Eagle Warrior

by Jenna Kernan

  “That’s your Pop-Pop’s bracelet, Lisa. You know that.”

  “No. What’s this?” Lisa pointed to the inside of the bracelet.

  Ray moved closer and so did Mr. Heron. Morgan’s uncle leaned forward.

  “It’s a maker’s mark,” said Morgan.

  “Next to that. These scratches,” said Lisa and pointed.

  Heron now stretched his neck to see, spotted Ray watching him and stepped back.

  Morgan sensed the audience and took the bracelet. “You shouldn’t be in your grandfather’s room or touching his things. Put it back.”

  Lisa did and all eyes followed her as she made her way down the hall and out of sight.

  A piece like that had once been the only form of collateral accepted for loans to their people. Loans made in trading posts via pawning the silver jewelry. So, it was called old pawn. It seemed this piece had come to Karl through his family and Lisa knew it well enough to spot something new. And if what Lisa said was accurate, then this would bring more trouble. It didn’t take very long.

  Ray watched Guy excuse himself to use the bathroom. Ray asked Jack and Dylan to watch Morgan as he headed after him. When Guy left the bathroom and turned the wrong way he was surprised to find Ray already in Karl’s room.

  “Looking for something?” asked Ray.

  Guy said nothing as he reversed course.

  Ray remained in the bedroom and was disappointed to see Morgan’s uncle also make his way in there. Two men left the gathering by the front door but detoured past Karl’s window and peered inside. It was well past dark when Jack returned to tell him that the last of the guests had left the grounds.

  But Ray knew that some of them would be back.

  Chapter Ten

  “Do you know why Amber is in protective custody?” Kenshaw Little Falcon asked as Ray walked him to his car.

  “She’s a witness to the mass shooting,” said Ray.

  “Shooter is dead.”

  And she and Carter had not left protective custody. As far as Ray knew, not even his twin brother, Jack, knew where they were.

  “Amber still has to testify against that crazy brother of the dead cop from Darabee, Orson Casey.”

  “Yes. But also she overheard a man’s name down in Lilac. That’s all. She was just standing in the hallway outside her boss’s door and heard him speak a name into his telephone. Now her supervisor is dead and that man, that very dangerous man, wants her to disappear just like Ovidio Sanchez.”

  “What name?” asked Ray.

  “Theron Wrangler. He’s a documentary filmmaker out of Phoenix.”

  “That doesn’t sound dangerous.”

  “He is also an activist.”

  “Like me?” Ray thumbed his chest and then extended a finger in Kenshaw’s direction. “Or you?”

  “More like me. He’s a founding member of PAN.”

  Protect All Nature. Ray had been a member, too, at one time, back before Iraq and Hatch’s capture. Back when he thought he could make a difference.

  Kenshaw told Ray that the FBI were now watching Wrangler and searching for any clues that could lead them to the explosives.

  “You think Karl knew this?”

  “Karl told me they spoke to him. He wouldn’t tell me anything more.”

  “But you put his name in the hat. Right?”

  Kenshaw stared up at the glittering stars. When he spoke, it seemed as if he spoke to the wind.

  “I didn’t know what the job was until afterward. Just that it paid well and they wanted a man who would not pose a risk like Sanchez.”

  “A suicide mission,” Ray clarified.

  “A chance to serve the cause. I didn’t know they selected him or that he’d agreed until after his arrest.”

  Ray had a sour taste in his mouth.

  Kenshaw still stared at the heavens. “He wouldn’t tell me who hired him or what he had done with the money. Karl said they didn’t tell him why they wanted Sanchez killed although he assumed that they wanted Sanchez silenced before he could speak to the FBI. Whatever Sanchez knew, it threatened someone and Karl took that information to his grave. I don’t know who hired Karl.”

  “But you know who you spoke to when you suggested him.”

  “I do.”

  “You have to tell that to our tribal police.”

  “I do not have to.”

  “The FBI. They need to stop them before they use those explosives.”

  Kenshaw heaved a heavy breath.

  “You are supposed to protect our tribe.”

  “That is what I am doing. You keep Morgan safe. That’s all you must do.”

  Ray suddenly did not know who was really giving him orders. Was it his spiritual leader or a man who worked with terrorists?

  “Did Karl speak of this when you visited at the hospital?” asked Kenshaw.

  “He was unconscious, so he didn’t say anything.”

  “You were with Morgan the entire night?”

  “No, but...” He didn’t like the way Kenshaw was looking at him. “She doesn’t know anything.”

  “You can’t be certain. He was awake when I got there.”

  “And he thought he was in Hanoi.”

  “Yet he asked me again to look after his girls.”

  Ray glowered at Kenshaw. Jack had expressed his doubts to him already. Was their shaman looking out for Morgan or just himself?

  “You need to find out what she knows,” said Kenshaw.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, some very bad men are going to consider Morgan a threat. If that happens even you won’t be able to protect her.”

  But damned if he wouldn’t try. This time he was not going to mess up.

  “I could turn you in,” said Ray.

  “Yes and that would cause immediate concern to these men.”

  Stalemate, Ray realized.

  “If we can’t convince them that Morgan is in the dark, then I’ll have to pull you. I don’t want you to die with her.”

  “No one is dying. You sent me to protect her and that’s what I’ll do.”

  “The best way to protect her is to find that money and find out if she knows who hired her father.”

  A shiny black Escalade with tinted windows pulled up in the street before Morgan’s modest home, looking as out of place, in a neighborhood of used cars and late-model pickups, as an alien spacecraft.

  “Feds,” said Kenshaw. “Stay with her during questioning if you can.”

  “What if they try to take her?” asked Ray, already bracing for a fight.

  “Can’t. She’s on sovereign land and has committed no crime. They can’t even be here without tribal council escort.”

  As if cued by Kenshaw’s words, a silver SUV pulled in behind the FBI. On the side of the vehicle was written: Tribal Police Chief. The driver exited first. Out stepped their police chief, Wallace Tinnin, who paused to retrieve his cowboy hat. The opposite door slammed and tribal council member Zach Gill appeared rounding the hood.

  “And there they are,” said Ray.

  “Tinnin is a fair man. Can’t see anyone better to have with her.” He gave Ray a long look. “Except you.”

  Kenshaw had a lot of faith in him. Too much, Ray thought.

  * * *

  MORGAN HAD NEVER even seen a real FBI agent—let alone one that was Apache. But here he stood in her kitchen amid the many dishes neatly covered in plastic wrap. Field agent Luke Forrest introduced himself as Black Mountain Apache. He was tall and lean with short black hair sprinkled with a few gray hairs at the temples. His hollow cheeks showed he did not eat enough, but his wide shoulders spoke of power contained in a tailored gray suit. With him was field agent Cassidy Cosen. She was
his opposite, short, blonde and fair. They shared a serious expression along with the matching badges and pistols clipped to their belts.

  Cassidy took a long look at field agent Cosen. She had taken the name of her husband, a tribal council member of the Black Mountain Apache tribe. This woman Morgan had heard of because she had a friend on Black Mountain who told her of the Anglo who adopted an Apache girl, thinking she was Brule Sioux. She was now married to the brother of the child she adopted. It was like having a celebrity right here in her home.

  She offered coffee and one of the many plates of cookies but the agents declined. They didn’t look the type for cookies, she realized.

  “We are sorry to have to disturb you so late,” said Forrest. He had a military bearing and was slender, cutting a fine figure in his Anglo suit. The shiny gold badge flashed as he placed a hand on his trim hip.

  “And on the day she has buried her father,” said Ray, his voice a growl.

  Councilman Gill was a gentleman, and he and Chief Tinnin both accepted a mug of coffee.

  Agent Cosen did not observe the custom of speaking some pleasantries as a prelude to the purpose of their visit. He went right to the heart of the matter with the precision of a diving hawk.

  “We now believe your father was paid to kill Ovidio Sanchez. We know your father cashed a bank check for two hundred thousand dollars. Are you currently in possession of this money?”

  Morgan looked from the fierce blonde woman to Ray who gave the slightest incline of his head.

  “I am not,” said Morgan.

  The questions continued with the FBI obviously not receiving the answers they would have liked. Did they expect her to reach into a casserole dish and pull out wads of cash? She didn’t have it and didn’t know anything about it except what she had heard from the bank manager. Agent Forrest relayed that the bank manager was now in federal custody. If she did have it she wouldn’t keep it. That was blood money and it tainted all it touched. But she had a sinking feeling that until the money was found, she and her daughter were in danger. Where could her father have hidden it? Her mind trailed to the days before the shooting. His disappearance in his truck. She was sure he’d used that time to stash the cash somewhere. But where?

  “Tell him about Guy Heron,” said Ray.

  She did and about the many guests at the funeral that she did not know.

  Forrest rubbed his jaw, thinking. Then he spoke to Ray.

  “Your friend Carter Bear Den saw Sanchez down in Bisbee right after he left the mine. And his new wife, Amber Kitcheyan Bear Den, overheard her employer mention a man just after she reported an overage in a delivery.”

  An overage? Was that what the FBI called missing explosives now?

  Her supervisor attempted to make a phone call to a certain party.

  “Theron Wrangler,” said Ray.

  Forrest’s brows shot upward.

  “Carter told his brother who told me.”

  “Your medicine society,” said Forrest. “I understand Morgan’s father was also a member.”

  Kenshaw took that one. “Our society is a religious and cultural organization. We have no affiliation with eco-extremists.”

  “But you do,” said Forrest to Kenshaw. “You protested in Sedona in the 1990s with PAN and were a known associate of Walter Fields, now in a federal detention center for acts of terrorism.”

  “We were protesting misuse of tribal water rights.”

  “Yes,” said Forrest. “I am aware. But you were and are a member of PAN. And Fields is believed to have headed the eco-extremist group known as WOLF.”

  Kenshaw’s mouth clamped shut.

  “That’s not an extremist group,” said Ray. “They have members all over the country.”

  “Yes. I have one of their wall calendars, too. Has a buffalo for April this year. But here is the trouble. That Jeep tour outfit in Sedona that went up in flames two years ago, Crimson Excursions? Their fuel tanks caught because they were rigged with explosives. The residue left at the scene in Sedona from the explosion—the same explosion that resulted in the death of the owner, Warren Cushing—is a match for the ones taken from the mine in Lilac. Seems WOLF has moved up from selling calendars.”

  “But that happened two years ago,” said Morgan.

  “Exactly. Which means it was not arson, as reported to the public. We knew at the time that mining-grade explosives were used. Now we know the source and we know that the eco-extremist group claiming responsibility has been stealing explosives for at least two years prior to the mass-shooting at the Lilac Mine. It also means that we have no idea how much material they currently have in their possession or what they intend to use it for.”

  The implications settled over Morgan like a wet wool blanket. She had to remind herself to breathe and when she did it came as a gasp.

  “WOLF does not condone the taking of human life,” said Kenshaw.

  “But BEAR does,” said Agent Cosen. “They not only condone it, they encourage it. Exterminate the species that threatens the planet—us.”

  “Your father was hired by WOLF or BEAR,” said Forrest to Morgan.

  “I don’t know what that is,” she said, shaking her head in dismissal even as the implication bit into her bones.

  “WOLF is Warriors of Land Forever. They like to destroy property that infringes on natural places. Then there’s BEAR. That stands for Bringing Earth Apocalyptic Restoration. Now these guys, they mean to end us. Bring the earth back to what they see as the natural order by any means possible. In other words they make no attempt to preserve human life.”

  “Why don’t you shut them down?”

  “Have to find them first,” said Forrest. His gaze went to Kenshaw and held.

  Morgan watched the unfolding drama. How had she ever gotten tangled up in all this?

  Councilman Gill blew away a heavy breath and straightened. Everyone turned to give him their attention.

  “Although we are alarmed to hear of the missing explosives, our prime concern is our tribe. I fear that stories of this money will cause a rush of treasure hunters onto our sovereign land.”

  That was already happening.

  “I would remind you, Ms. Hooke,” said the Anglo agent, “that it is illegal for you to keep any of the money tendered to your father for the purpose of murder for hire.”

  Morgan met her pale blue eyes, glassy and cold.

  “I understand.”

  “Withholding evidence of a crime is also a violation of federal law,” said Agent Cosen.

  “I am not withholding anything. I didn’t know what my father was going to do and I don’t have the money.”

  It was clear from the hardening of the woman’s mouth that she did not believe a word.

  Chief Tinnin stood and thanked Morgan for the coffee, signaling an end to the meeting. He ushered the federal agents out and paused to say goodbye to Morgan in Tonto Apache. Then he turned to Ray.

  “Find it quick,” he said and then he was gone.

  Just how were they supposed to do that?

  Chapter Eleven

  When Ray returned from speaking to Kenshaw it was to a quiet house. That made his heart jump as he called out.

  “Morgan!”

  She answered and Ray could breathe again.

  He found Morgan on the bed in her father’s room beside Lisa. Ray leaned against the door frame, watching them. The cat sauntered past him, flicking her tail against his leg before jumping up on the coverlet. Cookie then curled at the girl’s side but the feline kept both ghostly green eyes on Ray.

  “That’s the last of them,” he said.

  Morgan nodded to Lisa who went to the closet and retrieved the small bag of her grandfather’s effects. Lisa drew out the bracelet and handed it to her mother. Her father wore this bra
celet every day and removed the ornament only when he slept. Yet suddenly it seemed a foreign object, out of place without him here to wear it. The grief made her throat ache and her hand began to tremble.

  “Look inside,” said Lisa.

  He went to the window and closed the blind then came to stand at the foot of the bed.

  Morgan borrowed her father’s reading glasses from the bedside table where he had set them the morning he’d left and never come back. She had brought them with his medications, to the prison, but officials would not let him have the glasses because of the broken frame but did supply him with a free pair from the canteen. His glasses magnified the marks Lisa had found.

  “It looks like a stick-figure man holding a medicine wheel,” said Morgan.

  A medicine wheel was a hoop, divided into four sections. Each section had multiple meanings. The first one, yellow, also meant east, youth and spring and the break of day, among other things. Morgan looked at the second figure. “This looks like a rabbit.”

  Ray looked next. There were two figures. One human. One animal. He could determine nothing else.

  He handed the glasses and jewelry to Lisa who held the bracelet in one hand and the glasses like a magnifying glass in the other as she studied the scratches in the silver on the inside of the cuff bracelet. The entire image was only a half-inch high.

  “Were they there before?” he asked Morgan.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never noticed them, but now I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen the inside of this bracelet.”

  Lisa lifted her head. “I have. These are new.”

  Ray held Morgan’s gaze and a chill made her shudder. She could tell he saw the danger in this and was assessing the risk.

  “He knew it would come back to us,” Morgan whispered.

  Ray nodded.

  Lisa continued to study the inside of the cuff. “This can’t be a medicine wheel. It’s not divided. And rabbits don’t have long legs like that. The circle has a little dash inside and some dots at the bottom.”