Thunderbird

by Susan Slater

  “Please. It would make me feel better about leaving.”

  “I’ll put it here.” She placed it at the base of a large rock.

  “It won’t do much good unless you can get to it quickly.”

  “Tommy, I’ll be fine.” Her smile didn’t look very encouraging. “What if you don’t come back?”

  “I’ll be back.” It was his best Terminator imitation and brought the low chuckle he wanted. And with that he took off at a trot for the Information Center.

  + + +

  Tommy always had quarters. The pop machine at the station only took exact change. He dug out the colonel’s card and dialed his cell.

  “You’ve done right by coming forward, son.” The colonel had listened patiently while Tommy told him what he knew. “I want you to be careful. I know you believe this Begay woman is innocent but don’t let a skirt cloud your thinking. And I want the two of you to stay put until I can get some troops in there. I don’t want the two of you to get mixed up in what’s going to take place, you hear me? You wait for me at the Center.”

  Tommy was reluctant to agree. Ronnie still needed their help.

  “I appreciate your concern.” Tommy stopped short of saying “Sir” and he stopped way short of agreeing to stay put.

  “I’m taking that to mean you’ll stay out of things. I’m out your way as it is—a meeting at the tribal office ran late. Won’t take me long to swing over to the Information Center. Let’s say I meet you there in under an hour.”

  Tommy didn’t doubt he was on the road somewhere, the throaty growl of something without a muffler almost overpowered their conversation.

  The colonel was abrupt when he hung up. Tommy looked back to where Brenda was waiting. Under an hour put the colonel somewhere close by. Should they try to find Ronnie or wait for help?

  The moon peeked briefly from its cloud-cover and sparkled across the sand but showed nothing moving. Tommy had loosened the bulb in the Center’s back light.

  Had the sudden darkness that enveloped the phone been noticed? He had no way of knowing. But he stood there anyway, watching. Maybe he should call Ben. He owed him an apology and, strangely, Tommy had a feeling that he needed to let someone else know what was happening. He could call his boss but he wasn’t about to tell Leonard Tom about Brenda. Not yet, anyway. Leonard would have to wait.

  Tommy dropped another quarter in the slot and was surprised when Ben’s answering machine came on. Where could he be? Tommy hadn’t been gone much over an hour. But he launched into a message anyway.

  “Ben, I’ve got Brenda. She’s innocent and we hope Ronnie is, but he’s in trouble. I called Colonel Anderson—that’ll make you happy—and he’s on his way. There’s a meeting tonight, midnight, in the first row of cliff houses. Looks like the—”

  The machine cut him off and he dropped another quarter, waited for the message and then continued.

  “Looks like the crash was prearranged. We just don’t know the extent of Ronnie’s involvement. We’re supposed to meet the colonel by the Information Center in forty-five minutes or so. I haven’t decided whether to warn Ronnie first. I suppose we better. I owe you an apology for earlier. I was out of line. It’s about a quarter past nine—”

  This time when a beep announced the end of the recording, he just hung up.

  + + +

  At first, Brenda paced. Tommy said he’d be gone twenty minutes. She felt uneasy; fear prickled across her shoulders and made her shiver. She started to whistle then almost bit her tongue. What was she thinking? To whistle at night attracted ghosts. Did she want more trouble than she was already in? She was aware of the wind that gusted around her. It sprang from nowhere to ruffle her hair then skip away. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking it brought evil. Why had she consented to staying behind? She glanced at the gun then turned away.

  “Brenda?”

  She didn’t know what kept her from screaming. The man pulled himself up and over the ledge to stand upright in the shadows. She didn’t know him. He was older, military bearing, short haircut …

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend of Ronnie’s. We watched you and Mr. Spottedhorse come into the canyon and I offered to escort you back to the caves.”

  There was something wrong. Ronnie would have come himself.

  “I need to wait for Mr. Spottedhorse.”

  “No need. I’ve spoken with him and he’s waiting at the Information Center for all of us. We’ll join Ronnie and then go on down.”

  “I prefer to wait here. Send Ronnie to—”

  “You don’t have a choice.” He pulled a gun from the back of his jeans. “And don’t think of screaming. Your boyfriend isn’t doing very well. I’d hate to jeopardize his health. Just walk ahead of me nice and easy.”

  The gun—could she reach it? It hadn’t been detected. But would he shoot her? More importantly, could she shoot him? If she got to the gun first; if she could grab the gun, roll to one side before he realized—no, there was no way that she would get away with it. But no guts, no glory …

  She threw herself forward scrambling across rocks that cut her hands, but he was quick and grabbed her ankles pulling her back.

  “Now let’s see what’s so interesting over here.” He jerked her upright by the shoulder in a wrenching movement that made her dizzy. His gun now pressed against her neck.

  “Well, look what we have here. A little protection, I’d imagine—only you were too stupid to keep it with you. And there are those who recommend women for combat.” The laugh was derisive. “Sorry the heroics didn’t work, sweetheart. Let’s get moving.” He roughly pushed her ahead of him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ben was exhausted by the time he got back to his apartment. He was glad he’d forgotten to give Tommy the lens cap. Now it was in the hands of the police—where it belonged. He was sorry that he’d neglected to tell him his suspicions about the colonel possibly being close to the crash site that night. He’d just plain forgotten to give him the lens cap but he wasn’t sure he hadn’t purposefully withheld info on Hap and son. Tommy didn’t need anything else to fuel his hatred of the man. And he wasn’t positive it had been the colonel. But now he had to share the information about Bruce and Nate.

  Ben grabbed the phone but the incessant beeping indicated he had a message. Maybe Julie called—Ben excitedly punched in his code.

  “This message is for Dr. Pecos. This is Ed over at the Chaco tourist center. I’m really looking for that cop friend of yours—Spottedhorse. Somebody at police headquarters saw you guys with a pizza and I thought I might catch him. Hopefully, you can get a message to him. This phone call that he had me check … the one made from Edweener’s phone? Well, it was long distance all right. Placed to Albuquerque and it’s not to our headquarters. I can’t believe she’d go and let someone do that. Against all regulations, you know. But then the pay phone was out. I don’t want to second guess the dead. And this guy could have told her it was an emergency.”

  It took a minute for Ben to figure out the players. Of course, the call to dear ol’ mom by the mysterious stranger. The one Edwina mentioned in her diary.

  “There was only one call—not that that excuses it, it don’t. Guess it was the morning they met. Nothing unusual on the records after that. Well, anyway, looks like the guy called Kirtland. Here’s the number. 821-5907. Maybe ol’ Edweener had herself a flyboy. That guy I saw sure had a military bearing. But I would have guessed Marine. Might be worth following up on, though. I think Mr. Spottedhorse might find it interesting. Sorry I didn’t call earlier—I nearly forgot altogether.”

  Ben had no idea how anyone could tell a difference in the services by watching a guy from behind at fifty yards, but he did find the information interesting. Then he surprised himself. He dialed the number the ranger had given him. It was close to ten. If it was the base he wouldn’t find anyone there, but he might get a recording and he was helping Tommy. Or should he just admit to having more than a little curiosity hi
mself?

  “You have reached the office of Colonel Harold (Hap) Anderson. Colonel Anderson will be out of town until Friday. Please leave a message at the sound of the tone.”

  Ben hung up, then dialed again and listened to the message. Again, the chirpy sweet voice of some female junior airman assured him whose office it was. Hap Anderson, actually Harold Anderson. But what did it mean? Why would someone on the run stop long enough to call the base? Call a particular person on the base, that is. He felt a blip of excitement and maybe a little foreboding. Ronnie Cachini had called Colonel Anderson. So why was the good old colonel playing dumb? Only one reason came to mind—somehow Colonel Hap Anderson was in on it— whatever the “it” was. Ben wasn’t sure of what. But there was duplicity. Of that he was certain. And he knew for a fact that Harold Anderson and Colonel Hap Anderson were one and the same. Hap, for all his posturing, was out there that night. But Ben still kept coming back to Ronnie. Why was Ronnie checking in? That didn’t sound like a man on the lam.

  There was one more message. Ben listened to Tommy’s recounting of having Brenda with him and then he almost stopped breathing—Tommy had called Hap Anderson. Would he have called if Ben hadn’t been so hard on him about withholding evidence? Now, with the colonel on his way, Tommy and Brenda both might be in trouble—trouble they were totally unprepared for. The term “sitting ducks” popped to mind.

  He had to find Tommy. He could get to the Information Center in forty-five minutes. He grabbed a jacket and didn’t take time to lock up.

  + + +

  Tommy was huffing more than he wanted to admit by the time he reached the overhang. But it took less than a nanosecond to see that Brenda was gone.

  “Shit.”

  He rarely cursed but this warranted it. He should have taken her with him. But he’d thought she’d stay, wait on him. She was fairly traditional and to walk alone at night invited evil spirits to do harm. But she’d braved those spirits already once this evening. Was she so afraid that he’d arrest Ronnie that she took off to warn him about Tommy, too? He’d given his word as a friend. But calling for backup probably didn’t instill confidence. She must have had second thoughts. So, now what? Did he wait for Colonel Anderson or take off and try to find Brenda? There was only one decision. She had a twenty-five minute lead but he should be able to make up some of that time. This time he cursed the promises to go back to the gym. And the chile-fries and Navajo tacos. He knelt and tightened his shoelaces.

  Then, he stood a moment listening. The night was quiet. A coyote sang out from a ridge above him and another to his right and another answered along the top of the mesa behind him. So what was he going to do? He needed a plan. If all went well he could find Brenda maybe with Ronnie and get back to the Center before the colonel. But, it was an awfully big “if.” And wasn’t he assuming that the two of them would just skip right back down to the Center and meet with the colonel? Naiveté. But what else could he do? Would Ronnie, at least, tell him the truth? Exonerate Brenda?

  He’d follow the ridge and stay out of sight until he reached the base of the cliff dwellings. He figured he could get there in forty-five minutes. The moon drifted out from hiding, illuminating the sandy ledge. He needed to figure out which way she’d gone. He squatted and looked at the loosely packed dirt near the base of the granite outcropping where Brenda had stood. Then he saw them—the extra set of prints. A man’s boot—heavy heel, rounded toe, smacked of military. So, Ronnie had come for her. He slammed a fist against the rock outcropping.

  Why hadn’t they waited on him? But that was easy to answer—he was the law. He represented the one thing Ronnie couldn’t risk getting involved with—if he was guilty. And didn’t this seal his fate? Tommy was disgusted. He’d been stupid. It served him right. Had Ronnie forced Brenda to go with him? Probably. He honestly didn’t think she’d just take off again. She said she was mixed up, that she wasn’t sure … After all this, did she still love Ronnie? She suspected he was involved in wrongdoing but would that squelch her feelings for him? The next thought caught him like a blow to the solar-plexus—had they made love? They had been together for three days. Had Ronnie held her, caressed her, maybe asking her to give in, maybe demanding …

  “Shit.”

  What should he do? It was obvious that three made a crowd. He wasn’t wanted. Should he just abandon the chase now? Give them the time they needed to get away? Could he live with his conscience if he let them go? Could he live with his conscience if he tracked them down?

  Anger was beginning to keep him from thinking clearly. Anger that started with thoughts that maybe they had used him, made fun of him. But no, she was the one who left first, tried to go home and only went back when he’d told her about Edwina and the alien look-alike headgear. He needed to believe her intentions were honorable. Of course, she would feel she should warn the father of her child. But for him the chase was over. It was up to Brenda to do the right thing. If she left with Ronnie, didn’t convince him to turn himself in—then, the consequences were clear. She knew that. He had to trust her—trust that she’d do the right thing. But no matter what, she was an adult. She would have to face the consequences of her actions.

  Maybe he would meet Colonel Anderson at the Center after all. He pulled on his T-shirt. The gun. He’d forgotten to check. Had she taken it? A quick look along the base of the cliff revealed the revolver was gone. How could he keep getting in deeper and deeper? Now, there was a charge of stolen government property—a firearm he’d gladly handed over to someone who, to outsiders at least, was still a suspect in a murder case.

  + + +

  The Jaguar ate the miles—one hundred, one ten, one twenty. He watched the needle flicker, then bobble before squarely resting on the next highest number. Abruptly he eased off the gas. Wouldn’t do to get there too early. He touched the butt of the 9-mil in his belt. Comforting. If he had to use it, that is. Could be that everything would be taken care of without his intervention. Then again …

  He only hoped that Indian cop would have the sense to follow directions. But what red blooded male, red skinned or not, didn’t think with his dick? He’d be out chasing that Begay woman. And that could mean he’d get in the way. Unless there was a decoy and he took the bait. It was something to think about.

  But so was his career. This should put him over the top. A last hurrah. Younger men might think he was over the hill but they should see him now. He was a hard-ass. He acknowledged that, enjoyed his image. Hadn’t he earned it? And now this. Who could have done it better? Orchestrated all the players? No, tonight was his night. As he always said, “It’s not the arrow; it’s the Indian.” He didn’t care what firepower they might have, he’d outwitted them. Revenge was sweet.

  The military had been a good life. But soon he’d just be a citizen, average Joe on the street. But he’d have his memories. And he’d have gone out in a blaze of glory.

  The roar of the engine drowned the ping from the high-powered rifle but the right front and rear tires exploded in an unraveling of tread as metal rims hit the pavement before the Jag tumbled sideways then rolled twice into the median to rest upside down. One headlight thrust a beam steadfastly through the swirling dust of debris then flickered and abruptly went out. There was no sound.

  The man dressed in black, a rifle slung over his shoulder, trotted across the highway and stood looking at what was left of the Jag. Dropping to one knee, he prodded the arm that stretched out from the mangled cockpit and attempted to find a pulse. Satisfied there was none, he retraced his steps and disappeared toward the mesa.

  + + +

  Tommy returned to the Center but stayed well back from the building itself. Sparse grass skirted the parking lot. Cover meant lying flat beneath a piñon some thirty yards to the north. The area was deserted. Eerie. The wind had died to an occasional rustle of dry leaves and the moon, no longer playing hide-and-seek with errant clouds, stretched the shadows of posts and accentuated the white striping of the parking spaces. He felt u
tterly alone.

  Surveillance. One of those things that drove him nuts. He never liked that duty at the academy. But maybe, this once, sit and wait would be the best approach. He’d see the colonel first. Probably hear him first.

  Tommy flattened his body to fit a natural indentation between two tufts of three-foot-high buffalo grass that sprouted beside the small evergreen. He’d be tough to see and he had the advantage of having a 180-degree view. No one could get past him or come up from the south without his seeing them. He relaxed and stretched his body full length but not before he’d eased the snub nose .38 from his pocket and placed it beside him. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait for the colonel long. Maybe another fifteen minutes.

  + + +

  The night sky displayed a dizzying array of bright twinkling lights among wisps of the once-thick clouds. The Ancient Ones enjoyed a sky like this. He wondered what they thought—how they explained their universe, why they disappeared without a trace. Did he believe the recent research that branded them cannibals? It didn’t upset him like it did some. And their name instead of Anasazi, which means “ancient enemy” in Navajo, was now Puebloan. That seemed fitting. Both the Navajo and the Hopi considered these Ancient Ones their ancestors. But their disappearance—that was the mystery. Around the year 1300 whole villages just picked up and moved 250 miles away. Was there village-on-village violence? Somehow, he wanted to believe in a peaceful, happy people tending their fields, building the homes that were left for him to marvel at.

  Then he felt the nudge of the gun at his elbow as he shifted position—a grim reminder that people weren’t very peace-loving today. Why did he expect more out of the Ancient Ones? His favorite ruin was Pueblo Bonito, a towering maze of rooms probably used for religious or political functions. On a night like tonight the moonlight would make the hollowed windows seem like a hundred eyes.