Strong As Steel
Page 22
“Long time,” Cort Wesley told him, because he felt he had to say something.
“This happens to be your lucky day, Dad, because my last semester at Brown, one of my classes covered Aramaic. A lot like Hebrew, and the dominant language of the time.”
“What time?”
“Oh, roughly one thousand BCE, but dating back even farther, according to some experts.”
“What’s BCE stand for?”
“‘Before the Common Era.’ Used to be BC, for ‘Before Christ.’”
How could I not know that? Cort Wesley asked himself.
“Getting back to these ossuaries … Some of them have intricate geometrical patterns and inscriptions identifying the deceased. Something like ‘Simon the Temple Builder,’ or ‘Elisheba, wife of Tarfon.’ This one probably says something like that,” Dylan added, pointing to the screen. “But…”
“There’s always a ‘but.’”
“There are a whole bunch of Aramaic dialects, and each one has its own patterns to decipher. Easy work, way back when, but a pain in the ass today.”
“Are you telling me you can’t translate what that says?” Cort Wesley asked, regarding the close-up of the inscription on the ossuary that had disappeared from Bane Sturgess.
“Did I say that? No, I didn’t say that, because I’m not sure yet. In addition to the different dialects, there’s the problem of confusing Old Syriac Aramaic with the more traditional, spoken language. Cultures overlapped, and so did ages. Twenty miles was like two thousand today, and as long as the residents of one village could decipher the language, it didn’t matter whether that village twenty miles away could or not. This inscription, all those squiggly lines, seems to resemble what Aramaic looked like in the first century. So, if I keep at it, I think I’ll be able to give you at least a rough translation.”
“Then keep at it.”
Dylan nodded, his expression sobering. “I get the feeling a lot of people have died for the contents of this box.”
“True enough.”
“So how much you paying me for this again?”
“Your tuition for the next three semesters.”
“Sounds fair.” Dylan nodded. “You mind throwing in dinner, too?”
“Deal.”
“For four, Dad?”
“Four?”
“Tonight, somewhere nice, on the Riverwalk,” Dylan told him. “You heard her downstairs—Selina wants to meet Caitlin.”
PART SEVEN
In April of 1997 the Republic of Texas standoff began when a couple of residents near Fort David, Texas, were taken hostage by members of the Republic of Texas (ROT), a group whose members professed the belief that Texas had been illegally annexed to the United States in 1845. The group claimed that Texas was not a state but an independent nation. Barry Caver was the Midland-based captain of Company E of the Texas Rangers and was responsible for the Fort David region. The ROT leader in Fort Davis, Richard McLaren, held out with his supporters for tension-filled days but ultimately, due in large measure to the patience and leadership of Caver, the episode ended peacefully with McLaren’s surrender. Dramatic violence was averted. Would the Waco episode have ended as peacefully if the Rangers had been allowed to accept the surrender of the Branch Davidians?
—Bruce A. Glasrud and Harold J. Weiss Jr., eds., Tracking the Texas Rangers: The Twentieth Century University of North Texas Press, 2013
62
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
D. W. Tepper had two glasses on his desk when Caitlin walked in. “One of these is poison,” he said, “the other’s Alka-Seltzer. The Alka-Seltzer’s for the acid you love kicking up in my stomach. The poison’s in case the Alka-Seltzer don’t work, given this particular mess.”
“Maybe I should be the one drinking it, Captain.”
“I think it would be too scared to kill you, Ranger.” He reached for the still-fizzy antacid. “Better get this down before the bubbles go away.…”
And Tepper did so, leaving just a little at the bottom of the glass.
“Ahh, now that hit the spot. I’m guessing the Mexican Policia Federal have drunk more than their share today, too. They called me, they called the chief in Austin, they called the governor, and there’s rumors they got a call in to the ghost of John Wayne. Apparently they’re trying to work the story that the attack on their compound was your fault.”
“How’s that exactly?”
“You being the target, instead of Delgado.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Tepper drained the rest of his Alka-Seltzer. “It’s called saving face. And to save further face, they’re holding your gun and vehicle hostage. You try picking either up, expect to be in Mexico for an extended period. You can draw a replacement weapon, but it’ll be billed against your salary. You own the SUV, so we can handle up to seven days’ reimbursement for a rental.”
“Maybe I’ll ask Colonel Paz to get them back for me.”
“That’s another problem we’ve got. Your own personal King Kong’s not exactly well liked south of the border, and his association with you is kind of an established fact. His involvement is why they’re trying to lay this whole thing at your feet. Some Mexican cabinet minister told the governor of Texas to expect a bill for the damages.”
“They got as much chance of seeing the money as we do of having them pay for a border wall.”
“Didn’t you hear, Ranger? Mexican government changed their mind, because they figured it might be the only way to keep you out.”
Caitlin snatched an open box of Marlboro Reds from Tepper’s desk and sat down in the chair set before it. “It was worth the trip, Captain.”
“You solve the great mystery of those crates that have gone missing a second time?”
“Cort Wesley’s working a lead.”
“Yeah, through his son, translating that Aramaic to tell us something about the bones inside.”
Caitlin nodded. “The Red Widow didn’t tell me everything she knows about those funeral boxes, or whatever they’re called, but she had plenty to say about my dad.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Except the story stopped before the real fun began, with Jim Strong paying a visit to the Delgado hacienda back in ninety-four.” Caitlin settled back in her chair. “I was hoping you could pick up the story there, D.W.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Ranger. I’ve got an inkling as to the bits and pieces, but I can’t tell you what your dad never told me.”
“He told you everything.”
“Not this. This was different, on par with the murder of your mother. I know for a fact that he tracked down the three drug mules who did the deed, based on a combination of speculation and conjecture. Call it circumstantial evidence if you want, but the result was enough to drop him in the bottle for a time, until your grandfather knocked some sense into him.”
“Old Earl knew plenty about loss, firsthand.”
Tepper opened up his drawer and fished out a fresh pack of Marlboros. “Joke’s on you this time, Caitlin. That box you swiped from my desk? I packed it with those candy cigarettes you’re so fond of replacing my real ones with. Turnabout being fair play and all.”
“I buy those candy cigarettes by the case lot now, D.W.”
She watched Tepper tap the fresh pack hard on the desk to pop one of the Reds out—but ending up showering his plastic blotter with sugar dust.
“That’s just not fair,” he groused, dropping the whole pack in the trash.
“Turnabout being fair play and all.”
“Where’s this go from here, Ranger?” Tepper asked her.
“We figure out why those crates have disappeared again, Captain, and we figure out what’s inside them in the first place. That means going back to 1994 and how they ended up buried in the desert. I know my dad had a hand in that, and the bodies that went with them, even if you don’t want to fill in the details.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me, just like I k
now it’s not the whole story, starting with how those funeral boxes came into his possession or why they were so important to Luna Diaz Delgado.”
“Well, Ranger, one thing I hope we can agree on is that I’ve got no idea who stole them yet again, this time from the offices of Bane Sturgess.”
Caitlin nodded, conceding that much. “If we assume those two dead bodies in that alley across the street from Bane Sturgess, along with those gunmen in Dallas and the shooters who attacked that police barracks in Chihuahua, were part of the same force my dad went up against, it’s safe to assume it wasn’t them who dug the crates out of the desert. And it wasn’t the Red Widow, either. Who’s that leave us with, exactly?”
“You raise that in your discussion with Delgado?”
“She didn’t have much to say on the subject.”
“You ask her about the Ferryman?”
“El Barquero came up briefly.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s a lot when it comes to the Red Widow, Captain.”
Tepper plucked the box of candy cigarettes out of the trash and stuck one in his mouth, letting it dangle from one side. “Hey, these aren’t altogether bad.”
“Beats the real thing, as far as your lungs are concerned.”
“My lungs aren’t the problem. Thanks to you, it’s my stomach now, remember?”
Caitlin’s phone beeped with an incoming text before she could respond. She saw ROGER on the sender line, in bold print, above the simple message: I’M DOWNSTAIRS. CONFERENCE ROOM.
63
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
“You wanna tell me what all this means?” Young Roger said, closing the conference room door after Caitlin had entered. “Why somebody was watching that site in the desert after whatever was buried there went missing?”
Caitlin shrugged. “To see who showed up, would be my guess.”
“Same party behind those dead gunmen in New Braunfels we can’t get IDs on? What the hell is going on here?”
“All the cases we’ve worked, Rog, I’ve never known you to sound scared.”
“Just answer my question, please.”
“Which question? You asked me two.”
“Take your pick.”
“I don’t know what the hell is going on here. I’m hoping that credit card receipt can fill in some of the blanks for me. Speaking of which, since that’s why you called me down here…”
“It came from a card machine, not a cash register,” Young Roger told her. “All card machines print out a merchant ID number on each receipt; in the case of this particular machine, it’s located right near the top as a sequence of eight numbers, the last two of which had been burned off. Took me some time, but I compared those first six numbers to all the merchant IDs for a fifty-mile radius and found only a single potential match: a gas station and convenience store on an old access road just off Route 190, on the way to Fort McKavett. Ever heard of it?”
“Historical site where they give tours,” Caitlin recalled. “I seem to remember going there once with both my dad and my grandfather. It stands out because the three of us didn’t do a lot together. That whole area’s pretty much a historical site in itself, thanks to the interstates and the oil wells going dry. It’s also ten, maybe twelve miles from Sonora and the spot in the desert where those bodies were found.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too.” Young Roger nodded. “I thought every business in those parts had closed its doors years ago. But the store that generated the receipt you found must still be open for business.”
“Well,” said Caitlin, “we know they’ve got at least one customer.”
Her phone rang and she stepped into the hallway to answer it. She recognized the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office exchange.
“What do you have for me, Doc?” she asked, figuring it was Whatley on the other end of the line.
“Nothing you’re likely to want to hear, Ranger.”
“Try me.”
“Ballistics report came back on those four skeletons your captain dug out of the desert. The bullets came from your dad’s forty-five, all right.”
64
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Caitlin and Cort Wesley sat at an outdoor table under an umbrella that looked like the Texas state flag, on the second floor of the Lone Star Café, overlooking the Riverwalk and all its congestion.
“What’s bothering you, Ranger?” he asked her.
“Something I can’t quite figure out.”
“Nothing new, then.”
She turned to look at him in the seat next to her. “Bullets from my dad’s forty-five were a match for the ones that put those four bodies in the ground.”
“I thought you were expecting that.”
“Considering the possibility isn’t the same as expecting, Cort Wesley.”
“And what does it tell you?”
“Nothing I can make any sense of. If Jim Strong buried those bodies, it figures he must’ve buried the shipping crates containing those ossuaries too. What am I missing here?”
“Dylan and Selina Escolante, right now,” Cort Wesley said, to change the subject as well as the mood.
“Why not tell me about your visit to the neurologist, instead, while we wait for them?” Caitlin asked, sliding her chair closer to him.
“I haven’t gone yet, but I’ve got an appointment.”
“When?”
“I forgot. Memory loss is another of my symptoms.”
Caitlin shook her head, tightening her gaze on Cort Wesley. “Get back to Selina. What’s she like?”
“This is Dylan we’re talking about. What do you think?”
“Gorgeous and troubled.”
“One out of two ain’t bad, Ranger.”
“I’m guessing gorgeous.”
“‘Troubled’ is the last thing that comes to mind when it comes to this one.”
“He never wanted us to meet the others, Cort Wesley. What’s different?”
“I asked myself the same question. The fact that she’s older than him—maybe that’s got him wanting to do something that resembles an adult.”
“Doesn’t sound like Dylan. And how much older are we talking about?”
“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say three or four years.”
“Not much.”
Cort Wesley sipped his water. “Seems like more, the girl being in the real world and all, a career professional. That’s a first, unless you count that porn star he met at school.”
“I don’t count her, no,” Caitlin said, thinking back to circumstances she’d rather forget. “They met at a bar, you say?”
“Better than online, I guess.”
“Not by much, Cort Wesley. Speaking of Dylan, how’s the translation of the inscription on that ossuary coming?”
“He says he’s working on it. Should have something for me tomorrow.”
“His words or yours?”
“You know, I’m not really sure.”
“Memory loss again?”
“I forgot.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “You end up a vegetable, don’t expect me to take care of you.”
“I become a vegetable, just pull the plug.”
“I’m going with you to the neurologist, Cort Wesley.”
“Only if I remember to tell you when my appointment is, Ranger. Just do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t say you’ll be there for me, give me a shoulder to cry on, all that sort of shit.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of changing your diaper and reminding you to take all your pills.”
“I had a stroke, a warning stroke anyway, okay? And I’m taking meds and seeing doctors and doing all the things I never thought of doing before so I can stay alive.”
“What about physical therapy?”
“What about it, Ranger?” Cort Wesley asked tensely.
She forced herself not to look toward his right arm and hand. “It might help.”
“Physical therapy could speed the process.”
Cort Wesley’s expression changed, his eyes tightening on the point at which the stairs spilled out onto the restaurant’s second floor. “Hey, looks like the rest of the party’s here.”
65
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Caitlin followed his gaze to Dylan, who was heading their way arm in arm with a ravishing, dark-haired beauty who walked with a casualness that belied her red carpet looks. Caitlin couldn’t help noticing more stares than she could count turning Selina Escalante’s way, from women as well as men.
“He combed his hair,” Caitlin said to Cort Wesley, as the two of them stood up.
“How can you tell?”
“I can see both his eyes at the same time.”
Dylan reached the table a step ahead of the beautiful young woman who pushed up even with him, attention focused on Cort Wesley.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Masters,” Selina greeted him, kissing him lightly on the cheek before turning to Caitlin. “Dylan’s told me a whole lot about you, Ranger.”
“Call me Caitlin.”
“Selina,” she said, extending her hand.
Caitlin took it, felt her own firm grasp matched equally.
Selena broke the grasp first. “The rest I found after I Googled you.”
“I can only imagine what that yielded.”
Dylan and Selina took the two empty seats, leaving her seated next to Caitlin.
“You’ve never done it?” Selina said, pushing her chair in.
“Googled myself? No. So much written about me is made up, I’m afraid if I read too much of it, I’d start to believe it myself.”
“Well, if half of what’s out there is true…”
Selina’s voice trailed off. Caitlin didn’t wait for her to resume. “I hope it’s the good half.”
“You killing a whole lot of bad guys—more than any lawman, or woman, in modern times.”
“It said that?”
“Uh-huh.” Selina nodded. “But in a nice way. Title of the article was ‘Strong as Steel.’”