To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  Mom’s shoulders slumped, and the relief on her face was evident. Grandpère looked as skeptical as Clay. “That is pretty convenient.”

  “Exactly.” He shrugged. “We’ve also put out the word on the rhodium ore. That can’t be easy to get rid of, not if it’s as rare as you say.”

  Dad agreed. “There are probably fewer than a dozen places that can refine it.”

  “And we’ll check them all out.”

  Mom had been growing increasingly impatient. “All I want to know is this: Are there more people out there waiting to do us harm?”

  “Highly unlikely, Angelique,” Grandpère soothed. “They’re not going to be sitting around on that much potential money to worry about coming after us. They’ve got what they want. They’ve had their revenge. Now they’re scurrying for safety.”

  “Totally agree,” Clay said. “One thing is for sure: Whoever did this is long gone out of Utah.”

  Mom bored in on him. “How sure of that are you? And remember, a piece of coconut cream pie rides on your answer.”

  “Ninety-nine point nine percent sure. Maybe still in the U.S., but not in Utah.”

  “That’s more like it. Do you want a big piece or a small one?”

  Clay suddenly had a little-boy look on his face. “Since my wife is not here at the moment, feel free to make that a fairly generously sized piece.” He smiled. “No, forget the ‘fairly.’”

  Mom tipped her head back and laughed. It was wonderful to hear her do so again. “I like a man who thinks like my husband,” she said as she cut a piece double the normal size. She handed it to him with a fork, then cut another one and handed it to Cody. “Run this out to Donald,” she said. “And take him a glass of milk, too.”

  As he left, Clay said to Mom, “I hope you’re all right with Don going with you tomorrow. I really don’t think you’ll need him, but I like to be sure.”

  She started cutting more pieces. “I like you to be sure, Clay. Are you sure he can’t just stay with us on the boat? We don’t mind.”

  “No. Unless someone is watching very closely, they won’t know he’s with you at all, and that’s what we want.”

  “So,” Dad said about ten minutes later, as we sat back all fat and comfortable. “You’re going on down to Lake Powell now?”

  “Not now. Actually, I’m pulling the diving team out. We got what we needed.”

  “You did?” Dad said. “That fast?”

  “Yes.” A grin filled his face. “In fact, I brought you a little gift. Something I thought you might really enjoy.”

  “What kind of a gift?” Cody blurted.

  He got up and went to where he had left a small duffel bag. When he returned and set it on the table, it made a dull, metallic clunk. Something definitely heavy.

  “Wow!” Cody said. “What have you got in there? Your pistol?”

  “Not quite,” came the answer. “But let me say first that Danni’s and Jean-Henri’s description of where El Cobra’s boat sank was right on. The diving team found it right off. And with the underwater metal detectors, we have the location of all the bars pinpointed, forty-two in all.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So I was close. I guessed about forty.” And then I guessed what he had in his bag. “Did you bring one for us to see?”

  “No,” he drawled, obviously enjoying himself. “Actually, I brought one for you to keep. To add to your souvenir collection.”

  My mouth fell open. “Really?”

  “Really?” Mom cried.

  “Really. If I had thought, I could have brought one for Rick, too. Maybe even one for Cody here.”

  Cody was confused. “Bars? What kind of bars?”

  “Gold bars,” Clay said solemnly.

  Now Cody’s jaw dropped about two feet. But suddenly, I was suspicious. A gold bar was worth a ton of money. Plus, it was evidence in a crime case. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. I’m dead serious.” He stood up and unzipped the bag.

  “The pouch made gold bars?” Cody cried, finally starting to catch up. “How come nobody told me that?”

  Clay reached into the bag and with both hands removed something that gleamed like the morning sunlight. He set it down on the table with a solid clunk. “There it is, folks. Twenty-seven and a half pounds, or about 440 ounces. At gold’s current selling price of about $1,600 an ounce, what you have before you is ...” He stopped, grinning broadly. “Wait for it.” Then he did a little drumroll on the tabletop with his two hands. “Seven hundred and four thousand dollars! Or”—another drumroll—“with forty-two bars, that’s a grand total of twenty-nine million, five hundred sixty-eight thousand dollars!” He laughed aloud. “Which is about ten million dollars more than you lost the other day.”

  Good old Cody, always one to cut through the clutter, was the first to ask, “So is it all ours?”

  Clay found that uproarious. “Why not? The pouch made the bars, and Danni owns the pouch. Once we no longer need it as evidence, they’re all yours.”

  I wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was obvious that Clay was really enjoying himself. He slid the bar across the table so it stopped in front of me. It was so heavy I almost dropped it. So I set it down and stroked the brilliant metal with my fingertips, totally enraptured.

  “Can I feel it? Can I?” Cody cried.

  I handed it to him. “Pass it around the table,” I suggested.

  Even though I had seen the bars being made, I have to admit, it was still pretty amazing.

  “It’s incredibly beautiful,” Mom said in awe as she took it.

  “Amazing,” Dad breathed.

  “I agree,” Clay said. “So, Danni, you get the very first one. That seemed only right.”

  “No way!” I shouted. “You really do mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it. Would I joke about something like this?”

  “I want one,” Cody cried.

  “Okay. Next time I come down.”

  “You’re giving my children seven hundred thousand dollars each?” Dad said. “What’s the catch?”

  “Well,” Clay said, still obviously enjoying himself immensely, “There is one little thing.” He reached in his left front pocket and brought out a red Swiss army knife. He unfolded the blade and walked around to Mom. The bar had come back and stopped in front of her. He reached down and picked it up with one hand. “Danni, I think we can conclude that Le Gardien has a rich sense of humor.”

  I just looked at him, not sure what that meant. A pouch with a sense of humor? I didn’t think so. But even as he said that, he turned the gold at an angle and ran the knife blade along one edge. The metal was soft enough that a sliver peeled off, like when you’re peeling an apple. Then he shut the blade and returned the knife to his pocket. “Notice anything unusual?” he asked.

  It was then that I saw that where he had made the cut, the bar was not gold, but a dark, metallic gray.

  Dad, being the metallurgist, understood it first. “Oh. My. Word!” he breathed.

  Then Grandpère started to laugh. At first it was just a deep chuckle; then it exploded into a full roar of laughter. “Would you look at that!” he exclaimed, slapping the table with the flat of his hand.

  “What?” I cried. Mom was looking confused too.

  Dad reached out and took the bar, running his finger along the cut. “What you are looking at, ladies and gentlemen, is a bar of solid lead that has been immersed in gold-leaf paint.”

  Clay was laughing so much now that tears were forming at the corners of his eyes. Finally, he got control enough to say, “The asking price for lead on the open market right now is about a dollar per pound. The good news for El Cobra is, he didn’t lose some vast fortune after all. Only about eleven hundred dollars.”

  Then he turned to Dad, the smile fading. “I am sorry, Mack. At first I thought this might
be an answer for you, but ...”

  Dad merely shrugged and looked at Mom. “Sorry, hon. I think we just lost another twenty-nine million dollars. Darn! That’s the third time this week.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Schloss von Dietz, Bern, Switzerland

  June 24, 2011

  Gisela von Dietz was going over the latest quarterly reports of Von Dietz Global Financial when the fax machine beeped three times. That was the signal for a secure fax coming in. Almost immediately, the first sheets began to print.

  She waited a moment, then took the first sheet. As expected, it was from Niklas. Relieved to finally get it, she leaned back and began to read.

  Dear Mum,

  Sorry I haven’t called. In addition to things being pretty hectic here, since there is a remote risk of having one’s mobile phone conversations monitored, I’ll keep my calls to a minimum. Am on the road now, making my way back to Europe as previously described. Hopeful to arrive by Saturday night or Sunday. Here are a few items of interest pending my full report when I arrive:

  • Our three remaining assets successfully extracted 55 bags of rhodium ore from the McAllister mine. The ore is now on its way to British Columbia, where it will be put on a freighter bound for Vladivostok, Russia. Russian Mafia—ever discreet in sensitive matters—offered 7M Euros, about half its estimated worth. But extraction of rhodium is very expensive and risk of detection is high, so offer was accepted. Money transferred to Cayman Island accounts. This does somewhat soften the loss of the twenty million dollars.

  • Destruction of the mine went off as planned. Took the family longer than expected to go up there, but timing turned out perfectly. I asked the team to take in a video camera with zoom lens to verify mission success. Thought you might like to see what 500 kilos of Semtex (or C4) can do in a tightly enclosed space. (Sending video clip via secure email.)

  • Since we will not need our three assets again until we launch Phase III, I was planning to extract them immediately. However, the FBI has launched a widespread search for possible vehicles involved in the mine explosion, so they will go to ground for a few more days.

  • While the McAllisters were in the mountains, I sent Enrico (our in-house cat burglar) into their home. Following this brief note you will find high-resolution photos of (1) a fabric pouch found in the girl’s bedroom, and (2) a copy of the personal journal of Danni McAllister, which was locked in an office safe. I trust you will find both of much interest. Especially the last few pages. I was wrong. The gold does exist. Not that we can get to it. But she confirms Armando’s story in every detail.

  • As always, Enrico left no trace of his entry and exit.

  Enjoy, Mama. You owe me big on this one. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  Much love, N.

  Gisela laid the note aside and turned her attention to the photos that were already coming out of the fax machine. The first one caused her to draw in a sharp breath.

  For the next half an hour, she barely moved as she studied the photos of the pouch, then read the scrawled handwriting of a silly, empty-headed, young American female.

  When she was done, she unlocked one of the drawers on her desk and removed the two sheets outlining the family history of the Chevalier and LaRoche families. She focused on the previous cross-out and its correction, which read: Existence of Le Gardien tentatively confirmed. High likelihood that Carruthers Monique McAllister is the next keeper of the pouch. Once again, she crossed it out and rewrote it:

  Existence of Le Gardien positively confirmed. Carruthers (Danni) Monique McAllister as keeper of the pouch, 100% confirmed. Mystical powers of pouch 100% confirmed.

  She sat back, read what she had written, then added: THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!

  Oregon Trails Inn and Restaurant, Interstate 80, North Platte, Nebraska

  2:41 a.m.

  Niklas von Dietz came partially awake as the ring tone penetrated his consciousness. He rolled over, grabbed his mobile phone, and held it front of his face. When he saw the number, he groaned. “Aw, Mama. There’s seven hours difference between you and me, remember?”

  Falling back on the pillow, he tapped the ACCEPT button. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Did you see the video footage?”

  “What?”

  “The video footage you sent me. Have you watched it?”

  “Of course I watched it. Why?”

  “You could have ruined everything.”

  He went up on one elbow. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me, Niklas. You know what I’m talking about. After all the promises you made to me and Granny, you go off and totally risk everything.”

  He could tell how angry she was from her breathing. He sat up. “All right, Mama. It’s almost three in the morning here. So start over and go slow. What is the matter?”

  “You nearly killed them with that explosion.”

  “First of all, I wasn’t there. I don’t go out on the actual operations. I was forty miles away in a truck, waiting for them to bring the ore. Second, who are you talking about?” Then it dawned. “Oh. You mean the family?”

  “No,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’m talking about the squirrels. Of course I mean the family. I told you and told you. No one gets hurt. Not physically. Not in any way. This is a war against the mind, not the body.”

  “No one did get hurt,” he said, fighting for patience. “Those were my specific instructions. That’s why the guys waited until they ran into the trees before they set it off.”

  “And sent rocks flying like cannonballs. You could see trees being cut in half. What if one of those had hit the boy? Or worse, what if the grandfather had been killed?”

  There was a weary sigh. “Ah, Mama, you and Granny. Your ethics are something else. You say you don’t want them hurt. This while you are dedicated to totally destroying them in every other way—mentally, emotionally, financially. Don’t you find that a bit contradictory?”

  “This is about suffering. Never forget that. There were times when your grandmother and I longed for death, even begged for it. But it never came. We had no choice but to endure. That’s why they can’t die. It puts them out of our reach.”

  “But, Mama, no one was hurt. Now, good night. I’ll be in touch by fax again tomorrow.”

  PART THREE

  Crosby Canyon

  CHAPTER 9

  Oak Canyon, Lake Powell, Utah

  June 26, 2011

  I’m the first one up this morning, don’t ask me why.

  What a waste. Church doesn’t start until 11:00 and I could have slept in until 8 at least. But here I am, up and wide awake at this ungodly hour reserved only for the dead. Bummer! But since I am, and since no one else is, and since I can’t make any noise until the others are up, I’ll use this time to write some more here.

  Quick catch-up. We were supposed to leave on Friday morning to come down here to Lake Powell. Didn’t happen. Rarely does. We didn’t get much done the day before due to losing the mine and finding out we are the owners of a small fortune in lead. Emphasis on small. It was after noon before we actually got away. Driving to Lake Powell, picking up the rental Jet Skis, transferring all of our stuff to the houseboat, and getting under way took until nearly 3:30, so it was almost 8:00 by the time we found a spot and got the houseboat beached and secured. We had snacked on junk food most of the way down, so we skipped supper and were in bed by 9.

  We are in Oak Canyon, which is farther downstream than we usually go. But Mom wants to paint Rainbow Bridge this week, and this is closer.

  So Friday was a get-there-and-get-set-up kind of a day. But yesterday was great. It was mostly sun and water all day long. Rick’s sisters, Kaylynn and Raye, got to drive the Jet Skis—with an adult on behind them, of course—for their first time and thought that was the best thing ever. Rick was kind of bummed because he couldn’t
get on them. Doctor says he can’t get his wound wet for a few more days. But he and Mom took the boat out, and Mom insisted he drive, so he was cool with that. So we went cliff jumping and swimming, made sand castles on the beach, went for a short hike to the top of the bluffs, chased lizards, drank enough pop to keep the bathrooms busy, and ate enough Cheetos to turn the water orange when we washed our hands. Now, that’s what I call a perfect day.

  Oh, and one really special thing. While we were cliff jumping, I got in the boat with Mom and Rick. To my surprise, Rick was very quiet. I could tell he was kind of emotional about something. So, with my usual feminine sensitivity, I dug my elbow into his side and asked him what was wrong. I was really shocked when he turned and I saw that his eyes were glistening. Then, with some difficulty, he pointed to where his father and his Aunt Shauna were about to jump off the cliff, each with one of the girls in their arms, and he said, “I haven’t seen Dad play with Kaylynn and Raye like that since they were little girls. And I can’t remember the last time I heard my sisters laughing so hard.”

  I thought Mom was going to start bawling right on the spot. Not me, of course. I am way too unemotional for that. O.K., O.K. So I choked up a little bit.

  Sadly, Charlie and Shauna and the girls have to go back today since he has to be back to work tomorrow, and Shauna is going to Moab tomorrow with the girls. Shauna’s going to move here and live with Rick’s family.

  Well, I just heard someone out in the main area of the houseboat—probably Grandpère—so I’d better stop for now. Besides, I don’t want to get the page wet with my blubbering.

  With ten people, there wasn’t enough room for all of us to sit at the table at the same time, so for our big meals, we’d load up our paper plates, grab a can of pop or a bottle of water from the fridge, and find a place to eat. Breakfast, however, was a little different. By Mom’s decree, there was no set time for breakfast. We were to sleep in as long as we wanted—or, to be more accurate, as long as we could. A houseboat is not built to be soundproof. So whoever was cooking that morning prepared something that could be eaten as people woke up.