Nick sat with the ancient Shaman as the old man nodded approvingly. “You know much of our ways Zeev,” the Shaman said.
“The Spirits of our forefathers are intermingled,” Nick said, “in ancient times all Indians were of the same spirit.” Nick caught Dave’s eye and mimicked taking a drag off of a cigarette, and Dave threw him an open pack of the Marlboros that he hated himself for still smoking.
Nick caught the pack in midair and palmed it, his fingers extracting one from the pack and concealing the pack itself as if he had magically changed the pack into a single cigarette. He bent to the fire and lit the tip, taking a deep, ritual drag on the thing. With both hands, he offered the cigarette to the Shaman politely.
The Shaman took a deep ritual puff from the cigarette, the smoke flowing smoothly and spreading through his lungs. A gentle smile spread across his face as the tobacco rush that only a non-smoker gets from a deep puff gets hit him, a feeling akin to the high initially felt by a marijuana user. There was peace established between them as they shared the ritual smoke.
When they had finished and ritually burned the butt in the fire, Nick produced two more from the pack without revealing the pack itself, not wishing to diminish the value of the gift, and presented them to the old Shaman, who promptly thanked him for his gift and secreted the two cigarettes in his medicine belt.
Nick knew it was time to tell the old man what it was that he needed, and he did so with a minimum of words so as not to inflate the value of the gift the Shaman would be giving to him.
The Shaman barked orders and the young men quickly stood up and did as they were told. Four of them took their spears and set off at a run to act as lookouts in the event that Conde’s men had backtracked and found their true trail.
Two more brought long saplings, around which they wove thick woody vines to form a litter for Abbie. In a very short time they were walking up the ridge to the top. At the very top of the ridge, the warriors set Abbie’s litter down and immediately dug a small pit and started a small smokeless fire for her comfort.
Nick explained the last assistance he needed to the assembled warriors, and in the dying light of the day, the warriors spread out and went off at a run to locate and LZ for the chopper.
In an hour , Nick had two sites and had verified their functionality and their GPS coordinates. As Dave contacted the General on the sat phone and gave him the grid coordinates, Nick made his manners to the old Shaman and thanked the warriors in his own Cherokee name, Wahaya.
Still somewhat in awe of him, the warriors silently walked back down to the ruins to finish their ceremony and talk among themselves about the ‘Wolf Spirit’ and his astonishing visit. The tale would grow as it was retold around the village fires at night until none of the participants would recognize it.
Just before twenty two hundred hours Nick heard the distinctive flucketa flucketa of the Blackhawk’s four rotor blades as it slowed on its approach and Dave got on the sat phone. They were on the edge of the first LZ, having seen no sign of Conde’s men.
Two men ran from the chopper as it set down and grabbed the litter, racing back to the bird with their heads down. Both wore the white armbands of medics. Cynthia, Amanda, and Dave followed close behind. Nick watched until all were loaded on board, and then safed the AK-47 and boarded the chopper himself.
Epilogue
Swain was not a man to waste words on congratulations on a job well done. He was the kind of man who sent competent people to do a job and trusted them to do it. His first words were, “Conde didn’t get the message.”
Nick cocked an eye at the old General, but kept his mouth shut.
“Intel says he’s sent another team north. The President doesn’t want this in the public eye at all. He needs Congressional approval for further favorable adjustments to the Trade Agreement, and he can’t get it if it gets out that Conde felt comfortable kidnapping the daughter of a U.S. Representative, even if he didn’t know what he had done.
"There’s no way to stop him Nick. We don’t know who he’s going after. Conde will strike again. What we have to decide is simple. Are we going to answer this proactively or reactively? It’s a decision only the President can make Nick, but the solution is going to be the same either way.
“What I need you to do Nick, is to go back and add two or three operators to your team and get them ready. You’re coming back to Peru, Nick, and Armando Conde is going to depart this vale of tears, in as spectacular way as possible without involving U.S. troops.”
“What I need you to do Nick, is to go back and add two or three operators to your team and get them ready. You’re coming back to Peru, Nick, and Armando Conde is going to depart this vale of tears, in as spectacular way as possible without involving U.S. troops.”
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Conde's organization has been hurt, but he really upset the powers that be in D.C. Can he survive the storm that is coming?
Legend of the Wolf - Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Lieutenant Colonel Nicholas T. Harris, A.U.S. Retired, sat in a huge, leather upholstered chair behind an equally huge desk made of heart pine with his hands in his shirt cropped hair.
There was a stack of manila folders on the desk along with a dizzying array of secure communications equipment and a regular telephone. Each of the folders had an eight by ten color photo stapled to the front, and Nick didn’t need the names written on the folders. Each of the men in the photographs was well known to him.
There were two men sitting with him in the room. Command Sergeant Major David McGraw, A.U.S., Retired was a hulking giant of a man of the sort generally chosen last as an opponent in a barroom brawl…if at all. The second man had no title, and he had never been in the military.
Jimmy Littlefeather was a full blood Cherokee. He was the only man Nick knew who run farther and faster than Nick could. Jimmy could also track an animal (or a man) over miles of bare stone. Jimmy was slender and wiry, and possessed of deceptive strength. His shoulder length raven black hair was kept in place by a beaded headband and his broad feet were covered with handmade moccasins.
His green flannel shirt and blue jeans were almost a uniform for him. “How many of those damned green shirts do you own?” Nick had asked him once.
“Many,” was Jimmy’s taciturn response.
Jimmy wasn’t much for two words when one would do. It would be easy to underestimate the quiet Indian, and many did. Before he had returned to live on the reservation in the way of his forefathers, Jimmy had ventured as far away as Massachusetts, where he had earned his Doctorate in Organic Chemistry at M.I.T.
“We’ve got to whittle this down to two men Dave,” Nick said. Dave McGraw looked inquiringly at Nick, and Nick didn’t wait for him to ask the next question. “Jimmy’s going to be the number three man on the team.
Dave grinned and extended his hand to the tough looking Jimmy. “Welcome to the club brother,” he said. Jimmy grunted and shook his hand. He looked back at Nick. “Are you sure we only need two more shooters?”
Nick nodded. “Next time we’re out on the shooting range, remind me to let Jimmy show you how well he can handle a bow.”
Dave cast an eye at the quiet man. “That good, huh?”
Nick snorted. “Let me put it this way buddy…I’ve got ten bucks that says at the twenty five yard line with a three shot contest Jimmy can outshoot you and that raggedy forty five you carry around with you…with a bow and arrows.”
Dave looked at the Indian with new respect. He knew very well the standards Nick had for marksmanship. “That I’ve got to see.” Jimmy didn’t even smile. He just nodded at the massive white man.
Chapter 2
There was a knock at the office door, and Jimmy’s Aunt Nettie spoke from the doorway. “White woman,” was all she said before she turned and left.
Nettie was working for Nick as housekeeper and cook. He had known the woman s
ince he and Jimmy had met at the reservation school many years before.
Jimmy had been one of the older boys at the school who chose not to welcome the strange boy who ran everywhere he went when he started school. It had not been long before some quarrel arose between them, both men had forgotten what was at issue, but both were boiling mad.
They had fought to a bloody draw in the dusty schoolyard, ringed by other young Cherokee. Nicholas, bloodied but not bowed, had not given in to the older boy in spite of their difference in size. Aunt Nettie had come to the school and removed both boys, propelling them to Nick’s grandfather’s cabin by holding them both firmly by the ear.
She had stopped them in front of the old man’s door and then knocked on it. When Nick’s grandfather had come to the door, she had said two words to him. “They fight.” She had turned and left them with the old man, who happened to be a revered tribal elder.
What came after was best left unremembered, but the boys had come out of the old man’s cabin lifelong friends.
Dave took the folders with him as he and Jimmy left through the door to the outside of the big house. Nick went out to the central room of the giant log house, which was open to the vaulted ceiling three stories up.
The upstairs rooms were accessed by a railed walkway on three sides and four different sets of stairs. Standing by one of the low leather sofas was Cynthia Cohen.
Nick wondered how Nettie had known she was a white woman; Cynthia was a Jewess and her features and coloring were very similar to those of a Cherokee woman. Her straight, waist length raven black hair and her nose certainly didn’t give her away. She was dressed in faded Levi’s, worn desert boots and a black tee shirt under what appeared to be a British khaki battle jacket.
“Welcome to Wolf’s Den,” Nick said, “What brings you here Cynthia?”
Cynthia took the battle jacket off and draped it across the back of the sofa. She turned and walked slowly to him. Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the very attractive woman.
“I think you are smart enough to figure that out on your own,” she said as she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply and thoroughly.
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Birth of the Wolf (Wahaya) Page 7