The shadow groaned, rose, spoke again. “Sonny?”
“Rita?”
She was instantly at his side, hugging him, pressing herself against him, then she felt the blood that oozed from his stomach. “You’re bleeding!”
“I’m okay,” Sonny replied. “Shhh.” He motioned to the door. “The knife,” he whispered.
“Where?”
“Stuck on the door. Hurry!”
She peered into the dark, went to the door, and pulled the knife from the wood. Then she went back to him, and reaching up, she cut the rope in one stroke.
Sonny dropped to his knees, his legs weak and his wrists aching and numb. She knelt beside him, steadied him. “Amor,” she said as she cut away the ropes at his wrists. “Are you all right?”
“Alive.” He groaned with pain and allowed her to hold him momentarily in her arms. Both looked up at the dead goat hung from the ceiling.
“How did you—?” he asked, feeling her warmth and breathing deeply the rich, warm smell of her hair and perfume.
“Don Eliseo.” She pointed at the window and helped him to his feet.
Rita helped Sonny pull on his boots, then steadied him as he rose and they stumbled to the window. “Dame la mano,” don Eliseo whispered.
“You first,” Rita said and gave Sonny a push out the small window. Don Eliseo grabbed Sonny’s hands and pulled, then both quickly helped Rita out.
Gasping for breath, they stood against the side of the house, shivering in the cold drizzle. Rita pressed against Sonny, protecting him from the rain. “Gracias a Dios,” she whispered.
In the east the first light of dawn was a soft gray in the cloud-covered sky. Within the hour the women would come back to drain his blood.
“Vamos,” don Eliseo said, throwing his jacket over Sonny’s shoulders and pulling both of them away. He led Sonny and Rita back over the trail through the dense Russian olive trees to the acequia, and without incident they reached the spot where he and Rita had left the truck.
Don Eliseo opened the door and helped Sonny and Rita get in. Then he nimbly went around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the truck. He turned on the heater. “Be warm in a minute.”
“They were going to kill you,” Rita whispered.
“Just like they killed Gloria,” Sonny answered. “I was their sacrifice to the sun.”
“Sanamabiches don’t know anything about the sun,” don Eliseo said angrily. “When it rises, we give it our prayers, not blood! We offer cornmeal, pray to the Señores y Señoras de la Luz, but these crazies take blood!”
“Human blood,” Sonny said. An hour later and he would have been like Gloria. Like the cabro. Sin huevos. Sin vida. Sin nada.
“Gotta get you bandaged,” Rita said, taking off her scarf and pressing it to his stomach. Her hands and arms were bloodied from his wounds.
Sonny looked across the field at Veronica’s house. Now, in the light of dawn, he recognized it, even from the back. It lay quiet in the gray rain, but inside he knew Veronica and Dorothy and others were preparing for his death. It wasn’t a house of the rising sun and light; it was a house of death.
Veronica’s ominous words clung to him like the chill of morning: “It’s bigger than you think.” Bigger than murder.
“They want to create a world of evil and chaos,” don Eliseo said, as if in answer to Sonny’s thoughts.
Sonny slumped his head against Rita’s shoulder, and she held him as they drove homeward through the morning drizzle. Feeling was returning to his wrists. He closed his eyes.
Had Raven anointed Gloria to be his next wife? She came back from the group meetings disoriented, Morino had said. When she found out she was pregnant, she tried to get out. The thought made him shiver. In trying to leave, she had broken the cult’s primary rule, and for that she had to pay with her life.
“Gracias,” Sonny mumbled as don Eliseo drove up in front of his house and stopped the truck. They helped him in. The first thing he did was to dial Howard. If Garcia could get there before Veronica and her assistants in death found Sonny was gone, he could pick them up along with Gloria’s luggage and the pump. He told a sleepy Howard what had happened.
Then Rita helped him take off his clothes, put him into a hot shower, then dried him and made him lie down while she bandaged the cuts. Still shivering, he put on the dry clothes she offered.
Don Eliseo had made coffee. He offered Sonny a cup with a shot of brandy in it. Sonny sipped the strong liquid.
“Garcia will take care of Veronica and her cronies, but I’ve got to find Raven. Try to stop him.” Inside, he knew he wanted to get Raven for what he did to Gloria. Veronica was the one who did the cutting, that was certain, but had Raven been there? Had he given the order to drain Gloria’s blood? Raven needed the money to finance his plans, and they knew Gloria had it. Reason two why they killed her.
“Won’t Raven be showing up at Veronica’s for the sacrifice ceremony?” Rita asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sonny replied. “More likely he leaves the dirty work to the women. There’s something bigger, Veronica said. I think she means Raven’s going for the WIPP truck.”
“The news last night said the anonymous threats continue. You mean Raven has decided to blow up the truck, period, forget nonviolent protests?”
“It’s summer solstice day, the day all their energies have been focused on. Raven knows the east side of the mountains like the back of his hand. That’s probably where he is right now, waiting for the truck, setting up explosives.”
“Doing the work of the devil,” don Eliseo said.
“Call Garcia. The police will stop the truck,” Rita suggested.
“Not on my call. I’ve got nothing concrete to offer. The fact that Raven’s out there is known by the FBI. The question is, can they find him before he blows the truck?”
“What can we do?” don Eliseo asked.
“Get help from someone who knows the mountains.”
“Escobar,” Rita said.
“He’s our only hope,” Sonny replied and dialed Escobar. The ranchero was an early riser, he was up, and yes he would help. But there wasn’t much time left. The truck was leaving Los Alamos that afternoon. If they didn’t find Raven by sunset, it would be too late.
“We’ll find him,” Sonny said, “we have to. I’ll be there in an hour.” He hung the phone and turned to Rita.
“I’m going with you,” Rita said.
“Too dangerous,” Sonny tried to dissuade her.
“I got you out of the slaughterhouse. How can it get worse?” she answered. “Besides, I have a vested interest in your health.”
“Grab some jackets,” Sonny said, going to the closet where he kept his rifles. He took out his .30–30 and a box of cartridges. “We’re going hunting for Raven. Stay near the phone,” Sonny said to don Eliseo as he and Rita hurried out the door and into the truck.
“Ten-four!” don Eliseo called back. “Dios los bendiga.”
Sonny waved and gunned his pickup toward Fourth Street and then east on the interstate. The streets were puddled with the rain; the gray mood was dismal.
Don Eliseo checked in. “Sonny, Concha and don Toto just got here—”
“I was afraid of that,” Sonny said.
“—with hot menudo and a gallon of wine. Don’t worry, Snap, Crackle, and Pop at the battle station!”
Sonny flipped on the radio. The early-morning news chattered with the big event: a load of high-level plutonium waste was leaving Los Alamos for the WIPP site. In spite of the rain, the ceremony was going on as scheduled. The governor and senators were there; so were hundreds of protesters.
“That puts the truck in Raven’s territory near dusk,” Sonny figured aloud.
Raven’s territory spread along the eastern side of the Sandia Mountains, somewhere from Galisteo to Moriarty. A lot of road to cover. The low-hanging clouds, the weather news announced, would blanket the state all day. The state cops wouldn’t be able to have their plan
e in the air.
“Where?” Sonny asked as they drove. “Where?”
The radio stations broadcasting from Los Alamos were interviewing lab personnel involved in the nuclear waste transfer. No, the rain wasn’t a factor, the director of the labs commented. The truck was designed for all sorts of weather. The emphasis was on safety. The huge, barrel-like container in which the nuclear waste was housed had been tested over and over at Sandia Labs. The transfer was perfectly safe.
What about the protesters? he was asked.
The state cops would keep everything under control, the director assured the listening audience. In the background Sonny could hear the hecklers as the director spoke.
“Even a head-on crash wouldn’t create a spill,” the director insisted.
“What about dynamite? The threats we’ve heard from someone who’s going to try to dynamite the truck?” the reporter asked.
“We have state police and national guardsmen along the road from here to the WIPP site,” the director answered. “We want to let the people of New Mexico know that they have nothing to be concerned about. We foresee no problems. The governor has called out the guard; the state police are patrolling the route. People should remain calm. We are asking motorists who drive the designated route that was published in the newspapers not to use those routes today. Just as a precaution.”
“The man doesn’t want to talk about explosives,” Sonny said and lowered the volume on the radio. “But when they were making plutonium for bombs at the labs, they insisted they weren’t. Makes you wonder who you can believe.”
“That’s why Raven, or Pájaro, has such a following,” Rita said. “People are fed up with government lies. Does Raven have the dynamite?”
“I’m sure he has enough to punch a hole in the barrel. I don’t think it’s going to blow like a bomb, but the blast, if placed right, could leak a lot of radiation. A wide area of contamination. People will be killed, and more poisoned.…”
He paused and thought of the eventuality. What he had read on the possibility of such an event wasn’t good. The contamination would last for centuries.
“It would create international news. That’s what he wants.”
The telephone buzzed, and Howard answered Sonny’s hello.
“We got here just in time,” he said. “Your lady friends were running out the front door when we drove up. Veronica’s in custody. But no Raven.”
“I didn’t think you’d find him,” Sonny replied. “He’s going for the truck.”
“Where are you?”
“On my way to Jose Escobar’s place. Rita’s with me.”
“Ay caray, be careful. We got Gloria’s bags and the pump. And in Veronica’s bedroom, believe it or not, a nurse’s certificate. It looks genuine. I’ve only glanced at things, but there are old check stubs from a Taos hospital. Apparently she did nursing to keep the group in food when they ran out of poached meat. Also, a gallon of water perfumed with a cheap lilac cologne.”
It fit. Veronica had enough knowledge to do the killing. No wonder the wound on Gloria was done expertly and the traces of blood nonexistent. She knew how to clean up after herself. But now there was enough evidence to indict her, Sonny hoped.
“Has she talked?”
“Nope. She’s not saying anything. The DA’s here. There’s enough to hold her.”
“She knows who else was in the room when she killed Gloria.”
“Yes. It’s just a matter of time. Garcia will get it out of her.”
Yes, Sonny thought, they had the murderer, but would she implicate Raven? Or Tamara?
“Just as you predicted,” he said. “They were into sacrifice, using the blood as an offering to the sun.”
“And today they offer up the WIPP truck. Even if you find him …”
He knew Howard was thinking what he was thinking. If Raven blew the truck, the plutonium poison would bathe everything and everyone anywhere near it with a dangerous dose of radioactivity.
“You need me there?” Howard asked.
“I figure José Escobar is our only hope. He knows the area. Stay by the phone, though.”
“Ten-four. Y buena suerte.”
“Thanks, we need it.”
“By the way, Garcia said thanks.”
Sonny smiled. So the chief now had the real murderer in custody and he broke down and said thanks. A good sign.
“Anytime,” Sonny said and turned his truck off the interstate and up the road that led to Sandia Crest, then he turned east into the scrub forest of the eastern slopes of the mountains. The thin, gray drizzle hung over the mountains, creating a dark mood, a sense of impending doom.
José Escobar reflected the same mood as he invited them into his house and introduced them to his wife, Tomasita. Sonny told them what he knew.
“We should probably start at his place—”
“But he pulled out,” Escobar said. “The women and the kids are gone. Disappeared. The FBI was thick as moscas, Sonny. They searched the place. What makes you think you can find him?”
“We have to,” Sonny answered. “He’s going for the WIPP truck today.”
Escobar shrugged. “What can we do? From Los Alamos to Carlsbad is three hundred miles. A lot of empty road.”
“What would you do if you were Raven?”
“I don’t know.… Maybe set off a false alarm. Blow a little dynamite someplace, then strike when the cops are in the wrong place. I’d do it along the foothills, so I could get back up the mountain.… That’s still a lot of road. Sanamagon, it’s like looking for an honest politician in Santa Fe.” Escobar frowned.
“We have to try,” Sonny urged.
Escobar nodded. Yes, they had to try. He went to the closet and took out plastic ponchos.
“Dónde?”
“It has something to do with the sun,” Sonny explained as he took one of the ponchos Escobar offered. “Today is the summer solstice, the first day of summer. He’s got dynamite. He’s going to blow up the truck. Dynamite equals fire. Everything has a meaning for Raven, so the place he picks to blow the truck will have a meaning. Everything relates to the sun. He acts according to the cycle of the sun.”
“I figure he’s hiding along the road. I talked to Rocky Page yesterday, the state cop who patrols this side of the mountain. He said they plan to have fifty cops out, headquartered at Stanley.”
“Stanley?”
“Only a gas station and a post office. It’s Bruce King country,” Escobar explained as he opened his gun rack and took down his deer rifle. “If the FBI can’t stop Raven and his locos, how can we?”
He slipped cartridges into the chamber, paused to look up at Sonny. “What if he blows the truck? What about the radioactive stuff?”
“Raven’s not suicidal. He’ll be wearing protection,” Sonny replied. “But we won’t.”
He gave Escobar a reason to back out. Even a small leak after the explosion could release a lot of high-level radioactive plutonium, and exposure of that intensity meant almost certain death by cancer and leukemia down the line, especially for those in the immediate vicinity.
“I gotta do what I can to protect my land,” Escobar said. He looked at Tomasita. “And my familia. Raven knows this country. He can get the dynamite to the road without running into the cops.”
He turned and spoke to his wife. She had packed sandwiches for them, slices of cold roast beef in tortillas, and she filled two large thermos bottles with coffee. The house grew silent, only the steady sound of the dismal rain sounded on the tin roof.
“Que vayan con Dios!” she said when they were ready to go out. “Do you want to stay here?” she invited Rita.
“Thank you, thank you for everything, señora, but I have to go with them.” She stood by Sonny.
“Pray for us, vieja,” Escobar said and put his arm around his wife. “If ever there was a time to pray to your Virgen de Guadalupe, it’s now. Take out every santa you have, pray to them. Y sí, no.…” He shook his head. He didn’t w
ant to think about the truck blowing up and the damage the radiation would do.
“If any of the muchachos come by, tell them we’re looking for ese cabrón Raven. Adios.” He kissed her, then he turned and led Sonny and Rita out the door into the rain.
The back road to Stanley was already a quagmire. The caliche earth had turned into a thick, gooey paste. The ruts of the road were punctuated with rocks, making driving a test for Escobar. He had insisted they use his four-wheeler truck, and he was right. Without it they wouldn’t have been able to move. The rain was steady now, a gray sheet that cut visibility to a few feet.
“First good rain of the season,” Escobar said.
“And it plays into Raven’s hands,” Sonny added despondently. No state police planes in the air. No FBI choppers patrolling the state road.
The back road between Santa Fe and Edgewood was crawling with state cops. The national guard and the state police had a road block on the outskirts of Stanley, but Rocky Page, the state policeman who peered into the truck, knew Escobar.
“José, what are you doing out in the rain?” he asked and glanced at Sonny and Rita.
“Hunting,” Escobar said. “And you?”
“Hunting? Estás loco! Don’t you read the paper? The WIPP truck’s coming through today. Look, if you don’t have to be out, it’s safer off the road.”
“Trouble?” Escobar asked, playing the innocent.
Page nodded. “Well, a bunch of protesters blocked the road for a while, but they’ve been cleared out. The governor’s cut the ribbon, and the truck’s rolling. But you never know. Best stay off the road.”
“I had a few of my steers cut a fence and get out,” Escobar said. “A neighbor said they headed this way.”
“Okay, okay,” Page said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He wasn’t about to give a cattleman looking for stray cattle a hard time. He waved at the cops at the roadblock and they cleared Escobar.
“Gracias,” he acknowledged and drove south toward the interstate.
They drove in silence, looking, thinking, peering into the heavy rain. This was the first of the monsoon rains that came from the south, and it was welcomed by the ranchers. The rain would save the summer range; it also gave Raven cover to do his dirty work.
Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring Page 33