by CJ Lyons
“I don’t see how. The VistaView wasn’t even built last time Eli Hale was in Evergreen.”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Me neither. But until we have more answers, we’d better get the civilians off the playing field.”
“Okay.” He blew out his breath and swung his leg over the Harley. “I’ll secure Lena and Bernie. Just until you get there. Where’s this logging road?”
* * *
As she drove back over the mountain to Cherokee, Caitlyn couldn’t stop thinking that she’d missed something. Some key that tied Lena’s research into ancient history to the Reapers. But no matter how she twisted the little she knew, she couldn’t make anything fit.
The one fact that stood out was Lena’s interest in the pact. But there were copies readily available, so why would that make the law student a target?
The only thing Caitlyn could think of was that most of the world, even many living on the reservation, didn’t speak or read Cherokee. Could the translation of the native language trigger a reinterpretation that would set up a new legal battle for the freedmen?
But why would that be worth killing for? The Oklahoma freedmen’s court case had been going since 1985. Not exactly the Reapers’ kind of quick and easy payday.
Still. If Lena’s interest in the pact had triggered the Reapers’ interest in her, then the interpreter might be the key.
She turned onto Acquoni. The parking lot in front of the archives office was still empty, the lights on against the early-January twilight. The interpreter didn’t live far, maybe three minutes out of her way. Poppy would never think to look for Paul at the archives; he’d be safe a few minutes longer while Goose protected Lena and Bernie.
She passed the archives office and kept driving. Maybe it was just curiosity that wouldn’t allow her to give up her search for the answers; maybe it was instinct. She had no idea, and she hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake, putting lives at risk. But she couldn’t pass up a chance at solving the mystery.
* * *
Logging road, his ass, Goose thought as he bounced the Harley over the hard-packed trail gouged out with tire treads. At one point something flew off the bike, but it didn’t seem to affect the engine or steering, so he ignored it. Thankfully the bike’s suspension was good enough that he didn’t risk permanent damage to his internal organs. Not that that was much protection as his spleen slammed against his rib cage every time the bike catapulted over a rut or off a rock.
Tierney had been right—the trip only took a few minutes, rough as they were. He emerged from the trees between two cabins. A large two-story log building stood in the center of the plateau. He idled for a moment, remembering what Weasel had said. Something about the leopard being inside the lodge. Okay, leave that as the last place to search.
The sun had already vanished behind the mountain peaks to the west, leaving the area shrouded in shadows. The wind had picked up and brought with it a few snowflakes. There were no lights in any of the cabins or smoke coming from any chimneys. Had Bernie and Lena left on foot? Or were they hiding?
He decided to search the buildings in a counterclockwise pattern. Parked his bike but left it idling in case he needed a quick escape, and opened the door to the first cabin. He had a small Maglite with high-intensity LED bulbs, tiny but very bright. A strange musty smell greeted him from the darkness within the cabin. He swept the light around, revealing a dead tree, leaves hanging from its branches, lying across the center of the floor. Then the light reflected from two large eyes that blinked slowly, winking out of sight.
He moved the light and saw the three-toed sloth’s large claws clinging to the tree. “Lena? Bernie? I’m here to help.”
No answer except for the rustle of another creature out of sight in the shadows. Good enough. He slammed the door shut and rode the Harley to the next cabin.
This time when he opened the door he was greeted by a lion’s roar. He slammed it shut before even getting a look at the creature. Damn it, Bernie, what the hell were you thinking?
He slowed down in front of the third cabin but didn’t stop as the Harley’s headlight found Bernie’s truck parked beside the cabin two doors down. Alongside it was Lena’s Honda.
And sprawled across the Honda’s hood was the leopard.
The leopard leapt up at the sight of the headlight. It didn’t run; rather, it turned to face Goose, its head swinging in time with the bike’s motion, tracking it. It stood on all fours, its chest pushed out as if protecting the car.
Then he saw what it was really guarding. One of the rear doors of the car cracked open and a girl shouted, “Help us! Please!”
The leopard whipped his head around at the motion of the car door and she pulled it shut again.
“It’s okay, Lena,” he called back, although he had no idea if it really was okay. How the heck could it be okay when there was a freaking leopard between him and her? Not to mention the Reapers who might be on their way here anytime now. Plus Wilson was going to kill him if he ended up blowing the operation.
First things first. He drew his pistol, a Browning 9mm. It looked very small next to the leopard on the car. A wounded cat would be more dangerous, and he doubted he could kill it easily. But he didn’t have to kill the damn thing, just spook it enough that it ran and gave him time to reach the car and Lena. How the hell had she gotten herself trapped in there?
“Get down,” he shouted to Lena. From the shadows in the back of the car, looked like she wasn’t alone in there. Bernie had a gun; why hadn’t he taken care of the leopard himself? Probably couldn’t bring himself to hurt the animal—kid was simply not cut out to be a killer.
Not that Goose was too happy about it, either. He raised the Browning, took careful aim, and shot. The bullet hit the hood a few inches away from the cat. The cat jumped. First to the roof of the car; then, when Goose fired another near miss, it leapt across the truck and to the roof of the cabin. Then Goose lost it in the darkness.
He didn’t give it any time to return, speeding the bike to the Honda. As he approached Lena jumped out, pulling a chimpanzee by the arm.
Holy hell, could this day get any more messed up?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sharleen LittleJohn lived in a single-story frame house with a small porch whose roof sagged to one side. Caitlyn walked slowly up the front path, giving Sharleen time to know she was coming—common country courtesy that she seldom had the chance to use. Her usual approach to a residence was to park several houses away, check through the windows first, then finally knock with one hand on her weapon.
Mrs. LittleJohn answered the door before Caitlyn reached the top of the steps. “You’re late. Judas Bearmeat called ages ago, said you were coming.”
She wasn’t the wizened elderly woman Caitlyn had pictured. Sure, she had plenty of wrinkles and crow’s-feet, but she wore a purple velour tracksuit complete with New Balance cross trainers, also in purple. She gestured Caitlyn inside, bobbing her head impatiently as Caitlyn explained why she was there.
The frame section of the house was a modern addition to an older log cabin in the rear. The decor was eclectic: framed family photos, grandkids of all ages prominently displayed, hunting trophies, and gourds painted in the traditional Qualla fashion.
Mrs. LittleJohn took the initiative. “Don’t know nothing about that girl. I took her money but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not saying you did. What exactly did Lena ask you to do?”
“Had copies of some old papers. Wanted them translated from Cherokee to English. Never came back for them.”
“Did she explain what she was interested in?”
“She had an English translation right there with them, I told her that, but she said she wanted to compare it to mine. At first I thought she was trying some kind of bullshit university experiment or something, testing to see if my Cherokee was any good, but then I realized what she was after.”
“What was that?”
&nbs
p; “There was a difference between the two documents. Subtle, you’d never notice if you weren’t looking, but it was there.” She motioned for Caitlyn to follow her and led her to a dining room. There were no chairs around the table or anywhere in sight, maybe because the table itself, a massive slab cut from a tree, polished to reveal every ring marking the tree’s ancient history, took up most of the room.
“Been in my family for generations.” Sharleen gestured to the table. “Not that anyone cares. Can’t get the grandkids to even visit here anymore. When they come all they want to do is hole up at the casino, play video games, and slide on the waterslide.”
A stack of folders sat on one side of the table. Mrs. LittleJohn opened the top one and spread its contents faceup in front of Caitlyn.
“What are these documents, anyway?” Caitlyn asked.
“These papers are the original land grant to the freedmen that accompanied the pact.”
Caitlyn turned to the final page of the English document. Signing as representative of the twenty-two freedmen families was Elijah Hale. Lena’s ancestor. “Was Lena tracing her family tree?”
“Nothing to do with family trees,” Mrs. LittleJohn said with a sly smile. “Everything to do with the land. Here’s the original Cherokee.” She pointed to a photocopy of beautifully formed characters that danced across the page. “See this here? It’s the word for ‘south.’ But here in the English it’s been changed to ‘north.’”
Caitlyn squinted. The English version was hard to read, also handwritten in old-fashioned script. But when Mrs. LittleJohn pointed out the text she was talking about, Caitlyn could see she was right.
Mrs. LittleJohn crossed the room and returned with a large framed map. An antique, hand drawn and labeled in Cherokee.
“The English version says northeast corner of the Qualla Boundary.” She pointed on the map. “That’s here.”
“Nothing there today except forest bordering the national park and the Teddy Roosevelt Lodge.” Which meant no roads, no possibility for development. Worthless. Although it did explain why Lena had gone to the lodge. To explore the land across from it. “But you said the actual land deeded to the freedmen is south.”
“Right. Back then that land would have had little value to my people. Most of the timber was already cleared, it was too far down the mountain to be any good for hunting, and it’s not close to the river.”
“Where’s the real land tract located? The southern area that really belongs to the freedmen.”
Mrs. LittleJohn’s smile grew wider and she traced her finger down, coming to a stop at a point on the outer edge of the reservation. Right where the casino was built.
“Holy shit.” Caitlyn breathed as she realized the enormity of what Lena had stumbled across.
“Exactly.”
As Caitlyn took photos of the documents with her cell phone, she thought hard, trying to fit all the pieces into their correct places. “If the original pact was correct, then the English translation wouldn’t have been altered until at least 1988 when the Indian Gaming Act was passed and the casino was planned.”
“Right. Unless the original translation was wrong to start with. Who’s to know?”
“Too big of a coincidence. Had to happen in 1988.” She remembered Bearmeat lamenting the disarray of tribal archives. Even with the technology back then it wouldn’t be too difficult to make a small alteration. And who would bother digging up the original to check? No freedmen were left in the Qualla Boundary—the Hales were the last who lived close by. Which meant no one to protest or know the difference.
“It had to be 1988,” Caitlyn decided. Right around the time of a tribal elder’s murder, Hale’s arrest, and her father’s death. Which meant whoever was behind all of this had not wanted the casino development project moved—or delayed. “Who else besides Mr. Bearmeat knows Lena brought these to you?” The old woman might be a target.
“I live alone at the end of a dead-end road no one else lives on. Hell, can’t even get my own kids to visit. So who would know?”
“Still. I’m not sure you’re safe here. If I found you, others might as well.”
At first she thought Mrs. LittleJohn would put up a fight, insist on staying, and Caitlyn would need to find some way to protect her. But the older woman nodded. “I had a feeling you might say that. That’s why I told you all this. Now I’m not the only one who knows.”
She walked past Caitlyn to a door at the end of the hall and emerged rolling a purple suitcase in front of her. The wheels spun along the irregular boards of the wood floor. “I’m seventy-three years old. About time I see some of the world, don’t you think, Agent Tierney?”
* * *
Lena wouldn’t leave the chimp and they didn’t have time to argue, so Goose ended up ferrying them both to another cabin, the girl hugging the chimp tight to her chest with one hand and holding on to Goose’s jacket collar with the other. No sign of the leopard, Weasel, or any other wild animals, thank God.
“You have to help Bernie. He’s sick, needs a doctor,” Lena shouted into his ear over the roar of the bike. They stopped in front of the cabin, and she and the chimp hopped off. The chimp held her hand but stopped to turn and shriek at Goose, baring her teeth. Goose figured he was getting off lucky, damn thing could’ve taken a bite out of him anytime during the ride.
“Hey, I got you here in one piece,” he told the chimp. “What more do you want?”
Neither the chimp nor the girl answered as they bolted up the steps to the cabin. “Bernie?” Lena called, turning on the lights. Goose arrived just in time to see her fall to her knees beside Bernie’s still form on the bed. “Oh God, he’s dead!”
Had to admit the kid looked bad. Skin was pale and sallow, with a strange yellow tint, eyes sunken, lips parched. But corpses didn’t sweat. Goose raised Bernie’s wrist. “No. He’s got a pulse. It’s pretty darn fast.”
“Call for an ambulance.”
Goose grabbed his phone. No bars. He tried anyway but couldn’t get through. But Caitlyn should be there soon. “Don’t worry. Help’s on the way.”
Maybe this was for the best—not only would he be able to keep his cover, but Caitlyn would be safely out of the way if she was with Bernie in the hospital. He’d just have to make up some story for why she never showed up at Hale’s house. As long as Weasel didn’t shoot first and ask questions later, he was safe.
* * *
Caitlyn called ahead and Paul was waiting outside the archives when she arrived. He waved good-bye to Bearmeat and hopped in the car.
“Where have you been?” he asked as she pulled away, speeding down Acquoni back to Route 19.
She waved him to silence. Thankfully it was too dark in the car for him to see the cut on her head—otherwise she’d never get him to shut up. She called her mother. Goose might be suspicious of Jimmy and everyone else at the VistaView, but there was no way her mother could be involved. Plus, Jessalyn was staying in one of the apartments behind the casino, away from the crowds. Where better to stash Paul, Lena, and Bernie?
“It’s me, I need a favor,” she said when Jessalyn answered the phone.
“First you run out on your family and now you call for a favor? You really are like your father.”
Harsh. But maybe deserved. Caitlyn didn’t have time to parse their mother–daughter dysfunction right now. “Can Paul and a few friends stay at your place? Just for a little while?”
“Why not get them a room at the resort? I’m sure Jimmy—”
“See, that’s the thing. I need for no one to know they’re there. Not even Jimmy.”
A long pause. Which felt even more surreal since she was passing the VistaView as she spoke. Was tempted to drop Paul off but she’d already kept Goose away from his job too long and she needed to get Lena and Bernie to safety.
“What’s this about, Caitlyn?”
“Just a few people who need a safe place to stay. Only for an hour or so.” Or until she was sure Goose didn’t need her help.
“Then I’ll get them out of your hair.” It would be so much easier if they could trust local law enforcement or if there was a FBI office closer than Asheville, but given Goose’s situation, she couldn’t risk blowing his cover and getting him killed.
Jessalyn’s sigh coincided with a gust of wind that shook the Subaru. “Okay.”
“Thanks. We’ll be there soon.” She hung up just as they reached the turnoff to the Teddy Roosevelt.
“Where are we going?” Paul asked as she sped up the narrow, twisting road. “What was that all about? I’m not staying with your mother. And who are these other people?”
“One of them is Lena Hale.” A fact she’d conveniently forgotten to tell her mother. Whoops.
“You found her? Caitlyn, that’s great.”
“Maybe. There are some not-so-nice folks after her. I need you to watch her while I take care of business.”
“Not alone. You’re going to call the cops, right?”
Depended if she could figure out a way to involve the sheriff without exposing Goose. Trust no one, assume nothing—that’s what kept undercover operatives alive. There was a damn good reason Goose had waited so long before telling her the truth.
“Yeah, sure,” she told Paul. “Just as soon as I get you guys to safety.”
The lie kept him quiet long enough for them to reach the lodge. Only one building had its lights on, so it was easy to find the others. As she pulled up, Goose appeared, holding his 9mm at the ready. He didn’t relax until he saw her emerge from the Subaru.
“Change of plans,” he told her. “We’ve got trouble.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“What’s going on?” Caitlyn asked Goose as she hustled Paul inside the small cabin.
“Bernie’s sick. Real sick. He needs a doctor.”
“Paul, take a look, will you?” He stared at Goose but then looked past the biker to Bernie. Caitlyn followed his gaze; the kid really did look sick. Like next-to-dead sick.
“What were his symptoms?” Paul asked, dropping to one knee beside Bernie’s bed and taking his pulse.
