The Last Warrior

by Kylie Brant

  She lowered the binoculars and stared at him. “And what did they use to bring the coal out of the mine?”

  “Rail carts.” He accelerated until they got to the spot she’d observed then stopped the vehicle. Carefully, Delaney scanned the top of the butte, mindful of the shooter who had remained hidden while he’d taken sight at her on the Nahkai property. But she could see no one. They got out of the Jeep.

  The steel rails had been removed long ago, but old rotting ties still dotted a straight path to the cliff face. Following them with her gaze, Delaney saw the boarded-up entrance of what must be the mine.

  Eddie joined her, rifle in hand. “Do me a favor and don’t point that anywhere near me, all right?” she said, only half in jest. The place appeared to be deserted, but she knew how deceptive such appearances could be. Although the path along the ties was wide enough to have accommodated the Jeep, the land on either side of it was dotted with irregularly shaped boulders and spears of rosy sandstone reaching skyward, providing ample chances for concealment.

  The sheen of perspiration dampening her clothes wasn’t owed solely to the temperature. They made their way toward the mine entrance. There was something eerie about their journey, with both of them scanning the surrounding area like jumpy kids in a graveyard.

  They reached the closed doors to the mine without incident. Eddie turned to face the vehicle, still wary. “Seems odd,” she murmured, pushing against the primitive doors that had been fashioned to block the opening.

  “What?”

  “There’s a new padlock on these doors.” The lock was shiny, still gleaming. It hadn’t been exposed to the weather for long, unlike the hasp it was fastened to, or the hinges holding the doors to the side beams. “If you were worried about safety, you’d think you’d board the place up completely. Brick in the entrance or something.”

  Eddie threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “Maybe they still use it for something.”

  She’d seen no need to give him more information about Joe’s case than she’d needed to. “Maybe they do.” Stepping back, she began taking photos of the door, a closer shot of the padlock, and then of the path leading up to it. Something caught her eye, and she motioned Eddie to step aside. The wind was a constant on Navajo lands, but sand collected in places protected by rocks or structures that provided a barrier. It was true here.

  There were a couple tire track indentations captured in the light dusting of sand. Because Joe had paid such close attention to them at the cave, she took pictures of each, noting the odd tread apparent on one of them. She eyed the mine entrance speculatively. The tracks seemed to be leading toward, or away from the mine.

  She went back to the locked doors, shook them. She could push on either one and get a couple inches gap.

  “You want to get in there?”

  Just the thought had her palms going clammy. “No.” Definitely not. “But those tire tracks had me wondering if there’s anything inside.”

  Peering through the slight opening, she was met by blackness. “Here.” She turned, caught Eddie’s car keys as he tossed them to her. “Try the mini flashlight on the ring.”

  Delaney eyed it doubtfully, but turned to press the door open a crack again, shone the tiny beam inside. And immediately caught her breath.

  The light glinted off something metallic, something large and solid. Something that looked very much like a bumper.

  “I think it’s a match,” Arnie observed, comparing the photo Delaney had printed out to one of the tread from the cave site. “Can’t be sure without the measurements, of course. What do you think, Joe?”

  “It’s a match,” he said flatly, standing a little aside from the others. Nothing else made sense. The van that had disappeared once leaving the cave site had almost certainly surfaced again, this time on Graywolf property.

  This was the break they’d been waiting for, but his excitement over it was muted. He went to the computer screen, brought up the other photos Delaney had taken and clicked through them. The area was remote. Isolated. Fear and anger pierced him when he saw the scattered rocks, any one of which could have provided cover for Lee or someone like him. He looked over at her, talking animatedly to Arnie and Tapahe and felt the anger take precedence. She had no business deliberately taking a risk like that. Not after what she’d already been through.

  She glanced his way and her expression froze, her smile slowly fading. A moment later her chin angled and a cool distant mask descended over her features. Their gazes did battle, neither of them giving an inch.

  “It’s your call, Joe,” Tapahe said. “What’s your next move?”

  With effort, he tamped down the simmering fury and glanced back at the photos in Arnie’s hand. There was really only one choice to make. “Let’s get the feds back in here. We’ve got less than twenty-four hours to get this operation planned.”

  Joe peered out the window of the DEA Bell 407 helicopter, the high-powered, night-vision binoculars trained on their quarry below. “We’ve got visual,” he announced.

  John Honani repeated the information into the radio that maintained contact with the strike forces on the ground.

  The van driver had been sighted driving cross-country over Graywolf property just after 6:00 p.m. Once he’d gotten onto a roadway heading south they’d alerted the others to stand by. Customs and Border Patrol had had units ready to mobilize as soon as they could give them an approximate destination.

  When the time came, the group of six aliens and the coyote had passed over the remote spot of the border undisturbed, all carrying bundles on their back. Those bundles were probably filled with crystal ice.

  The van had waited on the States’ side of the border for the aliens to reach it. Once the passengers were loaded, the driver had lost no time heading north again.

  “Here.” The agent handed him a high-powered rifle equipped with night-vision scope and Joe lowered the binoculars for a moment to study it. He’d never been tempted to join any other branch of law enforcement, but there was no question that the DEA had better toys.

  Honani covered the microphone on his headset. “Mitchell wants to get the units in place to take them.”

  Joe nodded. “Tell the rear flank units to pull within five miles or so, no lights.” The combined officers from the Border and Customs agencies would make up those units. “Remind Mitchell to wait until they verify their placement. We don’t want to lose the van before we’ve got them boxed in.”

  Ten minutes later, the DEA agent shouted, “Show-time!”

  The helicopter pilot swooped lower, to hover above the blue van speeding down the deserted road. Honani manned the exterior mike. “DEA. Stop the vehicle immediately.” The van swerved slightly, then increased speed. “This is the United States Drug Enforcement Agency. Pull over.”

  A couple of miles ahead, blinding spotlights were switched on, revealing a barricade across the road, sharpshooters situated behind it.

  “You are surrounded,” the DEA agent informed those below laconically. “There’s another armed unit behind you.” The van slowed abruptly to avoid drawing closer to the FBI roadblock. “All passengers should get out slowly, hands in the air.”

  As the van careened to a halt, Joe looked over at the agent. “Are we putting down?”

  “Damn straight we’re putting down.” A rare grin crossed Honani’s face. “I’m not about to miss this party.” The pilot veered to the side and began landing several hundred yards to the left of the scene.

  When they arrived at the area, officers and agents were swarming all over it. The panicked group of illegals were being separated and patted down. Several agents were searching the interior and exterior of the vehicle. As they approached, Joe was unsurprised to see Tarken and Mitchell questioning the driver, who he recognized as the same guy who had taken off on the ATV at the cave site.

  He looked around, expecting to see Niyol Lee. Rounding the vehicle he saw him collapsed against the front driver side bumper, a hand to his heart, w
ith two agents near him. “Sir, do you need medical assistance?” one asked. Lee bent lower to the ground, and the first agent took a step closer.

  In the blur of an instant Lee lunged forward, reaching for the agent’s gun, even as the second officer swung his weapon higher. But Joe was already at Lee’s side, his gun pressed against the man’s temple.

  Lee stilled, his gaze darting toward him.

  “Go ahead,” Joe advised him grimly. “Give me a reason.”

  “You owe me so big. It’s going to take a lifetime and you’re still going to owe me.”

  Joe grinned at Arnie’s grousing as they made their way to the interview room. “It’s not my fault that you didn’t have medical clearance. Next time bring a note from your doctor when you want to come back to work.”

  “Bite me.”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal. You were just as crucial standing by and picking up Graywolf when we radioed in.”

  His friend’s voice was sour. “Yeah, right. You were in a DEA ’copter with special ops equipment, and I got to pull over a guy in a late-model Chevy Avalanche. That’s almost the same.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Lawyered up as soon as I brought him in. We haven’t gotten near him since.” They stopped, Arnie’s hand on the knob. “Now he’s here to play Let’s Make A Deal.”

  They entered the room, where Brant Graywolf and a suit were waiting, both seated at a table. Joe nodded at the officer keeping watch over the pair. “Thanks, Danny.” The officer nodded and left the room.

  “I’m Ruben Filmore from the Tucson office of Filmore, Drake, Conner and Drake.” The lawyer was a thin man in his midfifties with a bad comb-over, a pinched mouth and rimless glasses that threatened to slide down his long aquiline nose. “I’d like it noted that Mr. Graywolf is here against my legal advice. And I’ll remind you of his right to know what charges are being leveled against him.”

  “We’ll get to that.” Joe pulled out a chair, sitting directly across from the younger man. “Tell us why you’re feeling talkative, Brant. Against legal advice.”

  Despite the hours he’d spent in a cell, Brant Graywolf still had a cocky manner. It would never occur to him to face the consequences he had coming. That wasn’t his MO.

  “I’m willing to tell you what I know of Quintero’s operation.” Graywolf looked from one to the other, gauging their reactions. “He was a lot bigger than you realize. He was trying to get me to introduce him to my former contacts. I told him I didn’t play that game anymore.” He shook his head. “That guy had balls, I’ll give him that. Or else he was too stupid to realize how many people he was ticking off by expanding so rapidly. Lots of people wanted to take him down for that alone.” He gave Joe a nasty grin. “You saved them the trouble.”

  “Guess we had it figured all wrong then,” Arnie told Joe. He looked at the kid. “See, we had you pulling the strings for Quintero. You were the one with the contacts, all right. And you used him to sell the pure ice you were scoring in Mexico.”

  “Don’t know where you guys are getting that. Other than a couple spring breaks in Cancún, I’ve never even been to Mexico.”

  “Not you. Niyol Lee.”

  The lawyer frowned. “Who?”

  “No idea who you’re talking about, man.”

  But Joe had seen the kid’s eyes flicker at the mention of the name. And he was quickly getting tired of the whole charade. Graywolf hadn’t uttered one truthful word since he’d entered the room.

  “Maybe your memory will come back if we tell you we’ve got a book he kept of dates and times you paid him to make runs to Mexico.”

  Graywolf was swinging his head in denial. “I can’t help what he wrote in some book, but if that’s all you’ve got, I don’t get why I’m still here.” He turned to Filmore. “They don’t have enough to hold me. Do something to earn that fat retainer you’re getting paid.”

  The lawyer’s mouth screwed up more tightly but he said, “I must agree with my client. Unless you can show some compelling evidence linking him to a crime, you have to release him. I’ve already submitted a request for bail.”

  “It’ll be denied,” Joe said flatly. “You want compelling evidence?” He pushed away from the table, went to the door. “FBI Agent Mitchell has something you might want to take a look at.” Mitchell walked in carrying a plastic evidence bag. Joe leaned a shoulder against the wall, prepared to watch the show.

  The agent let the bag with the Sig revolver inside land on the table with a thump. Graywolf reared back a little, his face losing color. “Recognize that, Mr. Graywolf?” Mitchell inquired. He looked back at Joe. “Looks to me like he does.”

  “No.” Graywolf recovered quickly. “Should I?”

  “Well, I’d think you would. We found it in your bedroom, top shelf of your closet. ’Course there’s no law against you having it. Just thought it was sort of a coincidence.”

  Rather than asking the obvious question, the younger man pressed his lips together and remained silent. Mitchell continued, “Seems the same type of gun was recently used to murder three young men.”

  “This meeting is over.” Filmore stood and tugged at Graywolf’s sleeve. The younger man remained immobile. “My client has nothing more to say to you.”

  Mitchell smoothed his tie, which was stained with whatever he’d had for lunch that day. “I’m guessing ballistics are going to match this gun with the murder weapon. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to bet on it.” He looked around at the other occupants of the room. “Any takers?”

  “This is an outrage…” Filmore began.

  Graywolf violated a traditional Navajo rule by interrupting. “Shut up.” The lawyer looked startled, then slowly sank back into his chair. Leaning forward, Graywolf told Mitchell, “If that gun matches the murder weapon for three kids I didn’t even know, someone must have stolen it out of my room. Maybe they’re trying to frame me.”

  “They did a good job,” Joe put in laconically. “Yours are the only fingerprints on it.”

  The kid sat back in his chair, looking from one of them to the other. “I tell you what. You get that list of charges to my lawyer. And the next time we sit down, you have a deal on the table from the federal prosecutor.” Filmore looked askance, but Graywolf ignored him. “It’s all about the links in the chain, isn’t it? You think you followed Oree and Lee to me? If you want a bigger fish, you better come ready to deal. Because my part in this thing is pocket change compared to the rest of this operation.”

  “You mean the illegal aliens, the slavery ring?”

  Joe could tell from Graywolf’s expression that his words had hit home. “This meeting is over,” the younger man repeated. “I don’t have anything to say until you bring me something from the feds to sign.”

  “What makes you think we need you to find the rest of the links in this chain?” Mitchell said.

  Graywolf scraped his chair back and rose. “You know how I’m sure you’ll need my help?” He glanced impatiently at his lawyer, who was slower to rise, seemingly shocked to silence, and then back at the FBI agent. “Because I know how you guys think. You’re never going to figure this all out because it’ll never occur to you to look at one of your own.”

  Chapter 12

  “Let’s call it a night.”

  Arnie looked up from the report he was typing on the computer. “You look like hell.”

  Curiously, the blunt pronouncement lightened something inside Joe. “Feel like it, too.” He tried to recall the last time he’d had eight hours of sleep. Or even six. He gave up the task as useless after a moment. The last twenty-fours he’d been running on adrenaline alone, but he was about to crash, physically, and he wanted to be in the comfort of his home when he did.

  Arnie pressed Save and rose. “You’re right. We may as well go home. Everyone else has.” Mitchell had left an hour ago. Even Tapahe had finally exited the NTP station forty minutes earlier, and it was rare to be in the building without the other man being in his of
fice.

  The two men walked out together, calling a goodbye to the skeletal crew that made up the night-shift. “Do you think Graywolf was blowing smoke earlier? With the crack to Mitchell about never looking at one of your own?”

  “I don’t know. Graywolf isn’t known for his honesty, but even he has to realize that making claims he can’t substantiate won’t get him anywhere.”

  “You think he’s saying they had some Customs or Border Patrol official in their pocket?” Arnie’s words seemed to mirror the direction of Joe’s own thoughts. “That would explain them getting away with this business as long as they did.”

  “He’s probably trying to sweeten the deal he’s working. I believe him about one thing, though. There’s someone above him calling the shots.” Joe stopped at his Jeep, his hand on the door. “Someone had to have the contacts in Mexico not only with the cartel, but also to become known as a guide who can get people safely over the border.”

  “Which could have been Graywolf and Lee.”

  “Sure.” Joe rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Lack of sleep had them feeling grainy. “But once up here, who had the slavery contacts? Lee? He spent more than half his time living in Mexico. From questioning Martinez, the driver, I have him figured as strictly muscle. And it sure wasn’t Graywolf. He’s got the drug background but no one is going to trust a young punk like him in an underground slavery ring. He doesn’t have the credibility.”

  “So that leaves…who?”

  Joe shrugged. In his mind he’d eliminated the three, but he was no closer to figuring out the identity of their superior. He was too tired right now to try, at any rate.

  “Want to stop somewhere and get something to eat?”

  “I need to get home while I can still function. Food can wait until tomorrow.”

  Arnie pulled open the door on his SUV. “You really going home?”

  Ready to turn down another dinner invitation Joe replied, “I’m really going home.”