by Ed Kovacs
He found sandwiches in the mess and shoveled down his second with a can of iced tea chaser when Frank found him. “‘Bout time you woke up, slacker.” The top of Frank’s head almost touched the ceiling as he strode into the galley.
“Am I glad to see you. How did I get here?”
“The woman brought you in. Amy.”
Wilder drew a blank until he flashed upon the deadly visage of the woman who had dragged him into the cabana at Los Abrigados.
“She's your friend, right?”
“How long have I been here?” Sky quietly queried.
“About sixteen hours. She carried you on board herself, pretending to the people at the marina that you were drunk.”
“Frank, Amy is not my friend.” Wilder paused as his memory regurgitated recent events. “But it's possible she saved my life. Says she’s military and I tend to believe that much.”
“On our side, then?”
“Too soon to tell.”
Frank looked seriously peeved.
“Sorry, but maybe now you understand why I was less than thrilled when we made our discovery. How’d you know to bug out early from the cave site?”
Frank pointed to a small portable hand-crank radio on a counter in the mess. “AM, FM and shortwave—including the police frequencies. The reception is great up on that outcropping. You told me you were going to see Lou in Camp Verde, so when I started hearing reports about the sheriff’s station being destroyed, I packed up all the artifacts I could carry, practically ran to the highway, and hitched all the way up to our emergency rendezvous point at the marina. What exactly happened, man?”
Wilder recounted the events in as coherent a way as he could, without revealing that he cached the tablet, the other tracings, or the digital photos, information that would be too dangerous for Frank to possess. The last thing Wilder remembered was getting into “Amy's” rental car and starting the drive north up Oak Creek Canyon.
“So where is she?”
“Swimming around the boat like a damn fish, not a care in the world, like she’s on vacation. Spends a lot of time by herself, meditating or something.”
Wilder nodded. “Let’s go have a pow-wow.”
###
Water represented purification to Diana Hunt and always had: showers, baths, saunas, steams, slip-and-slides, waterfalls, Jacuzzi, hot and cold pools... whether sitting still or doing the butterfly in an Olympic lap pool, she received absolution and emerged anew, if only for a few hours.
She’d never heard of Lake Powell before, and had no idea, none, that it was this impossibly beautiful and breathtaking. They’d puttered along in the thirty-six foot boxy aluminum pontoon boat, basically a recreational vehicle on water, past three-hundred-foot-high Rainbow Bridge, the world’s largest natural stone bridge, past arching thousand-foot cliffs whose dusty pastel hues shifted rust-pink-brown-yellow-red with the whimsy of the lazy sun and trolling clouds. The springtime water temperature chilled to the bone, so she couldn’t swim in the clear firth for longer than fifteen minutes. Thankfully, the daytime sun and arid climate would warm and dry her quickly and with benediction.
Wilder’s recovery time turned into an opportunity to ground, recharge, and reconnect with what she would have to call upon to survive. This was spiritual and mental prep time, a luxury she seldom had when working with Forte. She fit in an RV session for background regarding the assignment, and all-in-all felt that perhaps with the balance she’d now achieved in her life, not to mention the extra maturity, she stood ready for what might come.
At least she felt no fear. She was proceeding on her own terms, and if she could stay centered, she knew she’d be all right. She almost sensed a warm rush as she paddled. I want this, she gushed to herself. She tingled not only from the chill water; she felt more alive and whole than she had in years.
###
Wilder lit up a Henry Clay Diplomat, an excellent Dominican cigar, courtesy of Bacavi, who puffed an aromatic mixture redolent of nutmeg in the Castello. They sat in lawn chairs on the lower deck and watched the mystery woman as she sliced through the water.
“I’m telling you, she gets lost in her own world. I could pull the anchors without any sound. You start the engines and we’re outta here.”
“Well, she can’t be armed out there. What about her backup, any sign of them?” Sky scanned the inlet and the surrounding cliffs; there was no indication of human life.
“Nothing I’ve seen. She’s got some kind of miniature sophisticated communication gear in her purse. Don’t know if she’s used it. For all we know there’s a platoon of commandos in a Zodiac right around the next bend. But a woman like her,” Frank nodded as Diana sliced through the pristine water, “can kill you with her smile. Carries a forty-five which she leaves in her room. Couple of passports, lots of cash. And then, some weird stuff.”
“Weapons?”
Frank shook his head. “Crystals, a small feather, incense, some kind of talismans.”
“Not exactly standard issue.”
“This is all too spooky for me. Seriously, why not motor out of here right now and leave her?”
“Because maybe she’s one of the good guys.”
“Sure it's not the size of her breasts and the rest of the package?”
“If anything, that makes me more suspicious of her.”
Sky looked out over the water toward the woman and suddenly their eyes met. She came-about and paddled toward the boat ladder.
“Don't say I didn't warn you,” said Frank.
Hunt clambered easily up the silvery aluminum rungs, carefree almost, nipples erect and jutting through a sheer green bikini top. Like Esther Williams, she looked great wet, simply fabulous.
“Welcome back to the living, Doctor Wilder,” she said with a cute smile. “Glad you guys didn’t decide to cast-off. It’s a long swim out of here.”
“The thought occurred to me.”
“I got that feeling,” she said, coyly, then wiped down quickly and tied the towel around her waist. She settled into a lawn chair across from them. The men looked very serious as they nursed their smokes and simply watched her. Being downwind, the smoke drifted her way and they made no apologies. “My father smoked a pipe and cigars. I like the smell.”
They said nothing, just stared. They weren’t going to be friendly, and were sending her the message that this was all about business. Life and death business.
“Professor Bacavi, I can offer you protective custody. I unofficially work for a government agency, and it’s our belief that you're in great danger due to your presence with Doctor Wilder at the archeological site. The power of our opponent is, quite frankly, intimidating. I can’t stress that enough. But the decision is yours.”
“Okay, that’s the official offer. What would you personally recommend Frank do to be safe?” asked Sky, who noted that she seemed surprised by the question.
“What makes you think I have a different opinion?”
Sky shrugged. “A hunch.”
She hesitated, then, “Well, your hunch is correct. You're not hearing this from me, but if Professor Bacavi went to ground without making any phone calls—and I mean none—and stayed off the Internet, didn't use credit or debit cards, and if he avoided people who could be traced to him, like family or friends, then I’d say his chances of survival might be better than if General Klaymen’s men took him in.”
“You’re talking about me like I’m not here,” said Frank, irritated.
“Frank, this isn’t your fight. I want you out of it as soon as we can make some arrangements.”
“Out of it? You brought me into it,” the big man protested.
“You going to quit your job and work freelance with me, the pariah archeologist, for the rest of your life?”
Frank looked fristrated. “I thought this sit-down was about her, not me.”
“The cave we found has been destroyed. The artifacts you and I recovered don’t prove a thing. Ready to join me on the kook circuit and lose
your tenure?”
Frank stoically puffed his pipe, listening and thinking.
“When this blows over I’ll contact our mutual friend in Kayenta and he’ll put the word out.” Sky was referring to a Navajo elder. “If our friend hasn’t heard from me in two weeks, it means I’m dead.”
Frank shook his head unhappily. “This whole thing sucks.”
“You are the only person in the world who saw what I saw, the only witness that Sky Wilder got one right. Any idea what that means to me? Any idea what our friendship means? I’m not asking you to go home and watch YouTube videos. This is serious, very dangerous, and you might not make it.”
Hunt intuited that Wilder was doing his best to maneuver his friend out of harm’s way.
“Did you tell anyone our location?” Frank’s eyes pierced into hers.
“No.”
Frank exhaled, then, “I’ll take the skiff. And you,” he tapped Sky on the arm with the lip of his pipe, “will make sure she doesn’t send off any radio communications for at least a few hours after I’m gone. Agreed?”
Hunt smiled. “Hey, I could stay out here for weeks,” she grinned. “Agreed.”
Wilder pursed his lips and nodded. He wanted his old friend to be safe, but would now lose his most trusted ally and would face the unknown alone. Once again.
CHAPTER 12
Long shadows of late afternoon muddied the east-facing cliffs, turning them ominous as Bacavi powered the skiff loaded with supplies and extra gas away from the houseboat. The west-facing rock glowed a shimmering peach, a hundred-thousand diamond dots of silica prismatically sparkling in the softening light. Hunt had given him her semi-auto and extra mags, but she knew he still didn’t trust her, and he didn’t look back as he blew off at full throttle.
In a few moments the speedboat disappeared around a rock formation, snaking its way into more open waters. Almost 2000 miles of shoreline framed the meandering, gangly, manmade lake that on a map resembled a freaky EKG readout and formed the northern border of the Navajo Indian Reservation. She'd read the professor's file and assumed he’d head back to the res, probably sink the boat just offshore somewhere, then hike into a world white people simply didn’t witness.
The government had reservation spies, of course; the Navajo, like all the other tribes, were rife with dissension and rivalries. Informers could always be bought, the same as anywhere else. But he would either live off the land or find the right faction of his clan who would keep their mouths shut and provide shelter. Her ruminations were interrupted by Wilder holding out his hand.
“I don’t think we’ve formally met. Sky Wilder.”
She took his hand gingerly due to his cuts. “Amy Wright.” The temperature dropped with the sun; Diana wore jeans, a turtleneck and a wool sweater. She sat on a bench and he joined her.
“That your real name?”
“Of course not.”
“You have me at a disadvantage then.”
“You’re a public person. My job demands anonymity,” she said matter-of-fact.
“Fair enough, but I’m going to call you something else. How about Diana, after your pendant?”
She visibly flushed. Is this guy psychic? It wasn’t in his dossier. Not just the pendant business, but earlier he somehow knew she thought protective custody to be a bad idea.
Her reaction told him that he had guessed correctly. “So, your name really is Diana.”
She decided not to lie. “A lucky guess.” She looked up at the clouds glistening pink-orange. “I was thinking about the notion of ‘sides.’ You know, being on the same side. It usually doesn’t mean that much, not really. Everybody has their own agenda and ultimate goal beyond a short-term objective like ‘winning the game.’ What you’re looking for, whether it's immortality or a new book idea doesn’t really concern me. It’s because of what you know—the tablet locations—that makes you a player in all of this. I’m here to oppose Simon Forte and his organization. He’s an evil man and the world would benefit from his death or incarceration. For me, it’s a personal thing. I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of Forte’s hands because those are my orders, but if you die tomorrow, the game still goes on.”
“That’s nice to know.”
“Your death wouldn’t change my involvement and may actually make things easier, because you don’t trust me. I’ve worked with people where there’s no trust and it gets very sticky. But those people I didn’t trust were on the same side as me in the short term, so you just get through it. I know there’s nothing I can do or say right now to convince you I’m on your side in this. But if we end up in the field together, I’ll be there for you. What concerns me is that if the defecation hits the oscillation, you might not be there for me, you might not truly be on my side. So I want you to understand that if you do something that intentionally jeopardizes my life, it will be the last time you do it.”
Her deadly visage locked on his in a way that underlined her message without question: screw with me and you're toast.
He gazed stoically at her for a full thirty seconds. “I understand your position. Now who is Simon Forte?”
She paused, then softened her look and gave him the thumbnail sketch on Forte, brief but impressive, leaving out any reference to their past intimacy.
“So why does he want the tablets?”
“Well it’s all about immortality, isn’t it? Forte apparently has taken up sorcery and believes the spells might work. He’s got the Greek tablet. If he gets his hand on the one you found—”
He rocketed off the bench. “What do you mean he has the Greek tablet!? That’s not possible, no one knows the locations but me!”
She noted his emotional reaction and smiled slightly. “You've been under surveillance by both Forte and General Klaymen for some time. There are dozens of fiber-optic pinhole spy cams inside your home and around your compound outside Tucson. They knew you broke the code because you talk to yourself.”
He paced the deck trying to contain his anger. “Is there anybody who wasn’t spying on me?!”
She ignored the question. “Anyway, one of the cams or mikes caught you talking about the Greek coordinates. General Klaymen immediately sent a team that recovered the tablet, but their return flight on an Air Mobility Command jet was brought down by Simon Forte, killing all aboard.”
“But if Forte shoots down the plane he loses the tablet.”
She nodded. “He either made a switch or somehow got the tablet’s information before the plane took off. Klaymen’s men sent off detailed photos of the tablet through back channels before they boarded. Maybe Forte intercepted those photos.”
“So the General and Forte both have the text from the first tablet?”
“That’s my understanding.”
“And you went through the things in my deerskin pouch and found my tracings of the second tablet, the Arizona tablet.”
“Correct. I stopped in Flagstaff on the way here and securely sent them to General Klaymen.”
Wilder pursed his lips unhappily.
“Also, I think you should know that I suspect there’s a mole in the General’s command. That’s why I think Professor Bacavi made the right decision by going off on his own.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that.” Wilder took a long draw on the cigar, slowly exhaled, then turned to her. “The third location... they haven’t been able to break the code yet, have they? The General or Forte?”
“Why don’t you save the rest of your questions for General Klaymen? When you give me permission I’ll make contact and ask him to meet us.”
###
The seven passenger de Havilland Beaver floatplane set down on Lake Powell at 3:28 A.M. under clear skies, skimming in gull-like then bouncing on its fat pontoons. Two men in fatigues deployed an inflatable raft and rowed General Klaymen toward the houseboat, anchored in the center of the cove for defensive purposes.
The armed soldiers stood guard at either end of the boat as Wilder, Hunt, and Klaymen exchang
ed quick greetings, then settled down around the Formica table inside, in the mess. Sky had boned-up on Klaymen after their meeting in New York, but he was on guard at the moment, still unsure about whom he could trust.
Klaymen removed eight-by-ten black-and-white photos from a bulging briefcase and slid them over. “Recognize any of these people?”
Wilder shuffled through the photos, the third one was of the operator he had shot outside of the demolished sheriff's station. “This guy killed the paramedics with some kind of sniper rifle. I shot him in the neck.”
“Gene Popes. He’s dead, although you didn’t kill him, you only wounded him. He was a former member of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team who once killed the unarmed pregnant teenage daughter of a cult leader in a Kansas standoff and privately bragged about the difficulty of the shot.”
“I won't lose any sleep over him,” said Sky, handing the photos back. “But If I didn't kill him, how did he die?”
“He expired mysteriously at the hospital before the police could interrogate him.”
“By the hidden hand of Simon Forte, no doubt,” mumbled Diana.
The next photo stopped Sky cold. “This guy, I thought I killed him in the tunnel. But we saw him later at the hotel in Sedona.”
“Name is Steve Kraus. A mean SOB. Active duty military for eight years.” The General passed along a military file. “But if you look at his two-zero-one file, you see it’s full of gaps. That’s because this cowboy was always TDY, temporary duty, to CIA or State Department Intelligence, doing all kinds of black-bag consular operations or wet work. The purpose of a two-zero-one file is to build a good clean record, so that when you go back to civilian life, or even if you stay in the military, you’ve built a career and have something to show for your time. But anybody who knows anything will look at this file and see this guy was up to his eyeballs in black ops. Which is what Simon Forte must have seen before he recruited him into the private sector and Athanor Group. These two men,” said Klaymen as he handed over photos of the two Task Force Orange men, “worked for me. I know their wives and I know their kids. They died at the front window of the Sheriff’s station after getting orders from me to bring you in for your own protection.”
