by Joseph Flynn
“Well, when Rios and I weren’t sticking our tongues out at each other, I whipped out my phone and pulled up my dissertation online.” Maj smiled. “I’ve never been more proud of my scholarship.”
“With good reason,” John agreed.
Chapter 39
Ruidoso, New Mexico
John knew another way to find out if there was a clandestine gathering of Native American tribes — or at least tribal leaders — taking place anywhere in the country. Call Marlene Flower Moon. Hell, if something was going on in a place with modern amenities, Marlene probably had the presidential suite booked.
John made the call from the passenger coach of Maj’s pursuit train. She’d let him have his privacy in case something above her pay grade was discussed. John thought he might get routed to Marlene’s voice mail again but she answered.
“How much do you know, Tall Wolf?” she asked, not bothering with a hello.
“More about some things than you, less about others.”
“And you called to share, no doubt.”
“Don’t I always?” He told her what he’d heard from Makilah Walsh and Maj Olson.
Marlene laughed. “Ever the ladies’ man. How’s your Mountie sergeant?”
She was referring to John’s paramour, Rebecca Bramley.
“We’re doing fine, thanks, and she’s been promoted to lieutenant.”
For just a second, John thought he heard a gnashing of teeth.
He asked, “Is Nelda going to apply for that museum job?”
“I told her she should, but she’s waiting to see what happens with me first.”
“I will push you for the cabinet post at Interior, Marlene,” John said, “for whatever my humble recommendation is worth.”
After a moment’s pause, she asked, “So you’ve said, but why would you do that, Tall Wolf?”
“Because I know that kind of thing is important to you, and the two of us should always have a little daylight between us. Not be joined at the hip, organizationally, the way we are now.”
“You still think I’m Coyote, though, don’t you?”
“If not, only because you did Coyote in and picked his bones clean.”
Marlene laughed. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever had — and that’s what worries me about you. You’re not only smart, you charm people effortlessly.”
“Even you?”
“Even me, up to a point.”
“Well, sure, you still want to have me for dinner someday.”
There was no immediate verbal reply, but John could imagine Coyote nodding.
“I have some news for you, too, Tall Wolf, since you share so readily and have only my best interests at heart.”
“You know where the chiefs are gathering,” John said.
“I do.”
“You’re with them right now.”
“I am.”
“The train crewman, aside from the two in the hospitals, he’s all right?”
“No harm done.”
“And the inside man was Rick Engram.”
“Very good,” Marlene said.
John waited a moment to let her spring the big surprise, but Marlene was quiet.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” he asked.
“You’re doing so well all on your own, I can’t resist.”
John tried to throw her a curve. “Byron DeWitt said I could come work for him at the FBI. Prestige agency, probably a nice job title, more money, chance for advancement.”
“None of which matters a damn to you,” Marlene said.
“A man can change.”
“If you’d told me you were emigrating to Canada to join your woman, I might have had a moment of doubt.”
She was right, John thought. He should have used that as his feint.
He sighed. “All right, the chiefs are gathering on the reservation where I was born, right? And they have the Super Chief with them.”
“Well, this reservation is a large place. I haven’t actually seen the train.”
“And that gives you deniability,” John said. “But if you’re on the rez with the Super Chief and don’t call for help and —“
“The train will be returned, as good as new and maybe better.”
That surprised John. “No ransom?”
“No conditions whatsoever.”
No conditions from the tribes, John thought.
But what about from Coyote? The answer to that was obvious.
“You’re going to deliver the ringleaders to the government,” John said.
“Well, the main one anyway, and let’s remember, in some small measure, I am the government.
“L’état, c’est moi,” John said, sure Marlene would be up to translating. “Far be it from me to argue that. Are you going to tell me the reason for stealing the train in the first place?”
“You should know that, too,” Marlene said. “Oh, wait. I forgot you grew up white.”
“White and brown,” John reminded her. “So what I’ll do, I’ll ask Mom what she thinks is going on here.”
John heard a low growl in his ear. Coyote was not amused.
Then she said, “But you’ll still come, Tall Wolf. You won’t be able to help yourself. This is one time you’ll have to work a rez.”
Try as he might, John couldn’t find a way to deny that.
He didn’t have to. Having gotten in the last word, Marlene had ended the call.
Chapter 40
Sonoma County, California
Edward Danner found himself in a sweat, literally as well as figuratively. The usually temperate climate of the wine country north of San Francisco had turned hot and humid that summer. Warm and dry were his vintner’s preferred growing conditions. The grapes harvested that year would be far from the best. Danner’s future looked like it was turning to piss, too.
The last time he’d felt so personally aggrieved was when he’d found out how Brian Kirby had fucked him when they were kids, just as the two of them were supposed to go into business together. The only way Danner had gotten out of that was by doing something of which he’d never imagined himself capable. He’d professed that he’d gotten his science wrong. That deception had been rationalized by the fact that as soon as Brian had been disposed of, at the cost of every penny he had to his name, Danner had miraculously found the fix for his imaginary problem.
There was no doubt in Danner’s mind that Brian knew all along he’d been screwed deliberately, and that awareness had made Danner’s lie all the sweeter. He who laughs last and all that. Of course, they’d butted heads at every opportunity ever since, but they were well matched, each having his own strengths. All their battles had ended in draws.
Danner fully expected that should he be the first to die, Brian would try to shit on his grave.
A provision Danner had written into his will would counter that posthumous insult.
He was to be cremated. His ashes would be scattered from a plane flying high over the Pacific. If Brian wanted to pee in the ocean as a symbolic gesture, that would only show him how pathetic he was, how futile it was to try to best his one-time friend and long-time nemesis.
Now, though, thanks to that miserable cretin Merritt Kinney, Danner feared that Brian might be the one not only to have the last laugh but enjoy years of merriment at his expense as he rotted away in jail. There was no precedent in modern American history for a man with his money being convicted of a felony and actually forced to serve a lengthy sentence behind bars, but …
That would only make the opportunity to nail a multi-billionaire for corrupting political officials all the more compelling for the Department of Justice. Any U.S. attorney in the country would beg for the opportunity to put Danner away. Hell, a special prosecutor might even be appointed.
With Patricia Darden Grant facing the prospect of impeachment by the House and facing trial in the Senate, dropping his ass in the fire would be just the thing for the president to do to distract the public from
her own troubles. In her place, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Danner looked at Chuck Elias, the CEO of the private investigations firm, SearchCo. Elias had been the young PI operating a one-man shop that Danner had hired on a whim to check into Brian Kirby’s past. Sure, he and Brian had been pals at Stanford, but if you were going into business with someone, you’d better do your due diligence. Elias was the one who had discovered Brian’s dirty little secret.
Changing the course of the lives of two of the most prominent men in American high tech.
Danner was so grateful to Elias he’d funded SearchCo and had Elias do background checks on everyone Positron did business with or hired. The investigations company worked for other firms, too, but Danner was the fountainhead of revenue and business contacts. Chuck Elias had no doubts who had made him very rich or where his final loyalty ultimately lay.
“You asked to see me,” Danner said.
He couldn’t thwart the flicker of hope he felt.
“Yes, sir. Possibly good news, possibly bad.”
Danner hated equivocation, but held his temper.
“How’s that?”
“One of my people in Louisiana called and told me the cops found a crewman from the stolen Super Chief, a man named Clarey. He was passed out in a bar in Baton Rouge. We did a quick look at Clarey’s background. He’s been employed by the railroad for twenty-two years, has had regular promotions and pay raises. He also has no criminal record whatsoever. So far, we’ve found no family or other connections in Louisiana.”
“The man was drugged and left there, in that bar.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what I think.”
“Possibly suggesting the thieves have taken the train they stole that far. Got rid of some baggage and moved on.”
“That would be the possibly bad news, sir. The possibly good news, and I think it’s more likely, is the bad guys are trying to pull a fake out. Forcing anyone searching for them to cast a far wider net and waste time, money and man-power.”
“Why do you think deception is more likely?” Danner asked.
“Because the bar where Clarey was found is ten miles from the nearest rail line but only three miles from a general aviation airfield, a small place without even a control tower. A place it would be easy to get into and out of without anybody wearing a badge ever noticing.”
Danner liked that. It was a hunch but it made sense.
“Assuming you’re right, what conclusion do you draw?”
“The train and your property are somewhere nearer to California, say Arizona, New Mexico or maybe West Texas.”
“That’s still a lot of ground to cover,” Danner said.
“It is, but if you think it’s worth the chance, sir, I’ll pull investigators in from all over the country to flood those states.”
Danner nodded. “Do it.”
“To confirm what you told me earlier, the homing chip in the item to be retrieved has a detection radius of fifty miles.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll work that into the search parameters when I assign my people.”
“Anything else?” Danner asked.
“Yes, two things. My agent in Louisiana said the bartender in the place where Clarey was left said he came in with two Indian-looking guys. Native Americans. The bartender thinks they’re the ones who left him there. ‘Indians’ was the best description the bartender could offer.”
“You think that could have something to do with the train being a Super Chief?”
“That’s my only guess, sir. Well, that and the thought that maybe if the train is still in the Southwest, it could be on a reservation.”
“Sovereign land,” Danner said.
“Yes, sir, but if you want, I’ll find the right people to go anywhere.”
“Yes, do that. What else?”
“I received a call from Sergeant Gallo of the SFPD. He asked me if there was any chance an explosive device was incorporated into the item we’re to retrieve for you?”
Elias had maintained an impassive expression while asking his question.
Danner did his best to do the same. “Of course not.”
The investigator accepted the response with a straight face.
“Yes, sir. Just what I told him. We won’t worry about that then.”
“Please don’t, and when you find my property, package it for commercial express delivery.”
Danner told Elias to send it to Brian Kirby’s house, but he used Erika Bergdahl’s address.
The private investigator recognized the discrepancy immediately, but neither commented nor objected. He also didn't ask if Edward Danner’s return address should be used.
Danner knew that Erika, being the salt-of-the-earth rich type she was, would likely walk the package over to her neighbor’s house. Brian, only too happy to cultivate Erika, would let her in and accept the package.
Then … well, Danner would see who would shit on whose grave.
Chapter 41
Ruidoso, New Mexico
John’s backside throbbed. His arms and legs pulsed, too, but it was his rump that reported the most distress. After returning to Maj’s train, she persuaded John it was time for him to log a little practice time on the dirt bike she’d secured for him.
“You really think that’s necessary?” he asked.
“You tell me. I’ve never been on a Native American reservation.”
“Neither have I, not since the first hours after my birth.”
“Well, speculate for me then. You think reservations have terrific infrastructure? Miles and miles of well paved roads? Rest stops and fast-food joints. Or maybe the people there use off road vehicles, four-wheel drive and the like to get around rough terrain.”
John had to concede her point.
“So,” Maj asked, “what do we do if we need to catch up to bad guys who aren’t considerate enough to stay on the blacktop?”
John agreed to go for a ride. His Yamaha YZ450F was red and white; Maj’s was blue and white.
The seat height of his bike was just over thirty-eight inches; the handlebars were only slightly higher than that. The machine felt small, light and toylike to him. He’d had the same sensation riding close behind Maj on her bike, but, foolishly, had thought it would feel different if he ever had his hands on the controls.
Before he put on his helmet, having doffed his Ray-Bans, Maj could see the look of misgiving on his face.
“Don’t have much experience here, huh?” she asked.
“Very little on a motorcycle, none at all on something like this. Where’d you learn?”
“My dad did some small-time motocross racing. He taught my brother and me. Mom stayed home because she couldn’t bear to watch. We all came through it okay. My brother’s a terrific rider; I’m not bad.”
“Yeah, well,” John said, “don’t expect any Steve McQueen stunts out of me.”
“You mean like in ‘The Great Escape?’ So you’re not a movie star, huh?”
John shook his head.
“You ever ride horseback?”
“A lot more of that,” he said. “My folks like organic rides whenever possible. That’s what I learned.”
“You ever ride a mount at a gallop?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so what you do is think of your bike as the quickest horse you’ve ever ridden. Able to both stop and turn on a dime. Capable of jumping like a horse, too, only higher and farther.”
“You’re saying this machine is powerful and highly responsive,” John replied.
“Oh, yeah. So we’ll take it easy until you get the feel of it. Just think you’re on a horse, only it’s got a lot more horsepower than you’ve ever experienced. And follow my lead.”
That was exactly what John did. He trailed Maj, watching how she picked her way through the open grassland outside of Ruidoso. Before long, he started to get a bit more comfortable with the bike. It did help to think of the machine as a living thing, an extension of himself.
Cutting John a break, Maj led them back to the train on paved roads.
“Not bad,” she said, “but we were riding on relatively level ground. When we get the opportunity, we’ll try some hills and maybe even a mountain, so you can get a feel for climbs and descents.”
“Can’t wait,” John told her, removing his helmet and putting his sunglasses back on.
“You say that, but I know you had at least a little fun.”
John held a thumb and index finger an inch apart.
“Oh, well, if that’s all,” Maj told him, “we’ll have to shoot your horse.”
John shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe it’s just a slowly maturing relationship.”
He and Leo Taylor hauled the machines up to the back of the passenger car to store them.
With two men lifting each machine, they seemed lighter than ever.
Maj retired to her private compartment in the car, the one with the tiny shower stall. She said John would have to bend his knees to shampoo, but she was sure it would work for him. Give her thirty minutes, and she’d make way for him.
John said, “Sure. Thanks for the hospitality.”
“Mi tren es su tren.” My train is your train.
John closed himself in the car’s other private compartment and called Byron DeWitt. He told DeWitt about the homing device in Edward Danner’s missing journal
DeWitt laughed. “You know why the guy went analog, right? So his secrets couldn’t be hacked by anybody. But he couldn’t resist putting a high-tech touch in place.”
John told him about his thought that Danner might have stuck some plastique in the binding.
“Why would he do that?” DeWitt asked, and immediately guessed the answer. “Oh, yeah, to keep from incriminating himself.”
“Mmm-hmm,” John agreed. “Even a small bang would work a lot better than a paper shredder.”
“Maybe give him the pleasure of taking out the dirt-ball who stole his property, too,” DeWitt said.
“So you like the idea?”
“I don’t think we can ignore the possibility. You have any other news?”
“I know where the Super Chief is.”