THE ROOSEVELT CONSPIRACY

by Matt James

  “Are you okay, Chatan?” Bull asked.

  But his nephew didn’t respond. He was still lost in the moral dilemma.

  “Hawk?” This time Bull used Chatan’s preferred name. Jack had never once heard Bull call him that until now.

  The simple gesture stirred something inside the younger Durham. He looked up at his uncle with wet eyes. It wasn’t from the rain either. Hawk was emotionally spent and openly weeping. Jack didn’t blame him for the emotional outburst one bit. None of this was easy to handle, especially to someone with no formal training—or in Hawk’s case—no training at all. Bull’s otherworldly inner strength had kept him vigilant through the entire conflict, and Jack’s years of combat experience was the only thing keeping him together.

  “Come on, Hawk,” Jack said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Leave him to the wolves.”

  “Yes,” Bull agreed, “his fate is not ours to decide.”

  And Jack didn’t mean the literal wolves either. He was referring to Creed. Whatever happened to Zietz, it would be because his life had come full circle. Jack didn’t believe in karma, but if anyone was due their comeuppance, it was Zietz, a man who had an enormous amount of blood on his hands.

  Lieutenant Bradley Bender was Creed’s number one spy inside Cascade PD. He was a cocaine addict and had been for a long time. Like many of the men on Creed’s payroll, the casino owner promised them either more of their vises or money in return for their allegiance. In Bender’s case, he received a large amount of both. Besides being a cop, his number one duty was to keep the chief of police off Creed’s scent.

  Five of his men had been shot and killed here tonight. Zietz himself gunned down a few of them. Bender knew going after a man like Zietz was going to be tough sledding. But he had no idea it would be this dangerous. One of the dead men was Nate Franklin, a man that had a run-in with the person Zietz had been hunting down—a man named Jack Reilly.

  Bender didn’t know the details of who Jack was. All he knew was that Creed and Zietz wanted him dead. He also, apparently, had something in his possession that both men wanted. But Bender didn’t give a rip about any of that. His job tonight was to take care of Zietz, and if he crossed paths with Reilly and his compatriots, he would act upon it.

  “Sir!” one of his men shouted. “Over here!”

  Having hung back during the initial conflict, Bender was now searching the area with what was left of his team. He had only brought a few officers with him. The rest of his people were locals—locals he had guaranteed favors to once the job was over. Creed was to supply the cash, or at the very least, a sizable credit at his casino. One of the men taking part in the operation was a moonshine runner. He was heavily beholden to Bender for not shutting him down.

  Bender hurried back down the sloping terrain and found two of his men standing over a dark lump in the earth. As he edged closer, he noticed a pair of massive feet sticking out of the black mass.

  “Zietz.” He was still breathing but unconscious.

  Bender dug into Zietz’s pocket and found nothing unusual. He retrieved his phone and called Creed’s direct line.

  Creed answered it quickly. “Yes?”

  “I have Zietz—alive.” He waved the others off. His and Creed’s conversation was meant to be a private one.

  “And the letter?”

  “Negative,” Bender replied.

  Creed grumbled under his breath.

  Bender was cold and wet. He didn’t want to be here to begin with, but he knew not to cross Creed. Still, he needed to wrap this thing up before his people started asking too many questions.

  “What should I do with him?” Bender was prepared to shoot Zietz if Creed, the Caesar of Cascade, so commanded it. Instead, he was ordered to do the exact opposite.

  “Bring him to me.”

  21

  Finding their way back to Bull’s truck, Jack happily slid into the backseat and laid down. Hawk sat up front with his uncle and immediately got to work on his newest videos. They were doozies too. The last one would be the icing on the cake. It showed Zietz turning his weapon on his own people and slaughtering them with no clear remorse for his actions.

  It was still early enough in the day. His posts would quickly catch fire and garner the attention of the major news outlets. There were eyes on Cascade as it stood. Now, the press would swoop down on top of Creed and suffocate him. But Hawk had no intention of sticking around and watching it from a close proximity. He voiced as much to Jack and Bull.

  ‘Well,” he said, tapping his screen, “I guess my time in Cascade is up.”

  “Good riddance,” Bull muttered. “This place is nothing but trouble.”

  Jack sat up. “Hopefully, not for long. We’ve done a good thing here. We’ve turned a sadistic operation on its head and exposed a lot of bad people for who they truly are.”

  Hawk snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, garbage.”

  Jack was going to say something a little harsher, but sure, garbage would work. And his early assessment of Zietz accidentally covering for them was correct. There was no record of Chaska’s vehicle being used in any car crash. Someone within the CPD had deleted it from record. They decided to head back to the old-timer’s home and make sure that he had gotten back okay. He had been left alone after Hawk had been abducted at the hospital.

  Climbing out of Bull’s truck, they met their new friend on his porch. His eyes were closed, and he was looking up to the heavens. He took a deep breath and spoke, keeping his eyelids shut as he did.

  “My friends, you have returned.” He opened his eyes and stared at Jack. “The wind, it speaks to me. It told me that you would be okay, though,” he took in the trio’s condition, “you look as if you could use a hot meal.”

  Jack looked at Bull and Hawk and nodded. “Coffee and aspirin for me.” He ascended the front steps and grasped hands with Chaska.

  “Got any more cardboard pizza?” Hawk asked, joining the two men.

  Bull sighed. “I’ll take a little more scotch.” Everyone froze and gazed down at him from the higher elevation of the porch. He shrugged. “It’s been a rough day.”

  After they all ate and got cleaned up, they recounted what they had found beneath Devils Tower. Chaska deserved to hear it from them and not the TV, not that he watched it much. Jack wanted to see the look on Chaska’s face when he was told that his grandfather’s ‘fun story’ was true.

  The old man smiled. “Really? Imagine that, my grandfather, friends with the president.”

  “Uh,” Hawk said, “what about all the other stuff we just told you?”

  Chaska looked confused. “Oh, that? I already knew about all of that.”

  The room went silent. Jack, Bull, and Hawk stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the local. But he didn’t elaborate.

  “Yo,” Hawk said, snapping his fingers, “earth to Chaska.”

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Jack spoke next. “Did you just say that you knew of the Seven Sisters and the ancient civilization?”

  He nodded. “I did. Why, did I not tell you?”

  “You did not,” Bull said, crossing his arms.

  Chaska gently stroked his chin, deep in thought. “Oh, I apologize. It must’ve slipped my mind for a moment. But yes, my family has been watching over the Seven Sisters Monument for generations. It’s how my grandfather knew of its location.” He chuckled. “But I never believed that he was friends with the president.” Chaska sighed. “Such a fun story.”

  Hawk eyed Jack and mouthed, “Is he serious?”

  Jack didn’t have an answer for him. Chaska had proven to be a little flighty when it came to his memory. But Jack was confident in the man’s family having something to do with Roosevelt, as well as the Seven Sisters Monument, as Chaska had called it. The find’s entry had been barricaded for a long time. It told Jack that it hadn’t been accessed for some time. The ladder’s dilapidated condition was further evidence of that.

  Jack asked Chas
ka as much. “When’s the last time someone went down there?”

  Chaska thought for a moment but couldn’t come up with anything. As the years had gone by, Chaska’s memory and his intimate knowledge of the Seven Sisters had drifted away. He could only recall certain things from his past and events that had recently happened—like a story from his grandfather eons ago, and currently, Jack and the Durham men’s names. There was a gap in between that spanned eighty or so years. It didn’t bother Chaska in the least, however. The old-timer went about his life day by day. It wouldn’t have mattered if his family stopped caring for the sisters, either. If the knowledge of it died with Chaska, it would be safely hidden away until someone like Jack stumbled upon it.

  Or crashed through it…

  “We’re trending!” Hawk announced, standing.

  “Really?” Jack asked, joining him and looking down at his screen.

  Twitter was having a field day with the news. The Seven Sisters were plastered all over Facebook and Instagram too.

  As are Creed and Zietz.

  Black Buffalo Resort and Casino

  Cascade, Wyoming

  The telltale sound of a car door slamming shut stirred Zietz awake. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. The light hurt too much to do so. Even more light assaulted his mind as a door to his right was opened. He blinked half a dozen times and saw a blurry blob standing next to him. He couldn’t make out the blur’s identity—not until his eyesight returned. He knew he had a concussion. The headache, blurred vision—along with a case of immense nausea clued him in.

  The surface-deep pulsing in the back of his head told him that he had been hit from behind. He had no idea who had done it. Blinking against the discomfort, he thought back to the moment he had lost consciousness. He had been in a scrum with Jack and Bull. The only one missing from the fight was—

  Hawk.

  The blur’s identity slowly revealed itself. It reached forward and grabbed at Zietz’s hands. They were bound with a thick, nylon zip tie. He—Lieutenant Bender—brandished a knife and cut the restraints with a flick of his wrist. Then, Zietz was pulled free of the blacked-out SUV and shoved toward the casino’s front doors.

  He stopped and wheeled around on Bender. The other man stood confidently. He had two other men with him. Zietz recognized both of them. Like Bender, they were both cops. Gone were Zietz’s shoulder holster and pistol—as was his jacket.

  My jacket!

  “Incredible story, huh?” Bender asked, looking at his phone. “I can’t believe it’s been there this entire time.”

  Zietz didn’t physically react to the news or to him losing his fortune. Zietz knew he could always go back for more diamonds. Even with the discovery of the Seven Sisters going public, Creed and Zietz still controlled Cascade, as well as those living and working within the town’s borders. They even had a local NPS ranger on their payroll. All it would take was a single phone call.

  “Creed wants to see you,” Bender said, cutting Zietz free. He grinned. “And boy is he pissed.”

  The three plain-clothed policemen closed in on him, forcing him toward the front doors. Unarmed and with nowhere else to go, Zietz gave in, turned, and entered the tall, solid-black cube.

  He stopped in front of the massive onyx buffalo and looked up at the mirrored office windows. His plan was still in place. Even though he was unarmed, Zietz was still more than capable of killing Bartholomew Creed with his bare hands.

  Bartholomew Creed sat behind his grand desk. Another man sat in one of the two chairs across from him. Creed had never met the newcomer before. His presence made the casino owner uncomfortable.

  Creed flinched when his intercom buzzed. “Sir, Mr. Zietz has arrived.”

  Reaching forward, Creed depressed a button on his desk phone. “Good. Send him in.”

  The door at the far end of his office opened. His point man, Tom “Bigfoot” Zietz, looked terrible. His left arm was hugged into his side, and he limped hard on his right leg. Even the man’s face was bruised and swollen, and his shirt collar was stained red with blood. Creed had never seen the imposing man in such poor condition. There was only one answer.

  Jack Reilly.

  The “park ranger” had destroyed the plans of Creed and his investors. The world now knew of what lay beneath Devils Tower. It was all over social media, moving like wildfire. Yes, his casino would see a gigantic uptick in business with the incoming horde of visitors, but nothing would come of it for his investors, the people the newcomer represented. Unfortunately, the money they had paid Creed upfront to renovate would need to be returned in full. The discovery of Roosevelt’s letter was meant to push that deadline back indefinitely.

  Another promise broken, Creed thought. If it had been him, he would’ve been furious too. And he was angry! He had never been let down so frequently. Zietz had failed too many times in his attempts to acquire the letter.

  Creed stood. “Thomas Zietz, I’d like you to meet Eugene Taft. He’s here on behalf of our investors.”

  Taft was a short, slight, weaselly looking man in his early fifties. If Creed had to guess, Taft was of Greek ancestry, though he had no Grecian accent to speak of. His nose protruded further than his face would suggest, adding to his rodent-like aura.

  Instead of shaking the man’s outstretched hand, Zietz gave him a silent nod. Zietz didn’t sit. He stood at attention, and impatiently waited for their meeting to start.

  “Gentlemen,” Taft started, “as I’m sure you understand, my superiors aren’t pleased with the last few days’ events.”

  Creed sat. “I can assure you, Mr. Taft, that—”

  Taft silenced the casino owner with a single boney hand. Even though this was Creed’s place of business, the other man was clearly in charge. The people he represented were some of the most influential individuals on the West Coast. The majority of them were politicians. But a handful of them were high-profile CEOs and even an actor or two. Yes, Eugene Taft was nothing more than an elitist’s bloodsucking lawyer.

  “And I assure you, Mr. Creed, that this will be the last time you will be trusted.”

  The room went silent.

  Creed cleared his throat. “I’m sure there is some sort of understanding we can come to.” Everyone had a price, even people as straight-shooting as Eugene Taft. “I believe we can still salvage the situation. The discovery of the Seven Sisters Monument will bring the casino millions in additional income.”

  Taft leaned forward and picked up his briefcase, setting it on his lap. Slowly, he flicked the case’s locks, pleased when both Creed and Zietz flinched. He shuffled through a few pieces of paper before procuring a manila envelope. Locking his briefcase, he returned it to its previous place on the floor and leaned forward, handing the envelope to Creed. The casino owner nervously retrieved it and opened it.

  “My superiors agree with you.”

  Creed’s eyes snapped up to Taft. He had no idea what the other man had planned, but whatever was in the manila envelope, it would shed some light on the situation. Inside was a stapled stack of paper. Being a seasoned businessman, Creed recognized that he was staring at a contract. The first few paragraphs were all he needed to read, and when he did, he leapt to his feet, ready to strangle the Grecian.

  “You must be joking?” He ripped the contract in two and tossed one half to either side of him. “You expect me to sell the controlling stake of my business to a group of halfwits?”

  Taft’s face darkened. “You may want to refrain from calling them that.”

  Creed laughed. “And why should I?”

  The smaller man smiled. “Because they have authorized me to do whatever it takes to make sure this sale goes through swimmingly.”

  “How?” Creed asked. “Are you going to call the police?” He scoffed at the idea and jammed a thumb into his chest. “I own the police!”

  Creed’s intercom buzzed. “Um, sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I think you should turn on the television.”

  “Not now
!” Creed shouted, pounding his fist on his phone.

  “Mr. Creed, please. You need to turn on the news.”

  Growling, Creed did as Lindsey suggested and flipped on the seventy-inch flatscreen TV on the wall to his left. As soon as if flickered to life, all three men were absorbed by what they saw. Zietz was standing in a dark room. The walls and ceiling sparkled. Creed held his breath as he watched his head of security gun down three of his own men. The headline at the top of the screen flashed, Creed Associate Murders Men in Cold Blood.

  “Zietz!” he shouted, spinning on the man.

  Bigfoot didn’t move. He just stood in silence and waited for the verbal thrashing.

  Taft cleared his throat. “Where were we?”

  Running both hands over his head, Creed took a deep breath. “I believe you were threatening me.”

  “Right, right, right…” Taft said, straightening his tie. “Mr. Creed, my employers are influencers inside the government itself, not just an insignificant town like this. Also…” Taft retrieved his briefcase once more, clicking it open without pause. He shuffled through more papers, smiling when he found whatever he was looking for.

  “‘Also,’ what?” Creed asked, jaw clenched. He slowly grasped the handle of his drawer—the one that concealed his pistol.

  Taft’s eyes flicked up to Creed, freezing him in place. Gone was the man’s mousy demeanor. In the blink of an eye, he had transformed into something that resembled a cornered wolverine.

  “Also,” Taft replied, “I’m an excellent negotiator.”

  With a speed and agility that belayed the Grecian’s age and physique, he launched to his feet and withdrew his hand out of his briefcase. Creed expected to see another copy of the contract—not a gun! Taft snapped the sound suppressed weapon up and shot Zietz point-blank in the forehead. Before the casino owner could open the top drawer of his desk, the meek Greek turned his attention on him—but not his pistol. Gratefully, it stayed down by his side.

  “Oh my god!” Creed cried, his voice catching. “Why?”