by Ethan Cross
Still fighting shadows with the stone tomahawk, Canyon continued, “By learning from their mistakes, we can ensure that the Diné people will never die out like the Old Ones. We have fueled the economy of our town and this valley into something that even the belegana envy, and we have accomplished this by selling their own poisons back to them. Not only their drugs, but soon, even the weapons of war which they created from our sacred land and, in the process, contaminated the life blood of the Diné. The work we are doing will strengthen our people for generations to come and see to it that the Diné, who have the witnessed the rise of America, will also see its inevitable collapse. When that happens, our people will live on, stronger than ever.”
As he looked around the room once again, this time holding the tomahawk out toward each man as if he were knighting them, he said, “Have no illusions, the belegana and their government do not want us to flourish. They want us to assimilate and submit to their ways. Now, they’ve once again invaded these sacred lands and have stolen from us. They have stolen our resources, and they have stolen our sons and brothers. Toby, Shinny, Tuchoney, Jim, and Ahiga. These white invaders have threatened to kill these men. To kill your friends. To kill my son. They have threatened to destroy all that we have built here. Everything we love. They wish to see our children grow up fatherless, weak, and demoralized. Will we allow this?”
He could see the fire in their eyes, the angry shaking of their heads, the tensing of muscles and clenching of jaws. The only thing that ruined the moment was that some of his warriors still stank of manure from the manual labor they normally performed for him. Besides the smell, they we re a war party of which his ancestors would have been proud. The looks of devotion he saw reflecting back at himself brought to his mind a quote from another white invader: Adolf Hitler—The leader of genius must have the ability to make different opponents appear as if they belonged to one category.
With a nod from Canyon, Toad shoved the two failures forward, into the center of the gathered war party. The two were about the same age, but the Ramirez kid was almost twice the size of his counterpart. Both men stank of sweat, fear, and blood. Jamie Ramirez was a handsome young man who had once been a top notch soldier, but after coming home to serve his own people, Ramirez had fallen prey to the same drugs that were supposed to be poisoning the children of their oppressors, not a member of the People. Even an adopted member like Ramirez. Canyon couldn’t remember the other runt of a man’s name, but he was fairly certain that he’d heard Ramirez refer to his rat-faced sidekick simply as: Slim.
Laying a hand on Ramirez’s shoulder but still addressing the war party, Canyon said, “Make no mistake. This war is no longer cold. We are under attack, and these invaders have declared their intentions by words and action. They mean to see all of us dead or locked up in one of their cages. We have no choice but to fight back. Our people, our families, need us to be warriors now more than ever. But let’s not forget the fate of the Old Ones. The dirt diggers say the Anasazi died from cannibalizing each other and civil war. I say that makes a lot of sense. We only have to look at these two men to see evidence of that.”
Ramirez said, “Sir, I—”
“Don’t speak. Just listen.” Looking to the others, he added, “These two men were busy…sampling our products when my son was stolen.”
“We were on watch, sir. That man, he—”
Canyon stopped the young soldier with a look. Then, to Ramirez’s surprise, he held out the stone tomahawk and indicated for the kid to take it. Once Ramirez had hold of the weapon, Canyon said, “You see, brothers, these two men were not ready for battle.”
In a blur of movement, he snatched the pistol from his belt (what type of gun?) and placed it against Ramirez’s head. “Going into battle and protecting our homes from attack requires many things from us. First of all, a clear head. Loyalty. Discipline.”
Eyes closed and voice trembling, Ramirez interrupted, “Sir, please, we—”
“Do not interrupt me again, son. Now, see there, damnit, you made me lose my train of thought.” With a growl and a shaking head, Canyon continued, “If you choose to be one of my warriors and don’t display these qualities, then you are essentially cannibalizing your own people.” Digging the barrel of his gun into the young soldier’s temple, he snarled, “Open your eyes! Look at these men!”
Ramirez did as he was told. Tears streamed down both his cheeks.
“Do you hate your brothers, Sergeant Ramirez?”
“No, sir!”
“I already told you not to interrupt me, boy! That was a rhetorical question. Now, someone is going to pay for you and your partner’s attempt at cannibalizing our families. Is it going to be you or your little friend? Your choice. Either strike him down with that tomahawk, or I will strike you down with a bullet to the brain. It should be easy for you, Ramirez, since you would choose cocaine, heroin, and whiskey over Toby, Shinny, and Ahiga, over your brothers.”
Ramirez, holding the tomahawk low at his side, didn’t move or speak, and Canyon gave the kid credit for that. At least he was learning something.
Canyon said, “I want you to kill your friend and then eat his flesh. That’s what cannibals do, right?”
Ramirez said nothing.
“Have you two learned your lesson? Will you ever betray your brothers again. You can answer this one.”
“No sir!” both men exclaimed in unison.
“I don’t believe you,” Canyon replied. Then he slipped his gun back into its holster and took the tomahawk from Ramirez’s hand. “Place your left hand on the table, Sergeant.”
The kid looked relieved to have the gun from his temple and, responding admirably, didn’t hesitate in placing his hand flat atop the closest end table, which was fitted with a granite top.
Canyon swung the tomahawk in a wide downward arc, trying to gauge the amount of force necessary to break the hand and not cut it off completely. The impact resounded in a wet “thwack” and a stifled scream from Ramirez. Canyon felt blood on his knuckles and forearm. Standing in the center of his warriors, holding a bloody tomahawk, Canyon thought of the man calling himself Frank, and all the ways he intended to hurt him and everyone he loved.
Turning his attention back to the war party, Canyon said, “We must find these invaders, whoever they are, and we must kill them. If anyone here is not willing to see that through to the end, you may leave now. You are free to go home and enjoy the life that your brothers will be out fighting for tonight. Anyone?”
He gave them all a moment to think and glanced from man to man once again before saying, “Good. Toad will assign the areas that each group will search. Our adversaries are extremely dangerous and have hostages. Do not approach them on your own. We’ve cut off all communication in the valley, both cellular signals and the landlines. That means the radios will be your only means of communication. Stay in contact with regular updates. Now, for your brothers, for your family, get out their and go to war.”
27
Ackerman watched through the window of the old trading post as Emily Morgan loaded her things into the Jeep. He hated situations like this, times when he knew he should act in a certain way, say a certain thing, or display a certain emotion. He often enjoyed going against the expectations of the normals, but there were often times when meeting or subverting the expectations of a person wasn’t an issue, because he had no idea what those expectations were. In this instance, he felt that he should see his teammate off, but he hated goodbyes. Based on his observations of normal human emotion, a goodbye under such dangerous circumstances necessitated specific reactions stemming from a fear that one may never see the other person again. But for Ackerman there was no such thing as fear. He didn’t worry whether or not he would see Emily again. Either he would or he wouldn’t. Worrying over the outcome served no purpose, even if he would’ve been capable of such a thing.
Keeping one eye on the prisoners and the other on Emily, Ackerman observed as Marcus executed a perfect goodbye hug
. He couldn’t read his brother’s lips at the current angle, but what he read from Emily’s face was that Marcus had succeeded in calming her fears. Strangely, Ackerman had always found it much easier to instill fear in someone rather than calm it out of them.
Sensing this was his moment, Ackerman headed outside, passing his brother in the doorway of the trading post. Emily stopped what she was doing as he approached. The wind kicked up, blowing her hair. In the predawn light, he could just make out her pale Asian features and the reddish glow of her dark hair.
She said, “I was wondering if you were going to come see me off.”
“It’s not as if we’ll be apart for long. Marcus and I should have this all wrapped up within a matter of hours.”
“Always so confident.”
“It’s always worked out for me before, and the best indicator of future outcomes is past experience.”
“I guess that depends on your definition of something working out.”
“Regardless, I wish you Godspeed. Be careful. Obey all traffic signs, signals, and laws. We don’t want to risk any further involvement of the Navajo Nation police force.”
“I think I can handle it, Frank. Next, you’ll be telling me not to take any candy from strangers.”
“That certainly is a good rule of thumb by which to adhere.”
“Since when do you pay attention to the rules?”
“Well, that’s the thing about being extraordinary. The rules don’t apply to you. The very meaning of being exceptional is to be the exception to the rule.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. With a shake of her head, Emily said, “Could you stop being so…exceptional for a minute? I have something important I need to tell you.”
Ackerman didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading. He could see the hesitation in her eyes. She said, “You’re the most frustrating man I’ve ever known, but I’m truly going to miss you.”
“As I said, we won’t be apart for long.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Once we find Maggie, I’m leaving the Shepherd Organization and going back into private practice. This job isn’t compatible with being a parent…especially a single one.”
Feeling like he had just been stabbed in the gut, and not in a good way, Ackerman tried to remember the last time that he could think of nothing to say. After a moment, he replied, “You, of course, must do what you feel is best.”
She met his gaze, and tears began to form in her eyes. Feeling a strange awkwardness, he stuck out his hand and added, “Working with you has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. You will be missed.”
Looking down at the proffered hand, she shook it with both fists. Then, knowing that she couldn’t say the same about him, he simply nodded and walked away, resisting the urge to look back at her one last time.
28
Captain Yazzie stood at the station house’s whiteboard, making notes and talking out loud, mostly to himself. Liana tried to pay attention, or at least look like she was, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Frank. He was so terrifying and yet so fascinating. There was no point during the entire confrontation during which he was not in total control. He had proven that he could have killed all of them at any moment. But he didn’t. In fact, when Liana looked back on the encounter, she saw that Frank had actually been quite strategic in disabling them without causing any real damage.
The longer she considered the situation, the more she wondered if she was on the wrong side of things.
What if Frank really was some kind of federal agent, come to rescue his friend and bring down Canyon’s evil empire… But where did he get all those scars? Maybe he was a former special operations commando who had been captured during a top secret mission to North Korea and tortured by the—
“Officer Nakai? Are you with me?”
“Yessir.”
“Well…then what do you think?”
The only thought running through Liana’s head was “Oh shit,” over and over again. But she said—after a long pause during which she tried to seem contemplative and confident rather than confused and uncomfortable—“I…agree with your assessment, Captain.”
Yazzie had an annoying habit of flipping and fiddling with his Zippo lighter, which—like the Colt Peacemaker on his hip—was engraved with the symbol for infinity. In this instance, the familiar 8-shaped design was displayed in the form of a black snake eating its own tail overlaid atop a background of white pearl. Nodding his head as he looked at the board, he flipped open the lighter and lit it in one movement and said, “Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
Liana winced, having no idea what she had just agreed to. Looking to the whiteboard for some indication, she saw Yazzie had written: Tobias Canyon, Missing Truck, Pitka: Drone Sweep. That much of the discussion she remembered. Officer Pitka would take one of the trucks and an expensive surveillance drone that John Canyon had “donated” to the department. Pitka would do a grid search of the valley using the drone, hoping to get a view of the truck or anything to indicate the presence of the suspects or hostages. But the board gave no indication as to what the captain had asked her.
Yazzie said, “Okay, Ernie get going and keep in constant contact on the radio. And don’t take any chances.”
Nodding to the captain and offering her a weak smile, Ernie Pitka rose and headed out to start his search.
His attention still on the white board, Yazzie announced, “The spot they’re holed up has to be less than a half hour radius from town. Frank and whoever is helping him are strangers. We know this area a hundred times better than they do. If you were hiding a truck and four hostages arounds here, Liana, where would you go?”
She had been giving that a lot of thought, yet she had no real answer. She said, “There are hundreds of dilapidated or condemned buildings in the valley alone. There are nearly that many abandoned uranium mine shafts. Even many of the ones that have been filled in still have old outbuildings still standing or caves big enough to drive into. And that’s just the manmade caves, not to mention all the natural ones. The Big Mine has a hundred places to hide. There’s the old fish hatchery and that warehouse off Route 50. At least three abandoned service stations I can think off the top of my head.”
“Okay, let’s look at it a different way. We need to narrow our search. Is there anything we’re not thinking of that we could use to track them.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but if anything happens to Toby, John is going to go on the warpath.”
“I thought he already was.”
Yazzie’s eyes remained unreadable behind the glasses he wore at all times, but she saw a small smile break the granite of the captain’s typical expression. He replied, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, kid.”
“Sir, don’t you think it’s time that we call in help?”
“From who? The main agency? The FBI? Bureau of Indian Affairs? I’m sure John has already talked to Agent Whitley, our BIA babysitter, and informed him of the situation. Besides, we don’t need more men or resources. We have plenty of those, but nowhere to send them. We need more thinking.”
Liana’s eyes went wide with shock at hearing Agent Whitley—their BIA rep—and John Canyon mentioned in the same sentence. She felt her lips trembling and turned away to hide her dismay, but Yazzie was deep in his own thoughts.
Why would Canyon be talking to Whitley? Unless the agent was on Canyon’s payroll…
When her superior officer had first ordered her to be complicit in covering up the disappearance of a federal agent, she had almost contacted Agent Whitley and spilled her guts about the whole situation. But if she would have called… She didn’t want to think of the things John Canyon did to people who got in the way of his warpath.
Staring at the whiteboard and twirling the lighter between all his fingers, which Liana had found impressive the first thousand times she had seen him do it, Yazzie proclaimed, “Trace evidence!” as if the phrase was the answe
r to everything. Over his shoulder, he said, “Grab an evidence collection kit. Wait, forget that.”
“I can get the one from my cruiser, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it. None of this will ever see a trial. We don’t have time to send evidence off to a lab, and we damn sure don’t have our own mass spectrometer. That makes the kit pretty pointless.”
Yazzie moved toward the holding cell that had temporarily housed the man calling himself Frank. In order to reach it, he had to squeeze past her, and she was trapped between the cell bars and the front of a desk, unable to get out of his way in time. He lingered in close proximity a few seconds longer than necessary, and she saw his nostrils flare as he passed. Yazzie often did small things that made her feel uneasy. Nothing overly offensive, but she had noticed him coming close and sniffing her hair on many occasions.
Stepping inside the cell, Yazzie pulled the Maglite from his utility belt and shined it back and forth over the floor and the cot resting against the back wall. Surprisingly, Frank’s escape through the wall had caused little disturbance to the rest of the cell and most of the dust and debris had landed on the ground outside. Yazzie bent down to the cot, scanning it first with the light. Then he started to lightly run his hand over its surface. A single sheet covered the mattress, which sat atop a steel frame. No blankets. One pillow. The less for the drunks to puke on, the less work in the morning.
Yazzie was about to search beneath the cot when the radio on his shoulder crackled to life. Pitka’s voice said, “Sir, I’m having some problems with the battery pack on the drone. Can you give me a hand?”
With a sigh, Captain Yazzie replied into the radio, “Copy that. On my way.” Then he looked to Liana, smiled, and said, “I swear sometimes that boy’s elevator doesn’t reach the top floor. Keep checking here. I’ll be right back.”