Eagle Warrior

by Jenna Kernan

  Whether by design or unintentionally, they had left two places empty. One had belonged to Hatch Yeager, their fallen comrade. The second had recently been vacated by Carter Bear Den.

  Outside the sun would soon break the line of mountains to the east, but inside was as dark as the burrow of a rabbit. The three remaining members of Tribal Thunder, Ray Strong, Dylan Tehauno and Jack Bear Den, listened as their shaman spoke of the need to replace Carter Bear Den. Jack was opposed, insisting that his brother would return, but Kenshaw said the group was out of balance with only three. Four was the sacred number in the medicine wheel because there were four directions, four seasons, four stages of a man’s life and four characteristics of a warrior. Many things in the world moved in a circle. Jack’s objections were assuaged when Kenshaw suggested the inclusion of his younger brother Kurt, now twenty-four and a paramedic for the air ambulance out of Darabee.

  With that settled, Kenshaw turned to the matter of Morgan Hooke, now under the protection of the FBI.

  “You are no longer responsible for this one,” said Kenshaw to Ray. “She has chosen another protector. Your mission now is to help Jack and Dylan protect our land and our tribe.”

  But Ray still felt responsible for Morgan and Lisa, more now than before. He knew that the moment they had finished their business and prayed their prayers, he would return to watch over her.

  The matter of the stabbing of Chief Jefferson Rowe was still under investigation. He now shared Jack’s suspicions regarding their shaman’s connection to the eco-extremists. But Jack cared about upholding the law and Ray cared about protecting Morgan. Kenshaw’s foreknowledge of the attack at the Lilac Mine and the steps he had taken to protect Morgan and Lisa could not be consigned to intuition. Despite their uncertainties, both were respectful of the sweat lodge. This sacred ritual would not be sullied with accusations.

  Kenshaw poured water on the hot coals, sending steam through the green cedar boughs. Ray breathed deep and joined in the chanting prayer. The men were a unit of brothers, but now doubt had come into their midst and Ray felt the distrust as strongly as he felt the sweat running in rivulets down his nearly naked body. He looked at the empty place where his best friend should be and for an instant before he blinked his eyes, he thought he saw Hatch sitting among them. Ray stared but there was nothing there. It did not matter, because now every hair on his body stood up.

  Ray pointed to the place and told the others what he had seen. There was much said of ghosts in Apache culture and most of it very bad. His ancestors went to great lengths to see that ghosts did not return to this world and Ray could not keep the dread from filling his chest.

  “A warning,” said Kenshaw. “Something unseen.”

  “It’s a flashback,” said Jack. “I get them sometimes, too.”

  Ray looked at him. Jack had never told him that. In fact they never spoke of the night Hatch was taken.

  “Me, too,” said Dylan.

  Ray’s skin itched and the sweat stung his eyes. “Something is wrong. I have to go.”

  Kenshaw nodded. “It is time for all of us to greet the day with a prayer and blessing.”

  Their shaman ducked out of the wickiup and into the cool, crisp morning air. Jack followed and then Dylan. They each took a turn sluicing water from the stream over their heads with a bucket. The icy water puckered his skin and washed away the sweat until he felt clean and alive. Soon they were shivering in their gym shorts, which they discarded to tug on dry clothing.

  Kenshaw finished last, seeing that the sacred fire was out. When he finished they sat in a circle by the stream. Dylan, their drum keeper, set out the large barrel that had once been a portion of a ponderosa pine, hollowed now and with a cowhide stretched tight over the gap. They used bowed willow sticks to communally strike the rhythm. Kenshaw sang in a high true modulation encouraging many blessings for their people, and the three members of Tribal Thunder repeated the last portion of his prayer together in one voice. This, too, was a vital role of the medicine society, to follow the path walked by those who came before and mark the way for those who would follow.

  The sun peeked over the ridge, sending bright beams of golden light across the land. Still Ray found no peace but battled the continuing feeling that he was not where he was supposed to be.

  Was she sleeping in her bed or did the FBI have her in some hotel room under guard? Would he be able to see her? Now that she knew of his duplicity, would she even want to see him?

  He did not expect her forgiveness but he lived in hope that he could earn a second chance because Morgan’s happiness was nearly as dear to him as her safety. Ray prayed louder as the sun’s apex crested the trees. Behind them, the hillside flooded with light.

  Please keep her safe, Ray thought.

  Jack seemed impatient to finish and was on his feet before the drum had gone silent.

  Now the detective reemerged as he asked Kenshaw the questions he had held back during the sacred time inside the wickiup and here in the drum circle.

  “How do you know the plans of these extremist groups?”

  “Extremist.” Kenshaw laughed. “There was a time when the Tonto people were extremists. Enemies to be eliminated.”

  “Are you one of them?” asked Jack.

  “I have been many things in my life,” said Kenshaw. “I have taken part in acts of civil disobedience for causes I believe are right. To stop wars. To take back land and water rights. To keep peace with other nations and to protect the earth that is our home. Yes, I am a part of all things as are you.”

  “How do you know these things before anyone else?” asked Ray.

  Kenshaw smiled. “I have lived a long time. I hear things on the wind and from cellular towers.” He laughed. “But if you ask me to tell you who speaks to me, I will say what I said to Agent Forrest. It is my right to speak and it is my right to be silent.”

  “Are you one of them? Of those eco-extremists that call themselves BEAR?”

  “I am not.”

  Jack seemed relieved, but Ray noticed their shaman did not deny membership in WOLF.

  “WOLF?” asked Ray.

  “If I answer that, my friend Jack here will have to arrest me.”

  Jack seemed ready to arrest him anyway but was interrupted by the chiming of his phone, which sounded at the same moment as Kenshaw’s and Ray’s. They lifted their mobiles. The text was from Luke Forrest and was only three words: Important—call me.

  The chill Ray had experienced in the sweat lodge and the vision of his fallen friend now pressed on him. He knew before he was told that something terrible was happening. He issued a prayer as he called Forrest and pressed the speaker button.

  “Is it Morgan?” asked Ray.

  “Yes. We’ve lost contact.” He told Ray that they had last seen her a little after one in the morning and only with the daylight realized that her bedroom was empty and Morgan gone.

  “Did she slip away?” asked Jack. “Or evade your custody?”

  “That’s the question. We know that Dylan and Ray have tracking experience. We’d like their opinion.”

  Ray was already running toward his vehicle. The fifteen miles to Morgan’s home were the longest of his life. They reached the small home and he and Dylan went to work, conferring as they checked first inside and then outside and came to the same conclusion. Ray took off on the trail, moving carefully. He heard Dylan speaking to Forrest and Cosen.

  “She was taken by force out that window,” said Dylan.

  Ray headed toward Guy Heron’s home and tried to keep the rage from consuming him.

  “One man,” said Ray, his words still clear. “When he left, he was carrying Morgan.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Agent Cosen.

  “Depth of the footprints compared to entry,” said Ray. “And nothing else is missing th
at would weigh enough to account for the difference.”

  Forrest trailed Ray. He glanced back at his shadow.

  “My grandfather had a reputation for tracking,” said Forrest. “I was lucky to have known him and to have learned some of what he knew.”

  Ray pointed at the exposed stretch of sand and the footprints. “What do you see?”

  “He has a head start, judging from the sand that has fallen into the tracks. He is wearing boots and, guessing from the size, he’s male.”

  Ray nodded. “And Morgan did not shift her weight as they carried her. These prints are straight and the tread natural.”

  Forrest met his gaze but did not seem to understand.

  “She wasn’t moving,” said Ray.

  Forrest’s eyes widened. “But no blood.”

  That was true. Ray hoped that Morgan was alive.

  “You can’t get information from a dead woman, at least not the kind that will tell them where to find the treasure.”

  But killing someone was an excellent way to be sure that no one else got information from them. Ray moved more quickly now.

  He had to find her before it was too late.

  Chapter Twenty

  Morgan woke by slow degrees. First to the pain of her legs, cramped and alive with pins and needles. Next she recognized from the groan that tried to escape her that her mouth had been taped. With her eyes now opened, she found her vision clear but she could see nothing from under the camouflage-patterned vinyl tarp that covered her. The motor sound and the jostling alerted her to movement. Her best guess was that she rode in a cart fixed to a four-wheeler of some sort and that they were on an incline. It didn’t take a genius to deduce why someone would steal her from her bed and drag her up a mountain. The trouble was the money was no longer here. Likely her captors would not know that because the FBI had not revealed that the money had been recovered. Instead, they told her, they let word out that she and Ray had admitted to finding the treasure and hiding it again before they were taken into custody.

  Her abductor must want the treasure or she would already be dead. The trick would be to lead them to a treasure that was no longer here and stay alive until help arrived.

  She was so grateful that her daughter was safely away. But how had her abductor managed to grab her right out from under the FBI surveillance? Or perhaps the FBI had let him take her. Were they following them? Either way, the sun was well up judging from the light through the tarp and the heat that made her entire body damp with sweat. She was so thirsty. The need for water tormented her far more than the pain in her hip and the tingling in her legs. Now she had to figure out how to stay alive until help reached her.

  Ray. She spoke to him in her mind. Apologizing for leaving him without thanks. He had not told her everything, but he had kept his word, protecting her and helping her retrieve the money. Once they found it, many men would have just helped themselves. Ray had not done that.

  Of course it was logical to assume that her father had told her everything. But her father was wiser than that. He’d tried to find a way to protect her from the men who had hired him while still giving her the money. Hadn’t he known her well enough to understand that she would never keep it?

  Would Ray come after her or, with his mission complete, would he leave her to the wolves?

  The cart hit a particularly vicious rock, sending her airborne for just a minute before throwing her back down to collide with the metal floor. The jolt got her moving, searching beneath the tarp for something she could use as a weapon or to cut the ties that secured her wrists behind her.

  The forward motion stopped, sending her skidding along the floor. The motor cut and Morgan held her breath. Should she be unconscious or try to spring at him? Even if she managed to knock him down, would she have time to find something to cut her ties and run?

  An instant later the tarp fell back and the brilliant sunlight poured down on her. She managed to look far woozier than she was as her kidnapper lowered the rear gate. He wore camo from his hood to his boots. Across his face he had a camouflage mask, likely designed to make him invisible to prey. Today it served to make him a faceless menace that froze her blood on this hot morning. Was it good that she couldn’t identify him?

  Perhaps.

  She looked about for another attacker but found them alone.

  Her captor tugged her out the back of the cart. She did not have to pretend that her legs would not support her and went down so fast he could only slow her descent. He swore and then retrieved a knife from his belt then cut the plastic at her ankles.

  “Get up.”

  She didn’t. Instead she sprawled on her stomach, hoping he’d cut the bonds at her wrists. But he used those bonds to tug her to a sitting position.

  “Up!”

  Morgan complied, but she had managed to rub her face over the sandstone. The tape across her mouth was now curled at one side.

  “I know the others didn’t find it,” he said. He sounded Anglo to her and young. “I’m betting you did. Our man said he could be trusted. But then he goes off with you and finds it.”

  Ray, he was speaking of Ray. But why would this man think that Ray could be trusted? And who was their man?

  “That’s right. Your boyfriend was working for us all along. You really think we’d leave you for the FBI to question without knowing what your dad told you?”

  Oh, no. That couldn’t be. Ray had told her he was assigned by the Turquoise Guardians. Had that also been a lie?

  Her captor grabbed her arm in a punishing grip. “You’re going to show me where you hid it. No sense in leaving it out here to rot.”

  Morgan struggled to speak, making a series of muffled sounds.

  “You don’t need to talk to show me where it is. So get moving.” He gave her a shove.

  She staggered forward and then looked around. They were at the base of the upper ruins. She was staring right at the spiraling symbol marking the winter solstice. The sun had already reached the canyon floor and the shadow rock now served no purpose. Morgan thought. A plan came to her that was followed immediately by thoughts of all the ways it could go wrong.

  But she had nothing better so she walked to the notched log that served as a ladder and she lifted her gaze to the upper ruins.

  “I knew it. I was sure because he had me wait down past the turn. I followed your dad after I delivered the check to Rowe and again when he cashed it the next day. He drove down here in that heap of a pickup with the four wheeler in the back, but he was so quick and I was on foot.”

  Delivered the check? He was one of them, the eco-extremists.

  “You’re wondering why I didn’t just take it from him before he drove up here, right?”

  She hadn’t gotten to that yet.

  “Because he hadn’t done the job yet. But really. What does a dead man need with all that money? Can’t spend it.”

  He was one of them. A WOLF or a BEAR. She wanted to ask him what they were going to do with the explosives, the target, the FBI called it. But her mouth was taped shut.

  So her father had come here with this man in tow, tapped out the clue in the chimney and they’d driven up here to bury the money at the base of the cliff.

  Morgan put her foot on the notched log that lay at the base of the cliff.

  “Okay. I gotcha.” He lifted the ladder and propped it against the rock face. “Ladies first.”

  Was he kidding? She couldn’t climb with her hands bound. Morgan turned her back and lifted her clasped wrists.

  “Just so you know, I hid the only key to the four-wheeler and I’m packing heat. You try anything and you’ll be bleeding all over this canyon.”

  She nodded her head in understanding, waiting. Next came the scrape of the knife leaving the sheath. He wouldn’t kill her yet because he ne
eded her to find the treasure but still her breath caught and held. He inserted the blade between her hands and tugged. The bonds fell away and she extended her cramped fingers, then rolled her wrists as the breath she held escaped into the dry air.

  “Let’s go,” he growled.

  Morgan marched to the ladder like a good little soldier, tugging at the gray duct tape as she went. Her skin tingled where the adhesive had clung. She was an excellent climber. And she needed to make the climb of her life now. Morgan placed a hand on the notch at eye level and mentally prepared herself. A rush of adrenalin flooded through her bloodstream making her heart pound and her ears buzz. But she held herself back, beginning the climb with a slow and careful focus. Then she felt the ladder shift, as he joined her on the climb. That instant Morgan took off, climbing with a speed that bordered on recklessness.

  “Hey! Slow down.”

  She didn’t of course, because she knew that he could not hold the ladder and a pistol. This would be her only chance. The people here before her knew something about defending against their enemies and he had inadvertently sent her to a stronghold perfect for defense.

  Morgan reached the top of the ladder and used the niches carved in stone to scramble the last few feet up and over the ledge and onto the wide, flat plateau that formed the cavern floor. She did not pause as she ran to the forked branch resting inside the first room of the honeycomb of apartments. She would have only one chance at this. She dragged the branch behind her as she hurried to the edge.

  Morgan threw herself to her stomach and extended the branch over the edge. Her kidnapper was already reaching for the niches in the stone.

  “Hey. Don’t!”

  But she did, catching the top of the log in the notch and pushing. He made a desperate choice then, releasing the niche to scramble downward. Had he chosen to lurch upward he might have reached her. Instead he slid down the log as if it were an enormous fireman’s pole. As a result, he was midway down the forty-foot log at something between a fall and a slide when she dislodged the ladder. It toppled with him still clinging to it like an ant on a blade of grass. She had to admire how he was able to get his feet under him and pushed off so that he was falling free and clear of the giant ponderosa trunk for the last ten feet. His landing was hard and simultaneous with the log. The dust rose but she could see him, sprawled on the loose shale and rock. He didn’t move.