“Who?”
“The demon spirit,” I said, not sure how I knew that. Did I speak Dyak now?“Empaya Iba. I’m not sure I like that.”
I looked at her and tried to smile reassurance.
“That makes two of us,” I said, pointing the truck north toward Wyoming.
*
Jan Owens answered Amanda’s call on the first ring. When she heard Amanda’s voice, she interrupted.
“He’s not here. I’ll let him know. Try again,” she said and hung up. The call lasted seconds, not long enough for anyone to track us.
A half-hour later I was talking to Mike.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s complicated,” he said. “The highest levels here say you’re not on our wish list. We’re checking out other possible players. There are more than I ever imagined, and it’s taking more time than I like. One possibility goes to that couple you met in Abu Dhabi. They operate out of Maryland, and uh, they’re currently without a leader.”
“Great. Just great,” I said. “Do they have a lot of, you know, stuff to use?”
“They’re loaded. More than my crew.”
“Can they tap into your stuff?”
“We’d like to think not, but we have our doubts,” Mike said.
I twisted around in the passenger seat, checking on the traffic behind us. Nothing suspicious stood out.
“You could come in, you know,” Mike said. “I can keep you safe.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, knowing full well that would never happen. I liked Mike; enjoyed being with him, but I still had my doubts. After all, he had threatened to kill me.
“These people. Are they likely to know where we are?”
“No more than I do.”
“Do you know how many there are?”
“Going by our culture, we assume six. Definitely two from the Mile High incident. We think the person at your place was probably one of those two.”
“So potentially five remaining,” I said.
“That still sounds like a lot.”“You have no idea what those five could be able to do.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Change your transportation,” Mike said.
“Easier said than done. When will you have this under control?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Damn, Mike. Work faster.”
I ended the call, pulled the battery and SIM card out of the phone, and tossed the phone. A mile farther down the road, I threw out the SIM card.
“What did he say?” Amanda asked.
“He claims it’s not his group or anything authorized. Of course, given how little government agencies talk with one another, who knows?”
“But Mike knows someone is after you and he’s trying to stop them. Right?”
I shifted in her direction and enjoyed the profile. Even in such a dire situation, I was selfishly glad to have her near.
“He says he’s trying. But they may be rogues and may be able to monitor what he’s doing.”
“That’s not good.”
“That’s very not good,” I said.
“What do we do?”
“Keep running. I’m thinking Montana.”
“Do you know people up there?” Amanda asked.
“No, but that means there’s no one to accidentally bump into,” I said.
“Where do we stay? Our cash won’t hold out forever. Hotels would be the first place anyone would look for us. And, sweetie, you are a marked man.”
She turned to me without the slightest sign of revulsion.
“Actually,” I said, “I’ve been breaking into vacant cabins.”
“I never thought of you as the breaking-and-entering type,” she said.
“Do you consider me the type who can just think somebody to death?”
“No. Not that either.”
She took my hand. I felt like a jerk, thinking of Cecilia Brant and the idea that someone might have monitored out liaison.
This could be personal as much as professional.
Empaya Iba Speaks
Hear me, gentle people of the midnight flower.
Pay heed, Little Sister, who chose our new shaman.
I have been patient. I have forgiven doubts.
But my patience gives me doubts.
One time, The Chosen tried to destroy your spirit,
And I forgave, despite the grave offense to me and to you, gentle ones.
Still, I shared my powers and destroyed his enemies.
One time, he shared our secrets with a spirit-talker.
I forgave, despite showing my power with this alien one.
But I warned him, no more.
And now he seeks to remove my mark,
The sign of the power I have given him.
He would reject me before the world!
No more, Little Sister. Never again.
I command you now.
Gather from our far forest the blooms of the midnight flower.
So say I, Empaya Iba, spirit of the Black Orchid People, guardian of the Mother Soil, giver of the Long Sleep, seer of the Many Eyes, mage of the Many Legs.
Chapter 42
Plan B
Events were flying out of control, but Wall Sturgeon was a realist. That happened sometimes.
It happened that time in Iraq, when as a young lieutenant, he had driven straight into an ambush while trying to rescue a downed helicopter with then Col. Markus Brant inside. Brant had ended up saving his life—and winning his loyalty forever.
Now it was payback time: The sonofabitch who hurt Brant, then killed him and dishonored him by taking his wife—that man would die if it was the last thing Wall did. He would see to it personally. Never mind that it might cost him his career.
He looked around the silent underground operations room of the 348th. He might never be able to return to this secret nook in the Maryland suburbs outside Washington, DC. He shrugged and returned to his memo for the new CO who was scheduled to arrive early the next morning.
Sturgeon ran his eyes quickly over his words as he scrolled down the computer screen one last time.
That would do, he thought. Would have to do. He was all packed and ready to leave as soon as he programmed the computer to deliver the report the next day at 0600.
Poor Lieutenant Daniels would face the new commander’s questions on his own tomorrow. Good training for a good soldier. Learn to deliver bad news to the top dog.
When I get back, he thought, I’ll take the heat. And the new CO will understand just how far the unit will go to protect his back.
Sturgeon logged out of the computer, rolled back from the terminal and rose. As he expected, he met no one between the operations room and the guard’s station at the elevator.
“Another late night, major,” the marine corporal said as Sturgeon swiped his key card.
“Ever aware, ever alert, ever ready,” he responded.
The kid smiled at the informal motto of the 348th.
“Yes, sir.” He practically shouted as the elevator doors closed on Sturgeon.
The major pondered his plan.
Just how hard could it be to kill one untrained civilian? If indeed he was a civilian and not someone’s agent. No one in the U.S. government had found a connection between Arnett and any hostile entity, but there was a lot of interest in him—and that alleged skill he had. Hardly believable, but General Brant had found it credible enough to drop everything and attempt to meet the guy. What a coup that would have been, gaining control of an asset like that.
You can’t win ‘em all. Even the general didn’t expect to win every time.
“It’s not failing that matters, Wall,” the general told him more than once. “It’s how you respond. Failure lasts, only if you let it.”
He would not fail the general.
Chapter 43
Red Orchids
We sped up I-25 to Cheyenne, where I got the urge to change direction. We s
wept west on I-80. At Laramie, we stopped for lunch at McDonald’s. I’m not a fan, but people are in and out so fast they barely notice other customers.
Amanda dabbed some of her expensive makeup on my cheek and managed to cover the tattoo before we entered the restaurant. We didn’t know how Iba would react, but we were nervous, given our experience with Bradley. I plopped the Mongo hat onto my head, wondering whether it made me more memorable or less.
After lunch driving back to the interstate, I spotted a used car lot filled with pickup trucks and a handful of truck caps. I pulled a U-turn and eased our truck up to a black cap that looked like it would fit my pickup. Ninety minutes and $200 later, we were back on the road with the profile of our transportation significantly changed. Half the vehicles in the West are pickups, and the difference between one with a cap and one with a tarp is considerable. I felt a lot less noticeable and a little bit safer.
About 100 miles down the interstate at the Rawlins exit, I saw a sign for Yellowstone National Park and swung off onto U.S. 287, a two-lane highway. In the springtime Yellowstone produces spectacular fields of wildflowers. I’ve spent weeks there exploring meadows.
Yellowstone had additional benefits as a short-term destination for people on the run. It has five entrances and two circular loops of roadway. Anyone following us would need incredible luck to track us.
The closer I got to Yellowstone, the safer I felt. We were going to make it. Mike would have time to get the bad guys, assuming he wasn’t one of them, and Amanda and I could have those hard talks about our future—so long as Empaya Iba played nice.
*
Highway 287 runs north to Montana via the Tetons and the southern entrance of Yellowstone. Amanda and I planned to shoot all the way up, even if we had to drive all night.
By dinnertime, we reached Jackson Lake, not far south of Yellowstone. The highway takes a sharp right turn toward the north when it reaches the lake. At the northern tip of the lake, I slowed and made a U-turn.
“Sebastian, what are you doing?” Amanda asked.
“What?”
“Why did you turn around? Is someone following us?”
Amanda swiveled her head back and forth, inspecting vehicles around us.
“I’m just being cautious. Maybe we’ll get a nice dinner at Jackson Hole,” I said.
“Isn’t that out of our way?” she said. “Jackson Hole is very expensive. Can we afford to use so much cash?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll put it on my credit card.”
Amanda touched my arm. I looked over at her and smiled. Things were going so well, and I was truly happy. I felt like I was coming home. Dinner in Jackson Hole with a beautiful woman. Life could not get much better.
“Sebastian, if we use your credit card, they will find us,” Amanda said. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking. That was dumb,” I said. “Let’s get turned around.”
“You look tired.”
“Maybe a little. You must be tired, too.”
“Tell you what: Let’s stop at Yellowstone Lodge. We can get something decent to eat and take a break from driving. And it’s on the way to Montana.”
“Okay. I’m in,” I said.
I made another U-turn and headed back north. We passed the northern end of Jackson Lake a second time. A mile up the road, the highway widened; I slowed and turned around.
“Sebastian, what are you doing?” Amanda asked.
“I was thinking that we should find a nice spot along here and watch the sun set over Jackson Lake,” I said. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I know you’re tired, Sebastian, but shouldn’t we keep going?”
“I think we’re in the clear. I saw a sign for a campground back there. Let’s just call it a day.”
“Are you sure, Sebastian? You’re acting strangely, like you can’t get beyond this point. Are you afraid of something in the park?”
“I don’t think so. It’s probably exhaustion. I just need a good night’s sleep,” I said.
“Is it possible the spider is confusing you?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t do that,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I just thought it would be nice to do something for you. Why can’t you accept that?”
“I’m happy you’re thinking of me, but you’re not behaving like the man I know. I’m starting to worry about you.”
“Stop it!”
I snapped.
“We’ll stay here overnight and get some rest. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
*
It wasn’t yet dawn when I crawled out of my sleeping bag, still fully dressed from the day before. The sky in the east was starting to lose its blackness.
My head ached like a hangover, but I didn’t remember drinking the night before. Amanda and I had argued, but I couldn’t recall the reason.
I had slept in the tent; Amanda was under the cap in the pickup truck. For the second time in her life, she slept with a razor-sharp Ka-Bar. She had asked me for it. I didn’t question what she feared.
A nagging feeling had awakened me. I had forgotten something and needed to find it. I shivered pulling on my boots and slipped into a down vest. I tucked the Webley into the vest pocket and headed east, crossed the highway, and trudged into the foothills. That’s where the meadows were, and the Wyoming orchids would be growing there at this time of year. Was that what I had forgotten?My latest adventure in Borneo had helped me drop my weight. I was tall, just over six feet, and carried my weight easier than any time since Sarah had taken ill. I was still in lousy shape though. I was breathing heavily in no time and stopped frequently to catch my breath.
I rounded a sharp turn in the trail and nearly had a heart attack.
“Joe, is that you?”
The old Indian sat cross-legged in the middle of the trail.
“You’re a long way from home,” I said.
“Sebastian, where are you going?” he asked.
“Just walking. Looking for something. Orchids, I guess. Looking for orchids.”
“Why do you look for orchids now?”
He looked toward the heavens, still taking on color.
“Joe, you know I’m a nature photographer. It’s what I do.”
“It is dark for photographs,” he said.
“The best light is early morning light. You probably don’t know much about photography. It may have been before your time.”
“I know Edward Curtis when I was young. He takes pictures, no?”
“Curtis? Of course. He’s the epitome of portrait photographers. His Indian photographs cost thousands of dollars today.”
“He is different from you,” Joe said.
“Yeah. He’s famous. Every photographer on earth knows Curtis,” I said.
“No. He carries a camera to make photographs.”
“What?”
“Your camera, Sebastian. Where is it?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I said, looking around.
“Why are you here?” Joe persisted.
“I told you. What are you doing here, Joe? How did you know where I was? How did you get here?”
“That spider, you have given it a name.”
I stared blankly.
“I heard you say its name,” Joe said. “You never speak its name before.”
“I never knew it before,” I said.
Some sort of slow motion battle played out in my brain. I wanted to wake up, but I knew I was already awake. I could feel sweat and dew on me. I could smell the pine and spruce. I could see the dawn spreading all around me.
“Where am I, Joe? Are you really here, or am I dreaming?”
“You are in Wyoming, Sebastian. Orchids, hundreds, thousands maybe, red as blood, in a field up there.” He unfolded his legs and rose in a single motion, pointing farther up the trail behind him.
“Why do you come here, Sebastian?” he said.
“I lost something. I had to. I don’t kn
ow. The orchids.”
I whimpered.
“Why, Sebastian?”
“I don’t know. Leave me alone.”
Anger swept over me like a wave over sand, then receded as quickly.
“Let me go. I have to go see the orchids, Joe.”
“It is not the orchids calling you.”
“Yes, Joe. I’m sure it is. I have to go. I have to leave.”
I tried to brush past the old man, but his arm was an iron gate.
“What do you call it, this demon inside?”
“Empaya Iba. Joe, let me pass. I have to go.”
“Then what do you do?”
“Amanda and I are going north. We have to…”
I couldn’t recall what we had to do.
“We—We’re—How did you get here? What are you doing here? Are you following me, old man?”
“Wake up, Sebastian. Think. This is not you.”
“Get out of my way, Joe, or I’ll have to move you out of the way.”
I pulled the Webley from my pocket.
“Ah, the white man way,” the old man said. “This is good, Sebastian. You will shoot me. Quick death. Much better than taking my breath, hey?”
I stared at the revolver. Something was not right. I raised the Webley to scratch my head.
Joe lunged for the six-shooter and knocked it away from my temple as it roared and echoed among the trees.
I found myself sitting on the ground, the Webley still in my hand, looking up at Joe.
“Joe, what are you doing here?” I said.
“I come, say hello. That is all.”
“You crazy old Indian,” I said. I marveled at the old man’s stamina to walk all this way.
“You are all right now?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course. Never better.”
I looked around.
“I guess I was out for a walk and overdid it. I feel a little lightheaded. I’ve never been in great shape.”
“We talk more later, yes?” Joe said.
“You bet, Joe. I’ll have Hendricks and fresh limes waiting.”
He didn’t answer as he stepped beyond me and around the curve in the trail.
I sat, chuckling. What a funny old guy. Sheesh, what am I doing out here? I thought. I need to get moving. It’s cold.
The Mark of the Spider: A Black Orchid Chronicle Page 22