before, but the old man had his eyes and ears open to the many matters that concerned him. His dacha lay many miles outside of Moscow, but it wasn’t so far that his friends or family couldn’t easily make their way out to him. Especially with news he would definitely want to hear.

  “Alexi,” Karpov greeted the middle-aged man who walked out onto the short pier where Karpov contently fished. The lake was pleasantly calm and while well-stocked the fish weren’t biting. Karpov didn’t mind. “You’re frightening away my lunch.”

  “My apologies, sir,” Alexi Sayansky replied, producing a folder that he extended to the older man. “We received a series of reports that you might be interested in. They involve the American, Del Rio.”

  “Here, hold onto this,” Karpov said exchanging his fishing pole with the folder and quickly flipped thru the pages.

  “How old is this information?” he demanded when he reached the final page.

  “That last update came in last night.”

  “I need a favor, Alexi.”

  “There is a plane on standby in Moscow with orders to take you wherever you need to go and no questions asked.”

  “Thank you, old friend.”

  “Think nothing of it. And good luck. I believe you are both going to need it.”

  SEVEN

  Del Rio stood at the entrance of the park in front of the Window Rock, the geological feature that gave the city of Window Rock its name. He looked up at the large hole, lost in thought and memories. He’d taken notice of this formation back when Lucy Chee had driven him up here from Gallup.

  He’d spent the last two days since his conversation with Sanders holed up at the Fortress, waiting for the axe to fall. But there’d been no word, and more importantly, no story from her since their meeting in her hotel room. Finally, he’d had enough of waiting and decided to drive into the capital of the Navajo Nation. He told himself it was a just in case move, to see the Window Rock one last time and to say thank you to President Yazzie for allowing him to have a safe harbor for the past four years. But mainly it was just a case of going stir crazy and needing to do something.

  “You’re a far ways from home today,” Shirley said as he walked up from behind.

  “Finally decided to do the tourist thing and see some of the sights,” Del Rio answered with a lightness of heart that he really didn’t feel. “Might even head up and check out the Shiprock and the Four Corners, if they ever decide where that point actually sits.”

  “They haven’t moved it in a few years,” Shirley said with a chuckle. “Might want to get up there soon since they’re overdue.”

  “Yeah, seems like there’s a few things I’d better get to soon.”

  “Still haven’t heard from her?”

  “Not a peep. I keep checking online expecting to see her byline spilling the beans on everything I told her.”

  “I’m still not sure that was a smart move. She might not have had enough to get the story noticed by anyone with what little she had before you talked to her.”

  “I didn’t want to live here constantly looking over my shoulder,” Del Rio explained. “At least I’ll know if it’s going to be safe to stay or not and sooner rather than later.”

  “You hope.”

  “Hope’s about all I got left right now, Frank.”

  “No,” Shirley disagreed. “Even if you have to leave the Res, you’ve got a lot of friends here that will do what they can for you.”

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  “So, where will you go if it comes to that?”

  “I was thinking of checking to see if that still works as a portal to another world,” Del Rio joked, indicating the Window Rock hole that old Navajo legends said was indeed a portal to another dimension. “They’d have a hell of a time finding me I’d bet.”

  “Likely,” Shirley agreed. “Although you might not like what you find on the other side of that. Might make your current situation seem like a holiday.”

  “That bad over there is it?”

  “Well, no one really…” Shirley stopped, interrupted by his official phone which he pulled out and answered, placing the call on speaker so Del Rio could hear. “Shirley. Go.”

  “Chief,” his second-in-command said. “We’ve got a situation at the bank in Chinle. Three men walked in and tried to rob it. Someone tripped the alarm and we had a couple of cars in the area that got there before they could get back outside. We’ve got a hostage situation now.”

  “I’m on my way now.”

  “One more thing. This seems to be the same bunch that held up a bank in Flagstaff late yesterday. They took a reporter from the Independent hostage with them and it looks like she’s inside the bank with them now.”

  Del Rio knew, even before he asked, who that reporter had to be. But he asked anyway.

  “This reporter have a name?”

  “Hannah Sanders,” the second answered, mistaking Del Rio’s voice for his boss’ voice.

  “Well, shit,” Del Rio swore.

  “I suppose you’d like to ride along?” Shirley asked as he pocketed his phone. “You know this might work out for you. We might have to storm the bank and she could wind up getting shot.”

  Del Rio shot his friend a dirty look but followed Shirley to his car. Del Rio’s truck wouldn’t be able to keep up and he had a feeling this hostage situation was going to be very short-lived.

  There were two ways to get from the Navajo Nation Headquarters over to Chinle. The tourists, and anyone looking to get there at a normal, leisurely pace, took Highway 264 west and then turned north on Highway 191. Some seventy miles, and about seventy-five minutes, later and you were in Chinle. The back way was a dozen miles shorter, but the two lane road was snaky and, at normal speed, took about the same amount of time off the clock.

  Shirley was not going the normal speed, nor did he bother to slow down no matter how severe the corner. Forty minutes after leaving the parking lot in Window Rock Shirley’s car flashed past the city limits sign.

  “Chief,” Shirley’s radio blared out suddenly. “The FBI has an HRT inbound and two agents on the way from Flagstaff. But they are all at least two hours away.”

  “Copy that,” Del Rio responded for Shirley. “Did we get any information on these guys from Flagstaff.”

  “Just a three-man team that’s hit a couple of banks in Northern Arizona. They usually get in and get out before an alarm is raised. No one knows why they grabbed the reporter, apparently she was a customer and drew the short straw.”

  “Copy.”

  “Jack. You sure you want to do this? I can’t guarantee you won’t get your picture taken here and if one of those FBI agents recognizes you…”

  “It won’t matter. Even if Sanders walks out of that bank and doesn’t run the story I’ve got a feeling the secret is out anyway.

  “That was really why I was at Window Rock,” Del Rio continued. “I was deciding if I wanted to stand my ground and stay at the Fortress or make a run for it and find a new place to hide.”

  “Did you make a decision?” Shirley asked as they pulled up to the temporary command post being set up within sight of the bank.

  “Yeah,” Del Rio said as he opened the door to get out. “I decided I’m tired of giving everything up and running off to hide in a hole somewhere. The world wants me, they know where to come get me.”

  The bank was surrounded by NNPD cars, two covering the rear exit and the rest in position to cover the front. Sergeant Jon Nez’s SUV was serving as a command center and he looked relieved to see his boss walking up. Nez was also one of the few officers on the force who knew Del Rio�
��s identity.

  “Glad to see you both,” Nez said.

  “What are we looking at?” Shirley asked.

  “All three are in there. There’s usually the manager and three employees in there at any time this time of day, but we don’t have a head count for sure. We’ve got a witness that spotted three men going in and one of them appeared to be almost dragging a woman inside with them. That witness was the one who sounded the alarm and got us here before they could get away.

  “We showed up right as they were walking out,” Nez continued. “We started exchanging shots, no one hit anything important as far as we can tell and they retreated back inside. We called in, someone answered and refused to talk to anyone not in a position of authority and hung up. That’s you, boss.”

  “Wonderful. Well, let’s see what they want,” Shirley said as he looked over the communications unit laid out in the back of Nez’s unit. He pressed a button and waited as the phone rang over the external speaker. The unit was already wired into the bank’s phone line and no other incoming or outgoing calls would get through. After four rings the call was answered.

  “Who’s this?” A man’s voice barked harshly.

  “This is Chief Terry Shirley of the Navajo Nation Police. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Who I am, Tonto, isn’t important. What I want is.”

  “Nice guy,” Del Rio whispered as an aside to Nez so that he wouldn’t be overheard. Nez grunted his disgust.

  “And what is it you want?” Shirley said, setting aside his anger at the insult.

  “I want to walk out of here, with my money, my two companions and this pretty little blonde as hostage so you and your boys don’t get trigger happy. And I want to leave right now, before the FBI shows up and tries to get cute.”

  “And if I choose not to let you just drive off with all of that?”

  “Then you’re going to have about five fewer Indians running around your reservation, Tonto,” the man taunted. “And I don’t think this little blonde is going to enjoy what will happen to her nearly as much as I will.”