Earthway

by Thurlo, Aimée

  “Down the hall and into the office at the end, on your right,” one of the men in fatigues said, pointing.

  Ella walked ahead, though Ford tried to step past her. There was nothing noteworthy in the hall except for a half dozen children’s watercolor paintings on construction paper taped to the walls. Each depicted a smiling, tall, muscular, short-haired man standing in front of the chalkboard, and was titled “Father Frank.” For some reason the presence of this particular art gallery made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Perhaps it was the pistol on the hip of every Father Frank painting—or maybe it was his exaggerated smile.

  Before they reached the door at the end, a tall, powerfully built man with closely cropped brown hair stepped out. The leader matched his photo perfectly—and, to varying degrees the watercolors of Father Frank. He was clean shaven and was, as accurately depicted in the juvenile art, carrying a .45 Colt auto at his hip.

  “I’m Frank Atwood,” he said, smiling and waving them inside. He nodded, but didn’t offer to shake hands, apparently familiar with traditional Navajo customs.

  “I understand you’re here to ask for a donation for your youth program,” he said as they took a seat in simple wooden chairs across from his heavy metal desk. “The Freemen aren’t wealthy, Reverend, but we’re God-fearing people who value the religious education of our children. I’ll make the check out to the Good Shepherd Church, if that’s correct.”

  Ford nodded. “On behalf of our youth program, we thank you.”

  Atwood wrote out the check and handed it to Ford.

  Ford stared at it in surprise, then glanced at Ella.

  She could see enough to note that it was for five hundred dollars. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. She wasn’t sure how Atwood defined wealthy, but in her book, and by reservation standards, someone who could casually give away that much money was certainly prosperous.

  Ford was placing the check in his jacket pocket when one of the men in fatigues appeared at the door. He was holding a printout of some sort, and promptly handed it to Atwood.

  Atwood read it over quickly, then looked back at his man. “Alert the gate to watch for intruders,” he said, clipping his words.

  Then Atwood trained his gaze on Ford. “I know that there are people in this area who have recently made you a target, Reverend Tome. Yet I was willing to invite you into our compound, and I was going to offer you our help. But I feel nothing but contempt for people who try to trick me,” he added, his tone and gaze as cold as ice.

  “There’s a problem? I assure you that I am who I’ve said,” Ford answered calmly—a direct counter to the anger in Atwood’s voice.

  Atwood’s gaze was as cold as ice. “What kind of church business requires you to bring along a cop?”

  SEVENTEEN

  From the second the guard had stepped into the room, Ella had known they were in trouble. The guard’s body language—his stare, his stance, the way he rested his hand on the butt of his pistol—had signaled her in advance. Hopefully their backup outside the compound was well hidden from Atwood’s lookouts, otherwise she and Ford could become hostages in an instant.

  Knowing that diplomacy and training, not firepower, would be their best chance now, Ella smiled at Atwood. To keep the situation from escalating she had to convince Father Frank that no Waco-type raid was forthcoming. “I am a police officer, but we also have lives away from our jobs. I’m here on church business, and my defense at the moment is the Good Book.”

  Atwood stood, then took a step back, positioning his right hand within a foot of his holstered pistol. He nodded to the guard, who whistled. The second man in fatigues appeared, carrying a riot gun at quarter arms. “Convince me,” Atwood said.

  “My father was the pastor of The Divine Word Church until he died several years ago. This is his Bible. His name, Raymond Destea, is engraved on the front,” she added, showing it to Atwood. “There’s a lot more to my background you might want to read before you . . . overreact.”

  She wanted to demonstrate anxiety and uncertainty—not that difficult really, at the moment—but it had to be subtle and believable. Playing a role that didn’t fit her background would simply make him more suspicious.

  Atwood gave the man who’d brought in the printout a nod, and the underling left. The guard with the shotgun remained, not taking his eyes off of Ella and Ford.

  “I greeted you as a friend, Reverend, and I’d sure hate to be proven wrong about you,” Atwood said, his gaze flat and hooded.

  “You won’t be,” Ford said easily. He turned to Ella and nodded, placing his right hand over her left.

  Atwood took a step forward, his own hands resting atop the desk now. “You’re a very attractive woman, Officer Clah.”

  “One of many reasons why I’m courting the lady, Brother Atwood,” Ford answered while her jaw was still dropping.

  Recovering quickly, Ella managed a composed nod and smile, though she would have much rather punched Atwood in the nose. Playing the lamb while among wolves went against her nature.

  The man who’d left moments ago returned and gave Atwood another printout.

  Atwood read the text, motioned with a simple gesture for the two guards to leave, then relaxed and eased back in his chair. “You have quite an interesting past, Investigator Clah. You even brought your father’s killer to justice. I’m glad to see that you share The Freemen’s concept of loyalty to family,” he added, his annoying smile back again.

  Ella met his gesture with a nod, but said nothing. She could almost hear Teeny breathing again, back in his compound. Atwood had no idea how close he’d come to a face-to-face meeting with the gate crasher from Hell.

  “You mentioned something about Reverend Tome’s enemies before, Mr. Atwood,” Ella said, working to produce a pleasant conversational tone despite the tension in her gut. “What did you mean by that?”

  “Like everyone else, I’ve heard the news about the attempts on Reverend Tome’s life,” he said, focusing on Ella. “We may have chosen to remain separate from the largely Godless, secular world, but we still have our sources. It’s a matter of survival—our own.”

  “So what I’ve heard about Freedom Camp is true. You have very few dealings with the community outside these grounds?” Ford asked casually.

  “It’s better for us to keep to ourselves,” he said. “That’s why we have to decline your invitation to bring our children to your youth camp. But I would like for you to come to our compound and give our young people Bible lessons.”

  “I would be happy to do that,” Ford answered without hesitation.

  Ella wanted to take advantage of Atwood’s apparent shift in attitude. There were questions that needed to be asked, but she had to go about it indirectly. “I’m curious. You mentioned that to survive, you have to be aware of everything that happens on the outside. But why not join the rest of society and help define what happens? You and your people could influence your neighbors more through direct contact, couldn’t you?”

  “Not as much as we need, unfortunately. There are things we’re already forced to accept that may end up causing great damage to us.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Your new Hogback power plant, for one,” he answered. “Your tribe claims it’s doing a good thing, something that’ll benefit everyone. It’s supposed to be safe from catastrophic accidents, and non-polluting. All we hear are promises.”

  “You think tribal employees lack the competence to operate the generating station safely?” she asked.

  “In matters like these there are things that are always kept secret. That’s the nature of the beast, you see,” he added. “I’d be willing to bet that it’s nowhere near as safe a design as they’ve been claiming. Think of Three Mile Island or, much worse, Chernobyl. Nuclear power can be dirty and extremely dangerous.”

  “So you’d like to see it shut down?”

  He shook his head. “No, not shut down, just closely monitored by local residents who
have a vested interest in keeping their community safe. But there are people who want to see the plant shut down for good.”

  “Like who?”

  “If the rumors are right, your enemies are in your own backyard, not out here. Haven’t you noticed that all the protests have suddenly stopped? I’m reminded of a mountain lion—quiet but closing in, waiting for the right moment to strike. I hope your security is up to the task.”

  He paused and looked at Ford. “But as far as the attempts on your life, Reverend, that’s an entirely different matter. You serve God, and you’re not involved in political causes. The whole thing makes no sense to me.”

  “If the Freemen avoid contact with the outside, how do you stay so current on what’s happening locally?” Ella asked.

  “We don’t watch TV or read the newspapers, but we do have some communication with members of the community,” he said.

  “How about sharing your sources?” she asked. “Lives could be at stake.”

  Atwood shook his head. “That’s the cop talking now, and we’re not compromising ourselves by becoming informants.”

  Atwood stood, indicating the meeting was over. An instant later one of the armed men reappeared. Ella suspected that their entire meeting had been monitored and recorded.

  “My Freeman brother will escort you out.” Atwood looked at Ford and added, “You’ll always be welcome here, but leave your woman behind from now on. An off-duty cop is still a cop.”

  When they were in the car, clear of the gate and driving away, Ella finally breathed easy. “We managed to avoid a real confrontation. That’s a win—and maybe a miracle,” she said with a tiny grin.

  Before Ford could answer, Teeny called Ella’s cell. “I’ve been monitoring everything and I wanted to let you know that the tone of Atwood’s voice changed slightly when he told you to look in your own backyard.”

  “The man knows more than he’s admitting,” Ella said. “I could feel it in my gut.”

  “I’ll ask one of my people to follow anyone who leaves that compound, and keep tabs on whoever they meet. Maybe we can track the information Atwood gave you back to its source,” Teeny added.

  “Excellent idea.”

  Ella hung up and glanced at Ford. “You’ve been very quiet.”

  He gestured to the bug Teeny had placed on his jacket and shook his head.

  Knowing Ford was uncomfortable with it, Ella called Teeny and asked him to turn off the device. Once both had been deactivated, she focused on Ford once again. “What’s bothering you?”

  “This visit. . . . I went there undercover, propagating a lie, or at the very least, shading the truth and misleading people. That’s in direct opposition to what God expects from me. I’ve betrayed a trust.”

  “You risked your life to serve the community and our country, Ford,” Ella said. “That’s brotherly love—the greatest of all the commandments.”

  He looked at her in surprise.

  Ella smiled. “I am a minister’s daughter.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Until now, I never realized that any of what he’d taught you had actually sunk in.”

  “Most didn’t,” Ella answered. “Well, let me clarify that. It’s not that it didn’t sink in, it’s that I didn’t agree with a lot of the doctrine he was pushing. What I saw as just one of many ways to live a good life was the only way to him. I was caught in the middle, forced to choose between his religion and my mother’s traditional Navajo beliefs. So I walked away, choosing not to choose,” Ella said. After a long pause, she added, “Rather than disappoint either one of my parents, I ended up disappointing them both.”

  He nodded, understanding. “Could you still live with a servant of God even if you disagreed with the doctrine?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let me put this another way,” he said, struggling to find the right words. “What I said in front of Atwood wasn’t all talk. I’d like for our relationship to eventually progress . . . you know, to the traditional conclusion.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’d also hope that you’d say yes when the time comes.”

  Taken by complete surprise, she stared at him, dumbfounded. In her occasional daydreams, she’d envisioned a romantic proposal at sunset, or maybe at daybreak—but not in the car, on the job, and sounding so odd.

  “I’m sorry. I’m bungling this big time. I can only imagine what you’re thinking right now. Please don’t feel pressured, this isn’t an official proposal,” he added with a shaky smile. “I just want to know how you feel about the whole thing. If it’s something you can’t see happening between us—ever—I need to know.”

  Ella smiled. “I wouldn’t say never—not to anything.”

  “That’s not a yes.”

  “Yours wasn’t a question. We were talking possibilities,” she teased. “Nothing official, remember?”

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I love you, Ella. I have from nearly the moment we met. But our beliefs are very different. I know that hasn’t been a problem between us, but if we ever had kids—”

  “Whoa! Kids? Aren’t we jumping the gun?” She gave him a gentle smile. “We’re both happy the way things are. Let’s not change anything for now.”

  “There are things we need to settle before we can ever look to the future, Ella. You’re an open book with few secrets. Could you accept the fact that there are some things you’ll never know about me?”

  “Like what really drove you to become a pastor?” she asked, and his reaction told her she’d struck a nerve. “It wasn’t just God’s call, was it? You were trying to leave something behind. . . .”

  He nodded slowly. “But you never can, you know. Certain things follow you.”

  “Could something from back there be the reason you’re a target now?” she asked instantly.

  “The Bureau people I worked for have looked into my past assignments and they’ve assured me that’s not the case.”

  “And that’s all you can tell me?”

  “I trust you, Ella, but these aren’t my secrets to tell.”

  Ella’s curiosity fueled her imagination. More than ever she wanted to find out about Ford’s past, but the last time she’d tried to pursue information, doors had shut firmly—and irrevocably—everywhere she turned.

  “Now you’re wondering who I really am . . . and if you want any part of the baggage I’m sure to bring,” Ford said softly.

  “No, that’s not it. I’m just very curious about you, that’s all. You were a little too cool and calm back there, even when that guy was waving around a shotgun.”

  Ford shrugged. “You already know that I used to do special work for the Bureau, Ella. Don’t try to dig any farther into my past. You’ll bring down a ton of grief on yourself. Believe me.”

  She did.

  Less than an hour later, Ella was in Big Ed’s office, along with Justine, Blalock, and Anna. Joe Neskahi was on surveillance detail now that Dr. Lee was back on campus, and Marianna was getting some much needed sleep.

  “I want an update,” Big Ed said.

  “We don’t have much,” Ella said, giving him a report.

  “The reverend’s past, and the possibility that his former bosses are missing something . . . How much clearance do we need to open those files?” Big Ed asked Blalock.

  “I’ve handled special ops in the past and have TS clearance,” he said, referring to top-secret clearance. “When I tried to read his file I found critical information redacted—blacked out. To access everything, I would have needed even more clearance than I have. The Washington Bureau agent who studied the file told me that there’s nothing in it that can help us. I insisted on taking a look for myself, but was told we had no need-to-know, so the file would remain closed.”

  “Need to know . . . ,” Big Ed said slowly. “How are they determining what we need to know? They’re not part of this investigation, we are. If anyone has the need to know, it’s us.”

  “They told me that they’ve studied the matter
in depth and have reached the conclusion that what’s happening now is not related to the past. But I can tell you this much,” Blalock said. “Bilford Tome is still considered an important asset.”

  “Because of his skill in cryptography, right?” Ella asked.

  Blalock shook his head. “From what I’ve been able to put together, that’s only part of his area of expertise.”

  “Unofficially, what else can you tell us?” Big Ed asked.

  “Officially or unofficially, you now know what I do,” Blalock answered.

  Big Ed, visibly annoyed, nodded once, then looked at Ella. “What else have you got for me, Shorty?”

  “My team has compiled a list of possible suspects who may or may not be working in conjunction with Jane Lee,” she said, then gave Anna a nod.

  “Only a few officers fit our suspect profile—expert marksman and proficient with explosives,” Anna said. “Here they are, in no particular order. There’s John Butler, an Anglo sergeant in the County Sheriff’s Department. He served with the Los Angeles Police Department for ten years and has all kinds of specialized training, including SWAT.”

  “Where was he when the last attempt on Ford’s life was made?” Ella asked.

  “Backpacking into the Gila Wilderness,” Anna replied. “So it’s unverifiable.”

  “Does he have any connection to Dr. Lee?” Ella asked.

  “None that I found.”

  “You checked his background without tipping anyone of your search, right?” Ella asked.

  “My information didn’t come from their personnel files. I couldn’t access those without pointing a finger back to myself and this department.”

  “Then how—,” Ella asked, then quickly held up a hand, and shook her head. “Never mind.”