“HRT worked hard to separate Rose from his sex trade and the drug operations,” Andrews explained. “She was convicted on an illegal gambling charge. She was never tied to Apollo’s drug or sex trade. She served five years on a nine-year sentence and was released on good behavior.”
“Jesus, Jim. Where is Hank Rattling Thunder now?”
“We don’t know,” Andrews confessed. “He’s disappeared. We don’t know where he is.”
Lindsay covered her face with her hands and breathed heavily but she did not cry. Andrews sat by her quietly, patiently.
“Did Rattling Thunder kill my son?” she asked, finally.
“We can’t be sure, but I don’t think so,” Andrews said. “It’s more likely he wanted to kill your husband and Red Feather and hold your son for ransom.”
“That’s what this is about? Money and revenge?”
“Two of the most powerful motivations for crime, yes,” Andrews confirmed. “HRT hates Rainhorse to the bone and you are probably not far behind. Taking your son and killing Rainhorse’s nephew as well as your husband would be the quickest way to throw you into a panic and do whatever he asked.”
“Why not just target me?” Lindsay finished. “It seems more logical. My mother is the one with the real money, anyway.”
Andrews nodded, “We’ve been kind of wondering about that question as well.”
Lindsay sighed and began to think.
“It’s possible he was after me all along,” Lindsay speculated, after a moment. “I was supposed to be with Matty and Jackie in Plentywood today, but I didn’t make the trip.”
“Why not?” Andrews wanted to know.
“Last minute work thing,” Lindsay answered. “Red decided to tag along with Matty when I dropped out.”
“So, HRT’s information source thought you’d be with them on the trip to and from the General Store today,” Andrews speculated.
“That’s my guess,” Lindsay admitted.
“So, who knew your family was supposed to take this trip to Plentywood today?” Andrews asked.
“It could be anyone,” Summer Rose interrupted, approaching from behind.
“How long have you been here?” Lindsay asked.
“Long enough,” Summer Rose said.
“Do you have any news on Matty and Red?” Andrews asked.
“Red is out of surgery and in critical care,” she replied. “They think he’s going to make it.”
“That’s great news,” Andrew said. “What about Matty?”
Summer Rose shook her head, “He’s still in surgery. No word, yet.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband, Summer Rose,” Andrews consoled. “I don’t mean to be insensitive but the timeline to find Jackie is critical.”
“I understand,” she explained.
“When you first spoke, you said . . .”
“I know what I said,” Summer Rose interrupted. “It was no secret that Lindsay, Matty and Jackie drove to Plentywood on the first Friday of every month?”
“What do you mean, no secret?” Andrews inquired.
“She’s right,” Lindsay agreed. “There’s a merry-go-round on the Plentywood Fairgrounds. It’s open year-round. Jackie loves it—it’s his favorite thing. We drive up there once a month, take him to the merry-go-round, have lunch, pick up supplies and head home. It’s a monthly ritual.”
“Why the first Friday of every month?” Andrews asked.
“It’s when I run monthly payroll,” Lindsay clarified. “I run payroll, cut and distribute checks, and we close early to give everyone an early start on their weekend.”
“Cut checks?” Andrews noted. “You don’t use auto-deposit?”
“My employees live on the res,” Lindsay responded. “Most of them don’t have bank accounts. They get their checks, race to the bank, cash it and go pay their bills.”
Andrews nodded, “And a fair amount of your employees know you drive into Plentywood on the first Friday of each month?”
“Yes. In fact, I usually have a list of things to pick up for people while I’m there,” Lindsay acknowledged.
“So, anyone who was really looking thought you’d be in Plentywood earlier today?”
Lindsay nodded.
“Are any of these employees harboring a grudge against you?” Andrews continued.
“Don’t be silly,” Summer Rose interjected. “Lindsay gives these people jobs with benefits. She pays much higher than the going rate, too. She offers flexible hours for the single moms and dads. They love her.”
Andrews sighed, “All the same, I’ll need a list of your employees and their addresses.”
“I’ll get them for you,” Lindsay offered.
“Are any of your employees known to be former associates of Hank Rattling Thunder?”
Lindsay shook her head, “None I know of,” she replied, “but I don’t exactly have a preemployment vetting process that includes, ‘Do you know or are you related to Hank Rattling Thunder.’”
“When have you last heard from Rainhorse?” he asked.
Lindsay shrugged, “Haven’t heard from him in five years.”
“You sound bitter.”
She shrugged, “It’s not the first time he’s left me. I don’t know why I’d be surprised.”
Andrews nodded, “I’m sorry. I’m going to assign a detail to protect you and Summer Rose until we get this sorted. I’ll assign a detail at the hospital, too, to protect both of your husbands. Now that Rattling Thunder has raised his ugly head and exposed himself, he will probably not come after you again and give away his position.”
“When do you think we will hear from him?” Summer Rose asked.
“He has Lindsay’s son. He’ll make a ransom demand soon. We’ll be prepared for the call.”
“I appreciate it,” Lindsay said.
He stood, “In the meantime, take care of your husbands. I hope all goes well. I’ll make sure we do everything we can to get Jackie back safely. I promise.”
“Thank you, Jim.”
“Oh, one last thing,” Andrews added. “You may find this question odd.”
“Ask me,” Lindsay invited.
“It’s just the strangest thing,” Andrews began. “When Rattling Thunder was released, they went through his things one last time.”
“And?”
“Well, as odd as it may sound, they found all sorts of information about UNICEF?”
“UNICEF . . . are you sure?”
“Yeah, does that mean anything to you?”
“It sure does,” Lindsay replied. “It means you need to find out where Jackson is . . . now.”
“Rainhorse? Why?”
“Because Rattling Thunder probably knows where he is and will try to kill him, that’s why.”
Chapter 3
Saturday afternoon 4:41 pm
Sheridan Memorial Hospital, Plentywood Montana
Lindsay was in a deep slumber, curled up in a chair in the waiting room. She’d been up throughout the night the evening before. Yellow Wolf and Red Feather remained in critical care. Red’s surgery went well, and he was expected to recover. Yellow Wolf’s condition was a different story, however. He was alive but the outlook was grim. He’d lost a lot of blood and doctors feared a loss of oxygen in the brain might result in brain damage. Lindsay was allowed to visit for just a few minutes.
The sight of Yellow Wolf in the hospital room, unconscious, surrounded by an array of monitors with endless tubes and wires connected to him, nearly caused her to break down. Lindsay managed to keep it together, more for the sake of her son than anything else, but Yellow Wolf looked so weak and frail she felt like she was going to be ill.
Summer Rose had gone home for a while; she had no choice. When she got the news, she relied on a friendly neighbor to keep her kids for the night. Lindsay promised she’d call if there was any change in Red’s condition.
The FBI detail Andrews assigned to her was positioned at a respectful distance, but the two-armed agents were maintaining
a watchful eye. They closed off all hospital access except for the main entrance where agents screened visitors and employees as they came in.
She was sitting up, slumbering in the space between consciousness and sleep when she heard a voice calling to her. The sound startled her. It was Andrews.
“Sorry to wake you. How are Matty and Red?” he asked.
“They are both still in the ICU,” Lindsay responded. “Red is stable but still being monitored very closely. They believe he will make a full recovery.”
“And Matty?”
She sniffed, “He’s out of surgery and still in critical condition. Doctors have placed him in a medically-induced a coma.”
“I’m sorry, Lindsay,” Andrews consoled. “He’s in a coma?”
“I’m told it’s the proper medical protocol for this situation,” she continued. “The coma reduces the amount of energy the brain needs to function. It helps the brain heal and reduce swelling.”
“But he will recover, right?”
“The doctors said it’s too soon to tell. If he does recover, there is also concern about potential brain damage.”
“Oh, Jesus, Lindsay, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” Andrews admitted.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she murmured. “This is all . . .” Her voice tailed off.
“Hang in there, Lindsay,” Andrews encouraged. “Remarkable things happen every day. Sheridan is a good hospital.”
“I know,” she responded, sniffing again. “Please tell me you have some news about my son.”
“We’re piecing things together,” he said. “It would really help if we could talk to Red or Matty. Did the doctors give you any idea when Red might be awake?”
“They said Red may wake up today sometime,” Lindsay answered. “Why?”
“I’d need a description of the person they stopped to help,” Andrews said. “There were no street cameras in the area of the ambush, but cameras are positioned at the entrance to Ft. Peck and in Plentywood.”
“And?”
“So far, no luck,” he admitted. “I’m not surprised. This was a professional hit. It was a well-organized effort. The driver probably transferred Jackie to another vehicle a mile or so up the road. They could have had another car waiting and ditched the Jeep in the woods. There are a lot of possibilities. We’re working on them all, I promise. A description of the kidnapper would be a big help.”
Lindsay sighed, hoping for better news, “Thanks for letting me know, Jim.”
“I have one more thing to discuss,” he interjected. “We reached UNICEF. I told them I was looking for Rainhorse. I found out he and Neha were working in Yemen. I reached the field director for UNICEF in that area. I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
Lindsay’s heart sank. Her hands began to tremble again. No, she thought. Don’t let it be.
“It seemed Neha and Rainhorse did not show up for their shift yesterday,” Andrews continued.
Lindsay gasped. Dear god . . . no, she thought. Jackie . . . Matty . . . Red . . . and now Jackson and Neha, too? Please, no.
“The director didn’t think much about it,” Andrews explained. “They occasionally took a day off, but after I called him, he began to worry. He made a visit to their bungalow. The place was shot up badly.”
“Oh, dear god, no!” Lindsay blurted out.
“The authorities narrowed the time of the attack to around five o’clock on Thursday in Yemen.”
“Why is the time important?”
“Because when it’s Thursday in Yemen, its Friday in Montana.”
“You mean . . .”
“Yes, I do. Rainhorse and Neha were attacked about the same time as Matty and Red were ambushed. It can’t be a coincidence.”
A giant lump formed in Lindsay’s throat as she listened to Andrews. Her entire world was crumbling around her.
“Hank Rattling Thunder coordinated the attacks, so whoever was ambushed first, could not warn the other parties he intended to hit,” Andrews continued.
“Jesus.”
“The bungalow had been tossed,” Andrews maintained. “There were signs of a struggle—a big one. Blood was found.”
“Is Jackson dead?” Lindsay asked.
“The Yemeni authorities certainly believe so. No bodies were found but the amount of blood found indicates lethal force was used. A preliminary investigation leads local authorities to believe a man named Aden Al Wasabi was involved.”
Lindsay sighed, “Who is he?”
“Aden Al Wasabi is a Yemeni criminal, a mastermind of Yemen’s most intricate mercenary network.”
“Mercenaries? You mean killers-for-hire?”
Andrews nodded, “He is ruthless and well-funded. Rainhorse didn’t know Hank Rattling Thunder had been released. He had no reason to suspect anything after all these years passed, especially in a remote country like Yemen. If Al Wasabi was hired to kill Rainhorse . . . well, I think you should prepare yourself for the worst. I’m sorry.”
Lindsay gasped. Her hands began to quake. She felt nauseous.
“Given what we already know,” Andrews continued, “the prevailing thinking is Hank Rattling Thunder located Rainhorse and hired Aden Al Wasabi. He executed a coordinated plan to kill Red, Matty, Rainhorse and Neha all on the same day, nearly at the same time, and then kidnap Jackie and hold him for ransom.”
Lindsay drew a breath, again fighting back the tears, “Any chance Jackson could have made it out alive?”
Andrews sighed and shook his head, “The odds are a thousand to one, against it. Aden Al Wasabi would have known of Rainhorse’s reputation. He would have overprepared and sent in a small army. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news for you, but I know you well enough to not sugarcoat things. I know you want the truth. The truth is, Rainhorse and Neha are almost certainly . . . dead.”
Lindsay sat in quiet reflection. This was all too much to handle. She tried to be strong; she knew she had to be, but her entire world was crumbling before her eyes.
Andrews sat back and remained quiet, offering Lindsay a kerchief. She turned it away. She did not cry. Matty was still alive. Jackie was still missing. She would not break down. Jackie was almost assuredly alive, still. She needed to focus on him, getting him back safely. She’d process her troubles once Jackie was home safe and Matty had recovered. After another two minutes passed, Lindsay finally looked up.
“Is there anyone I should call?” Andrews inquired.
“Lona Littlebird, Neha’s daughter, and June Ann Rainhorse,” Lindsay said.
“Rainhorse’s daughter?”
Lindsay nodded, “She moved back to Seattle four years ago. I have her number. Lona got married and moved to LA. I can get her number as well.”
“I thought we’d wait a few days. They would both want to come here and with HRT still at large, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to bring him more targets.”
“True. You told me they wanted to kill me, too,” she said.
“And I believe they did,” Andrews affirmed, “I think they intended to kill all of you except for Jackie. They could then contact your mother to negotiate Jackie’s release for ransom money.”
It made sense, Lindsay thought. Her mother, Elaine ‘Vandy’ Vanderbilt, was one of the richest women in the country, and she adored her grandson, Jackie. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
“We believe the attack was well-coordinated,” Andrews continued. “They planned to kill all of you on the same day, but you threw a wrench in the works by not making the trip. We now believe they will use you as the contact for the ransom.”
Lindsay was doing her best to keep up, but lack of sleep coupled with the intense anxiety was causing her to be confused.
“I contacted your mother,” Andrews concluded.
“Why would you do that?” Lindsay snapped.
“Because her life could be in danger, too,” he replied. “Hank Rattling Thunder is not forgiving. He would kill your mother without a second th
ought if he could. You and Rainhorse are at the very top of his shit-list and he’s one pissed off Sioux. We’re transporting your mother and her husband to your home where we can set up a command center and provide adequate protection.”
“Dammit, Jim, the last thing I wanted is for my mother to be here,” Lindsay barked.
“Why?”
“I just don’t want to deal with her right now,” Lindsay replied.
“It’s for the best, Lindsay,” Andrews countered. “Besides, you know your mother better than me. Do you really think anyone was going to keep her away?”
“Fair point, I guess,” Lindsay admitted, looking over the FBI agent’s shoulder. A nurse was approaching.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.
“How’s my husband?” Lindsay asked.
“There’s been no change, I’m afraid,” the nurse replied, looking at Andrews. “However, Mr. Red Feather has regained consciousness. I was told to inform you as soon as possible. He won’t be awake long.”
“Let’s go,” Andrews urged.
Lindsay did her best to squelch a gasp when she first saw Red Feather. Medical monitors were flashing numbers and beeping while tubes attached to his body were webbed all around him. His eyes were open but droopy.
“Where is Summer Rose?” he rasped when he saw Lindsay.
“She’s been here all night,” Lindsay murmured. “When they told us that you were out of danger, she had to go home and make arrangements for daycare. You’re going to be ok, Red.”
“Jackie?” Red asked.
“They took him,” Lindsay answered. “The FBI is here now.”
“How’s Matty?” he wondered.
Lindsay nodded and swallowed hard, wondering what to say, “He’s alive. They’re taking good care of him.”
She started to tell him he had also lost his uncle, Rainhorse, but she thought better of it.
“Rose . . .” Red repeated.
“I told you. Summer Rose will be back soon.”
Red shook his head, “No. I’m not talking about Summer Rose.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . Rose . . . Rose Rattling Thunder.”
The FBI agent stepped forward, “Mr. Red Feather, I’m FBI Special Agent Jim Andrews and I’m assigned to your case. Are you telling me Hank Rattling Thunder’s daughter, Rose, is the one who attacked you?”
A Good Samaritan Page 3