by Ethan Cross
Emily’s expression was stone, but her eyes were bright and glistened with tears in the light of a battery-powered lantern that hung from the rafters of the back room.
He asked, “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to cause you emotional distress.”
She said, “Do you miss your mother, Frank?”
The question jarred him to his core. Ackerman was a man who was seldom truly caught off guard, but her mention of his long dead mother took him completely by surprise. He replied, “I never really knew her. I only have a few vague recollections of the time before she fled with my unborn brother.”
Coming up behind Emily, Thomas White said, “She abandoned you, Francis. She cared enough about your brother to whisk him away to a better life, but not you. I think she sensed you were a monster from the very beginning.”
Ignoring his father’s spectral form as much as humanly possible, he concentrated on Emily as she said, “But when you look back on your childhood, do you mourn the loss of not having her there? Don’t you wish she had been?”
Thomas White snarled, “Tell her, Junior. Tell your little friend that your mother offered you up to me like a sacrificial lamb, just to save her own miserable skin. Tell Emily that you’ll never forgive your mother for choosing herself, and your brother, over you. Tell her your mother was a selfish bitch. Tell her!”
Laying a hand on Emily’s shoulder, Ackerman whispered, “My mother was a wonderful woman who did the best she could under impossible circumstances. I respect her for standing up to the…toxic black hole that is my father. Where is your daughter now?”
“With her grandparents.”
“Good people, obviously. They did an exceptional job raising you.”
“But I’m her mother. And I’m not there.”
“She knows you love her. Her development will not be stunted by your absence.”
“It’s not about that. Every second I miss with her is one I’ll never get back. Ashley is growing into a young woman, and I’m missing it. Out here in the desert babysitting thugs.”
“I trust you’re referring to the Canyon clan and not my brother and I. We could be characterized in many colorful ways, but ‘thugs’ would be a grand oversimplification. Besides, we need you here. Maggie needs you. I need you.”
She looked up into his eyes in a way that caused a warm feeling to course through his whole body. It felt good to be looked upon without contempt or fear or even reluctant acceptance.
He turned away, feeling immediately guilty.
Thomas White said, “Oh, I see. Maybe I won’t kill your brother first. Maybe, once I take control, I’ll spend some intimate moments with this lovely specimen. But wait a second… Aren’t you the real reason that poor Emily has been separated from her child. If you hadn’t come into her world, she’d still be living happily ever after in a beautiful Colorado home with Ashley and her state Trooper husband. What was his name, Junior? Ah, yes…Jim Morgan. You remember him, don’t you? You gutted him like the pig he was.”
Ackerman added, “I simply mean to say that you are one of the few people in the world, besides myself, whose competence I can rely upon.”
Wiping her eyes, she said, “Can you keep an eye on these five for a few minutes? Without maiming them any further? I need to use the outhouse.”
“I suppose I can restrain myself.”
Once Emily had exited the back door, Thomas White continued, “I can see why you like her. I’m a bit too old for such pursuits myself, but when I wear your skin, I have a feeling that I’ll be like a whole new man.”
Looking the subconscious projection of his father directly in his imaginary eyes, Ackerman said, “You will never ‘wear’ my skin, and you will never lay a hand upon Emily!”
Thomas White merely smiled, and Ackerman knew that he had just lost a small battle by rising to the antagonism of a hallucination. The more he acknowledged his father as real, the more real he became. Until one day, perhaps Thomas White would become strong enough to steal the reigns.
Ackerman vowed to never allow that to happen. If it came down to it, he would see to his own end.
Thomas White gestured to the prisoners, raising his eyebrows. Following his father’s gaze, Ackerman realized that he had forgotten about Tobias Canyon and his four comrades being with them in the room. The eyes of the young men stared back at him full of fearful questions. Namely, who in the hell was he talking to?
To the young captives, Ackerman said, “In case any of you were wondering, the voices in my head are telling me to kill you all. And then eat you. Or perhaps the other way around. I slowly devoured a person once in the past over the course of a few weeks. I found it to be a very sensual and intimate experience. With a little strategy, I was able to keep him alive for a downright disturbing length of time. But that individual was long past his prime. His meat wasn’t nearly as succulent and tender as I’m sure you four youngsters would be.”
The looks of fear that passed over the faces of the four prisoners filled Ackerman with another warm feeling, but this time, he didn’t feel guilty at all.
24
This was all his fault. He knew it in his head and felt it in his heart. Special Agent Marcus Williams had failed in so many ways he couldn’t even begin to count them. Although, he often tried. Marcus would sit for hours on end—usually while the rest of the world slept—replaying past mistakes. Not just out of a sense of guilt, but also a desire to learn from prior missteps. He had screwed up a lot during his life—with Dylan’s mother, as a cop, a son, a father, times when he had allowed anger and self-righteousness to cloud his judgment—but he guessed that if all of the times that he had said or done the wrong thing could be totaled up by victim, Maggie would have been the person his poor choices had harmed the most.
And now, he had pushed her away to the point that she…
He couldn’t bear to imagine a world without her smile.
Instead, Marcus turned his attention to surviving the moment. In what could very well be his worst decision yet, he had followed the advice of his brother and struck John Canyon’s empire with a straight-up frontal assault. He often felt he was overly cautious, and Ackerman seemed to have the variables all figured. But now, Marcus wasn’t so sure, and he feared that this latest mistake would get him and the rest of his team killed.
The fact that a full communications blackout had occurred just after Ackerman’s foray onto John Canyon’s ranch hadn’t escaped Marcus’s notice.
By all accounts, Canyon owned this valley and damn near everyone in it. That was a lot of hands holding a lot of guns pointed in their direction. Everything seemed to be working against them, everything falling apart. Under his watch. Because of his mistakes.
He had stashed the rented Jeep SUV inside a small shed beside the dilapidated trading post. The three buildings on the property—an old mobile home, the shed, and the store—had all sat vacant for years, and judging from the wear on the wooden siding of the structures, the place had been on its last legs even before the owner passed away. From the back of the Jeep, he lifted a heavy black gun case, which contained an impressive .50 BMG Caliber Barrett Model 82A1 sniper rifle. While the .30-06 Springfield—a standard caliber for American soldiers in both World Wars and one of the most popular choices for hunters—produced muzzle energies between two thousand and three thousand foot-pounds. The .50 BMG round produced around fifteen thousand foot pounds of force.
Marcus heard the sound of a low exhalation behind him and didn’t hesitate. Pulling his Diamond Plated P220 Sig Sauer pistol from its holster, he spun on whoever was sneaking up on him through the darkness.
With disinterest, Ackerman looked down at the gun aimed at his midsection. “Jumpy, aren’t we?”
“Damnit, Frank. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Slipping the Sig back into its holster, Marcus added, “How’s your side? I noticed you were bleeding.”
“I’m fine. We need to calculate our next move.”
“Before we do that, we
need to make this place somewhat defensible. Now that you’ve thrown down the gauntlet, Canyon will be coming at us with everything he has, if he can find us. I don’t want him to catch us with our pants down.”
“What do you propose? Do we have access to explosives? I could probably rig up something with gasoline and poor man’s C4.”
“Actually, I brought genuine military-grade C4, but I’m hoping that we won’t have to rain down any hellfire and brimstone.”
“I can be very precise when shaping my charges. I’ve certainly demonstrated this ability during—”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t doubt your skills, but first, I’d like to try something that’s a little less shock and awe and a bit more subterfuge.”
“Well, we should figure something out soon. It’s only a matter of time before our guests arrive.”
Eyes narrowing, Marcus asked, “What did you do?”
“I left them an invitation to the party.”
Marcus lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset of a migraine. “And what exactly does that mean, Frank?”
“I found one of the trading post’s sale bills and tucked it beneath the drunk tank’s mattress. When Captain Yazzie finds it, he’ll inform Canyon, and they’ll be coming at us with everything they have.”
“When did you intend to share that part of your ‘plan’ with me? And I use the word plan, in the loosest sense of the word. Let’s get something straight right here and now. I’m not your little brother when we’re out in the field. I’m your commanding officer. If I don’t know about a part of the plan, then it’s not part of the plan.”
Ackerman cocked his head. “You and I both know that, on this case, we have no chain of command. No support. No hierarchical bureaucracy to call upon. We are but two lone warriors doing what we do best in order to save a wayward sister. And as you also know, dear brother, the variables are always shifting. We must adapt, improvise, and overcome.”
Gritting his teeth actually helped with his headache, and so Marcus ground down until he felt he might snap something. After a few seconds, he calmly said, “Don’t feed me some spur of the moment line. You took the sale bill with you to the station, which means that you had this planned out from the beginning and neglected to tell me about it.”
Ackerman replied, “I’m not your pet or your weapon. You can’t just wind me up and send me out into the world expecting me to do your bidding. And, for the record, if you didn’t have your head up your ass feeling guilty over everything, then I wouldn’t need to be executing contingencies.”
“That’s it. We’re done. We’re packing up. I’ll get Valdas and his friends at the FBI to handle it from here. You’re right about one thing. We’re off the rails here. It’s time to end it.”
Ackerman laughed. “You might as well kill Maggie yourself. If she is still alive, we’re her only hope. By the time your bureaucracy has mounted its investigation, the evidence of her presence will be long gone. We’re committed here. The only option is to stay the course.”
“That’s difficult,” Marcus said, “when you don’t know the plan.”
With a roll of his eyes, Ackerman explained, “Our new friends are only aware of my existence, not yours or Emily’s.”
“They know someone picked you up.”
“I could have just as easily had an escape vehicle hidden somewhere. They can’t know for sure. We have Canyon’s son and his drugs. Simultaneously attacking a man’s family and his livelihood is definitely a good way to get his attention, and to keep him off balance and making mistakes. Once they discover the breadcrumb I so graciously left for them, they’ll be headed this way. All of them.”
Marcus nodded in understanding. “And while they’re distracted here with you, the ranch will be virtually unguarded. Leaving an opportunity for me to search the place.”
“You and Emily.”
“Actually, I’m sending Emily out of here. With communications down, we can’t risk it. She needs to update the rest of the team. It’s just you and me on this. It’s better that way.”
“You mean so that’s she’s insulated legally from what’s about to occur.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. We’re going to war. I don’t want Emily to be collateral damage.”
“Agreed.”
“She’ll take the Jeep, and I’ll use the dirt bike to reach the ranch. It’ll be better to stay off the roads anyway. But what about you? You’ll be here alone.”
Ackerman smiled. “They won’t know that. You just worry about finding Maggie, and I’ll keep Canyon and his men so twisted up they won’t know if they’re coming or going. I have to admit… I’ve been looking forward to this part. You know how it is, a true player is always looking for a good game.”
25
The past…
Marcus said, “You did good today. I’ve come to realize that our job isn’t to catch killers. It’s to protect innocent people. And that’s what you did. You saved a man’s life.”
She met his gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, but he couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the cold. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re a good agent, and if I were any kind of a team leader, you would already know that.” Marcus blew out a long breath. “And if I were any kind of a man, you would also know how much I love you. But we—”
Her hands shot out and grabbed him by the sides of his head. Just as quickly, she pulled him in close and kissed him. It was a long and hungry kiss.
His arms folded around her. He could feel her heart pounding, and she was breathing hard. When she pulled away, she said, “Don’t say anything else. You’ll just ruin it.”
26
John Canyon had based the design for his home off a ski lodge he and his wife had visited in Aspen, CO. It was the kind of opulence that was unheard of among the Diné people. But it also sent a very clear message as to who he had become, the empire he had built. As he looked around the two-story great room of his home, which was built like a log cabin, Canyon considered how far he had come from the shack in which he had been raised. The only elements of the decor that didn’t mimic the Aspen ski lodge were the mounted trophies of animal heads. Instead, American Indian artifacts lined the walls—everything from glass cases of ancient pottery and weaponry to colorful Diné rugs and artwork. He had even rescued a piece of a rock wall, which displayed the intricate petroglyphs of a hunting party of the Old Ones, that had fallen from an Anasazi dwelling.
Although he didn’t completely keep to the old ways himself, he knew that the lodge room comforted some of the more traditional of his men. George Todacheeny, Canyon’s head of security, counted himself among those traditionalists. Canyon—having cut his teeth among the gang’s of the nation with the no-neck, barrel-chested Todacheeny—knew the man simply as Toad. With a nod of his head, Canyon told his longtime subordinate to quiet the twenty-five men gathered in his great room.
Toad yelled, “Everyone sit down and shut up. Mr. Canyon’s about to speak.”
As the assembled man found a spot to listen, Canyon made a point to try and look each man in the eyes, which was counter to their culture but necessary to convey the seriousness of what was about to be discussed.
Stepping into the center of the lodge room, which was filled with leather couches and barstools and smelled of cigar smoke, he began, “We’re all familiar with the Old Ones who built their homes high in the rocks of the canyons and mesas and hills all throughout this region. Most of us even visited the ruins of the Old Ones as children. Not to desecrate or to deface, but to walk the footsteps of our ancestral peoples. The belegana dirt diggers still can’t explain exactly why the Old Ones took to the high places, where life was infinitely more difficult, rather than building their homes on the plains, close to water and other resources.”
As he spoke, Canyon walked over to the wall of the lodge room, unlocked one of the glass cases, and retrieved a piece from his collection. This particular
stone tomahawk was a meticulously recreated replica, not an original. He would never defile an original in the way he was about to use this one. The reproduction had been constructed from a straight shaft of hickory and a rounded stone axe head with bands of leather holding the two together. His ancestors used the tool, which measured approximately two feet in length, for both labor and self-defense.
Using slow and deliberate movements, Canyon sliced the air with the ancient weapon and continued, “They’ve found evidence of civil war and cannibalism among those they’ve named the Anasazi. Many take this as an insult and reject the idea. Personally, I can see it. Look at the Diné people now. We have been scattered and subjugated. This defeat, along with the systematic removal of our culture and heritage perpetrated by the so-called United States, has caused our people to cannibalize each other as well. They locked us in a prison without walls, forcing our people to feed off one another and desecrate our sacred lands. Alcohol, drugs, gangs, the theft of our youth to the false dream of a better life beyond the Rez. All of these things have been slowly devouring the Diné people for generations. But I say no more!”
With a nod to Toad, he gave the order for his subordinate to bring out the two men who had failed him earlier in the night.
As Toad left the room, Canyon declared, “So how do we stop this slow erosion of our people? I say we must learn from the mistakes of the Old Ones. Their people died out and were dispersed. Their ways and their stories lost to time. I’ve always suspected that it was actually invaders like the Vikings or other white peoples with their inherent greed and diseases who caused the Old Ones to run to the hills. And our people are no different. We have forgotten who we are. We’re losing ourselves to time, just like the Old Ones—who the belagana thieves of time have dubbed the Anasazi because even the name of their people has been forgotten.”
The door leading to the mansion’s west wing opened, and Toad walked through with the two men who had allowed Canyon’s son to be taken close on his heels. Both of their faces were swollen and bloody from where he had put them both on their asses earlier, when he had first leaned about Tobias’s kidnapping. After meeting the man responsible, Canyon knew that it really wasn’t the fault of his men. He would still, however, need to make an example of them, for the greater good.