Silent Approach

by Bobby Cole

  Hoss stared right at John Allen.

  “They buried him in the Nanih Waiya Mound.”

  Hoss winced, knowing the complications this presented, but he was confident they could figure a way. His jaw muscles could be seen clenching. “Let’s keep it quiet until we find him. We’ll get him out.”

  “Right, and uh—I think my car may be at the bottom of a lake.”

  Hoss smiled again. “It was. It’s out now.”

  “Do we have good insurance?”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Hoss said with a laugh. “In the meantime, we have an El Camino you can drive. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hoss added, laughing again as he eased out the door.

  Emma smiled and straightened the blanket around John Allen. “Is there anybody I can call for you? Like your parents, or a girlfriend who might be worried about you?”

  “No, I’ll wait until tomorrow to call my parents so they don’t worry all night.”

  Emma squeezed his arm, wanting the rest of her question answered.

  John Allen smiled at her and closed his eyes. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  She cocked her head. “A guy with a Porsche? I expected a harem.”

  “I live in a barn.”

  Emma smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I was worried about you.”

  “You shot your pistol right over my head. My ears are still ringing.”

  “You know I had to. I worried about that, too.”

  “It feels good to have someone worry about you,” John Allen said softly. “So how in the world did you figure out where I was?”

  “I’m a trained professional.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “Well, when I hadn’t heard from you, I went to your barn looking for you,” she said. “I was ready to wring your neck. The door was unlocked, and I was suspicious and looked around. When I saw your wedding ring, then your cell phone, I knew something was up. I couldn’t understand why the skull was there. I clearly heard you sell it to him on your recordings, so I figured maybe he brought it back and took you. From there, we got a lucky break when Hoss had Runt’s girlfriend in custody, and she told me about the hunting camp.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid if I had been five minutes later getting to that old bridge, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

  “Damn, you’re good, and I am so lucky,” John Allen said, then exhaled when he thought about just how close he’d come to death. Emma’s amazing determination had saved him.

  Being in the skinning shed had given him time to think about the past and the many regrets he had. Also, it had given him time to think about the future he wished he could have. Now, sitting in the hospital bed, his future seemed clear to him. Maybe not the details, but Emma was clearly in it.

  He smiled at her and squeezed her hand in his. “I’ve decided I don’t need to wear that ring anymore. I’m ready to move on with my life.”

  Emma’s heart melted. To hide a tear, she busied herself trying to straighten his tangled hair. She couldn’t do anything about her ear-to-ear grin, though, so she gave up and leaned over to kiss him.

  Epilogue

  When the chief learned that Wyatt Hub’s body was buried in a shallow grave on the most sacred of mounds, she spared no expense in hiring a company with ground-penetrating sonar to assist the FBI in locating the body. The technology allowed them to find the disturbed soil and his remains without damaging the rest of the mound. The high-tech search took only four hours. The Choctaw Nation paid to rebury him with his family near Louisville, and Wyatt Hub’s family would continue to receive his paychecks.

  Winston Walker sits in a cell awaiting trial for multiple crimes. He’s had two attorneys quit and was recently forced to use a court-appointed lawyer. Facing a mountain of charges, he appeared ready to talk early on, then suddenly fell silent when word got out that he’d sold an artifact from the Moundville heist to an agent of the Choctaw Nation. This occasioned an exercise-yard visit from two very intimidating skinheads, who explained in frightening detail the various accidents they’d been asked to inflict upon Winston should he ever breathe one word about how he’d come by the pot. To this day, Winston refuses to discuss any details and has changed the focus of his legal strategy to begging for protection inside the jail. These pleas are falling on deaf ears. The prosecuting attorney is counting down the days to trial.

  Hoss continues his exhausting job of providing security in a world that attracts those dedicated to foiling his team’s best efforts. Among the large amount of incriminating evidence discovered in Winston’s vehicle were thirty-eight $1,000 casino chips. The final missing chip was found in the ashtray of Runt’s truck.

  Hoss and John Allen have grown closer through their shared experience, and nobody is prouder of the artifacts that John Allen is returning than Hoss.

  Runt’s girlfriend, Gina, was able to walk away from her charges of possession of stolen merchandise in exchange for her assistance in locating John Allen. She didn’t mourn Runt’s death but quickly moved to Jackson, Mississippi, where she’s dating the manager of Chili’s in Canton.

  Jill Hudson was relieved to have Winston Walker behind bars. She moved with her sons to Biloxi to be closer to her parents and to get on with her life. She and Agent Haden stay in touch through e-mails.

  Agent Garner has spent a great deal of time working with the FBI’s Principal Legal Adviser to build the cases against Winston Walker. Each time they study the timeline, they’re reminded of just how lucky Agent Haden and John Allen Harper were.

  Emma has fallen head over heels for John Allen, and even Billy Joel approves of him. She continues to be a top agent with the Bureau in Jackson where, at the senior agent’s insistence, she now spends more time working cold cases. This workload allows her to enjoy a social life for the first time since her divorce. She still works out every day, goes to the pistol range, and finds time to go fishing with John Allen. They currently live two hours apart, but they’re together every weekend and at least one night during the week. The rest of the nights, they Skype.

  The last few months have been some of the best of John Allen’s life. He’s enjoying his job, although he now operates with a lot more caution. He and Emma couldn’t be any closer, and some nights he listens to her diagram her cases as she sips wine. He still misses Sadie and thinks often of her and their unborn child, but he knows he’s doing what’s best for him. Emma also understands that sometimes he has a fountain of memories that bubble up. She helps him deal with them.

  John Allen often thinks about the owl in Meridian and about the eagle image that led him to the water’s surface. These were both such strange and surreal experiences. In the early days, he wanted to tell Hoss or talk to someone else with the tribe who’d believe him, but he’s never mentioned a word about either experience to anyone. It now seems like a personal thing that doesn’t need to be dissected.

  Jamarius Reed, the Neshoba County detective, was able to match the phone number that called Rosco Jones with the cell number that Winston had used to call John Allen. Two weeks after that call, Rosco’s wife found a handwritten note in her Bible that explained that if something happened to him, the police should look at Winston Walker. Jamarius hasn’t been able to prove it but believes Rosco likely decided not to sell the artifacts to Winston after all and made the mistake of meeting him under that remote bridge to tell him face-to-face.

  On a hunch, Jamarius asked Hoss to allow the soil-penetrating sonar company to look in Rosco’s one-acre garden. Hidden between his bushy squash plants, a foot deep, they found the artifacts from the Choctaw storage facility, wrapped up in plastic Walmart bags. The chief was relieved to have the artifacts returned and didn’t pursue any charges that would bring public attention to what Rosco Jones may have planned. Learning of his daughter’s plans and talents, the chief also offered to fund the girl’s college tuition at any Mississippi college if she would come back and work for the Choctaw Nation for
four years. The young lady, still grieving her father’s death, played the violin so beautifully she won the talent competition at the Miss Mississippi Pageant.

  The ancient seed pot that John Allen hid in his gun safe turned out to be from the thirty-year-old Moundville burglary. When the agents searched the storage building where the rest of the artifacts had once been stored, they found nothing. The 250 priceless cultural artifacts that were stolen more than thirty years ago are still missing, and floating about the underworld of artifact collecting.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This story is a work of fiction, but it is sadly true that people dig up and steal Indian artifacts from sites in alarming numbers each year. The Moundville theft really happened, and it’s my understanding that nothing has ever been recovered. There’s a website dedicated to these missing artifacts. Our local law-enforcement agencies are almost all too busy to investigate these crimes, which may appear to be victimless. But that’s not how I see it, and I hope this story shines a little light on what I believe to be a shameful occurrence.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I do enjoy telling stories. It requires me to spend many nights and weekends staring at a computer screen or out a window, which means a lot of work in the yard gets overlooked, and the burden is placed on my dear wife, Melissa. She and my daughter, Jessi, are due a big thank-you for allowing me to slip away and write.

  I also want to thank my Mossy Oak and AFC families who continue to support me, as do the people of West Point, Mississippi, and Montgomery, Alabama. I owe a big thanks to retired agent Bill Gibson, who answered countless late-night questions about the FBI during this project. Tim Brooks and Dr. Bill Billington also helped with artifact-related and medical questions. There were many others who helped, and I can’t thank everyone enough.

  A big thank-you goes to the staff at Thomas & Mercer and to David Downing for his editorial prowess.

  And, of course, thanks to my readers, who allow my stories to be a part of their free time. I hope you enjoyed the book.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2016 Jason Cleveland

  Bobby Cole, a native of Montgomery, Alabama, is the author of five novels: Silent Approach, The Dummy Line, Moon Underfoot, The Rented Mule, and Old Money. The president of Mossy Oak BioLogic, Cole is also an avid wildlife manager and hunter and supporter of the Catch-A-Dream Foundation. He lives with his wife and daughter in West Point, Mississippi.