Now that network was going to perhaps save some lives by shortening the time it would take to get important information on Zelda’s whereabouts. Perhaps Sarah, too.
Sanders and Lyle arrived just in time for the dinner Luci had made. Danny was anxious for an update.
“We sent it by courier to Washington, D.C. and I got it escalated, so we’ll see,” Sanders said. He seemed to be in a better mood. “You may not believe this, but the fact that they want Zelda is probably a good sign.”
“How so?” Luci asked.
“Well, I mean, they’re fishing for something.”
“Or trying to close a loose end,” Lyle offered helpfully. He was rewarded with a shocked look from Luci and a scowl from Sanders. “I mean, she’s the first one of—of—of a certain age, you know? Not young. And, well, look at her,” Lyle had turned bright red. He looked around the table for a friend and didn’t find any. “Why would anyone want to mess with that woman?”
Sanders was lost in thought, dropping a forkful of lasagna before it hit his mouth. “Holy shit. It means she knows something,” he said as he looked up to Danny across the table. “She knows something she doesn’t realize she knows. And they know she’d have told us if we’d only spent more time around her.”
“They wanted something from her,” Lyle said.
“Her computer, but we had it,” Danny said. “It has all the information on Sarah’s emails with those two imposters.”
“But they don’t know that, Danny. Only I knew they shared the same—” Luci stopped. “Unless Yellowhorse knew it, too.”
“She might have told them she was bringing the computer. Maybe she thought she could rescue Sarah. Maybe it’s why she didn’t tell us. She knew we wouldn’t let her do it. Now this is really making sense. Brave, but a big fuckin’ mistake,” Sanders finished, following it with a string of muttered swear words.
“This is totally consistent with my mother,” Luci said.
All of a sudden, Wilson stepped through the doorway, carrying a black duty bag, just like the one Danny had, probably loaded with enough firepower to start a small war. The look on Wilson’s face was one of complete focus and determination. In that split second, Danny knew that all the training, their past, their pains, separations, failures, and ordeals made them the kind of men they were.
Anyone who underestimated them would be the loser. And they had the backing of all the spirits of their ancestors, either living or dead.
After bringing Wilson up to date, showing him the messages on both accounts, they discussed what to do next.
One by one, several of the People began to phone information to both Danny and Wilson. People had seen Zelda at the trading post. Then at the bank. She drove north, deeper into the res, toward Tuba City. Someone else called and said they’d seen Yellowhorse with a certain Sheriff Payette Fisher.
They were headed west in Fisher’s Tahoe so fast they were going to see themselves coming and going, his grandfather’s friend said. The old man spoke to him in Navajo, “Your grandfather will find them, Danny. Old goatface will make sure the mourning mothers of the desert will tear them apart limb from limb.”
For the first time since he was a child, he believed the stories.
Danny and Wilson loaded up in Wilson’s truck with more firepower than Danny thought possible. For a SWCC boat guy, Wilson was certainly into explosive devices and weapons. Both cousins were grinning from ear to ear, like in the days when they were going hunting with Danny’s grandfather.
Sanders and Lyle also checked and loaded their weapons. Sanders called in details of what they’d discovered and where they were going, unable to give a specific address.
“Even if I knew where it was, there aren’t any addresses,” he told someone over the phone. “I’ll try to report in along the way. When is the help coming? Any chance we can get some air support?”
Danny heard Sanders salivating over the prospect of catching the Sheriff, and he hoped the man could reel in his emotions and not wind up causing any of them or the women danger. It was one thing to get excited for a firefight, quite another to get distracted with hatred and revenge. He made a mental note to watch the agent carefully.
Luci was quiet as she watched them clean, check, and load everything up, then put on their vests, gloves, and other tools. It occurred to Danny she was getting an inside look at his life as a SEAL. He was hoping her silence didn’t mean she had second thoughts. He held her in his arms and hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he would do so. He reassured her, kissed away the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
“Don’t you lose heart, Luci. We have one advantage. They don’t know we know about them.”
“But shouldn’t you wait to get help?”
“No time, sweetheart. That might take until morning. Besides, I’ve got Wilson. The dark of night is when Wilson and I are the strongest. It is how we were trained, how we learned the old ways. You have to trust us. Trust in our training.”
She’d nodded, and then he held her shaking body and heard her whisper, “I’ll say a blessing. I’ll ask Emma and a few of the ladies to join me and we’ll do a blessing ceremony.”
“Yes. Do that. Ask for protection.” He reached down inside his shirt and pulled out the little packet he’d been given with the corn pollen. “This went with me overseas and protected me. This will bring me home.”
He waved goodbye to her from the passenger seat as Wilson fired up his truck and headed out, Sanders and Lyle right behind them.
As they traveled the dusty, bumpy road to the highway, he thought about the fact that he’d been trained to do hostage rescues for overseas missions. He never thought he’d have to do one at home, in the land of the People, rescuing his own family members, protecting his own tribe. The fact that they had so many accomplices from the community made him feel like the leader his grandfather had been. If only they could find Zelda and Sarah. If only they could get there in time.
He heard the singing again and realized he welcomed it. He found strength in their voices raised to the stars, singing to The First Slender One, the warrior protector in the constellation Orion. The words of the singers silenced as one lone voice came to him from across the desert.
‘Ch’al. We go with you on the great mission to save the innocent ones. You grow wise with age. You honor the lives lived before you were born with your sacrifice and service. Go with the blessings of all the People.’
Chapter 28
‡
Sheriff Payette Fisher never liked the reservation, but using the People there was good business. He wondered if he’d ever been a good cop. He couldn’t remember back that far. So now he was streaking off into the deep part of the place he hated, with another one of his boys. There were lots of details coming unraveled. The town had been buzzing when Danny came back. And, he’d never thought the FBI man was much of a threat, since he’d gotten rid of two of them already, guys who just walked right into his trap.
He could feel Yellowhorse’s resolve dwindling. So he’d probably have to take care of him, too. God, the bodies were piling up. Probably meant it was time to start looking for another pasture to graze from. All this was getting too high profile.
He’d told Mr. Amauro so yesterday. The man clearly didn’t have any idea how formidable the Navajo could be when they were united. With the girls disappearing, satisfying the greedy intentions of his Las Vegas, well-connected partners, came the added baggage that eventually they’d realize someone from outside their culture was preying on them. They wouldn’t take it forever. There wasn’t any amount of money that could make them sell their girls forever. He’d tried to explain that to Amauro, suggesting perhaps they find more runaways, especially the young girls who came from Mexico with nothing, who haunted Las Vegas on a regular basis. There were little drug hotties who got snagged using and couldn’t get out of the cycle, potheads trying to drop out or run away from an abusive home, get a job dancing or working in a topless bar, doing extra things out back for
extra tip monies. The Mexican girls who came up were always the easiest to get.
But Amauro wanted virgins. Fresh, young things customers would pay a high price for. He suggested to Fisher that if he couldn’t deliver the goods, he might be able to find someone else who could. Fat chance at that. But of course, if Amauro went that route, and even if he failed, Payette Fisher would be sleeping with the lizards and buzzards in the desert.
No, a tropical island was feeling pretty good right now. Some place out of the reach of Mr. A and his cronies.
Yellowhorse had been fidgeting, holding onto the ceiling mounted hand grips, knuckles white and his lips in a thin line, swallowing every thirty seconds and making Fisher nervous.
The highway, if it could be called that, was an unpaved stretch of absolutely straight, sandy road that was hell on shocks and tires. That’s why the locals didn’t travel it at one hundred miles per hour, like he was. He wasn’t sure whether it was the speed or the mission that bothered Yellowhorse more.
“What’s the matter?” he shouted over the sounds of the tires trying to get impossible traction. “You’ve never traveled this fast before?”
Yellowhorse kept his eyes straight ahead, as if he could see something Fisher couldn’t. “You don’t want to hit a coyote, or a goat or sheep. They get loose. This is free grazing here. No fences, Sheriff.”
“That what’s bothering you?”
“I’d like to know the plan.”
“The plan?” Fisher tried to take his right hand off the steering wheel to grip Yellowhorse’s shoulder, but the truck swerved and he nearly lost control. At the last minute, his right front tire went into a pothole and the front of the chassis bounced into the air for what seemed like a foot. Yellowhorse was a big man, and his head butted the ceiling of the cab while Fisher’s barely grazed it.
Yellowhorse growled at him and held his hand on his head.
Fisher found himself getting more irritated the more Yellowhorse showed his dislike for their speed, their predicament, the fact that his head hurt—everything. “What’s the matter with you? You got any idea what’s fuckin’ at stake here? We have to get that computer and get rid of the Mrs. or we’re in for some years behind bars, George. And if we were to make a deal, our friends in Vegas would never let us breathe so much as two breaths of prison air. You know that.”
Yellowhorse swallowed and nodded slowly. Fisher didn’t like his stoical nature. He considered it a lack of honesty that he never talked about how he felt, except how it felt to get drunk and have ladies he normally couldn’t afford. He was a big talker about how his sexual prowess took them by surprise. Fisher knew the ladies were paid to give compliments and make the man feel like he was the best lover they’d ever had. But Yellowhorse was stupid enough to believe them.
“So the plan is, we make sure there’s no evidence we were ever involved.”
“Except people saw Zelda and me together.”
“Zelda? So it’s Zelda now? Not the fuckin’ bitch you were trying to talk into selling her daughter.”
“She’d never do that. She wasn’t that low.”
“Well, you said she got her on the pill. That was part of the plan at least. The only fuckin’ part of the plan that was accomplished.”
“You got the girl. What do you need with the mother? Something happens to her, they’re going to be all over us. Otherwise, they can’t be sure. Girls run away all the time. But you mess with one of the mothers or grandmothers, well, you don’t know them as well as I do, Payette.”
“Don’t fuckin’ call me Payette. I’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend.”
“Sorry, Fisher.”
The truck bounced. Fisher could feel one of his tires going partially flat and made a mental note to check the pressure when they got to Tuba City.
“I hated what happened to James.”
“He didn’t feel a thing. Bullet to the back of the head. He’s out there,” Fisher pointed to the blackness of the desert, “somewhere. He probably made a nice meal for a coyote and her cubs, the cycle of life and everything. You believe in that. You Indians believe in all that shit, don’t you?”
He could tell Yellowhorse had a thought about punching him, but knew it would probably wreck the truck and send them both flying out over the desert floor. No, best thing was to put up with the son of a bitch and just wait for the time to take the guy out quickly. He’d sew up this loophole, get the ransom money from Zelda, empty his bank account, and disappear over the border so fast they’d never know what hit them. He’d gone fishing in Mexico and knew a couple police force captains he could bribe into silence. He’d be gone before he wasted his money on continuing to buy their silence.
Because he had his backup plan, he wasn’t worried about whether or not Amauro’s plan worked. His confidence was high as they arrived at the outskirts of Tuba City, until they came upon a chopper resting in the middle of the roadway. Fisher put on his brakes, but there wasn’t going to be time to stop without hitting the expensive helicopter with the resort logo on it, so he swerved off the road, nearly flipping the truck over, hit a small boulder, and abruptly came to a stop.
He was dazed from his forehead hitting the windshield, suddenly aware he had been knocked clean out. He was going to ask Yellowhorse about it, but found an empty seat next to him and a large hole in the front windshield large enough for the Indian’s body to go on its maiden flight into the desert night air. He felt the warm blood trickling down his nose and forehead, some of it getting into his left eye. He knew scalp wounds bled profusely, for some reason. He looked for something to wipe it away, and, finding none, used the back of his arm.
“That’s quite an entrance.”
Tommy Bahama, the Aztec Gold bouncer was holding a Glock to his forehead, in case Fisher didn’t already realize he was in trouble.
“Out of the car, asshole.”
Fisher wasn’t sure he was the one Tommy was referring to, so he briefly looked behind to the second seat and then shrugged. What had he done wrong? He’d missed ruining Mr. A’s million dollar private helicopter. That was something he should have been rewarded for, not threatened with.
The door was opened and Bahama pulled him out by the shirt collar. He knew that although the bouncer was strong, there was no way he could hold him up with one hand, since his other hand was on the Glock. Fisher didn’t want to fall to the sandy ground; he barely kept his balance, and when he was released, began weaving until he got purchase.
“You come by yourself?” he asked Bahama.
Is that even your real name, you asshole?
“Shut the fuck up, stupid. I think Amauro’s had it with you and your screw-ups. Corwin’s told him plenty about your little personal kingdom and your little jobs on the side, lining your pockets with bribes and shit.” The bouncer walked behind him, pushing the barrel of the gun between his shoulder blades. “We go this way, jerkoff. Let’s find out how Mr. A’s doing with the lady.”
“Where is Corwin?” Fisher asked, searching the area.
“Back in Vegas. Doing his job.”
Fisher tried to turn around to see if he’d remembered to turn off the truck, or the lights, or if the truck was even drive-worthy, but before he could get a good look, his wrists were immobilized in a zip tie. Suddenly his plans had shriveled like the ball sack on a neutered dog. The sharp pain in his back from the barrel of the gun reminded him he’d better go with the flow for now, until he could embrace some hope. Right now, he had none. It was all he could do to keep from shitting himself. His badge, his power, and the protection of the good people of Gallup weren’t going to be enough now.
Marshall’s Trading Post was dark inside, but they walked around to the back. Two armed guards stood outside the rear entrance. Fisher could see light coming from a crack under one closed door. He was prodded inside, past the guards, and heard the door close behind him.
“Mr. A,” the bouncer called out.
Suddenly the door opened and Antonio Amauro walked out into the
darkened anteroom, dressed in slacks and a white shirt, unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves. His hands looked dirty, and then Fisher recognized the unmistakable scent of fresh blood.
“Just in time.” Amauro stood close to Fisher and patted his cheek, slightly harder than he needed to, just short of making it a wet slap. “So, Sheriff, I have one last job for you, and then I won’t ask anything else. If you fail, of course, it will go very badly. So pay attention, okay?”
Though he was trying hard, he did feel his bowels loosen and a tiny amount slid down his inner thigh on the right. He was pushed into the room. In the center, duct taped to a chair, sat Zelda Tohe, but she didn’t look much like the Zelda he’d known. Though she’d taken a considerable beating about the brow and eyes, her hatred of him flared in her dark eyes. She spat blood on his expensive cowboy boots.
Bahama chuckled.
“Mr. A, I’m not quite sure—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Bahama yelled in his ear and raised his arm like he was going to hit him with the butt of the gun.
Amauro grabbed his employee’s arm and stopped him. “You kill him now and I’ll make you the same proposition I made him. So don’t fuckin’ test me. It’s been a bad day all around.”
Zelda started laughing and got slapped with the back of Mr. A’s hand.
“Okay then, where were we?” he asked. “Oh yes, Mrs. Tohe was going to tell me where the computer was, since she had some death wish to agree to a meeting and come without the very thing requested of her.” He turned to Zelda. “Weren’t you, Mrs. Tohe?”
“Like I told you, they took it with them.”
“You see, Payette? She isn’t very cooperative. She’s been telling me the same thing over and over again for the past hour. I’m thinking you might be able to convince her I mean business.”
He was prodded again with the Glock. Stepping forward, he bend down and addressed Mrs. Tohe. “Zelda, we have your daughter. That part of the message Yellowhorse told you was accurate. This is about your daughter.”
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