Mrs. Yazzi shook her head. “He’s on a roustabout crew out in the gas fields round Farmington. I’ll get Mosi.”
They waited in the living room. Joseph leaned in close. “Is your telling her she was right going to help or hurt her, sir? She can’t go through life smashing computers.”
Mrs. Yazzi and the girl returned before Richard could answer. She was a graceful child and seemed very tall for her age, which from the file Richard knew to be nine. Long black hair fell almost to her waist; arching eyebrows accentuated the almond shape of her dark-brown eyes, but they were wary.
She spared him only the briefest of glances before looking away. Thin wrists thrust out from the sleeves of a too-small blouse, and her blue jeans were a tad too short. She did have the new craze in tennis shoes—pink lights in the heels flashed in the storm-darkened room as she shifted from foot to foot.
“If we could talk privately,” Richard requested.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” the aunt said.
“Mind if I get a drink of water?” Joseph asked.
A nod of permission, and they left the room. Richard and the girl contemplated each other. Unlike other children Richard had known, she didn’t speak. The silence stretched on and on. Some of that was no doubt her own nature, and the trauma she’d endured, but it was also a hallmark of her culture. His first year in New Mexico, Richard had sung in the choir at the Lutheran church. One of his fellow choir members was involved in a musical outreach program to the Pueblos and reservations, and he’d helped out for a few months. One of the performances had been at a Navajo boarding school southwest of Shiprock, a place called Sheep Springs. One of the teachers had warned them not to expect applause or comment. “If they really like it, they may gather around and want to touch you,” she had warned.
That had been the case. Richard had sung Mozart and Schubert lieder, his tenor voice echoing off the gym walls, while his accompanist contended with an old upright piano whose upper B wouldn’t sound. Each song was met with total silence from the stone-faced audience, and he wondered what earthly relevance this music and his presence could have to these children. After he’d finished to an awkward silence, and the teacher had dismissed the students, he’d found himself surrounded by a sea of children and reaching hands. They’d ruffled and tugged at his white-blond hair, touched his hands and his face. There had been a small amount of chatter in Navajo, and then they had flowed away and vanished, emulating the summer rains on the desert outside.
Well, it was going to be up to him to start. He took a breath. “First, let me tell you how sorry I am about your family.” There was the smallest twitch of the muscle at the corner of her mouth, the start of a grimace quickly suppressed. “And I want to tell you that you were right. There were monsters in your brother’s computer, and they’re what caused your brother to murder your family. I saw them.” It seemed harsh, but grief calls when he’d been an active-duty cop had taught him that euphemisms actually weren’t kind. People wanted truth and they wanted it unvarnished.
That shocked her into reacting. Her eyes widened, her breath quickened, and she clasped her hands and pressed the clenched fists against her belly. “No. You couldn’t have. They hid from the…” And she used a Navajo word.
“Does that mean FBI?” She shook her head.
“Police?” Again the head shake.
Richard took another stab. “White men with badges?” This time she nodded.
“I saw the face, and I sent it away and destroyed the computer,” Richard told her.
“Not crazy,” she whispered, as if talking to somebody not in the room.
“No,” he said firmly.
She looked up at him, not a long way since she was only about a foot shorter than Richard, then she burst into tears. His first instinct was to enfold her in a comforting hug, but there was a pride and strength to this child along with her culture that made him hesitate. Instead, he stepped to her side and touched her lightly on the shoulder and found her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his chest, slim body shaking with sobs. He patted her back and murmured the usual platitudes.
“It’s all right. Go ahead. You can cry. You’re safe now.”
After a few minutes she stepped back, scrubbed at her wet face with her hands, and looked around for something to wipe her streaming nose. Her arm was just coming up so she could use the sleeve when Richard pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. She studied the folded piece of white cotton and linen embroidered with his initials, and dabbed carefully at her cheeks and eyes.
“It’s okay, you can blow your nose.”
“It’ll get all dirty.”
“That’s what it’s for,” he said.
She blew her nose, then stepped back and gave him a serious look. “Really, it’s okay? They were just in that one computer?” Which was a very prescient question from a nine-year-old.
“No, but I’m going to take care of that. I’m going to buy them all and destroy them.”
“Won’t that cost a lot of money?”
Richard considered his officer’s reactions and gave a rueful smile. “Yes. But it’s what we have to do.”
“But until you get them all, they’ll still be out there and they might get me,” Mosi said.
“I can make sure that won’t happen, but it might be a little scary.”
“Scary how?”
“I have a sword, and when I touch evil things with it they die, and when I touch people it makes them safe from the evil things.”
“You’re a hatalii.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.”
Mosi frowned, and Richard could almost see her weighing and evaluating words. “Singer.” She considered again and added, “Medicine man.”
“No. I’m just a man, and there’s no magic to the sword. It’s just a tool, a weapon like any other weapon.”
The brows came together in another considering frown. She gave a quick, determined nod. “I’d like you to make me safe.”
“All right.” And he drew the sword. The overtones shimmered in the air, and the first smile he’d seen blossomed on the girl’s face.
“Oh, it’s a singer.” Richard laughed. She stood on tiptoes and looked down the length of the black blade. “It’s pretty.”
Richard contemplated the silver flecks like captured stars in the space-dark blade and nodded. Because this was a child, he felt he needed to be fair and warn her it would hurt. He did so, and while she looked momentarily alarmed, it passed, and she stood taller and held out her arm as if for an injection. “That’s okay. Grandfather said we are warrior people and warriors have to be brave. I can be brave.”
“You certainly can, Mosi.” Richard took a breath and laid the sword gently on her shoulder.
And gaped as she continued to stand there and stare up at him with a questioning expression that turned into alarm. “Didn’t it work? Can they still get me?”
Richard tottered over to a battered La-Z-Boy recliner, the sagging seat covered with a Navajo saddle blanket, and dropped down. “Oh, Mosi,” he breathed. He swept his right hand back up the length of the blade, sheathing it once more. He handed the hilt over to the girl. “You saw what I did. How I made the blade appear. Could you try to do that for me, please?”
She shrugged and took the hilt, which seemed large in her small, slender hand. She shifted it to her left hand but looked uncomfortable.
“Are you right-handed or left-handed?” Richard asked.
“Right-handed.”
“Then hold it in your right hand and pull with your left. Just like you saw me do.” He stood and demonstrated.
“I won’t get cut?”
He held up his right-hand palm out to show the unmarked skin.
“Okay.” She placed her fist against the base of the hilt and pulled. The blade appeared. Because she was small, she couldn’t quite pull it fully clear of wherever the blade resided when it wasn’t present, so Richard stood up, laid his han
d over hers, and helped her fully draw it.
“Oh, Mosi,” he said again.
“Why do you keep saying my name and in that way?”
“Because you are a very, very special girl.”
* * *
The noise from the rotors made it impossible to call from the helicopter, and there was no time to return to Lumina after they landed. As it was, Richard left his gun with Joseph and ran to catch the Southwest flight back to LAX. He fidgeted during the two-hour-plus flight and tried to quiet a nervous stomach with a bag of peanuts. It was a mistake, and he ordered spicy tomato juice, thinking that seemed more like food than a soda. It was a crazy impulse, but he had them make it a Bloody Mary. It was hard to control his impatience until he reached the car, but he wanted no casual eavesdroppers to this conversation. Once in the car, he turned on his phone, adjusted his earpiece, and called Pamela.
“The Navajo girl I met today. I need to adopt her.”
“Are you high?” came his sister’s response.
“Ask Joseph why, and get back to me. Also, he can give you her information.”
Pamela just hung up on him. Richard checked his watch as he eased onto I-405 heading north toward his hotel and discovered it resembled a parking lot. They inched forward with cars jockeying in and out of lanes searching for the lane that would move. Fifteen minutes later his phone rang. As expected, it was Pamela.
“Okay, you’re not high, but this won’t be easy. We’re up against the Indian Child Welfare Act. You have no relationship with the child, and she has family.”
“You’ve got to find a way. Make her my ward or something.”
“This little girl is going to have some feelings about this,” his sister warned.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now we just need to keep her safe. Can we make up a scholarship or something? We’re enrolling her in our special, elite school?”
“Richard, calm down. Gold and I will figure out something, but we have to be careful. You’re a twenty-nine-year-old man bringing a nine-year-old girl into your household, and you don’t have a wife. If I were a prosecutor, it would have all my antennae twitching.”
“Oh, Christ, I hadn’t considered that. My enemies would make hay with that.”
“Yes, and that’s why you have lawyers. Do you want security on her?”
He thought about it for a minute and made his decision. “I know I’m taking a risk, but no. If we assign security to Shiprock, New Mexico, the bad guys might notice and wonder why. But tell Cross, he might be able to do discreet surveillance.” He paused to carefully negotiate a change out of a lane that didn’t appear to be moving at all. “What if you make the petition for guardianship?”
“Hmm, not a bad idea,” his sister said.
“And we can always throw money at the problem. Judging by the house, the aunt could use the money.”
“I don’t love that idea,” Pamela said. “It could easily turn into a blackmail situation.”
“I know, but we have to have her under our protection. Do whatever you have to.”
“Okay, we’ll keep you posted. Be safe.”
“I’ll try.”
Once he reached the Sofitel and was back in his room, Richard called Calderón. “I told you I’d be back. I’m back.”
“Good, ’cause I found the spot,” Johnny replied. “I was gonna drop the hammer on ’em tomorrow.”
“I’d like to be there,” Richard said.
“As what? The sleazy lawyer I brought in?”
“That’ll work,” Richard said. “And you might need somebody to back your play.”
“You know anything about the law?”
“I was a cop. My sister is a lawyer, and my dad’s a judge. I can talk the talk.”
“Sling bullshit, you mean. Well, okay.”
“What time tomorrow?”
“I’m gonna not show up in the morning, then confront the contractor at lunchtime when he’s nice and pissed off. Oh, and I’ll be bringing Joe.”
“Who?”
“The old guy. He can do the mystic Indian shit. After that I’ll call you, and you’ll show up when you show up.”
“How about three o’clock?” Richard suggested.
“Sounds good. Let me know if the time changes.”
After they hung up, Richard paced the confines of the luxurious room. He picked up the room service menu, put it down, turned on the television and was assaulted by the news. He finally just took a shower, swallowed a Pepcid, ate a handful of Tums, and went to bed.
Chapter
SEVEN
“WHERE is he?”
The words were delivered with clipped care, partly from language differences, but mostly due to barely suppressed rage. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and Grenier and Pamela were in a meeting. Pamela jumped up from behind her desk. Grenier heaved himself around to see who had entered the office and found himself looking at a Japanese man in his midsixties. His black hair was lightly sprinkled with gray, and his implacable expression reminded Grenier of portraits of shoguns or samurai.
“Kenzo,” Pamela said, and Grenier realized this was the CFO of Lumina Enterprises, Kenzo Fujasaki. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a meeting scheduled with Richard. I am here. He is not.”
“Oh, dear … I’m sorry … there must have been … he’s away,” Pamela stammered.
“I gathered that much,” came the pointed rejoinder. “Jeannette said I wasn’t on the schedule. I’m not clear on how to interpret that.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. It means Richard got busy and forgot to tell Jeannette.” Pamela spread her hands in apology. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not worth much.” The undisguised rudeness set Pamela back on her heels. “I flew here from Tokyo.”
“My brother has so much he’s trying to handle.”
“I am sympathetic to that. But where is he?”
“In California,” Grenier said, joining the conversation. He levered himself out of the chair and extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Mark Grenier.”
Fujasaki stared down at the artificial hand. His discomfort was evident by the way he barely touched fingertips to the fingers of Grenier’s prosthesis. “Kenzo Fujasaki. And why is he in California?”
“He’s trying to prevent an incursion,” Pamela said. “It’s taking longer than he anticipated.”
“When is he returning to New Mexico?”
“We’re not exactly sure.”
“Then I must go to California to see him.”
“That might be faster. He’s working out of the California office,” Pamela said. “Or perhaps there is something I might help with?”
“The way the company is constructed, there are certain actions that can only be taken by the CEO. Mr. Kenntnis was eccentric that way.” Fujasaki’s brow furrowed in a Jovian frown. “He should not have given his successor the same power and privileges.”
Pamela stiffened at that. Despite their issues, the siblings were very loyal to each other.
“And just what do you mean by that?” she demanded.
“It was not directed at Richard. I would feel that way toward any person not Kenntnis in the position. The point is we have a dilemma. There is a company to be run, and the head of the company is off playing policeman. Apparently to the world.” The disdain was clear.
“Just as there are things that only the CEO can do, there are tasks that only Richard can perform as the paladin,” Pamela said. Anger clipped the edges of her words.
“Ah, yes, this … weapon.” One didn’t have to be a master of subtlety to hear the sneer in the final word.
Pamela bristled at Fujasaki’s tone. “Yes, the weapon. It’s the reason Lumina exists—to support the man with the weapon. Not the other way around.”
That did not go down well. “This is not a video game. Lumina is a massive enterprise employing thousands of people. Mismanagement has consequences for
their well-being and security.”
“And monsters ravening through the world wouldn’t make their day any better either!”
Grenier stepped in before the situation deteriorated further. “You both have a point, but chief financial officers are about bottom lines, not greater societal issues. It’s not fair to browbeat Mr. Fujasaki for doing his job, Pamela. And you yourself have been warning Richard that financial problems will hinder his efforts as the paladin.”
She gave him a blistering and accusatory look at what she saw as betrayal. Grenier didn’t care because of what he’d seen in Fujasaki’s expression. Even beneath the Asian reticence, Grenier read approval at what he’d said. Perhaps Mr. Fujasaki would like to talk with an adult. Grenier began planning how to make that happen as the CFO said, “It seems I must arrange for a flight to California. We should call Richard and inform him.”
Pamela checked the time on her computer. “I’ll call and make sure he’s at the office when you do arrive.”
She picked up her phone. “I’ll have my assistant make you a reservation.”
“If I can’t fly today, please have her arrange for a hotel as well.”
“There are guest rooms in the penthouse,” Pamela said.
“Mr. Kenntnis did not have us to stay.”
“Richard does.”
There was no give in the rigid profile. “I would prefer a hotel.”
“Okay, but … okay.” She capitulated, realizing that further argument was futile.
There was a quick conversation with her assistant. When Pamela was finished, Fujasaki cleared his throat. “I would like to see Mr. Kenntnis.”
“He’s not here.”
“All indications were that he was not competent. Are you saying that has changed since last we saw him?”
“No. He’s at one of our scientific facilities being studi—” She broke off, and when she resumed it was with a more diplomatic word. “Examined.”
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