“Good for her,” said Rachel.
“Yeah, she’s one tough old squaw.”
“Do you know about Church Rock?” asked Rachel. Osborne sat up straight and looked over at his passenger with heightened interest.
“Sure. I’m surprised anyone from the east coast knows about it.”
“My father was involved, somehow. I don’t know the details, but I found some of his letters a few years back, when my aunt and uncle gave me his old desk. They saved it for me after he and my mother died. I just know what was in the letters and a few articles. In 1979, the dam holding water containing uranium tailings broke near Church Rock. A lot of radioactive water was spilled into the Puerco River.”
“It was the biggest release of radiation until Chernobyl surpassed it in 1986,” added Osborne.
“Good God!”
“Over 100 million gallons of radioactive water got released into the Puerco. It flowed downstream all the way to Arizona. They only retrieved about one percent of the waste from the spill. The contamination spread over 250 acres of land.”
Rachel shifted in her seat and faced Osborne, “Who was responsible for the dam?”
“The tailing pond belonged to the Kerr-McGee Company and the United Nuclear Corporation. It was their uranium mining operation that produced the tailings. It would be interesting to find out, what really happened, after you solve the virus thing, of course.”
Rachel did not respond. She sat back and looked out the window. After a few minutes, Osborne noticed she was breathing heavily. Rachel was clasping her hands so tightly together, they shook from the tension of her grip.
“What is it?” Osborne asked.
“My father‘s camera was in the desk, with a few canisters of undeveloped film.”
“Yeah? What was on the film? You developed it, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Rachel said absently. “I kept the pictures and the negatives. I don’t know why. I never understood the pictures until now.”
“What were they?”
“Pictures of a wall. An earth wall. A cracked earth wall. My father had pictures of the cracked dam before it broke.”
“Church Rock?”
“Had to be.”
Osborne watched Rachel straighten up in the seat next to him. He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped the car. The two sat in the clouds of their thoughts for a few minutes. Rachel spoke first.
“They never knew why the plane went down. My uncle said they never figured it out.”
“Accidents happen all the time.”
“There was another plane.”
“Where?”
“In the sky. That day. I saw it. I thought it was a huge bird, until it came closer. It came very close. I remember it now. It came too close.
“It forced your plane down?”
“It must have.”
“Does anyone else know about those photographs?”
“No. I just developed them a few years ago.”
“And the negatives?”
“In the desk. In my apartment in Connecticut.”
Rachel froze.
“I think I am in danger, Osborne.”
“Does anyone have a key to your apartment?”
“A lawyer friend of mine.”
“Friend?”
“Friend plus, actually.”
“I see. Well, call this lawyer friend plus. Now. Have him take whatever is in that desk and put it somewhere safe.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Malibu was racing at eighty. The noise from the tires made the inside of the car sound like the inside of a big turbine. Rachel pulled out her cell, and Osborne cranked up his window. He reached back with his left hand and rolled up the window behind him. He pulled on the steering wheel with every down stroke of the crank. The station wagon went off the shoulder once and kicked up a dust cloud that entered Rachel’s window and blinded her for an instant.
“Let me do that,” she said through the grit in her mouth. She rolled up her window and then bent over the front seat and rolled up both back windows. Osborne looked at Rachel’s butt hanging over the front seat. It didn’t occur to him to comment; that’s how serious things had become in the last few minutes.
In the stiflingly closed car, Rachel called Ted.
“It’s me, Ted. Listen, in the desk in my apartment are some very sensitive documents. Go there as soon as you can, preferably now, and put them somewhere safe. No, they have nothing to do with the embezzlement.”
“Embezzlement?” Osborne cried out.
“Shush. I’ll explain everything later. Never mind.”
“Will he do it?” asked Osborne.
“It’s already done.”
“Hmm, Ted sounds like a great guy.” Osborne looked over at Rachel and held his gaze waiting for her to look at him. He was soon on the shoulder.
“Eyes on the road or slow down,” Rachel said.
“Are you giving me a choice?”
“No!”
They rode in silence for half an hour. At Bernalillo, Osborne suggested they get something to drink before heading off the highway. They pulled into a gas station with a little lunch counter inside. Rachel ordered iced tea and slipped off to the ladies’ room. While she was gone, a black Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up into the parking lot. It parked on the opposite side of the building from Osborne’s Malibu. No one from the black SUV went into the gas station nor did they purchase any gasoline. After only a few minutes, the SUV left the parking lot, back in the direction from which it came. About half a mile down the highway, the vehicle pulled onto the shoulder. Again, no one emerged from the vehicle. When Osborne pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto a dirt road, the SUV made a u-turn and followed well behind the dust cloud Osborne kicked up by driving on the shoulder.
* * *
Eva’s canyon was lit with a bright sun almost directly overhead. The light flowed down the tall cliffs, leaving long shadows where the rocks seemed to pull back, not wanting to reveal all their surface, keeping some places secret.
“The pots are in one of the caves up there,” said Osborne.
“What caves?”
“Up there, see the darker places above that ridge. That’s where we’re going.”
“I see the ridge. What I don’t see is the elevator that takes us up there,” Rachel said. She shielded her eyes, as she gazed up at the cliff.
“Very funny. You seem athletic. It’s not as difficult a climb as it looks. I’ve been up there.”
“Yeah, but you live in these canyons. I’m more the river type.”
“Eva Yellow Horn can climb up there. She’s old enough to be your grandmother.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t make it. I’m just surveying for the best place to start,” said Rachel.
Osborne shook his head and started off toward the base of the large cliff. He had, in fact, done very little climbing in the past few years, but he had watched Calvin climb up to the caves. He would follow the same trail and show Rachel his strength and agility.
The cliff was rugged and not nearly as smooth as it looked from the entrance to the canyon. The shadows hid the little paths and steps among the rocks. Rachel and Osborne were on the ridge in only a short time, standing outside the cave where Calvin carried the saddle bag the night before.
“This is the one,” he said.
Rachel set down her backpack and started to remove gloves and a respirator. Osborne pulled his t-shirt up over his nose. “I’m ready,” he announced.
Rachel laughed, pulled out a second respirator, “Put this on.”
“Nice equipment,” said Osborne.
“Property of the CDC. You have to give it back.”
“I know. I know.”
Once their respirators were in place, Osborne and Rachel entered the cave.
After only twenty feet or so, Rachel felt that she was walking downhill. Osborne’s flashlight cut out for a couple of seconds before he slapped it on the side, and the light returned. In the two seconds without light, Rachel experienced a darkness she had never known. She had been out on the water many times late at night, but there was always light from some source, the moon, stars or even cars passing on a nearby road. Even after the flashlight came back on, the darkness in the cave played with her perspective. Rachel could only see a few steps in front of her, if Osborne was right beside her to illuminate a couple of feet ahead of them. Anything above or to the sides was hidden. Anything or anyone could have been there.
“Great time to discover I’m claustrophobic,” Rachel said.
Osborne was walking ahead of Rachel. He stopped and directed his flashlight toward the ceiling and the walls of the cave. “Nothing to be afraid of in here. No bats, even. Not here, anyway.”
“Bats! Terrific.”
They walked on a minute or two before Osborne stopped. He directed the light onto the floor. “The dirt isn’t disturbed here. Calvin didn’t come this far.” Osborne shone the light on the walls behind him and soon located a small pile of loose rocks a few feet back. He knew the saddle bag with the pots was under the rocks. Calvin did not hide the bag very well, but then he probably didn’t expect anyone to get this far.
“I’ll take it from here,” said Rachel. She moved toward the small pile of rocks. In the light from Osborne’s flashlight, she quickly uncovered the saddle bag. Inside were three small pots. Each one held a little colored sand, one ochre, one black, and one white. She placed each pot in a thick plastic bag and sealed the bags shut. She put the bags into her backpack and stood up.
“Let’s walk on a little farther,” Rachel said.
“Why? We have the pots.”
“I’d like to take some samples of the dirt farther back in the cave. Maybe scrape the walls.”
“You think the virus is all over this cave?”
“Not necessarily. I just don’t want to climb back up here, again.”
“OK. Look! Is that a bat?” Osborne threw the beam of the flashlight up on the ceiling. There were no bats, but Rachel was left in darkness for a few seconds.
“Very funny. Come on, just a little farther. You’re the archeologist. Aren’t you curious what is back here, where no human has walked for thousands of years?”
“Now, that you mention it, sure. Keep an eye out for paintings of bison and snakes.”
“Paintings of snakes?” Rachel asked.
“No, just snakes.”
“Very funny, again,” Rachel said.
They walked a long way back into the cave, but they did not find any paintings or pots. Rachel commented that if people had been in the cave over the centuries, they didn’t leave anything behind.
“Hear that crunch under your feet. Those are probably small pottery shards. The darker areas on the floor are from cooking fires. This cave was once a big apartment complex.”
“I don’t see any of that,” Rachel said.
Good, thought Osborne. He had been afraid that he would not be able to impress the brilliant Dr. Bisette. Apparently, he had not lost his gift with the ladies, even those more intelligent than himself.
Suddenly, Rachel felt the floor beneath them shudder. She stopped and turned around to look behind her. All she could see was blackness, as if she were in a hole or a grave. “What was that?” she said.
“A tremor, probably. This area has seismic activity all the time. Nothing to be afraid of. Still, if you have satisfied your curiosity, let’s get back to the light of day.”
They had been too far inside the cave to hear the explosion on the canyon floor. It was the explosion that made the rocks shudder. When they reached the mouth of the cave, however, they knew there had been no seismic tremor.
“Jesus! Who? Calvin, you son-of-a-bitch,” Osborne shouted.
In the canyon beneath them, Osborne’s station wagon was blazing. Off to the north, he saw a dust trail. Someone had blown up his Malibu. No one had followed them. The only person who ever came to this canyon was Calvin Yellow Horn or Eva. Would she blow up his car over some stinking pots? Even if the pots were infected with some lethal mutant virus, no one could blame Eva for putting it there or for spreading it. This had to be Calvin, Osborne thought.
Rachel took the scientific approach. She, too, noticed the dust trail to the north. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a pair of binoculars. She was able to see the back of a black Grand Cherokee racing away from the canyon. Who were they, and why were they trying to kill her? Rachel decided to say nothing to Osborne. Let him think it was Calvin a while longer. Rachel was sure that Calvin could take care of himself. If Osborne reported the destruction of his Malibu to the police and they managed to find and arrest Calvin Yellow Horn, she would come forward about the black SUV. For now, she wanted to focus on the pots and on the virus. If she stayed in her lab, she would be safe.
Rachel and Osborne climbed down from the cave. They had to walk out of the canyon a good way before Rachel got a signal on her cell phone. She called the Director of Public Health and asked him to send a driver to pick them up. Rachel rode in a National Guard truck to her hotel room and packed up a few clothes and toiletries. She would live at the hospital for a while. As she gathered her things, she turned on CNN to see if there was any news about the epidemic. The four states that comprised the Four Corners, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah, reported a total of twelve new cases of suspected mutated Sin Nombre. Twelve new cases in less than a day. Rachel finished packing and ran down to the waiting truck. She felt heavy and slow, as if the weight of all the victims of the virus were on her back. She would have to put the black SUV out of her mind and focus on her work. She had always been able to direct her focus to the work at hand. It was part of what made her such a successful student and scientist. Of course, no one had ever tried to kill her before, and Rachel knew putting that fact out of her mind would be impossible.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Osborne found Calvin near Bernalillo, selling fake turquoise jewelry at a roadside stand. He discovered a small bag of black, braided cords in the cave in Eva’s canyon when he was there with Rachel. He knew the cords were used to hang pendants for necklaces. He hadn’t said anything to Rachel about them or about his other find in the cave, Calvin’s illegal substances. Osborne had the leverage he needed to confront Calvin. It had not been difficult to locate young Yellow Horn. Bernalillo was the closest crossroads where he had the best chance of selling to tourists.
“I’m looking for something nice for my girlfriend, but cheap, if you know what I mean,” said Osborne.
“No worries, man. I can set you up and make you a real hero in the lady’s eyes.”
Calvin was skinny. His pants were cinched in with a belt made of tooled silver links and set with real turquoise stones. The belt was worth more than all the fake junk on the table put together. Osborne wondered if Calvin knew what he had and decided he probably did. Eva would have schooled him in what to sell to white eyes and what to keep.
“I like these little pendants. What do you call these?” said Osborne. He hoped he wasn’t playing up the ignorant tourist too much.
“That’s a thunderbird,” said Calvin. “Feel how heavy.”
“Where was this turquoise mined?”
“Uh, I couldn’t say.”
“Why not?” asked Osborne.
“‘Cause, I like to keep my sources private. You understand? I’m just a small timer. Some big buyer comes along and my source gets busy supplying him; then, he’s got no time to make anything for me.”
“I see your point. This piece is interesting.” Osborne picked up a large earring with an oval cabochon. He sniffed the stone. “Smells like resin. What is this? A little powdered stone, some chalk, maybe some pyrite for that authent
ic looking matrix?”
Calvin was starting to sweat, but not because he was standing in the desert.
“Pirate?” he said.
“Pyrite!” Osborne held up the pair of earrings. “What can you tell me about this design?”
“It’s real popular with the ladies,” Calvin said through a grin, as fake as the stones he was selling.
“What nation made them? Zuni? Dine’?”
“Are you a cop? I’m a Native-American. That’s a protected class, man.”
“Ever heard of the Indian Arts and Crafts Act? President Obama just signed an amendment to that law that makes the fines for selling fraudulent native crafts bigger and jail time longer. Even a little entrepreneur such as yourself could face jail time.”
Calvin was visibly shaken. Osborne tossed the earrings onto the plastic table. He laughed to himself and kept it up until Calvin’s curiosity about the source of the laughter overcame his fear of being arrested. It took several seconds for Osborne to stop laughing enough to speak. “I just thought: President Obama is the first U.S. president the Indians can’t call ‘Great White Father.’”
Calvin did not think the joke was very funny. He had heard some version of it, maybe, a hundred times since President Obama was elected. Osborne’s rendition was pretty tame compared to some.
“What’s the matter, Calvin? No sense of humor today?”
“How do you know my name?” Calvin growled. He had a pistol in a box under the table. He just had to think of a reason to go down after it. “I’ve got some real stuff in a box down here. Old stuff, pre-Columbian.”
Blood of the White Bear Page 15
