To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  I won’t have time now to tell you all about what happened today when we got back to Hanksville, but I’ll write about it tomorrow. Let’s just say, it wasn’t pretty.

  I called Rick about ten minutes ago. He sounded way tired, but, like me, he’s glad to be home. He won’t say much, but I can tell today has been rough on him. He’s still got some pain pills from the doctor, but he stopped taking them yesterday. Said they made him nauseous. I told him I was going to rearrange his facial features if he didn’t take some tonight. That sounds kind of rude, but the way I said it, he knew what I was trying to say. To my surprise, he agreed, just like that.

  Whoops. Mom’s out of the tub. Gotta go.

  Mom and I came down the stairs together, arm in arm. The male half of the family were sitting in front of the television, watching a European soccer match. Dad turned it off as soon as we appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “We’re in here,” he called.

  Dad and Cody were on the couch. Dad scooted over so Mom could sit between them. She did, putting one arm around Cody and the other through Dad’s arm. I went over and plopped down beside Grandpère on the love seat and cuddled up to him. One part of me was still irked at him for playing with me, but I had Le Gardien back, so I pushed it aside. He seemed to feel the same because he put his arm around me and squeezed me tightly.

  “Now, this is nice,” Dad said. “Back home at last.”

  “If you don’t mind the bullet holes,” Mom quipped.

  “I’ll bet we’re the only ones in town to have them,” I said. There were a couple of polite smiles, but otherwise the joke fell flat. Come to think of it, it wasn’t very funny.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Okay, it’s time to catch you up on what happened in Salt Lake.” Another pause, then a deep sigh. He turned to Mom. “We didn’t close the mine sale today, Angelique,” he said, his voice low.

  Shock registered on her face. “You didn’t?”

  “We felt like we had to say at least something to the Canadians about what had happened. Clay asked us not to give any details, but we did tell them that something had come up that put the mine at risk. And with that, they backed out.”

  Me, I was reeling, but what Mom said next was remarkable, considering the implications of what had just been said. She took both of Dad’s hands in hers. “Oh, Lucas, I’m so sorry. You worked so hard for this.”

  I felt ashamed. My first thought had been for the money. I was somewhat gratified when Cody burst out, “So no twenty million dollars now?”

  “’Fraid not, Son.” There was a low, hollow laugh. “You know what they say: Easy come, easy go.”

  “They were honorable about it,” Grandpère said. “They did give us five hundred thousand dollars for those four bags of ore. But we’ll have to pay all of our expenses for opening up the shaft and finding the ore. So, we’re not broke. It’s just that ...” He shrugged.

  I sat back, sick at heart. Twenty million dollars. Gone. I wanted to cry, but when I saw that Dad was watching me closely, I forced myself to smile. “So no car when I turn twenty-six?”

  He gave a soft bark of laughter. “Yeah, and there goes my red Ferrari, too.”

  Mom was staring at him. “What red Ferrari?”

  “Just a dream, my dear. Just a dream.” Then he grew more serious. “The five hundred thousand is a great blessing. We’ll still pay off the mortgage, maybe buy Mom a new dress.” He was putting a brave face on it, but I could tell he was pretty devastated.

  “And don’t forget,” Grandpère broke in, “we still have the mine. The twenty million dollars isn’t gone; it’s just in a little less available form.”

  Dad half turned so he was facing Mom. “Which reminds me, Hon. Jean-Henri and I need to go up to the mine. We need to seal it up, secure the shaft until we decide what to do with it.” He looked at Grandpère. “In fact, maybe we should wait on going up to Green River and get it done.”

  “Green River?” I said. “What’s in Green River?”

  “Grandpère wants to take your journal up and put it in a safety deposit box.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Grandpère spoke up. “I know the mine is urgent, Mack. But so is the journal. We need to get that in a secure place.”

  “Can’t the mine wait a couple of days?” Mom asked. “Can’t we have even one day’s rest?”

  Dad’s head swung back and forth slowly. He spoke first to Grandpère. “I’ll lock it in my office safe. If we’re going up to the mine, we need to make an early start.” Then he turned to Mom. “No, Angelique. We really can’t wait on the mine. If word somehow leaks out about the rhodium, we’ll have people swarming the place. And right now, they can get in with a crowbar or a pair of bolt cutters.”

  Mom didn’t like it, but she finally nodded her acceptance. “In a way, this is a relief,” she said, looking now at me and Cody. “Your father and I have been worried about you kids getting spoiled if we had twenty million dollars lying around the house.”

  I forced a smile. “It would take a lot more than that to spoil us, right, Code?”

  “Heck, yes,” he drawled. “Twenty-one million at least.”

  Dad seemed pleased that we could joke about it. Again he spoke to Mom. “On the way down, Jean-Henri and I talked about what we might do to make it up to you and the kids.”

  “And?”

  “We have a proposal. I’ll give you a hint, then you have to guess. What have I been promising to do for you ever since our honeymoon?”

  Her eyes grew wide, then her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Really?”

  “It wouldn’t be much of a second honeymoon if we took the kids, but that is a consideration. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Lucas. Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “What?” Cody cried.

  I felt like my face was going to split in two. I knew exactly what he meant, and this was one seriously wicked piece of news. “Hey, Code,” I said, “think about where Mom and Dad went on their first honeymoon.”

  He looked at me, blank for a moment, then his jaw fell open. He spun back around. “France? We’re going to France?”

  Dad was all smiles now too. “We’re not talking right away. Maybe next spring, when school’s out.”

  Cody started whooping and hollering and doing a little Irish jig in a seated position. I was sorely tempted to join him, but Grandpère reached across and took my hand. He squeezed it softly. “Not just France, Danni. I want to take all of you to Le Petit Château, where I was born. I’d especially like you to see where your great-grandmother Monique LaRoche lived and where I grew up as a boy. Maybe we could even retrace the journey your great-great-great-grandmother, Angelique Chevalier, took when she fled Germany to escape the mob that killed her parents. Would you like that?”

  “Are you kidding me? I would die for that.”

  Mom’s eyes were glistening all of a sudden. “Oh, Dad, I would love that too. Very much.”

  It was amazing how the mood in the room had changed so dramatically. Nowhere was that more evident than in Dad’s countenance. He was literally beaming. “Maybe in the next few months we can get a few more bags of ore out of the mine and have the Canadians refine it for us. I was thinking maybe we’ll take a month for the trip. So that is going to be expensive.”

  “Can we go to Italy?” I burst out. “Italy has the best-looking men in the whole world.”

  Mom laughed at that, but next to me I heard a gruff harrumph. “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. What did you just say?”

  Big mistake. I had said that once before, a few years back, and got an instant reaction then too. So I gave him the same answer as before. “I said that, after we get to see all of France, which has the handsomest men in the world, maybe we could go to Italy, even though the men there are ugly and painful to look upon.”

  “Ah,” he said, stroking his goatee in satisfaction, �
��that’s what I thought you said.”

  We talked excitedly for a few more minutes, each of us throwing out things we’d like to do. Finally, Mom stirred. “It has been a very long day. I think it’s time we all go to bed.”

  As she started to get up, Grandpère waved her down again. “Before we do, there’s one more thing. I need Danni to go up and get the journal.”

  “My journal? The old one or the new one?”

  “The old one. Since we’re not going to Green River tomorrow, Mack, I’d like to lock it in your safe until we can.”

  Glancing at Mom, I saw she was a little bothered by this, as was I. Seeing that I hadn’t moved, Grandpère nudged me a little harder. “Go on.”

  Shrugging, I left. I ran lightly up the stairs and about thirty seconds later came back down again. I started toward Grandpère, holding the journal out to him, but he motioned toward Dad. Dad took it and went into his office.

  When Dad came back, Grandpère stood up. “Okay. Now to bed.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I have a question for you, Grandpère. Why didn’t you tell me you put the pouch back in my room?”

  “Because you didn’t ask me.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No. You asked me if I had it. And I didn’t.”

  “What did you do? Stop in here on your way to Salt Lake after you left us in Page so you could leave the pouch?”

  He shrugged. “I needed some clean clothes, so, yes, I stopped by the house.”

  “Why didn’t you just give me the original pouch before you left the clinic?”

  He shrugged. “I was afraid you’d stick it away somewhere and it would go moldy.”

  I threw up my hands. “But why didn’t you just tell me that, Grandpère? I’ve been really worried about it, and—”

  “And where is it now?” Grandpère cut in.

  I just stared at him in amazement. He wasn’t going to answer me. “It’s upstairs hanging on its hook,” I said tartly. “Does that meet with your approval?”

  “Danni,” Dad said sharply. “Watch your tongue. I know you’re tired, but you will speak to your grandfather with respect.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “I love it when you are overcome with such sincerity,” Grandpère said dryly. Then he bored in again. “And what about the duplicate pouch? Where is that?”

  I sighed. “In the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers. Do you want me to get them, too? Put them in the safe with the journal?”

  That seemed to catch him off guard. He considered it a moment before he shook his head. “No. We’re going to bed in a few minutes. But otherwise, I would say yes.”

  Sometimes when Grandpère was chiding me about something I had done wrong, I could tease him out of it. I decided to try that now. “If it will make you feel better,” I said with a smile, “I’ll sleep with it under my pillow, take it in the bathtub with me. Maybe even sit on it when I’m watching TV. Would that satisfy you?”

  Bad choice on my part. “That’s my concern about you, Danni,” he said. “You seem to think this is all some kind of a joke.” He leaned in, his jaw set, eyes pinning me back. “You go off and conveniently forget it. You leave it on the bus or in an unlocked car.”

  I rocked back, deeply stung. Mom sprang to my defense. “That’s not fair, Dad. Danni’s been very careful with it lately.”

  He barely acknowledged her. “I mean it, Danni. This is too important to have you treat it as if it were a pair of your old cowboy boots.”

  “All right!” I snapped. “I get it, already! Now can I go to bed?”

  It shocked me to hear those words come out of my mouth, and to hear the tone of voice I had just used with him. I never spoke to my grandfather like that. My head dropped and I looked away. “I’m sorry, Grandpère,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I have been too casual with it. I haven’t taken it seriously enough. I’ll try to do better. I am trying, Grandpère. I know I’m not perfect, but ...”

  He stood up so he was towering over me. He wasn’t angry. But there was this intense sadness in his eyes. “I want you to listen to me very closely, Danni, for what I am about to say comes only after much reflection.”

  I braced myself.

  “What you and Cody and Rick did this last week is nothing short of astonishing. Really quite miraculous. I am very proud of you.”

  I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. “Thank you.”

  “There were moments of absolute brilliance.” He paused. “But that doesn’t excuse the times of folly. Sometimes you acted like you were twenty-something, but sometimes it was like you were ten years old again.”

  That hit me hard and I rocked back a little. “I—”

  He went right on. “I waited until you were thirteen before passing Le Gardien on to you. That was three years ago. Don’t you think it’s time you grew up?”

  “Dad,” Mom broke in, “aren’t you—”

  “Danni needs to hear this,” he said curtly. Then he turned back to me. “The pouch is not your personal genie. What? You don’t like the speed limit, so you rub the pouch and change the signs? You nearly cause a terrible accident because you’re irritated by a slow driver? What’s next? Ordering up a strawberry shake when you’re hungry? Having it take your exams for you?”

  I was staring at him. How did he know about the speed limit sign? Or Miss BMW? I went on the offensive quickly before he could start talking about me and the redneck in the big pickup truck. “Who told you that? Rick? Cody?” I shot Cody an icy look, but he was vigorously shaking his head.

  “That’s not an answer,” he fired right back. “That’s a dodge. You are the keeper of the pouch, Danni, but that privilege can be lost.” He reached down and took my hand, and his voice softened. “We don’t choose to be the keeper of Le Gardien. It chooses us. And while it is a burden we do not seek, it is, nevertheless, a responsibility we cannot neglect.”

  Inside me I was teetering between tears and anger. I decided the latter was the best offense. “Maybe it was foolish,” I snapped, “but those very incidents later helped me and Rick escape. Where do you think I got the idea to put writing on Officer Blake’s rearview mirror? Or to cause the engine of her patrol car to stop working? That came from the pouch too. And besides, I didn’t tell Le Gardien to do those things. They just happened.”

  That didn’t faze him. “The Guardian carries out the wishes of your heart, Danni. And that is what I am talking about. It’s not so much what you do that brings its influence, but what you are.”

  That hurt. As much as anything he had ever said to me. I blinked quickly and looked away, fighting desperately not to cry. My chin dropped and I could feel my lower lip start to quiver. “You are right,” I whispered. “I was stupid. I did make mistakes. What can I say? I am only sixteen years old, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  His eyes never wavered from mine. “In France, during the war, we had fourteen- and fifteen-year-old girls in the Resistance. Some of them were caught and tortured by the Gestapo. Please don’t use your age as an excuse, Danni. You are better than that.”

  I dropped my head. “I give up, Grandpère. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I am a disappointment to you.”

  He leaned forward and took both of my hands. “You are not a disappointment, ma chérie,” he said with infinite gentleness. “Not in any way. But what you do sometimes is. And to let those things pass without correction would be to do you a disservice.”

  He pulled me up to face him. I didn’t resist, but I certainly didn’t throw my arms around him. I just stood there, limp as a rag. I was too hurt. Too ashamed. Too humiliated.

  He reached out, put a finger under my chin, and lifted my head until I looked into his eyes. I tried to pull away, but he held me fast. When he spoke, it was barely audible. “If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how canst t
hou contend with horses?”

  PART TWO

  Phase Two

  CHAPTER 4

  United States Penitentiary, Tucson, Arizona

  June 22, 2011, 2:17 a.m.

  United States Penitentiary—Tucson is a high-security federal prison for male inmates operated by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, a division of the United States Department of Justice. It is located on a 640-acre site ten miles southeast of the city and about a hundred miles north of the Mexican border. One-story buildings of sand-colored stucco blend in almost perfectly with the surrounding desert. Except for its single guard tower, USP Tucson hardly looks the part of a high-security prison. Among others, it houses a former Colombian drug lord, various organized crime bosses, big-city cops turned bad, international terrorists, and even a former U.S. Congressman convicted of bribery, fraud, and tax evasion.

  On this night, under a cloudless sky and bathed by a waning half-moon, a white Toyota Corolla pulled into one of the handicapped parking spots in the visitors’ parking area near the front entrance. The driver turned off the lights but didn’t open the door. A moment later, a dark figure in a guard’s uniform appeared at the front entrance and waved once. The driver opened the door and slipped out. No interior lights came on in the car.

  He was an older man, in his sixties, tall, but quite portly. And frail looking. He leaned on his cane heavily as he stood up. His hair and neatly trimmed beard were completely white and gleamed brightly in the soft moonlight. Everything about him signaled elegance and class: A four-thousand-dollar tailored Armani suit and custom-made Italian shoes. Rolex watch. Diamond cufflinks. A gold ring with a large red ruby, worn on his little finger. In his left hand he carried an expensive leather briefcase with combination locks. Moving slowly, he joined the other man and they went inside.

  At the main security station, three other men—also in uniform—were waiting for them. They were huddled together, not speaking, watching the newcomer nervously. The overhead lights were dimmed. The tension in the air was almost palpable. That was good, the man thought. He wanted them to be nervous. So was he. At that moment, he was keenly aware that he was in an extremely vulnerable position. And for a man who planned everything with intricate attention to detail so as to eliminate vulnerability, he didn’t like that one bit.