Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring

by Rudolfo Anaya

  The captain saluted and pulled back, as did the guards around him.

  “Follow us. Stay close,” Eric shouted at Paiz.

  TA-Two, the nuclear research reactor building, lay at the end of Omega Canyon. Crossing Omega Bridge, making the loop, and driving along the floor of the canyon meant they could be there in five minutes.

  On either side the canyon’s walls rose as natural protection for the labs, which produced PU-239. For research purposes only, the labs’ administration kept telling the public for years, but those who followed the labs’ role in the nuclear industry knew better.

  “How well do you know the place?” Sonny asked.

  “I’ve been here a few times,” Paiz answered.

  “Is TA-Two guarded?” Sonny asked.

  “Eric has three or four lab security men there, but they don’t know they’re guarding a plutonium pit. They think they’re guarding an Indian bowl just uncovered at one of the construction sites nearby. Eric knows how to lie. Frankly, I’m surprised he let Lorenza in on the meeting. But you have us over a barrel. You know Raven better than anyone.”

  “So Doyle is hoping I read the bowl and lead him to the nest of the world terrorists who are behind all this,” Sonny said.

  “Something like that,” Paiz agreed. “I understand the chemists from the metallurgy lab won’t have a look at the plutonium until tomorrow.”

  “How dangerous is it?”

  “You wouldn’t want to hold it on your lap for too long, but it’s fairly safe for now. It’s either nickel or silver coated. If you held it in your hands, it might feel warm. Right now it’s subcritical, as the physicists put it. You can transport the pit easily enough; couriers transport that stuff all the time. You might be sitting in an airplane, taking your family on a vacation to San Francisco, and the middle-aged executive sitting next to you might be carrying a nuclear substance in his briefcase. Destination, Livermore.”

  “But a machined pit is quite a bit more dangerous,” Sonny said.

  “Yup. You don’t want to be around if the thing goes critical.”

  “How does it go critical?” Sonny asked.

  “If you wrap it in plastic or drop it in water. In other words, if enough neutrons are aimed at the core or if in some way you excite that baby, then you’ve got trouble.”

  “You seem well versed.”

  “The agency has been aware of the problem. We get training.”

  “The problem?”

  “The number one post—Cold War fear is that a terrorist group might smuggle in nuclear material and build a bomb. The movies you see about terrorists stealing missiles or planes armed with nuclear weapons are just that, movies. What we’re afraid of is what Raven seems to be up to. You get hold of a pit and ‘buy’ the services of the right experts, and you can build a bomb in downtown Santa Fé.”

  “Why not in New York, or San Francisco? A dense population center.”

  “No one knows why he picked this place. I guess in large metropolitan areas he could hold the public for ransom, and if he actually blew a bomb, he could cause a lot of casualties. Maybe here he can threaten Sandia Labs in ’Burque. Suppose the army has dismantled bomb pits stored in the Manzano Mountains, or right on Kirtland base. And further suppose that a nuclear bomb in our midst would set off those pits, create a superbomb.”

  “The end of the world,” Sonny whispered.

  “Something like that. Anyway, I don’t believe your grandmother story, either, so why do you want the bowl?”

  “Historical continuity,” Sonny replied.

  Paiz scowled. “What were you doing in Santa Fé?”

  “Missing girl. Consuelo Romero, sixteen-year-old daughter of Arturo and Eloisa Romero, disappeared last night.”

  “The mayor’s daughter?”

  “Yup.”

  “You think Raven was involved?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, he’s in the vicinity,” Paiz murmured, and made a note in the notebook he flipped from his pocket. “I’ll follow up on it.”

  The conversation had broken the ice, Paiz was friendly, but Sonny sensed there was more to be revealed. Why else had he insisted on riding in the van?

  “Has Doyle identified any of the so-called terrorist groups that help Raven?” he asked.

  “Off the record?” Paiz replied.

  “Sure.”

  “Doyle’s story is that Raven has Mideast connections. He has some, but those aren’t the groups funding him.”

  “Then who?”

  “Someone in this country wants the bomb built,” Paiz replied.

  Sonny arched an eyebrow and looked at Lorenza’s face in the rearview mirror.

  “Someone in this country is behind Raven?”

  “Yes. As near as I can tell, it’s a far-right group that calls itself the Avengers. They’re probably the best-funded, best-organized group in the country.”

  “A militia group?”

  “They have militia chapters in every state. People who hate the federal government, hate income tax, hate the United Nations, and fear the so-called One World Order. These groups also claim the country’s being overrun by ‘the brown hordes from Latin America, the yellow from Asia.’”

  “White supremacists,” Sonny said.

  “In the worst way.”

  “What are they going to do, bomb the immigrants who come looking for work!” Sonny exploded. “What the hell ever happened to the American Dream! Every white person in this country has immigrant ancestors! What the hell are we doing now, closing the doors!” He caught himself, paused. “Sorry. I just don’t understand this entrenchment. What’s the fear?”

  Paiz shrugged. “You put your finger on it, fear. They’re afraid of the exploding population in the Third World. They look south and say Mexico and Latin America will soon overrun the borders. Food and population will force the people north. Hey, my parents came from Zacatecas, worked hard and contributed to society, raised four kids, and we’ve done all right. I figure without that escape hatch my dad would still be sweeping streets in Juarez, and I’d probably be running dope for the Mafia.”

  Sonny nodded. For centuries the Mexicanos journeyed north to trade in the land their ancestors had called Aztlán. There were no borders then. The pre-Columbian Indians from Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon had trade routes into Mexico.

  This was the land of the Aztecs’ birth, recorded in their legends and codices. Their ancestors were born in the Seven Caves of Aztlán, their sacred birthplace. Aztlán just happened to be the northern Río Grande valley.

  Later the Spaniards and Mexican mestizos had traveled north, using the old trade routes. The Españoles called the road El Camino Real. They came in search of gold and to finally settle down. The people from the south brought their willingness to work hard, their language, music, fiestas, and added their skills and talents to the native cultures of the Southwest.

  “Fear of the Other,” Sonny said. “Except we’re not outsiders.”

  “Yeah, but they continue to make us objects of their fears. They believe the government is protecting the so-called minorities, so their plan is to take over the government.”

  “A military dictatorship,” Sonny said. “Won’t work.”

  “It will if they can create a crisis that will topple the government.”

  “Like Oklahoma? That didn’t work.”

  “Bigger. They’ve been waiting for a really bad economic downturn or a catastrophe—any crisis, and they blame the government. But they don’t want to wait much longer. They believe the country is ripe for a civil war. The bombings create distrust in the government. If the feds can’t protect the public, they preach, then topple the government and let the Avengers run it.”

  “So they plan to use the bomb to create the crisis,” Sonny said, and whistled softly.

  “It sounds far-fetched,” Paiz said, “but that’s the way I read it. They have a lot of explosives stored around the country, so they can set off enough bombs to create havoc. But they kn
ow we’re on their trail. We’ve infiltrated some of the groups; we’ve recovered explosives. The public is now aware of their tactics and is condemning them. So now their plan is to use one big explosion to create the catastrophe they need. And that’s a nuclear bomb. It’s the way most dictatorships come into being. Frighten the people into submission. Prove the current government can’t provide for their security.”

  “I used to think these people were nuts,” Sonny said. “People who want to return to the Garden of Eden. A kind of frontier mentality where every man is his own boss. No feds, no taxes, everyone armed to the teeth to protect his castle. Lord, it was never that simple. To build their castles they destroyed Native America. Don’t they see the falsehood of their arguments?”

  “No, they don’t. That’s the scary part,” Paiz said. “You see, the Avengers are a core group we’ve never been able to infiltrate.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “We’ve gotten into the militia groups, but the government takeover doesn’t just involve the state militia groups. Not just the good old boys who will fight for the right to bear arms. Not just the America-first crowd of the love-it-or-leave mentality. The real leaders are in high government posts. In the military, in research labs, in the Pentagon, senators, representatives, you name it.”

  “You’re kidding.” Sonny looked at Lorenza. She was listening closely to Paiz.

  Paiz shook his head. “Not kidding. The Avenger group is real, and its members are some of the highest officials in government and business in this country.”

  “If Doyle knows this, why does he keep harping on Middle East terrorists?” Sonny asked.

  “Well, the director has to report to Congress,” Paiz said, but his cynical look told Sonny something else.

  “The director of the FBI?” Sonny shook his head. “But the militia groups hate the FBI.”

  “It’s a game they play. Hate the government and destroy it, and what better way to topple a government than to have your men in key positions. They’ve been plotting this for thirty years. They don’t want to engage in guerrilla warfare in the woods against the U.S. Army. They’re right in the center of power. Washington, D.C.”

  Sonny slumped back in his chair. So they’ve gotten into high places, and the bomb Raven would build was to be the trigger to bring down the government. Lord, he thought, life under the Avengers would be like living under Nazi Germany. They would allow no dissension. They would close the borders, not just the physical borders, but the forums where ideas were debated. There would be deportations of those who didn’t agree with the party line. The radical white supremacists would create a race war. There would be a bloodbath, the Armageddon they had been preaching all along.

  Raven was part of it. He was funded and protected by the Avengers. What they didn’t know is that he didn’t give a damn about creating a new government; he was using them to accomplish his own goals.

  “It doesn’t look good,” Paiz said. “They have a worldwide network. It’s not just us targeted.”

  “But you start at the center,” Sonny whispered.

  This was one of the remaining spiritual centers in the country. The Pueblo Indians knew that. Here where the covenant with the ancestral kachinas had been made lay a great power for the good of mankind.

  “Raven also wants you. You know that.”

  Sonny nodded. Paiz had been putting it all together since his agents started chasing Raven. In La Nueva México, Raven had found the spiritual center he needed to destroy. They didn’t need New York, Chicago, or San Francisco. They wanted to destroy the spiritual heart. They wanted to blast the dream apart. Go right to the heart of thousands of years of ceremonies that sustained life.

  “You feel okay?” Paiz asked, reaching out to touch Sonny. He had seen the sheen of sweat on Sonny’s forehead.

  “Yeah,” Sonny replied. “Just a little tired.”

  “We could turn back,” Lorenza said.

  “No. I’m all right.”

  Don Eliseo had told him this era of time was coming to an end, and a struggle would take place between Sonny and Raven. Between those who dreamed the dream of peace and those who put their trust in the violence of chaos.

  He looked out the van’s front window. They were nearing the building.

  “Does TA-Two have an alarm system?” he asked, looking up at the cliffs that rose on either side of the tech laboratory. Someone with training could rappel down the side of the cliff and land practically on the lab’s roof.

  “They have sensors at the LAMPF gate.”

  “LAMPF?”

  “Los Alamos Meson Physics Facility.”

  “But none here?”

  “No,” Paiz answered, suddenly tuning in to Sonny’s uneasiness.

  Lorenza pulled the van next to Doyle and Eric’s Jeep. Sonny let himself out with the lift. Overhead, threatening clouds hung above the Jemez peaks. The wind moaning through the pine trees on the cliffsides blew harsh and cold. High on the cliff Sonny heard the cry of a raven. Then all was quiet.

  He’s here, Sonny thought, the sonofabitch is here. But where? There were only two other cars in the lot, both marked “Security.”

  “It’s quiet,” he said.

  “Too quiet,” Paiz replied. He had picked up Sonny’s anxiety. Automatically his hand went for his pistol.

  “What’s the matter?” Doyle asked.

  Paiz shrugged. “Just go slow.”

  “This way,” Eric called, and they followed him and Doyle to the front door. When Eric pushed the door open, Sonny heard him gasp. Paiz whispered a curse. On the floor, in a pool of blood, lay the lifeless body of a lab security guard.

  Paiz went in, felt for the man’s pulse, drawing his revolver at the same time.

  “He’s just been killed.”

  Eric had instantly reached for his cellular phone. He pushed a code number and spoke. “Eric here! Red alert!” he shouted. “We have a security man down at TA-Two! Repeat, we have a guard down. We need backup!”

  Almost at the same instant a siren went off. The labs would instantly be shut down, and somewhere in the security station, Sonny knew the lab rapid-response team was scrambling. They’d be at TA-Two in three minutes. At Kirtland Air Force Base in Alburquerque, a SWAT team would be scurrying toward waiting helicopters to fly to Los Alamos.

  “He never had a chance,” Paiz said, motioning them back, pressing himself against the wall. Whoever had killed the guard could still be in the building.

  “How many guards covering this place?” he asked.

  “Three,” Eric replied.

  “Stay put, I’ll check it out,” Paiz said, and entered the dark hallway. Sonny followed. They were both thinking the same thing: all the guards were dead. Else they would have sounded the alarm.

  The next man lay dead where the hallway made a turn toward the old reactor room. Faceup, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, he lay in a pool of blood. The wound was a slash across his chest, a machete blow so vicious and deep it opened the sternum, cut through the heart and into the guts. Someone with incredible strength had caught the guard unaware and killed him with one blow.

  Sonny looked at Paiz. Sweat beaded on the agent’s forehead.

  “What the hell?” he gasped, meaning, What kind of an animal kills like this?

  “Holy Mother of God,” Sonny whispered. Whoever had killed the guard was only minutes ahead of them.

  Sonny shivered. The spirits of the dead men raced around him, crying in silent agony, shocked souls suddenly separated from their bodies. Instinctively he made the sign of the cross, an old habit from childhood days, so that the souls would not possess him.

  The guard’s blood had spurted on the floor from the initial blow, so the footprints of the assassin were red insignias leading down the hallway. Footsteps of the devil.

  A cautious, slow-moving Paiz followed the bloody prints, holding his revolver at ready. Sonny followed in his chair, one wheel creaking in the otherwise silent hall.

&n
bsp; What was it Oppenheimer had said that fateful day when the first atomic bomb was detonated at Trinity Site? On the northern end of la Jornada del Muerto desert, which Oñate had traveled through centuries before.

  The quotation crossed Sonny’s mind: “I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.” From the Bhagavad-Gita, a Sanskrit text Oppenheimer knew well.

  July 16, 1945. Five twenty-nine AM and the desert had blossomed with a man-made sun. The first atomic bomb, called the Gadget by those who worked on it, had changed the course of history. Man had tampered with the elements, created new elements, completed the secrets of the atomic table while pursuing the nuclear structure of new elements, processed them, finally laid them at the core of a metallic container, then imploded them with detonators. The rest was history.

  Then the Destroyer of Worlds was dropped on Hiroshima and thousands of people died, miles and miles of flattened rubble lay where life had once teemed. Children with burned flesh dropping from their bodies roamed the streets, crying a lament new to the world. It was the cry of those who saw their world ending in intense heat. Overhead, the mushroom cloud, the new archetype of the age of technology.

  Nagasaki followed, where the horror beyond horrors was repeated. Man using the fire inherent in the elements had turned it against man, woman, and child.

  Now Raven wanted to take the energy of the sun, the fire that was once a gift from the gods, and turn it against mankind. Raven, the demented Sun King, knew that to control nuclear power was to control the earth.

  Paiz held up his arm and Sonny paused. Paiz entered the reactor room. There was no sound, so Sonny followed him. In the room sat the eight-megawatt reactor that had been used to make small amounts of PU-239 for research. In the room also lay the body of the third guard, slashed as the other two. All three had never had time to draw their revolvers or sound an alarm. After all, they were at ease, they had been told they were guarding a bowl. Whoever came upon them had struck quickly and with precision. They never knew what hit them.

  Paiz moved around the large room, checking the shadows, but both he and Sonny knew they had arrived too late. The small table in one corner appeared unceremoniously empty. Moments ago the bowl containing the stolen plutonium sat there. Now it was gone.