“Where?” Bo asked.
“On the rez. It’s a burned-out hulk.”
English said in a dead voice, “And no sign of Phil or Sue.”
“Another thing,” Cork said. “The blood we scraped off the dock at the Loves’ cabin? It’s the same type as Monkey’s blood.”
“What about the sweat, Dad?”
“The sweat’s over for me, Stephen,” his father replied. “You have to make your own decision.”
The kid looked unhappily toward Meloux. “If I stay, I won’t be able to focus, Henry. I’ll be thinking about the Hukaris. I’m not sure the sweat would do me any good.”
The old man sat on the blanket with his thin legs crossed, his knee bones like doorknobs. When he’d emerged from the lodge, he’d looked done for. But he seemed fine now, recovering quickly from what Bo imagined must be the ordeal of a sweat. More and more this man they called a Mide surprised him.
Meloux gave young O’Connor a wistful look. “An ending for you does not mean an ending for me.”
“You’re going on with the sweat?” Concern was all over Stephen’s face. Except for the old man, they all looked concerned.
“Your path is your path and mine is mine. What I am waiting for has not yet been given. I will wait some more and while I wait I will sweat.”
Stephen held himself very still, eyeing the old man, clearly torn.
* * *
The choice had been his and he’d made it, but Stephen was angry that the sweat had come to an early end for him. Although he understood that a sweat was about opening to whatever was given, which didn’t necessarily mean answers, he’d been hoping the burden of his vision might be lifted somehow.
Now, as he rode with his father and Bo Thorson toward Aurora, he was having real trouble with acceptance. He felt more stuck than ever, as if he were still hammering at a door that wouldn’t open for him. Which wasn’t, he knew, the way of a Mide. Or the kind of Mide he would like to become someday. The kind of Mide that was Henry Meloux.
Cork and Bo talked up front, discussing the visitor to O’Connor’s house the night before.
“Probably the same people who were after the Loves and the Hukaris and Tom Blessing,” Bo speculated.
“And who would that be?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I’ll do some checking on my end. What about you?”
“I’m going to talk to our sheriff, bring her up to speed on everything.”
“Everything?” Bo asked.
“Within reason,” Cork said.
They dropped Bo at the house on Gooseberry Lane, where he’d parked his Jeep. Then they headed to Sam’s Place.
“Wait here,” Cork told Stephen.
He went into the Quonset hut, and a few minutes later, Stephen saw him post a handwritten sign in the serving window that read: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
When they walked into her office, Marsha Dross was talking with David Foster, one of her deputies. She put up a finger, signaling them to wait.
“I’m authorizing overtime for every officer, Dave. They’re to be in the conference room in an hour. And get hold of Azevedo. His vacation’s over. I want him back here. Pronto.”
As Foster headed out the door past Stephen and Cork, he lifted his eyebrows in a way that signaled, Be careful.
Dross crossed her arms and glared at Cork. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sit down.” She waited for Stephen and his father to take the two empty chairs. “You know the Iron Lake Reservation and the people out there a lot better than any of us. They whisper things to you that they would never tell me or any of my officers. What I see is that everything that’s happened in this last awful week has happened on the reservation. So, tell me what’s going on out there that I don’t know about.”
“For starters,” Cork said in a calm voice, “it’s not just on the rez, Marsha. Someone tried to break into our house last night.”
“Who?”
“No idea. But I’m guessing they’re the same people who are responsible for the disappearances on the rez.”
“Everyone’s okay?”
“We moved Jenny and Waaboo out of harm’s way. It’s clear that everyone who’s been targeted so far was at the scene of Senator McCarthy’s plane crash very early, which includes Daniel. We want Jenny and Waaboo safe.”
“So they can’t be used as leverage?”
“Exactly. That may have been the plan with Fanny Blessing, to use her to get to Tom, except something went wrong. Grabbing Sue gives these people leverage with Phil. Ned Love’s sister, Beulah, has been followed, too.”
“Where is she?”
“Staying with Sarah LeDuc. I’ve got Harmon Goodsky keeping an eye on them both.”
“What’s it all about?”
Cork took a deep breath. “My best guess is that they’re trying to find the black box and they believe someone who was at the crash site early picked it up.”
“First of all, the official word is that there wasn’t a black box. And if there was, why would NTSB lie about it?”
“I’m just guessing here, but maybe the black box would show something they don’t want made public.”
“That the cause of the crash wasn’t pilot error? Hence, the presence of the FBI’s number two man from the National Security Branch. But Monkey Love, Fanny Blessing, the Hukaris? That doesn’t strike me as the work of the FBI.”
“There are other actors involved, but at this point, I’ve got no idea who they are.”
“I called BCA, asked them to come in on this.” She was speaking of Minnesota’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. “I got a song and dance about how they don’t have any agents to spare at the moment.”
“That’s a new one.”
“Know what I think? I think the governor’s office delivered some kind of directive.”
“You’ll sound like a conspiracy crackpot if you say that publicly.”
“Then I won’t say it publicly. But I’m going to get to the bottom of what’s going on in this county if it takes every officer I have working twenty-four seven.”
“They might not like that.”
“My guys?”
“Them, too. But I was thinking about whoever’s behind whatever’s going on.”
“Cork, I need a promise from you. I need to believe you won’t keep anything from me that might help in this.”
“You’ve got my word. Can I expect the same?”
“Deal. Oh, and one more thing. The preliminary autopsy finding on Fanny Blessing doesn’t show anything unusual. Looks like the cause of death will officially be listed as cardiac arrest. Reasonable, considering the state of her health.”
“The timing is interesting, though, don’t you think?”
“Is it possible for someone to be scared to death?” Stephen asked.
“I suppose someone whose physical condition is already precarious,” the sheriff said, nodding as if she thought the idea had merit. “If anything changes officially, I’ll let you know.”
Outside the building, Stephen stopped and gave his father a long look.
“What?” Cork asked.
“You promised Marsha that you would tell her everything.”
“I did.”
Stephen cocked his head. “You never mentioned Bo.”
CHAPTER 27
* * *
Bo pulled up beside the black SUV. Inside the cabin, Gerard was waiting for him, drinking a Leinenkugel’s pulled from the refrigerator.
“I see you didn’t stand on ceremony. Just made yourself right at home.”
“You know your Robert Service, Thorson? ‘Politeness is a platitude in this fair land of gallant foemen.’ It’s a poem about the cost of chivalry.” He sipped his beer. “Here I am tracking you down again. What’s this about you and the O’Connors?”
Bo tried to read him. He’d thought the truck that had staked out Gooseberry Lane the night before was Gerard’s doing,
but maybe not. Maybe Gerard really was as clueless as he seemed.
“I worked with O’Connor years ago when I was Secret Service. He’s part Ojibwe, knows the territory. I’m getting good intel from him.”
“Yeah? So tell me about the Hukaris.”
“The husband was one of the Indians first on the scene of the crash.”
“And if someone were looking for the black box, they might think he grabbed it?”
Bo headed to the kitchen area and began to put together a pot of coffee. “That burned-out truck, your handiwork?”
“I wondered if maybe it was yours.”
“I don’t operate that way. But I wouldn’t put it past you. By the way, O’Connor found the transmitter you put under the dash of his son’s car. He left it in place, but I doubt they’ll be using the Jeep in any way that would be useful to track now. What were you thinking when you bugged the kid?”
“After we caught him up on the mountain and questioned him, it was clear all he was giving me was lies.”
“And you thought a twenty-year-old kid might be involved in some grand terrorist plot?”
“Kids younger than him blow themselves up in the name of all kinds of harebrained causes.”
“And what kind of harebrained cause do you think he might represent?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. You’re the one with an inside line to the Indians around here now.”
Bo turned to Gerard as the coffee began to drip. “Someone tried to break into the O’Connors’ house last night. Your people?”
Gerard lowered his beer. “Not mine.”
Bo opened a cupboard door, took a mug off the shelf. “Your guys up on the mountain, have they found anything yet?”
“Nothing. And nothing in the woods where the tail section broke off or in that muck where the plane crashed or anywhere around it either. Someone grabbed that black box.”
“Someone afraid what the flight recorder might say about the true nature of the crash?”
“Maybe.”
“Kind of flies in the face of most terrorist agendas, don’t you think? A real terrorist would want the cause front and center, blasted all over the headlines. On the other hand, I suppose if someone on the inside were responsible, they wouldn’t be eager for things to come to light. So, if the senator was murdered and it wasn’t done by terrorists, the question is, who wanted her dead? And also, who has the power to misshape an investigation?”
“Any theories yet?”
Bo removed the pot from the coffeemaker and poured himself what had brewed so far. “The NTSB continues to deliver the same line of pilot error bullshit. The FBI is doing nothing but obfuscating. The BCA here in Minnesota hasn’t been brought in, so I’m guessing somebody is sitting on them. Whoever is doing the strong-arming, they’ve got a lot of clout. And a lot to lose if the truth ever comes out. The assassination of a U.S. senator.” Bo blew across the surface of his coffee to cool it and eyed Gerard over the rim of his mug. “You have the clout to misshape this investigation, if you had a mind to. You’re looking for the flight recorder, and I still don’t know at whose behest.”
“Is that important?”
“Only if I find the truth and it gets me killed. Will it?”
“Know the truth and the truth will set you free. Isn’t that how it goes?”
“It’s not just about the black box, am I right? Did something else come down with that plane?”
Gerard’s look was appropriately stony. “What do you mean?”
“Why search the mountain? The flight recorder would have been with the tail section in the woods next to the bog.”
“As it came down, the plane clipped trees up on that mountainside. Seemed appropriate to include the area in our search.”
“That explanation might read well in the newspapers.”
“I’m not one of the bad guys, Thorson. Save your questioning for them.” Gerard set his beer, still half full, on the table and started for the door. “I want to hear from you tonight. Don’t make me come looking.”
Bo waited until Gerard had driven away, then from a case in the bedroom closet, took a radio frequency detector wand and swept each room, searching for bugs. The cabin seemed clean. He stepped outside and ran the wand over his Jeep. Also clean. None of which surprised him. Gerard would have anticipated this move. If Bo were being surveilled, it was in a far more sophisticated way.
He drank his coffee and listened again to the recorded conversations from Gerard’s war room. He considered what they might have been referring to when they talked about the “bear tracks” on Desolation Mountain and what they might have meant when they discussed moving their search to the “beach” to look for “waves.”
Bear tracks. Evidence left behind that would identify the presence of something on the mountain? If so, the presence of what?
The beach. Waves. A veiled reference to . . . to what? You could see tracks. But waves, not necessarily. Unless they were talking about water, which seemed unlikely, waves couldn’t be seen. So airwaves? Radio waves? How would they show themselves on the beach? Electronic detection of some kind?
Bo would have loved to be able to hear what had gone on in the war room since he’d last checked the recorder on the island, but that would have to wait until the cover of dark.
CHAPTER 28
* * *
“I made Bo a promise,” Cork tried to explain. “He needs to stay off the radar.”
They were heading toward home to grab some lunch. Stephen sat stiff on the passenger side, looking disappointed in his father.
“Professional courtesy, one PI to another?” he said.
“That’s part of it.”
“Marsha’s a friend. Seems to me friendship would supersede professional courtesy.”
“There are forces at work here that are still very much in the dark, Stephen. With Bo out there in that dark with them, rooting them out, we might have some advantage.”
“If Bo can be trusted.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“I don’t know him. How well do you?”
“I worked with him several times. Important work.”
“When he was with the Secret Service. That was a long time ago. Is he the same man now he was then?”
“I get the same feel from him now that I got then. A man I can trust.”
“He asked you for a promise that made you lie to a friend. I can’t remember you doing that before.”
“It wasn’t a lie exactly.”
“If you say so.” Stephen looked away, out his window.
“Two things to think about,” Cork said. “One, it’s clear that Bo knows more than he’s telling us, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be trusted. My guess is that he’s made promises he’s trying to keep. That’s something I understand. Two, Bo risked his life in the line of duty. He put himself between the First Lady and a bullet. That takes a special kind of person.”
“You’re telling me he’s ogichidaa, like you, both of you standing between evil and the people you care about. I get that. All I’m saying is that people can change, Dad. Even the best.”
Before Cork could argue the point further, his cell phone rang. He pulled to the side of the street. The call was from Daniel English.
“Tom Blessing’s gone, Cork.”
“Gone?”
“As in missing. He was supposed to meet with the folks at the funeral home this morning to discuss his mother’s burial. He never showed. I asked around Allouette. Nobody’s seen him since yesterday. I went out to his place. His truck’s gone.”
“How’d you find out about the funeral home meeting?”
“I was at the tribal building, checking in with Kingbird. We’ve had more reports of those poachers. While I was there, the funeral home called Tom’s office, got no answer, then they called Kingbird wondering if he or anybody else had seen Tom. Considering that his mother died yesterday, he ought to be surrounded by relatives, but like I said, no one’s seen him. You add in
the missed meeting with the funeral home and what’s gone on with Phil and Sue and the Loves, and it seems pretty worrisome.”
“Where are you now?”
“Still at the Blessings’.”
“Wait there. I’m coming. And, Daniel, you have your sidearm with you, right?”
“You better believe it.”
“Who’s gone?” Stephen asked when the call ended.
“Tom Blessing.”
“Just like the others?”
“That’s how it looks.”
“What do we do?”
Cork punched in Bo Thorson’s number on his cell phone. The call went immediately to voice mail. “Bo, it’s Cork O’Connor. Tom Blessing’s gone missing. Give me a call when you get this message.”
“What do we do?” Stephen asked again.
But Cork was punching in the sheriff’s number now. When Dross picked up, he explained the situation, then said, “Stephen and I are heading out to the rez, Marsha. I’ll let you know what we find.”
He started to punch in Rainy’s cell phone number, but Stephen said, “I’m not going with you.”
“No?” Then it dawned on him that his son was a college student. “Classes this afternoon?”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “While all this is going on? School can wait. No, you and Daniel don’t need me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Head back to Crow Point, finish my sweat.”
Cork gave a nod. “All right.” He called Rainy and filled her in. “How’s Henry?”
“Recovering. The sweat was hard on him.”
“Anything good come from his ordeal?”
“He’s oddly quiet. It’s good Stephen’s coming back. Maybe Uncle Henry will talk to him. You take care of yourself.”
Cork drove to Gooseberry Lane, spent a couple of minutes removing the tracking device from Stephen’s Jeep, and put it in the garage. “We don’t want anyone knowing where you’re going. Make sure you’re not followed, okay?” He reached out his hand to his son. “I hope the sweat gives you what you need.”
Stephen’s grip was less than firm. “I wish I knew exactly what that was.”
Desolation Mountain Page 14