“Be right with you,” Sam said.
As soon as his men had loaded and strapped the final pine boxes containing Indian remains onto the loading skids, Sam conducted a last-minute check. They’d already transported 170 of the coffin-like cargo from Memaloose and Graves Islands to the new cemetery at Wish-Ham without incident. This would be their final trip before the ceremony started and Sam was leaving nothing to chance. The Reburial Ceremony was an important spiritual occasion for the Wy-ams and other tribes who had ancestors buried at the former site. Sam was determined that the reburial process would be conducted with the respect and honor their ancestors deserved. That meant double-checking the transport portion of the process to make sure it went as smoothly as possible. When he was satisfied that the straps holding the boxes in place were secure, he inspected the outside of the craft one more time before climbing aboard.
“You ready now?” Gross asked, irritably. No matter what Sam said to the contrary, Gross had interpreted his cautious approach to their task as a reflection on him. His piloting skills were never in question, as far as Sam was concerned. After so many trips, the process had become almost routine, but never unimpressive. The maneuvers during liftoff had to be coordinated just right. First, to get everything centered, Gross moved the stick around and adjusted the rudder pedals. Next, he rotated the throttle and pulled up on the collective. Once the craft rose into the air, he eased the stick forward and headed for the new cemetery. As the big bird flew, it was only two miles from the rocky crest of Memaloose Island to Wish-Ham. Their route took them over the turbulent waters of Celilo Falls and the Wy-am fishermen perched along its banks. Not for the first time, Sam regretted his role in the destruction of the falls and all that the Indians held sacred.
Leaving Celilo Village on a stretcher in the back of Danny’s truck was not his finest moment. The government truck he’d driven that day was still sitting out at Celilo with four slashed tires. At least Sam had accomplished what he’d set out to do—he’d seen his daughter again. Ellie hadn’t been as receptive as he’d have liked, but it was a first step. After what she’d experienced, he was more than willing to let her work through her feelings toward him for as long as it took. He just wanted to have her back with him where she belonged. Quitting the bureau and remaining sober would go a long way toward restoring her faith in him.
Reba’s response to his visit was more positive. Despite his failure to protect George as he’d promised, and the animosity his undercover role had caused, she seemed willing to give him another chance to redeem himself. The villagers at Celilo were another matter. He’d be hard pressed to do anything that would regain their trust. The best he could do was to ensure that the Reburial Ceremony came off without a hitch.
Midway through the shuttle from Memaloose to Wish-Ham, they flew over the dam. Sam had been tipped off by Mike that “something big” was in the works by Danny and his gang. The details were sketchy, but Sam figured that whatever they had planned wouldn’t be good, especially since Ernie had been heard bragging about all the dynamite they had on hand. “They’re aiming to take out the dam,” warned Mike. Sam knew that wasn’t possible, but they could do enough damage to crack the structure and set the project back by months, not to mention endangering a few lives in the process.
With Mike’s warning in mind, he gazed down at the dam through the helicopter’s Plexiglas front. Although it was a Sunday, construction did not stop. The crews were on site 24/7 and, as the dam neared completion, the schedule would undoubtedly involve overtime. The activity Sam observed at the various work sites seemed normal, but the crew assembled on the spillway gave him pause. Hard hats were de rigueur for Corps employees and none of these men was wearing one. Although it was a flagrant safety violation, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence. What caught Sam’s eye wasn’t what they weren’t wearing, but what they were—jeans, tee shirts, and sneakers instead of standard work clothes and boots.
“Gross, can you drop a few feet closer to the dam?”
“What the hell for? We’re within minutes of landing.”
“It won’t take long. Something doesn’t look right down there.”
“Nothing looks right to you lately.”
“Just do it.” Sam ordered.
Gross shot him an exasperated look, but he backed off on the throttle and eased the collective downward. “Where do you want me to go?” he asked.
Sam pointed to three men standing in front of one of the sluice gates. “Over there.” As they descended, the noise from the ‘copter’s whirling blades caused the men to look up. “Oh, shit,” Sam said when he got a look at their faces. “I need you to set this thing down. Now.”
Gross objected to landing atop the dam’s spillway. “Not with these boxes on board. There’s not enough room.” He was right. The roadway running the length of the spillway was only one lane wide and framed by four-foot high safety walls on each side. It would be a tight fit for the helicopter, but adequate for its intended purpose of providing construction access. Later, when the dam was completed, the road would be used for maintenance.
Sam searched the surrounding area for a better landing site. “Okay,” he said. “Put her down near where those two trucks are parked.” He’d spotted an open space, mostly gravel and dirt, at the north end of the spillway on the Washington side of the river. Gross would have plenty of room to maneuver without hitting the trucks. Sam couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought he recognized both vehicles. He checked his service revolver while Gross maneuvered for position. Sam had been wearing the Smith and Wesson in a shoulder holster ever since Ellie’s rape.
“I’m giving you fair warning,” Gross said as he prepared to land. “Side trips aren’t part of the contract I signed. I’ve got a schedule to keep.” He dipped his head toward the darkening sky. The clouds rolling in looked like dirty sweat socks spilling out of a laundry basket. “There’s a storm heading our way and the bird and I aren’t sticking around for it. We’re flying to Sacramento as soon as we dump this load at the cemetery.”
“I hear ya. Now get me on the ground.”
Sam hopped out, ducked the still-spinning blades, and ran to the trucks. Just as he’d suspected from the air, Danny’s truck was parked alongside the vehicle he’d left at Celilo. The damaged tires had been replaced with bald retreads. The boys must have figured the government vehicle—with its official Army Corps of Engineers decal in the front window—would bolster their chances of gaining entrance to the dam undetected and had “borrowed” it. Sam quickly checked out the truck beds. Danny’s was empty, but when he peeled back the tarp partially covering the bed of his “borrowed” truck, there were half a dozen empty boxes inside. Although the boxes weren’t labeled, Sam knew right away what he was dealing with. He just hoped to God he could make it to the spillway in time.
Good thing he’d given up smoking or he’d never have covered the 150 yards without having to stop and catch his breath. Sam figured the sluice gates were the boys’ intended target. The gates were open now, but when the dam was completed they’d be closed and used to regulate the amount of water behind the dam. It was an important function, and damage to any one of the twenty-three gates would jeopardize the completion schedule. What Sam couldn’t get his head around was why the boys hadn’t already lit the fuses and high-tailed it out of there. They’d seen the helicopter and must have known when it landed that he, or someone like him, would be coming to stop them.
As he covered more ground to the site, Sam had his answer. Two workers in hard hats had already confronted the boys. They had to have been working on one of the sluice gates and were hidden from his earlier view. All construction work on the gates was accomplished from scaffolding lowered over the safety wall. Sam figured they heard the helicopter the same time the boys did and emerged from their perch to check out the source of the nois
e. He could only imagine their reaction when they saw three Indian kids standing on the spillway with a load of dynamite. As near as Sam could tell, the boys had been in the process of positioning the bundled sticks in front of the gates when the workers discovered them.
As Sam approached, Danny shouted, “Back off, Matthews.”
“You know that’s not going to happen,” Sam said, advancing closer.
Sam didn’t recognize the two workers standing next to Walter, but the name on their hard hats identified them as Palmer and Lynden. “Hey, bud,” Palmer called, eying Sam’s shoulder holster. “They’ve got a shitload of dynamite with them.”
“Show him the letter, Danny,” Walter shouted. “We’re authorized to be here.”
Danny pulled the letter from his back pocket and handed it to Sam. “He’s right. We’re doing a job,” Danny said. “Undercover, just like you.”
Sam quickly scanned the letter Danny gave him. The signature at the bottom had to be fake. “I’ve never heard of this agent,” he said. “The Portland Bureau wouldn’t authorize such an operation.”
Walter snorted. “It’s top secret, G-man. Only those with a need to know would be aware of it. Obviously, they didn’t think you had a need to know. Now get the hell out of the way. We have our orders and they don’t include you.” Walter brandished a bundle of dynamite at Palmer and Lynden. “You can take off, too, or suffer the consequences.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket.
Sam drew his weapon and assumed a shooting stance. “All of you: put the dynamite down. And your lighters, too.”
Danny hesitated a moment, then set his lighter and dynamite carefully on the ground. He raised his hands and said, “It’s over, Walter. Do as he says. You too, Ernie.”
“No way,” Walter said. I finish what I start.”
“You red bastard!” shouted Palmer, lunging at him. Caught off balance, Walter stumbled slightly. It was enough. Lynden pounced next, swatting the bundle out of his hand. It landed at Ernie’s feet as Walter twisted out of Lynden’s grasp.
“Kick it away,” Sam ordered.
Ernie looked at Danny for guidance.
“Do it,” Danny told him.
Walter backtracked a few paces from them. With a triumphant grin, he pulled a single dynamite stick from his jeans’ pocket and held it aloft. “Like I said, I finish what I start.” Flicking open his lighter, he brought it toward the fuse. “I’d start running if I were you.”
Sam couldn’t get a good bead on Walter with the others in the way. “Get going!” he shouted.
Ernie and the workers darted to safety, but Danny stayed put. “Don’t do it, Walter,” he pleaded. “Nothing’s worth losing your life over.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my brother,” Walter said, bringing the lighter closer to the fuse. “Now, beat it. I’ll take you with me if I have to.”
Danny gave him one last look then broke into a run. As he dashed past Sam, the flame from Walter’s lighter touched the fuse.
Chapter Forty-Five
The noise generated by the explosion was louder than a violent thunder storm, but the deafening rumble was nothing compared to the bloody mess left in its wake. Walter’s death shook Danny to the core. He choked back the bile rising in his throat, too stunned by the grisly scene to do anything but lean against his truck for support. Gratitude for escaping an almost certain death was tempered by overwhelming sorrow for Walter—and anger. He’d committed a foolish act of defiance that could’ve killed everyone present. Luckily, the energy wave generated by the explosion hadn’t reached the rest of the dynamite. If it had, the bundles would’ve been detonated and the blast would’ve been ten times worse than any thunder storm. The carnage left behind on the spillway would’ve been a gory splattering of blood, bone, and flesh. Just like Walter.
Ernie started puking as soon as he caught sight of what was left of their friend. “Oh, man, that was fucked up,” he said, wiping the spittle from his mouth. “We gotta cut out now! Henry’s waiting.”
Ernie was right. The cavalry would be charging to the rescue at any moment. If the two workers they’d stumbled across hadn’t already alerted the authorities, the blast would surely do it for them. The letter he’d given Matthews was worthless now, thanks to Walter’s deadly stunt. But what alarmed Danny more than certain arrest was the reference to Henry. “What do you mean, Henry’s waiting?”
Ernie risked another glance at the bloodbath on the spillway. Shuddering, he said, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I guess it don’t matter now. Walter told Henry to wait at Wish-Ham for the chopper. He gave him half a dozen of them bundles. Henry’s gonna blow that whirlybird to smithereens as soon as the coffins are unloaded.” Ernie gestured to the spillway where Sam Matthews lay face down. “He ain’t gonna stop nobody now.”
Danny took off running.
“Hey, where’re you goin’?”
When Danny reached Sam, he’d begun to stir. Slowly rousing himself, he sat up and shook his head a couple of times. “My ears are ringing,” he hollered.
Danny helped him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”
Sam cupped a hand to his ear. “What?”
Danny shouted, “Are you hurt?”
Sam took a quick pat-down inventory. “Don’t think so.” He eyed the bloody aftermath of the explosion and cursed. “If I’d been much closer, it would’ve been a hell of a different story.” He cast a suspicious look at Danny. “What are you still doing here?”
“Listen, we don’t have much time.”
Sam rubbed his ears. “Huh?”
Danny shouted louder. “Henry’s waiting at Wish-Ham for the ‘copter! He’s going to blow it up!”
Sam’s eyes widened in panic. “I’ve got to warn Gross,” he said.
“Too late. Your pilot hauled ass when the blast hit.”
“My God.”
“It gets worse,” Danny said. “Henry has no idea how much power there is in those bundles of dynamite. He’s got six of ‘em. If he sets them all off, everybody within a hundred yards will wind up like Walter. Including Reba and Ellie.”
“They’re at the ceremony?” Matthews asked. His face turned a sickly ashen color when Danny nodded.
Although older, Matthews beat Danny running to the trucks. “You got my keys?” he asked, gasping for breath as Danny caught up with him. Danny pulled a key ring from his pocket and tossed it over the hood.
Ernie had already climbed inside Danny’s truck. “Hurry up!” he urged as Danny jerked open the driver’s side door.
When Sam’s truck roared to life, he called over to Danny, “That piece of junk won’t get you there in time. Hop in with me.”
For a split second, Danny debated what to do. There was no doubt that Matthews needed his help. Too many lives depended on it. The unreliability of his truck, though, wasn’t the issue. By joining forces with Sam Matthews—even to save lives—was the same as admitting that his betrayal of the Wy-ams didn’t matter anymore. Walter had betrayed them, too, in the worst conceivable way. And no matter how he looked at it, Danny was just as culpable. It was time to pay for what he’d done before anyone else got hurt or killed. As unlikely as it seemed just a few minutes ago, Danny and Sam Matthews needed each other. Danny slapped the cab roof. “Head on out, Ernie. I’m riding with Matthews.”
Sam had his truck in gear and was about to take off when Danny scrambled aboard.
Speeding down the highway, Sam asked, “How’re you doin’?”
“Scared shitless.”
“Whatever possessed you guys to pull something this stupid?”
“The dam was destroying us. We had to fight back somehow.”
>
“And you thought dynamiting the hell out of everything and everybody was the answer?”
Danny stared out the cab window. Sam drove fast, but with an expert hand as they zigzagged in and out of the traffic. Drivers in the cars they passed honked and cursed at them. No matter how fast they barreled down the highway, it seemed to be taking an eternity to get to Wish-Ham. “Look,” Danny said. “Walter wasn’t himself lately. He’d become fixated on the dynamite to solve all our problems. Ernie and Henry just got carried away with the excitement of it, like it was a game. I knew it was a fool’s game.”
“Yet you did nothing to stop it.”
Sam was right. It didn’t matter that Walter hadn’t trusted Danny enough to tell him about Henry and the helicopter. He must’ve figured something might go wrong at the dam and hedged his bets. Uprooting and transporting their ancestors’ bones from their final resting place was as obscene as the dam. And if Walter couldn’t destroy the dam, the helicopter was the next best thing. Danny had let things get so far out of control that Ellie and Reba and a hundred others were minutes away from a horrific death.
“Who gave you that phony letter? Did you really think the FBI would recruit you for something like this?”
Danny had suspected the letter was fake but had brushed his doubts aside. He’d gotten carried away with the plan just like the others. He hadn’t wanted to appear weak in his friends’ eyes by voicing any more concerns than he already had.
“I know Stanley Feldman bailed you out of jail,” Sam said when Danny didn’t answer. “Is he mixed up in this somehow?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah, he gave us the dynamite and introduced us to his inside man at the dam who made all the arrangements. He got us a government truck and promised to furnish the other gear we’d need but he never delivered.”
“That should’ve been a big red flag.”
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