It all made sense to her now.
Nero would lock the public out of his private property in order to search for the artifact alone. He wanted no distractions. Rae needed to talk to Jake Tununda. She needed him to open up once and for all about why this Indian relic was so damn important and worth dying over.
29
Noon. Seneca Army Depot airfield control tower.
BEHIND A MAKESHIFT podium of microphones, set up for the media-only press conference, the balding Seneca County Industrial Development Agency executive director gave his nod that he was ready to begin. The podium stood on the cracked runway of the Seneca Army Depot’s old airfield. Behind the speaker stood two buildings in a state of disrepair — the old control tower and a two-bay fire station. They presented a perfect photo op background to the morning’s affair. Several hand held still cameras in the media pool flashed to the front of director. Larger video cameras whirred to life.
The director grinned. “Thank you all for coming. I’ll get right to the heart of the matter. I am happy to announce that the esteemed Tadodaho of the Grand Council of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, Alex Nero, is now the proud owner of the 8,000-acre inner perimeter and airfield of the former Seneca Army Depot.” He smiled widely as several other IDA officials standing off to the side applauded.
“As one of New York State’s greatest entrepreneurs I can’t stress enough what a landmark deal Mr. Nero has given the taxpayers of Seneca County. Mr. Nero’s proven success in job generation will only add to the continued success we’ve already experienced in the Depot’s transformation.” The director posed for the cameras again amid more applause.
“To alleviate any taxpayer fears up front I wanted to say that Mr. Nero has agreed to pay property taxes, just like every other entity in the development zone. So, only his creative business imagination awaits on how best to develop this land for the benefit of this county. He now wishes to make a few comments regarding this milestone return of government property back to the Haudenosaunee Confederacy. Without further ado, I present to you Alex Nero.” As Nero walked up, the director and his cohorts applauded.
Troop E Romulus Station.
Rae entered the station and headed to her office. She immediately pulled out a pair of binoculars to get an up close view of the press conference two hundred yards away outside her window. A quizzical look came across her face. She spotted three men dressed in black heading down the runway lugging a strange piece of equipment on a cart. She panned back to the control tower. Five more men, dressed the same, and all obviously Indian, presented themselves in a stiff line in front of the media pool. A security detail for the VIP.
And then the man of the hour came into view, stepping behind the podium. Rae’s heart pumped faster. She adjusted the focus rings on the binoculars. Long gray hair on a perfectly dressed lanky frame. And a face that had been burned in her mind since her father was gunned down years ago.
Alex Nero.
Fire raced through her veins. She placed the binoculars on the desk, hung up her coat, pulled off her protective vest, and sat down with a deep sigh. Now he’s officially a Seneca County resident. Well, let’s hear what he’s got to say. She turned on a nearby television set.
Airfield control tower.
Nero gripped the sides of the podium and leaned forward. His eyes were bloodshot with heavy bags underneath. Five of his thug bodyguards moved in front forming a physical barrier. Mr. Makowa and Mr. George, from the gauntlet fight, took up both ends. Rousseau was noticeably absent. They all wore dark suits, sunglasses, and their typical expressionless intimidating faces. The press pool gave them a wide berth.
Nero cleared his throat. In a deep rasp, he began.
“As Tadodaho of the Grand Council of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, I wish to extend to you greetings from our great people. We, people of the longhouse, do not love any land more than the land of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy. Many thanks go to the Seneca County IDA for offering this property to their rightful owners first and foremost over any outsiders. And many thanks to closing the deal in such an expedited manner.” Nero gave a nod to the director. The director nodded in return, his colleagues patting him on the back.
A cloud passed over Nero’s eyes. He jutted an index finger in the air.
“But,” he barked angrily. “Not since 1779, when the Town Destroyer George Washington expelled us with his burning army and his brutal atrocities, have we ever been treated just and fair.”
The director shook his head in confusion and insult.
Nero pressed on. “It has been almost a 230 year hiatus of watching our heartland split to the core. This will not happen again. Not under my watch. The lands at the Depot, owned again by our confederacy, mark the first step in the rejuvenation of the mighty sovereign empire we once were and will become again.
“Following in the words of my great forefather, my blood kin, the great shaman Atotarho, the very first Tadodaho of the Grand Council, I, Alex Nero, shall return to you, by the Great Spirit’s will, every grain of earth that was quenched by the blood of our warriors and the sweat of our clan mothers and fathers.”
He stared directly into the cameras. “The people of the Haudenosaunee, the true owners of these sacred lands that surround you—” He waved his hands in the air. “These lands raped by the irresponsible, these lands whose graves have been robbed and desecrated by the ignorant and arrogant, I shall return it all, I shall return and conquer those who stand in our path.” He paused to catch his breath.
The press pool and IDA personnel shifted uneasily.
“Our willingness to develop casinos and gas and tobacco businesses as a source of income for our people has proven successful.” Nero flashed a smile. “After all, it is a form of reparations by you, the American people. It’s your money you gamble away every day in our casinos. We simply rake it in and then invest it.” He shook his head in mock insult and laughed.
“What your money does is it gives us the means to bypass the long injustice of your state and federal court system, the broken treaties of history, and the deceit of those who would see us fail in our sovereignty rights. This new source of income has turned us into true players in your game of capitalistic racism. We are now players to pursue our own interests in buying back our rightful lands.” He chuckled. “And to buy them back with your own cash.
“You see, you Americans only believe in one thing. Money. And more money. That is the only language you speak. Yours is a consumer nation. You celebrate your religions by shopping. You measure your success with who has the most toys or the biggest house. So, in keeping harmony with your culture I’ll keep giving you back your own wasted money from my casinos and you can keep giving us back our rightful sacred lands. It’s a win-win situation all around.”
He placed his hands on the sides of the podium to steady himself. “Why do we do this, you may ask? Because the blood of our forefathers demand it for the wrongs beset upon us!” He slammed a fist down, his face twisted in rage. “The people of the Haudenosaunee, the rightful citizens, are a separate people — distinct from the U.S. citizenry, above the U.S. citizenry. This is simply the right thing to do in the name of my people.” He paused for effect.
“And really that is the bottom line and all I have to say on the matter. Thank you very much. I’ll take your questions now.”
A cold silence hovered over the media pool for a few moments. A male reporter finally broke the ice.
“Mr. Nero, does this mean you will be building a casino here at the Seneca Army Depot?”
“Almost certainly. Why not? I will also build a new tobacco factory and a storage and distribution center in all of those empty igloo bunkers too. Plus, several gas stations on the base. My prices on both gas and tobacco will be unbeatable. But aw heck, I’ve got even bigger plans.”
“Such as?” asked the reporter.
“As many of you know I collect and preserve Iroquois artifacts. My collection is the greatest in the world. At one time, on this ver
y ground, stood one of the most spiritually important villages of the confederacy — the Seneca-Cayuga tribal village of Kendaia. They worshipped the mystical white deer that populate these lands. Starting today, I will give rebirth to this ancient village and to the sacred white deer herd. My people from the Haudenosaunee Collection are already searching the fields at the end of the runway.” He pointed north to three of his suited security detail rolling a cart trailing wiring across the end of the runway. The cameramen panned their equipment to film the workers so the TV audience to see. “They have directions to scour the area in search of remnants of the lost village, so that one day I may rebuild what your famed General John Sullivan destroyed in 1779.”
“Mr. Nero?” asked a female reporter from News10Now. “My sources tell me that’s just your cover story. They say you will turn the white deer herd into an elite hunter’s trophy showcase, charging tens of thousands of dollars for a kill.”
Nero glared at the reporter. And for a moment she felt a pang of fear shudder through her.
“Sweety,” Nero said, kindly. “Do not provoke me. Next question.”
“Then explain this—,” said the same persistent reporter. “My sources also tell me you have been diagnosed with throat cancer and have just six months to live. Care to comment?”
Nero’s nostrils flared and his lips curled. “And I suppose you’ll be the first vulture to pick from my carcass. Honey, this circus is over. All of you get off these sovereign lands. Now!” He spun around and strode toward a group of black SUVs. With several bodyguards converging around him, he approached the lead Hummer. A beat up, and visible exhausted Kenny Rousseau had the rear door already open.
“Take me to the search party! Where’s Stanton? God dammit! Where is she?”
Troop E Romulus Station.
Since he’s already dying, Rae thought, hopefully this will make sure he dies in jail. With a sure and steady hand she opened Stanton’s envelope.
Several minutes later she hit the stop button on her cassette player.
Chilling.
But she smiled. This recording of The Mouth’s death was all Rae needed. Stanton had kept her word. She was on their side. She had also conveniently marked the location of Ray Kantiio’s body on a map of the reservoir, near Nero’s High Point Casino and Resort. Along with a note that the body would be inside his SUV Navigator, Stanton said she had witnessed the whole dumping of the vehicle with the body in it from afar.
Rae placed a call to her captain up at the Troop E Headquarters in Canandaigua to inform him of the situation. Minutes later, after faxing the map information, her captain informed her a state police dive team out of Kingston was activated for recovery. He ordered her to stay put and await further orders once he contacted BCI in Albany — that she should not, under any circumstances, make contact with Nero. Top brass would have to develop an action plan for arrest warrants and a raid on his enterprise at the crime scene of his resort. The captain informed her that the political nightmare was just beginning and lawyers would have to be called in to tackle the sovereignty and immunity issues sure to rise because technically Nero’s properties are a nation within a nation. He left Rae with one final order — that she should protect Anne Stanton, their star witness, at all costs. That woman would make or break their case.
30
Thursday afternoon. Yale Manor Inn Bed and Breakfast. Northwest of Seneca Army Depot.
AS THE ONLY off-season guest of Yale Manor Inn, a secluded farmstead mansion turned bed and breakfast retreat, Jake was assured complete privacy by the accommodating, friendly owner. Arriving early that morning, Jake stepped into his posh room and collapsed on the king sized bed for a dreamless six-hour slumber. He awoke just in time for a delicious breakfast spread while the owner listened to an important news conference on local television. Soon Jake was standing in front of the TV himself. The man speaking was Alex Nero.
After the news conference Jake returned to his room, the pain in his head growing. He called Joe to see if he too had caught Nero’s speech.
“That bastard,” Jake blurted, pacing across his room.
“He’s desperate,” replied Joe, on speakerphone. “And why not? He’s dying of cancer.”
“I know. Did you see he’s using ground-penetrating radar in his search for the so-called remnants of the village? He’s got barbed wire fencing to keep everyone out and carte blanche to do whatever the hell he wants within.”
“He’s also got complete control of the sacred white deer and the lands of our forefathers,” added Joe. “He’ll turn the Depot back into a shoot to kill, free-fire zone like it was when it was active. And all he needs now is Atotarho’s crown to complete the prophecy. It’s just a matter of time before he finds a way under the Depot.”
Jake nodded to his phone. His pacing stopped, his arms now folded across his chest. “Did you hear that speech — he thinks he’s like some lost king or something coming to save his minions.”
“Yeah, just as twisted as the real emperor Nero,” agreed Joe. “But his mind is clearer than ever. He’s not mincing words. He laid out his ultimate goal for all the public to hear. The Haudenosaunee people will be behind him full force. They like this tough talk from a demagogue. They’re tired of being trampled on by the white man. But we know what he really wants. Once he gets a hold of that crown, he’s going to infiltrate people’s minds and wreak havoc. Who knows the mental chaos he would inflict. His life and his immortality in history now depend on it.”
“And once he gets inside the cave he’s got the original map to guide him to his prize.”
“Looks like we may have lost.”
Jake paused before commenting. “I didn’t expect him to act so fast.” He rubbed his arm.
“I know. Me either,” agreed Joe. “But he is dying so he has nothing to lose.”
What followed was a long uncomfortable silence breaching their conversation. But something his uncle had said earlier suddenly resonated in Jake’s mind.
Under the Depot.
“Wait, not so fast.” Jake’s eyes lit up. “I think we may have a chance to head him off. It’s a long shot but here’s my thinking.”
“Fire away.”
Jake paced again. “We’re going to do a little digging ourselves. The Seneca Army Depot contains hundreds of storage bunkers for the Army’s most lethal weapons. It was said that it could even survive a nuclear attack, which means—”
“Huh?”
“The government never admitted this, but I know for a fact from an old Army vet who was an MP there, that they built underground bunkers for the storage of secret weapon systems and also for the survival of base personnel in case of an attack. The official version was that everything was above ground. But the Army holds many secrets. I know.”
Joe piped up. “So, if they dug down deep enough when they were constructing these bunkers then surely they must have hit something below the surface, right? Like a cave?”
“Yes, that’s the straw I’m grasping at. And here’s the kicker. Any anomaly in construction would have been documented. And if I remember correctly, the entire documented history of the base was handed over to the Town of Romulus Historical Society a few years back when the base transferred to civilian control. So, it’s just a matter of me gaining access to those materials and the tried and true method of sifting through the chaff to find the proverbial needle in the haystack.”
Joe laughed. “Right up your alley.”
“It certainly is.”
“Listen, while you do that I’m going to call on an Ithaca College geology professor I know to see if a cave network could really exist in this location.”
“Are you now questioning the legend?” asked Jake.
“No. I’m confirming the legend. I want to know what perils we’ll face if we go underground. You know, the terrain features or obstacles. I just, I just don’t want to see anyone else get hurt if I can help it. If we are going in then we have to be prepared with the right equipment.”
Jake moved closer to the phone. “Sounds good. I’ll hit the historical society as soon as possible. It’s just down the road. But first I have to place the dreaded call to my director at MHI to see how much havoc I’ve caused, let alone see if I still have a job.”
Afternoon. Airfield. Seneca Army Depot.
Spread out in the rear leather bench seat of his Hummer, smoking a fat glowing cigar that he tapped out of an open window, sat Alex Nero. He watched impatiently as his crew of security personnel walked the fields at the end of his newly acquired military airfield runway. He told his men they were searching for a cave belonging to the their forefathers and he wanted them to be thorough in moving logs and brush in case it might be concealed. The snail’s pace process was painfully slow to observe. Additionally, Nero had been informed that nothing significant had been revealed on the ground penetrating radar and still there were hundreds of acres to be covered in their target area.
At this rate, finding the entrance, should it even exist would take months, Nero thought. He would be dead before his plans could be fulfilled. Stanton was right in convincing him she should go looking for other clues to help their cause. Shaking his head, he placed the cigar to his lips and sucked in sweet smoke to calm his nerves. He exhaled then glanced down, the swirl of white gray smoke trailing out the window. On his lap he balanced the old map of the White Deer Society cave. It was now contained in a stiff plastic protective sheet. He was still amazed at its simplistic detail and its length. The cave looked to go on for miles.
Studying the map, he moved his free hand inside his shirt and pulled out his newly acquired piece of jewelry. It was attached to a chain around his neck. The old Kendaia guardian clan mother’s silver broach felt good on his chest. It had been bequeathed to Luke Swetland, stolen by Thomas Boyd, and rediscovered by that thorn in his side, Jake Tununda. But now, it was finally in his possession.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. His dozing driver, the banged up Kenny Rousseau, also caught the approach of a visitor and jumped up before realizing who it was. A face appeared in the cloud of smoke outside the window. Nero looked up at the intrusion then relaxed. It was Miss Stanton. He unlocked the door and let her slide in next to him.
Crown of Serpents Page 27