Changing Woman

by Thurlo, David

  Ella recognized the face the moment he stepped out into the zone where the emergency lamp was directed. It was one of the men she’d seen with Coyote, the man with the pockmarked face and probably the “Indian” who’d hired the low-IQ Anglos to vandalize tribal property. Now there was no doubt in her mind that she was dealing with the Indian syndicate.

  He made a slashing motion across his throat, signaling his spokesman to cut off communications.

  The one with the phone quickly hung up.

  “Let them worry for a while,” Coyote’s companion snarled.

  “I don’t know, Gary. This doesn’t seem right. We’re getting further away from our objectives all the time. We just wanted to get the public’s attention about the problems facing the tribe, not turn this into a war.”

  “Whenever you’re forced to take a stand you have to be willing to risk everything,” Gary answered flatly. “Stop questioning my decisions. I know what I’m doing. And don’t use my name. We know they’re using microphones to listen in.”

  The two men walked away from the phone, which rested on a large metal desk. The maintenance building was essentially one big room containing much of the machinery needed to operate and maintain the conveyer belts. A small office cubicle was at one end. As Ella tried to plan out her next move, she saw one of the sentries come in from outside and walk toward the ladies’ rest room, her assault rifle over her shoulder.

  Ella moved casually in the same direction, grabbing a roll of duct tape she saw on a workbench, then followed the woman inside.

  In less than a minute, the woman was unconscious, and in another two, handcuffed to the pipes in the stall, which Ella had locked from the inside. Her mouth was taped shut so when she regained consciousness, she’d be able to breathe through her nose, but wouldn’t be able to yell. Ella had used the rest of the roll of tape to secure her legs to the toilet so she couldn’t kick the walls to make noise.

  So far, luck was with her. Now wearing the woman’s jacket after transferring her own ammunition to it, Ella stepped back out into the main room. Carrying the assault rifle in one hand, she moved toward the small office area. More men had come inside while she was taking out the woman, and were standing around the office door. Ella moved up behind the newcomers, but was careful to stay back far enough so that no one would be able to see her face clearly.

  ’The Tribal Council still hasn’t agreed to meet and vote on the gaming issue, and the police are stalling. It’s time to demonstrate our sincerity. Are all the explosives in position?” Gary asked, looking from person to person.

  He glanced at her only briefly, but knowing that Blalock was probably hearing every word gave her a small measure of confidence. Even if she was discovered, at least the Hasih wouldn’t be able to achieve complete surprise.

  “Yeah,” another voice replied. “I made sure on my last patrol.”

  “All right. Then it’s time for our volunteer to go out and attach the detonators. Once he’s finished, I’m going to take one charge out into the middle of the road and set it off as a demonstration of our sincerity. Everyone except for the hostage guards needs to be outside in case one of the cops does something stupid, like trying to move inside the fence line. If that happens, the ones guarding the charges will light the fuses and run like hell south or west.” Gary looked around the group. “Understood?”

  “I better get started on the detonators, then,” someone answered.

  She recognized her friend Clyde Tso’s nasal, highpitched voice. Even through the hood he now wore, it was impossible to mistake it.

  “The line has been drawn in the sand,” Gary continued, “and we’ve stepped over and taken control again. Set the charges, brother, then report back to me when you’re done. The rest of you keep watch. When you see me walking away from the bomb, count thirty seconds for the blast and look away so the flash won’t ruin your night vision. And remember—shoot anyone who tries to rush the fence, and if anyone gets through, blow this place to hell. Are you ready and with me?”

  A murmur of assent went around the room.

  “Then put on your hoods, check your weapons, and get outside into position,” the leader said.

  Ella went outside with the others, staying right behind Clyde. Now that Blalock had hopefully overhead what was about to happen, the risk of law enforcement overreaction around the perimeter was diminished. But she had to do whatever she could to protect the coal and its delivery system, the conveyor belts.

  While the others took sentry positions Ella stuck with Clyde. This wasn’t the man she’d known, taking the role of a terrorist bomber. He moved toward the first athletic bag, which was positioned beside one of the massive electric motors that powered the largest conveyor belt.

  As he crouched down with a small penlight she stepped closer, silently watching, trying to decide when to make her move. To her surprise, Clyde took a pocketknife and cut the safety fuse away from the detonator assembly instead of inserting it into one of the explosive sticks. But he must have heard her breathing, because he suddenly spun around and slammed her against the wall, his arm pressed to her neck.

  “Ease up, Clyde. It’s me, Ella. If I’d have known you were going to remove the fuses from the detonators instead of placing them in the explosives, I wouldn’t have come up so close behind you,” she said, then quickly added, “Blalock, tell Justine not to shoot him, it’s okay.”

  It took Clyde a few seconds to get up to speed, but finally he released her.

  “Ella, what the hell are you doing here, and how did you get in? And who are you talking to? You wearing a microphone?”

  “There’s no time for explanations now. Let me help you finish what you’ve started now that I know what you really stand for.” She looked around, worried someone had seen what had just happened. “Give me the detonators, but be careful. We don’t want anyone else to know what we’re doing.”

  “Okay, let’s work fast,” he said, handing her the small cigarette-sized blasting caps that had safety fuses attached at one end. “But I’ll have to connect the one in the road so Gary can carry out his little demonstration. If it doesn’t go off, he’ll know something is wrong and order the others to start shooting.”

  “Do you think it’s likely he’ll get someone else to come out and attach new detonators and fuses, if necessary?”

  “No. We don’t have any extra. We had to leave half of our explosives behind because of that.”

  Moving from athletic bag to athletic bag positioned on coal piles or under pieces of machinery, they pretended to connect the detonators while Ella secretly pocketed the devices instead. As she studied the ducttaped bundles of high explosives, she noted that they appeared to be the same brand and batch that she’d run into before.

  The one in the road was the last. Clyde had to use some force to insert the detonator into the normally soft explosives because the cold had hardened the mix, and Ella cringed, realizing that if it went off by accident, she’d end up all over the facility.

  “Okay, Ella. Now what? I’ve got to go tell Gary I’m done. Then he’s going to set this one off himself.”

  “I’ll go back inside with you, and stay near the door as if I’ve been watching your back. Once you tell Gary you’ve finished, let him know how cold you are and tell him you’re going to relieve those two guarding the hostages. I’ll join you there once Gary and the others are all outside. We can use the diversion of the explosion in the road to take the hostages out the side door underneath the conveyer tower. There’s a place I found where we can get them under the fence and to safety.”

  “All right,” Clyde said with a nod. “But you’d better go with them, Ella. If Gary or some of the other diehard troublemakers catch you, they’ll have all the detonators back. I’ve cut the fuses off, but they can be reinserted.”

  “I plan to make my own escape as soon as the hostages are clear, but you can’t stay either. If any of them check and notice the detonators and fuses are gone they’ll turn on you and
have another hostage, or worse.”

  Clyde nodded. “One thing at a time. I’ve got to go check with Gary before he starts to worry.”

  Ella followed silently, carrying the rifle she’d liberated as if she were providing security for Clyde. Gary grunted when Clyde told him everything was set and handed him the penlight, then nodded when Clyde asked for a few minutes inside to warm up.

  Ella followed Clyde, watching Gary out of the corner of her eye as he walked outside. The leader stopped, looked back at Ella for a moment, then gave her the thumbs-up and laughed. She returned the gesture, but remained silent, fearing that at the last minute he’d recognize something about her that didn’t fit.

  Five minutes later Ella was keeping watch while Clyde crawled under the fence, handing his rifle to Blalock while another officer led the freed hostages toward a van. The blast in the road had made her jump although she’d known it was coming, but thanks to the warning Blalock and the others had received, nobody overreacted. Payestewa, she hoped, was on the phone now acting concerned and indignant about the blast, and relating his fears about the safety of the hostages. The rest of the Hasih were still shouting and whooping like Hollywood Indians, believing they still held a winning hand.

  Ella hadn’t told Clyde, but she hadn’t wanted to send the detonators with him or the hostages just in case one of them was a decoy working with Gary or his Indian mafia group. Now that everyone was through, Ella made a split-second decision, gesturing to Blalock.

  “Here are the detonators and fuse cords.” She took off her outer jacket, the zippered pockets full of the devices.

  “Hurry,” Blalock said, his voice hushed. “Someone’s coming out that side door now.”

  Ella studied the hooded figure who emerged. “From his size and shape, I’m guessing that’s Gary.” She paused, then quickly added, “I’m going back. If I can get the drop on him and take him out, the others may not continue the standoff once they’ve lost their leader.

  Payestewa might be able to make a deal and get them to lay down their weapons without a problem then.”

  “Be careful, Ella,” Blalock whispered.

  She slipped away and ran toward the conveyor belt tower, staying in the deepest shadows. Then, moving quickly and silently, Ella ducked behind a big metal box that said Fire Emergency on the outside and watched Gary pass by.

  Ella followed him around the back of the building, noting that he wasn’t carrying his assault rifle. Seeing a Hasih sentry twenty feet away standing beside a white pickup, she stopped at the corner and watched, reluctant to move any farther out into the open.

  “Watch where this guy goes, Justine,” she whispered, hoping that Blalock could relay her words in time.

  Ella wanted to narrow the gap between them, but before she could find another hiding place, the man walked over to the fence and took off his hood, placing it inside his jacket. Although she was twenty yards away, Ella could see the outline of a Navajo police officer just on the other side of the fence, dimly illuminated by the power plant fights, yet the Hasih man seemed completely unconcerned.

  Then he signaled the officer by holding his right fist over his heart. The officer responded to the signal by imitating the gesture, but with his left fist, then came over and lifted up a section of the fence, allowing the man to slip beneath.

  “We have a bad cop working with the Hasih,” Ella whispered. “I need someone to keep an eye on the Hasih member who just came out of the fenced area on the north side. I’m pretty certain it’s Gary—and we need to find out which one of our cops let him through.”

  Ella went back to the conveyor tower and waited until she was sure no sentry was watching her area. “I’m coming out. Someone meet me over there.”

  As she reached the exit point, Blalock came out of the shadows. Grabbing her hand, he helped her crawl out. “We’ve identified the bad cop,” he whispered.

  “Who is it?” Ella moved behind the cover of a police van.

  “Lieutenant Manuelito,” Blalock mumbled.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Justine had identified Manuelito using the night-vision scope on her rifle, and had informed Blalock immediately. But locating the man who’d sneaked past the law enforcement perimeter with Manuelito’s help proved tougher.

  Ella recognized one of the uniformed cops just coming out of the command center van and took him aside. She’d known Philip Cloud, one of Herman’s nephews, since high school, and she trusted him.

  “Keep an eye on Manuelito. Don’t turn your back on him or let him out of your sight,” she said, and told him about the lieutenant’s actions. “We need to see who he links up with.”

  “You’ve got it. I never liked the SOB much anyway,” Philip said, and left for the perimeter just as Justine saw Ella and jogged over to join her.

  “Have you heard if we’ve caught the Hasih member who left?” Ella asked immediately.

  “No, he managed to leave the facility using a phony power plant ID to drive out past the checkpoints before his description got to those officers,” Justine said. “But the officer manning the roadblock does remember what the driver looked like, and his description matches that of the man we saw at the coffee shop.”

  “That’s the one the Hasih called Gary, and he was calling the shots inside,” Ella said.

  “There’s our link to the syndicate, then,” Justine answered.

  “Make sure the officers we trust keep a lookout for him. Maybe one of our patrols still out on the highway can pull him over,” Ella said.

  Heading to the command post, Ella and Justine joined Payestewa, who was now on the phone with one of the Hasih leaders. It was the man Payestewa had first spoken to. Ella, listening in, verified that it wasn’t Gary.

  The Hasih spokesperson had a different tone now that they’d discovered one of their own bound and gagged in the ladies’ room and all their hostages missing. He was offering to have his men put down their weapons and leave the grounds peacefully if the Tribal Council was willing to publicly set the date for a final vote on the gaming issue.

  Payestewa agreed to contact the tribal president immediately, then hung up.

  “That’s a long ways from their earlier demands, Ella. My guess is that they also discovered their explosives are pretty much useless. I’d shake your hand on a job well done, if you Navajos shook hands,” Payestewa joked. “Did Blalock tell you what the tribal president did while you were over there wandering around in the dark?”

  Ella looked at Blalock, who shrugged. “The tribal president called a special session of the Tribal Council for Monday on the gaming issue. Apparently, the so-called legitimate supporters of gambling used this take-over to force him to act. Payestewa will let the Hasih know about this development as soon as our reinforcements arrive. We have another fifty deputies en route just to show the Hasih that a shootout would be a mistake. But, since it now appears that they’re going to be getting what they asked for, I don’t expect we’ll have much of a problem,” Blalock said.

  “With no way to set off their explosives and no hostages, the only leverage they’ll have are their weapons, and they have only ten or so people left in there now. We currently have sixty men and women on the perimeter and will have a lot more shortly,” Payestewa explained.

  “The next few hours should be quiet ones,” Big Ed Atcitty said, coming into the command post. He looked cold, but in a good mood. “I’ve got Manuelito being watched by a couple of officers. No wonder that weasel wasn’t having a crime problem in his district—he’s been working with the crooks.”

  “We’ve got to keep him away from any Hasih members we end up arresting here. I don’t want him passing them any more information,” Ella said.

  “With luck he’ll lead us to the others,” Big Ed suggested. “I need someone to go in person to warn the skeleton crew at the station about Manuelito. Obviously we can’t use the radio because he’ll hear us. I’ve already spoken in person to a few key county people, including Sheriff Taylor. But I need to
make sure Manuelito doesn’t issue any orders and create more problems for us than he already has.”

  Ella looked at Big Ed. “How about if I go back to Shiprock and have the watch commander send word via land line to the other stations, especially Window Rock? We should also have Dispatch monitor all his calls. Then, even if someone tries to tip him off letting him know we’re onto him, Dispatch can alert us.”

  “That should cover it,” Justine said.

  “Not quite. We’ll also have to disable his cell phone,” Ella said.

  “Not a problem. I’ll get it done,” Blalock nodded.

  “Okay, then I’m off to the station. I’ll be back within the hour,” Ella said.

  Ella walked back to her unit, put on her bulletproof vest again, pocketed her cell phone, which she’d left in the Jeep, then drove past the checkpoints to the highway. It didn’t feel right to leave again before the operation was finished, but Manuelito could cause a lot of harm unless other officers out in the community were warned about his treachery.

  By the time she pulled into the nearly deserted police station parking lot, tension was making her entire body ache. As she stepped out of her unit, she heard another vehicle approaching. A beige sedan screeched around the corner, one of its front tires hopping the curb as the driver hurtled into the station parking lot, heading straight toward her.

  Ella yelled, and, overcompensating, the driver swerved and slammed on the brakes. The car skidded and struck the concrete barrier at the front of a parking space, hopped it with a crunch, and came to rest straddling the concrete rail.

  Ella ran to the car and found the driver slumped over the steering wheel. As she threw the door open, and the dome light came on, she could see that the upholstery was soaked with blood. The seats began steaming slightly as the cold outside air hit the warm, wet fabric.

  Ella pushed the driver back gently, trying to figure out who he was, but his features were covered in blood, swollen and badly distorted from the results of a beating. There were slashes on his arms, some caked with blood, others still bleeding onto the car seat and onto his clothes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen this much blood coming from someone still alive.