by Matt James
Bartholomew Creed would never admit it aloud, but he was nervous. The California investors’ representatives had been badgering him with emails all week about his upcoming payment. Now, it was phone calls. They weren’t going to let up unless he gave them what they wanted or physical proof of something even more profitable out there. Creed knew how people like this operated. All he needed was the letter. If he had it in his possession, he was confident in his ability to sweet-talk himself out of danger.
And I can’t get it!
“Tell him I’m in a meeting,” Creed said, slamming down the phone’s receiver with a loud crack. He was pretty sure he had broken another one.
It should’ve been more straightforward. He had done so much worse with so much less. Typically, whenever he wanted something, all he had to do was place a call, or do what he had done earlier, and sit down with Zietz. So far, the only thing they had to show for it was bodies. No one had died, but several of his men had been arrested for breaking into Chatan Durham’s home and wrecking the place.
There was also the incident surrounding Nina Farley’s hospitalization. Eventually, she would wake up, and that would be all she wrote. Creed needed to trust Zietz’s assessment of the situation. If he said that none of this would be traced back to them, then it wouldn’t. At least, he hoped so. If not, Bigfoot would also have to be dealt with. Unless Zietz has people inside the hospital too? Either way, it saddened Creed to think that his favorite girl’s time was nearly up.
He stepped away from the mirrored windows and opened the top drawer of his desk. Inside was a loaded Smith & Wesson handgun. Creed had never shot a person before. And if, or when, the time came to pull the trigger, he wasn’t worried about it.
Creed knew he could.
All in good time.
He unconsciously stroked his jacket pocket. Inside was a plane ticket to Mexico City. If things went south here, Creed had a plan to disappear until he could safely resurface. While he didn’t have enough money to pay back his debt, Creed still had plenty of money. The only issue with his plan was that the investors seemed like people that didn’t enjoy getting the run-around. They were annoyingly persistent and would more than likely never give up their quest for him.
For the first time in his life, Creed had seriously underestimated his opponent. The California group wasn’t just a collaboration of West Coast pretentiousness. These people were the real deal. They knew Creed was stalling. It’s why they had sicked this “Mr. Taft” on him. Creed attempted to investigate the lawyer—if that’s what he was. All he could dig up on the guy was that he had worked for the same splinter group of investors for nearly a decade. And before that…nothing.
The man was an enigma.
7
Devils Tower
Crook County, Wyoming
The summit of Devils Tower was surreal. Jack had just scaled America’s first National Monument and was experiencing such an adrenaline rush that he felt like he could do it again, right away, if he needed to. He paid the handful of other climbers no attention and gazed out over the expanse of land surrounding the 1,267-foot-tall rock formation. The late afternoon sun was still high enough in the sky to bathe his face in warmth while a crisp breeze cooled his sweating skin. In short, Jack felt great. Sore, but great.
He looked over the edge. “Should’ve brought a chute.”
In 1941, George Hopkins lost a bet. As payment for the wager, he was made to parachute onto the flat peak of Devils Tower. It rapidly became a national news story after he became stuck with no way down. Hopkins’ original plan had been to descend the butte using a rope, a hammer, and a car axel as an anchor. Instead he got stranded for six long days after his climbing gear slid off the edge of the monument. He almost died several times while being exposed to rain, cold temperatures, and high winds. It was none other than Jack Durrance who had led a rescue team to the top of Devils Tower in the coming days.
Another climber whooped into the air to celebrate. The noise broke Jack out of his mental hibernation, and he got to work. The first thing he did was trip on a low shrub. He caught himself before going down on top of a small cactus. He didn’t check to see if anyone had seen him, not that he cared what anyone thought.
“Agh,” he grunted, swatting at a swarm of bugs—probably gnats. He spat on the ground in disgust. An unknown number of them had entered his mouth. He even felt like there was one or two in his nose. Once free of the cloud of nuisances, he took his time and scoured the entry football field-sized summit. Jack did the exact opposite of what he had told the female ranger he was going to do. He kept his eyes on the land directly beneath his feet and barely gave the view the time of day—mostly because he was running out of day.
The climb down was supposed to take an hour. Jack checked his watch. He calculated that he barely had two hours of light left. It meant that he had just under one hour to explore.
There wasn’t much to look at besides the landscape around him.
“Kinda figured I’d run into ET, at the very least.”
“What?”
Jack turned and found an attractive woman with short blonde hair eyeing him. He guessed that she was in her early fifties and was physically fit. The blue-eyed mountaineer was tall and lean. She was impeccably built for a life of running long distances, or, in this case, rock climbing.
Probably both.
“First time up here?” she asked.
Jack couldn’t quite place the woman’s accent. Georgia, perhaps.
“How’d you guess?”
She grinned. “For starters, you’re looking for little green men.”
“Technically, ET is brown, not green,” Jack corrected. He stuck out his hand. “Jack Reilly.”
Her grip was firm, and her skin was calloused.
A climber, for sure.
“I’m Edith, but everyone calls me Eddy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jack said, pumping her hand once. He let go and looked around. “It really is beautiful up here.”
The corner of her mouth rose. “Says the man who’s barely paid attention to the view.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you’ve been watching me. I’m not sure if I should be excited or frightened?”
Eddy smiled wide. “Don’t flatter yourself. I watch everyone. Humanity is an interesting species.”
“Absolutely,” Jack agreed. “So, what brings you here?”
“Besides sport, nothing. I climb Devils Tower every month or so.”
Jack was impressed, and he said as much. “That’s amazing.”
“Why?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed. “Because I’m a woman, or because I’m old?”
He laughed. Jack liked Eddy. “No, because it’s friggin’ hard.” Jack winked. “And don’t sell yourself short. You look better than most.”
The comment made the mature woman blush. “Well, yes, thank you for that.” She cleared her throat. “So, what are you looking for? I can’t believe it’s anything related to aliens. You seem too chemically balanced for that.”
They stepped away and quietly conversed. Jack decided to come clean. Sort of. He didn’t divulge everything he knew. All Jack told her was that he was looking for a hidden entrance into the foundations of Devils Tower, not revealing anything about Theodore Roosevelt.
“Treasure? Here?”
He shrugged. “I know it sounds insane, but I have reasons to believe that it might be true.”
“Okay, fair enough. What I can tell you is that there is nothing up here, or anywhere else on the grounds that I know of.” That deflated Jack a little. “I’ve scoured this place clean and haven’t found a damn thing worth finding…except adventure.”
“You sound like him,” Jack said.
“Like who?”
“Teddy Roosevelt.” He pictured the president in his heyday. “He was a historian and an explorer at heart. He loved the natural world. It’s why he declared this place as our country’s first monument. I find it weird, though.”
“Wh
y’s that?” she asked, stopping and facing him.
“Why this place?” It was a question he had already asked himself and Bull several times.
Eddy smiled wide as if she were hiding something. “Well, Jack, that’s an easy one.”
“It is?”
She nodded. “This,” she drew her hand across the surrounding landscape, “is why.”
Jack was again awed by the beauty of the land. Eddy and Roosevelt were correct. This place was worth it.
A small furry creature scurried in between them. Jack was so lost by the view that the chipmunk’s arrival had startled him. He embarrassingly squeaked and leapt back. Eddy, quite literally, almost fell over laughing. Jack snagged her arm before she did.
“Thank you,” she said, mid-guffaw.
“You know,” Jack said, “that’s good luck.”
“What, the chipmunk?”
He nodded.
Eddy’s hands found her narrow hips. “In what culture is a chipmunk crossing paths with a human considered ‘good luck?’”
Jack grinned. “I have no idea.” He laughed. It felt good to laugh. “I’m not sure why I said that.”
Eddy shook her head, grinning ear to ear. “You’re something else…”
The pair stood there for a few minutes and just enjoyed each other’s company, as well as the view. Trees encompassed the butte. The sea of green beneath their perch was beautiful in its own way. Sometimes it was hard to imagine that there was still so much green left in the world. Jack felt the same sense of awe every time he stepped foot in Yellowstone.
Eddy sighed and checked her watch. “Well, Jack, it’s been fun, but us ‘old people’ eat dinner early.” She winked and headed off toward one of the more challenging routes. “I hope you find what you’re looking for!”
If they had been closer in age, Jack would’ve seriously considered asking the woman out for a drink. But he wasn’t here for that. Jack waved goodbye and faced the landscape one more time. A squeak drew his attention back to the craggy earth. He spotted the chipmunk darting in and out of tiny crevasses. On its third attempt, it came away with something to eat. Jack didn’t know what it was, or even how a creature like a chipmunk had gotten up here. At this point, he didn’t care. He was bummed that his ascent had been a bust.
Eddy’s words replayed in his head.
I hope you find what you’re looking for!
He sighed. “Me too, Eddy. Me too.”
Jack’s descent went smoothly despite his physical state. If he was frank, he was kind of hoping to see Eddy on ground level. But he didn’t. She must’ve finished her climb somewhere else. So, instead, he headed back to where he last saw Bull and Hawk. Neither of them was present, though. It didn’t surprise him at all. As far as Jack knew, they could be on the other side of the monument.
Jack checked his phone. There were zero messages.
“I’m done,” he texted. “What’s your twenty?”
Bull usually flooded his phone with texts or calls, so this was unlike him. His partner was always thorough when it came to the flow of information. Bull was incredibly prompt—annoyingly so—and Jack’s climb had taken just over six hours. The Durhams should’ve been there. Exhausted, Jack sat and leaned back against a pine tree. He would wait for them to return. But after fifteen minutes, he slipped his phone out of his pocket again. This time, instead of texting Bull, he called him.
Nothing.
“Dammit, Bull.” He was officially nervous. “Where the hell are you guys?”
Jack didn’t like this one bit. His cell signal wasn’t great, but it was solid enough. They should’ve easily been able to get in touch with one another. Yet, here they were. Blowing out a long breath, Jack stood and decided to comb the grounds for the other members of his party. The trees around him were tall. They hid what was left of the setting sun.
But then his phone rang. It was Bull’s ringtone.
He quickly answered it. “Dammit, Bull, where the hell are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” a voice replied, chuckling softly. “This isn’t ‘Bull.’”
Jack stopped cold in his tracks. Someone had Bull’s phone.
“Okay, then,” he said, speaking slowly. He needed to calm his nerves. “Who is this?”
“The name is Zietz.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Creed’s crony? The one with the poorly trained assholes?”
Zietz didn’t bite. “I’m sorry, Jack, but I won’t fall for your little mind games. What I will do, however, is cut Baby Bird’s fingers off one by one if you don’t do as I say.”
Bull’s nephew could be heard shouting in the background. “It’s ‘Hawk,’ you son of a bi—”
His voice was cut off. Jack could hear him choking on what he figured was some sort of gag. Jack’s mind was racing, configuring a workable response.
“Come to the Black Buffalo,” Zietz offered. “We can talk this out before anyone else gets hurt.”
The image of Nina laid up in a hospital room filled Jack’s mind. Through a locked jaw, he said, “It’s a little late for that, shithead.”
“I’d watch yourself, Mr. R—”
“No, I’d watch yourself! This is how it’s going to go, okay? I’m coming for my friends, and if you don’t release them—”
“What?” Zietz laughed. “What will you do?”
Jack wasn’t a beast like this guy was. He did, however, know how to get under people’s skin. In this case, he would become a monster. Jack recalled some tidbits of information relating to Zietz. They were supplied to him by Hawk back outside of the corner store.
Jack lowered his voice, invoking his inner Liam Neeson. “I’ll come after your family. Your wife—I bet she’s beautiful. Maybe I’ll even come after your son too.” Silence filled the airwaves. “You were a cop, right? That means your personal information is on file somewhere. And wouldn’t you know it, I know some people in law enforcement. All it takes is a phone call to turn your world upside down.”
Most of everything he had said was a bluff. Jack did know people in law enforcement, except none of them possessed the ability to do what he had just threatened. But Zietz didn’t know that. Also, Jack wasn’t about to go after another person’s family. He was just happy that Zietz had one, or he would’ve sounded like a moron.
“I’m listening,” Zietz said, finally speaking up.
His gamble paid off! It took everything he had to hide his enthusiasm. Jack had Zietz thinking he was something that he wasn’t. A soulless killer.
“I’ll come to you, but first, I want a picture of my friends to prove they’re both still alive.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“Picture first.”
He waited a few seconds. It arrived via text. What he saw both sickened and enraged him. Both Bull and Hawk had been tied to chairs and savagely beaten. Thankfully, they were still conscious. In the picture, Hawk’s figure was slightly blurred because it looked like he was moving and screaming at the closest man. Bull was still doing his Bull thing. His face was indifferent, and his mouth was shut.
Bastards.
“Mr. Reilly?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Jack knew what he wanted. “I demand an audience with you and Creed in public.”
“No,” Zietz replied quickly. “Absolutely n—”
“See you soon.”
Black Buffalo Resort and Casino
Cascade, Wyoming
Deep in the bowels of the casino, Zietz hung up his phone. Sweat rolled down his temples. It had been years since someone had made him feel what he felt now—fear.
Would he really do something to Meredith and Tommy?
The younger Durham struggled to garble something around his gag. He was unsuccessful, but the attempt did get Zietz’s attention. After Hawk repeated himself twice more, Zietz had enough. He spun away from the impressive array of camera monitors and pounded over to the bound men. He roughly gripped Hawk by the hair and forcibly removed the soiled gym sock from his mouth.
“What?” Zietz shouted, leaning in close.
“Ugh, bro, that thing’s nasty.”
He held up the sock. “What do you want?”
Hawk cleared his throat. “I said that, ‘you’re going to get your ass kicked.’”
“Is that so?” Zietz chuckled.
“Yes,” Bull replied. He had kept his mouth shut until now, and therefore, had not received a gag. His measured intensity outmatched Zietz’s manic glare. “You don’t know Jack the way I do.” Bull glanced at his nephew and smiled. “He will come.” Hawk nodded and relaxed. Bull returned his attention to Zietz. The ranger radiated confidence. “And he will, as my nephew said, kick your ass.”
8
Devils Tower
Crook County, Wyoming
Jack ran down the hill at the foot of Devils Tower, beelining it to the parking lot. He had already deduced that Bull still had his keys on him. The man’s truck was a no-go. Jack would need to find an alternate mode of transportation, which was in short supply. It was getting late. There was only one other vehicle. Even from the fringes of the asphalt lot, Jack could see a man sitting behind the wheel.
Perfect!
Now on level ground, he covered the distance to the beat-up pickup in no time. Its owner was Native American, and he couldn’t have been a day under ninety. The poor guy was startled when Jack skidded to a stop outside his driver’s side window. Eyes wide, his hand went to his chest, and he started gasping for breath. Jack was worried that he had just killed the old-timer. Thankfully, his breathing got under control.
“Excuse me, I—”
The stranger stopped Jack with a single gnarled finger. He held it up and started rolling down his window with his other hand. It was an agonizing experience for someone in as much of a rush as Jack. This guy wasn’t in any kind of a hurry. That much was clear.
With the window down, Jack spoke up again.
“Hi, I really need—”
“My help?” the man asked, finishing Jack’s question.
He looked around. “How did you know I needed your help?”
“The wind,” he said, closing his eyes. “It speaks to me.”
