by Joseph Flynn
Marlene gave John a brief round of applause.
“You figured out what will happen with the train. Or did Mommy tell you?”
“She did, and I find no shame in that. You’d do well not to underestimate her. You more than anyone, really. Coyote.”
Marlene sank her hands into the arms of the chair in which she sat, splitting the fabric.
For a moment, John thought she might spring at him, changing shape in midair.
He didn’t flinch. He was a very big man in the prime of life. Ready for the fight.
If the rez was where he was meant to have his final battle with Coyote, so be it.
Then the moment passed, put off to another day. Marlene slumped back in her chair.
John picked up the thread of the conversation. “Are gambling and tourism the extent of Maria’s ambitions or is there something else?”
Marlene stood up, got a bottle of water for herself. Used it to clear her throat. As if she might have growled at John otherwise. Retaking her seat, she said, “A new opportunity presented itself recently. Natural gas. Huge amounts of it.”
John looked out at the natural beauty of their surroundings, took a hit of water and asked, “Fracking? Here?”
His preconception of the reservation had featured neither a casino nor natural resources. Now, it seemed the place had both. Big money and huge money. And who was in the best position to control everything? His grandmother, the woman who wanted him dead.
According to Arnoldo, she feared he’d screw up her plans. Make a grab for her power. She’d been unable to seize him as a child just as Coyote had failed to do. Not to eat but to mold into her own creature. So he’d become a threat and had to die.
John put aside worries of despoiling nature for the moment.
“What do you know about this man called Bodaway?” he asked Marlene. “He’s supposed to be the one to do Grandma’s dirty work.”
“He’s Alan White River’s great-grandson. Another Native American raised white. Studied engineering in Georgia. He helped get the train here, but thinks giving it back is a mistake.”
“He doesn’t believe in the haunting?”
“No. Two ideas captured his imagination: stealing the train and besting you. He thinks that would give him real status.”
“Besting as in killing,” John said.
“Yes.”
John asked, “And how would you feel if he did that, taking your prize from you once more?”
Marlene shook her head. “I won’t let him do that.”
“No? What if he should target you, too?”
The very idea shocked Marlene. “Me?”
“Why not? How many engineers have any fear of the supernatural? If they can’t reduce the world to mathematical equations, it doesn’t compute for them. And remember, Marlene Flower Moon is something of a Washington big shot. Someone whose murder would certainly bring notoriety, if not fame.”
John could see Marlene parsing his logic, and she found no fault with it.
Except one. She couldn’t believe Bodaway could pull off killing her. Ego.
“Let him try,” she said. “It will be the hardest lesson he’ll ever learn.”
“What’s his English name?” John asked.
“Thomas Bilbray.”
“And when does the haunting of the train begin?”
“Tonight at the zenith of the moon.”
John took another drink of water, set the bottle on an end table and stood.
“Thanks for the hospitality.”
“Don’t you want to know where the train is?”
“I’ll just follow the crowd tonight,” John said.
Chapter 52
Northern New Mexico
Maria Black Knife had people all over the rez watching for John Tall Wolf’s arrival. She’d flattered herself that if he was half the man he was reputed to be he’d come for her first thing. Had he done so, he would have found a dozen armed men waiting for him, including Bodaway. A violent argument would have followed — instigated by Maria if necessary — about just who represented the law on the reservation, and the outcome would be fatal for the representative of the federal government.
But Tall Wolf didn’t pay Maria the compliment she felt was her due.
Instead, Maria learned, he’d spoken with Arnoldo and Alan White River. Maria was perversely pleased her grandson had found the courage to defy her. She’d been trying all his life to provoke some semblance of manhood in him. Aside from refusing to let her choose a bride for him, that had never happened. Now, at least he’d have a brief moment of thinking he was his own man before …
Well, he was no longer needed even as a figurehead.
The deal she’d struck with Bodaway had been agreeable to both of them in terms of how the money would be shared and their roles in managing the affairs of the tribe. Bodaway would ultimately try to displace her, she knew, and if he succeeded she’d die a happy woman, knowing she’d finally found an heir as ruthless as herself.
The only problem with Bodaway was he still loved his great-grandfather. Well, she had plans for Alan White River, too. If Bodaway was sentimental enough to try to save White River’s life, then Bodaway would be yet another disappointment. She’d have to start searching for a truly villainous protégé once again.
Such thoughts made her long for her late husband, Cesar.
There was a man who did whatever was needed to get whatever he wanted.
Of course, after being the de facto leader of her tribe all these years, she’d probably plot against Cesar, too, if he was ever made flesh and blood again.
Bodaway watched the old woman daydreaming. She’d been angered that Tall Wolf hadn’t made a suicidal charge at her. Then she’d started to … daydream was the only way Bodaway could think of it. The lines on her face softened as her mood mellowed.
The transformation reminded him of his great-grandfather. That a man of White River’s age could conceive of the theft of a train iconic to the white man had thrilled Bodaway. That he wanted to return it covered with nothing more than a wash of superstitious moanings had disappointed Bodaway grievously.
Maybe becoming soft in old age was inevitable, he thought. Muscles withered, bones became brittle and thoughts of mercy dimmed the fires of righteous vengeance. If Bodaway ever saw those signs of decline in himself, he would end his days by his own hand. With an inward smile, he added an image of his leaving the world in such a spectacular explosion that all who saw it — the ones who lived — would always remember his passing.
He stood and told Maria, “It’s time for me to go. I have preparations to make.”
He had to leave the rez to get what he needed.
He wasn’t going to rely on an antique weapon.
He set his mind to approaching the task of ending John Tall Wolf’s life with the mathematical precision he’d learned in engineering school. Although he’d been warned not to do so, he added Marlene Flower Moon’s name to his hit list. Coyote, my ass, he thought with a laugh.
Well before he left the rez, he tossed the old Colt handgun out the window of his truck and into a stand of trees. Five rounds of dubious ammunition. He might as well throw the gun at Tall Wolf as try to shoot him with it.
Chapter 53
Northern New Mexico
After John left Marlene, he went down to the hotel’s reception desk and told the clerk, a pretty young Native American woman, “I’d like a room, please.”
She looked at him, tried to sort out his standing in the hierarchy of the new arrivals. Liked his imposing height, the way his polo shirt stretched tight across his chest and shoulders and most of all the way he wore his Ray-Ban sunglasses. She said, “You’re in luck. We’ve got one room left.”
“That’s all I need.”
A look of mischief entered the young woman’s eyes.
“What would you have said if I’d told you there weren’t any rooms left?”
“I’d have said Marlene Flower Moon sent me.”
/> The clerk immediately looked chastened. “I … I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“That’s okay. I got the idea you were going to offer to put me up at your place.”
Now, the young woman blushed deeply.
Good circulation, John thought.
He said, “Unless I’m just trying to flatter myself.”
She shook her head, not daring to verbalize things further.
“I’m a bit old for you, and I’m spoken for. By a Canadian Mountie.”
The young woman’s jaw dropped.
“A female Mountie,” John clarified.
He supposed there were gay Mounties; maybe even gay BIA men.
Nothing wrong with that. Equal opportunity was a public virtue.
The reception clerk told him, “I could move you to a suite, sir. Put someone else in that room.”
John shook his head. “The room is fine, but I have something I’d like you to put in the hotel safe.” He handed her Edward Danner’s journal.
She put it in an envelope bearing the hotel’s logo, and gave John a receipt.
“If you could tuck that item in a corner away from other people’s things, I’d appreciate it.”
He didn’t know if a bomb planted in the journal could be remotely detonated inside a safe, but why damage other people’s valuables if it could be avoided?
“Yes, sir, I’ll see to it.”
John thanked her, went to his room and called Byron DeWitt.
“I don’t think a radio signal can penetrate thick steel,” DeWitt told John. “But I can’t say for sure, so I’ll check it out.”
John had just told the FBI deputy director where he could find Edward Danner’s journal, if something unfortunate happened to him.
“What kind of misfortune are you anticipating?” DeWitt asked.
“My cousin tells me my grandmother plans to kill me.”
“She couldn’t just write you out of her will?”
“Seems she’s more aggrieved than that.”
“Because?”
“She’s the queen bee of the rez, and Marlene tells me the land here is chock full of natural gas. Worth a lot of money to the tribe.”
“And?”
“And I might be a bastard child, but Granny thinks I might still be able to make a claim to the throne.”
DeWitt’s tone changed. “So this is a real threat?”
“I’m taking it as such. I’ve got a name I’d like you to check: Thomas Bilbray. He might be on that list of FAFSA applicants I asked you about. You did compile the list, right?”
“I had it done, yeah, but I haven’t scanned it yet. Let me bring it up on my computer.”
DeWitt was silent for a moment before telling John, “Yeah, here he is. Thomas Bodaway Bilbray. Georgia Tech. Bachelor of Science in structural engineering. Dean’s list. Magna cum Laude graduate. Hmm. Switched from a Pell Grant to full ride courtesy of the ROTC.”
John said, “The guy’s had military training?”
“Hold on, I’ll see what I can access from the DOD.”
“You can do that?”
“Just between you and me, the VP has clearance from the president to get us whatever information we need.”
John whistled, truly impressed.
DeWitt said, “Yeah, that’s called giving your preferred candidate for the Oval Office a running start. Okay, here’s Bilbray’s file and … there’s nothing top secret in it. He served in the army. Supervised construction projects, left the service honorably with the rank of captain. Ribbons for overseas service and … damn.”
“What?” John asked.
“Our boy Bilbray — the engineer — earned himself an army marksmanship qualification badge: sharpshooter.”
“With a rifle?” John asked.
“Yeah. Could be worse. The guy could’ve shot expert. But you’d better be careful.”
“Might not be possible. Maj Olson is out looking for him right now, and she’s packing an M-4.”
“Well, hell,” DeWitt said. “Hold on. Let me dip into Amtrak’s files.” That didn’t take long. “Well, I’ll be damned. Our Columbia Ph.D., she’s the one who shot expert. Both rifle and pistol. Maybe I’ll recruit her.”
“In the meantime,” John said.
“Right. I’m in the air, on my way to D.C., but I’ll turn the plane around and be in Albuquerque in under two hours. I’ll have a team waiting for me and we’ll blast on up to the rez to backstop you.”
John remembered Arnoldo’s warning of braves with rifles guarding the rez roads.
“Let me see how much it means for me to be a co-director. If I can manage it, I’ll have a BIA team at the airport, too. We’ll put a native face on the joint effort.”
DeWitt said, “Good thinking. Sorry to hear your grandma’s gunning for you.”
“It’s always some damn thing,” John replied.
Chapter 54
Santa Fe, New Mexico
The default mask for modern anarchists, both the street thugs and the digital provocateurs, was Guy Fawkes. Bodaway felt, however, that visage had become a cliché. Besides that, it was definitely paleface. He was far more taken by something he saw in a Santa Fe store window.
He was unsure of the word to use. His Native American vocabulary still needed work. Headdress, he’d guess. Someone had caught and skinned an animal, preserving and spreading out the beast’s face, upper jaw, teeth and body. The beast was a coyote.
The face of the mannequin on which the coyote was draped had its face painted white with parallel vertical black lines running along its lower jaw from ear to ear. A sign said it was a replica of what a Cheyenne warrior had worn into battle.
As far as Bodaway knew, his bloodlines were Apache and maybe Navajo. But the Cheyenne persona beat Guy Fawkes all to hell in his eyes. He went into the store and paid seven hundred dollars cash for the animal skin and the face paint.
The store had security cameras but Bodaway wore sunglasses and an Arizona Diamondbacks cap. He also kept his gaze down so the cameras wouldn’t catch much beyond the bill of his hat. Nobody would be able to identify him from his visit.
His other three stops in town were a firearms store, a motorcycle dealer and a place called The Big First Step. From the arms dealer, he bought a Bravo Company BC-M4, a semi-auto carbine similar to the one he’d shot in the army, and a weapon not dissimilar to the one Maj Olson carried. From the cycle shop, he purchased a high-powered dirt bike. The Big First Step catered to the needs of BASE jumpers.
Bodaway took the calculated risk of paying for his assault rifle, dirt bike and jumping equipment with credit cards he’d stolen from the crew of the Super Chief. When each sale went through without a hitch, he felt a warm glow. If he’d been the least bit gullible — superstitious — he’d have thought a higher power had approved of his mission. As it was, he knew he was simply playing the odds correctly.
The numbers were in his favor, nothing more.
That was the way he’d gamed his whole plan. He’d made calculated choices and would position himself to take advantage of them. The primary decisions were based on the assumption that both John Tall Wolf and Marlene Flower Moon would show up at the ceremony to haunt the Super Chief, and before they made any law enforcement moves they’d both wait until all the people who wanted to curse and wail at an inanimate object had disburdened themselves of their emotions.
To try to preempt the haunting would cause an uproar and resistance. The much easier choice, the smart move, would be to let the frenzy turn into exhaustion. Then take action. Bodaway felt sure Tall Wolf would be present throughout the moaning and weeping and Flower Moon would turn up near the end so she could claim credit for the train’s return.
Once Bodaway’s pick-up truck was loaded with all his purchases, he made a call to Maria Black Knife before heading back to the rez.
“You know where he is?” he asked without identifying himself.
He referred to Tall Wolf. The old lady still opposed F
lower Moon’s death .
“Yes, but there is a woman with him.”
Flower Moon? No, she was supposed to be Tall Wolf’s nemesis. So …
Had an unknown variable been introduced?
Something like that could screw up all his plans.
“What woman?”
“She claims to be Pequot, but she’s white.”
So not Coyote. That was good.
“Why is she important?”
“She carries a weapon, a rifle. She rides a motorcycle.”
That was serious. “A federal agent?”
“She works for Amtrak.”
Great punchline, Bodaway thought. He almost laughed.
“We won’t worry about her then. She might be returning lost luggage.”
Maria didn’t comment on that. She told Bodaway where Tall Wolf and the woman were.
At the casino’s hotel.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said.
Chapter 55
Northern New Mexico
Delshay Crow Wing was twelve years old. He was smart in both a book sense and in observing the ways power flowed from one person to the next. Physical strength, he’d learned, was the foundation of much power. To make himself strong he ran miles every day and climbed rock faces until his arms and legs ached. But standing in the tribe, he also understood, depended even more on intelligence. That and making people like or fear you, as called for by the moment.
He studied Maria Black Knife. She was an old woman. But everyone knew she was the most powerful person in the tribe. The one who made the decisions that affected all their lives every day. Her grandson Arnoldo was simply the man through whom Maria spoke.
It was easier for both her and the tribe to have everyone think they were following a big man rather than a small woman. Delshay had come to understand that strategy only last year. At first, he was outraged by the pretense, but then he realized it was a useful thing. Not everything had to be as it first appeared.
