Ella fired three more times, then rolled back, ejecting her spent magazine and inserting the fresh clip in a well-practiced motion. She waited, her sights on the spot beside the thick clump of willows, looking for movement or shadow.
The silence was disturbed only by the metallic tick of the car engine above and to her left as it cooled. Knowing the sniper’s advantage of patience, she watched, not moving, her gun hand steady. After five minutes, she slowly snaked down her left hand, flipped her cell phone open, and punched Blalock’s number on speed dial, looking away from the target area for only a second.
“I’m still here,” she whispered.
“We’re on our way, Ella. Our ETA is less than ten minutes. We were halfway to Hogback when your call for backup came through. Hang in there,” Blalock said.
Several more minutes passed, but the sniper hadn’t fired again and there was no movement. Ella wondered if she’d scored a hit or if she was being set up. She waited behind cover, noting that no birds had settled on the branches above what she’d determined to be the shooter’s mostly likely location.
After two minutes, she rolled to her right, sneaking a quick look out from behind the front tire, then rolling back. The front bumper clanked loudly, and a bullet struck Haske’s door, just six inches above porch level.
She looked at the bumper, less than a foot to her right. A shiny two-inch-long groove had just been scratched into the chromed steel. If she hadn’t rolled back immediately, the bullet would have blown away the right side of her head.
Shaken, she took a deep breath. The badger fetish around her neck felt scalding hot against her skin. Death surrounded her now, she could feel it calling. Shutting out her fear, she focused on survival.
Hugging the ground, Ella rolled below the open passenger door, planning to reach up behind the seat and grab her rifle. Two more shots rang out in rapid succession. As she looked back, she saw new holes in the side of the house, low and close to the foundation. Had the bullets actually passed beneath the car this time? If so, there were only two places to hide.
Ella rolled to the right, using the front tire to physically conceal herself. Though it was a relatively cool day, her body was bathed in sweat. She swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to moisten her throat.
She called Blalock on the cell phone again. “He’s southwest of the house, at the edge of the bosque. He’s got me pinned,” she said.
“We’re on foot now, a few hundred yards from the house. We’re going to come in behind him from the south, along the river, and send a car down the road as a diversion. Be ready when he’s forced to break cover.”
Seconds ticked away, each its own version of Hell. The car’s cooling metal had stopped ticking but the stillness didn’t reassure her. She was alive, but two men had died in her presence today. She felt poisoned by evil. Her brother and mother would insist on her having an Enemy Way sing done, but the nightmares would still follow her for a long time—that is, if she lived through the next half hour.
As she waited, Ella held tightly to her pistol, sighting toward the willows and wondering if she had five rounds left in the clip or four. Others would be arriving soon, but did the sniper know? She moved again, rolling to the left then rising to a crouch as she reached the rear tire.
This time, there was no answering fire. Deciding to push it, Ella moved forward again, reached into the SUV, and brought out her rifle. Nothing.
The busted scope had been removed, but she had the iron sights and five rounds in the weapon. Rifle in hand and safety off, she moved to the front again and waited.
She heard the vehicle before she saw it. A police cruiser pulled up, sliding to a stop beside hers and placing another layer of protection between her and the river.
Ella touched the badger, felt the coolness of the stone, then stood, placing her rifle across the hood. Instinct told her the sniper was gone. And Haske . . . The poor man had only wanted his freedom, and they’d played on that. His blood was also on her hands now.
Blalock came into view among the willows, then waved his shotgun in the air. “It’s clear. I think he waded across the river to a vehicle. We heard an engine starting up a few minutes ago.”
Ella stepped out into the open, watching the river beyond as she lowered her weapon. “I had a feeling he’d left,” she answered in a low and heavy tone.
“You’re not blaming yourself for this, are you?” Blalock asked, as he glanced over at Haske’s body.
“That sniper . . . he wasn’t content with just taking Haske out,” she said, not answering his question. “He wanted me, too.”
“But you won, Clah. You’re alive.”
He was right. She’d lived to walk in beauty again . . . someday.
TWENTY-ONE
After filing all the necessary reports, Ella sat alone in her office, lost in thought. The attempts on Ford’s life, the probable existence of a terrorist cell, four shootings with two dead and an unknown shooter on the loose—these were just the job highlights of a very long week.
On top of everything else, she was going to have to make a major career decision soon. An e-mail from Blakely at PPS had been in her in-box when she sat down to the paperwork. Though she’d put it off for over two hours, she’d finally broken down and read the message.
Kevin had been very accurate in his earlier description of the offer. Though John Blakely hadn’t mentioned an exact dollar figure in his e-mail, he’d promised more than quadruple what she was making now. The job description and benefits were tempting enough even without a raise. John had suggested she visit their D.C. operation at her earliest convenience, at company expense, of course. He left her his office, cell, and even his home phone number, requesting Ella call him to discuss the job offer in detail.
Ella had e-mailed back, agreeing to a phone call but asking for a few more days because of work responsibilities.
Life was definitely brimming over at the moment. On top of her current case, she had serious home problems as well. Herman appeared to be ill, her mom was upset for a variety of reasons, and Dawn was away from home and sorely missed. Too much was coming at Ella at once.
Experience told her to deal with one thing at a time or she’d get nowhere. Ella forced herself to take a very deep breath, then let it out slowly. Before she’d finished exhaling, her cell phone rang. It was Ford.
“Are you all right?” he asked quickly.
“You heard?” she asked, surprised. As far as she knew the shooting hadn’t been on the news—at least not yet.
“Yeah. Bruce has a receiver that picks up all emergency radio communications.”
Ella suddenly had one of the answers that had eluded her till now. The shooter had accessed the Navajo Tactical frequency. That’s how he’d known where she and Haske would be.
“Are you there?” Ford asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry. You were saying . . .?”
“We’ve intercepted some of Dr. Lee’s e-mails and a very interesting picture is starting to emerge. Can you stop by?”
“I’ll be there shortly,” she said, then hung up.
Justine came in just then. “We’re processing the scene at Haske’s, but the shooter was careful. The rounds he used weren’t particularly distinctive, but we found some brass. From the caliber and brand, it looks to be the same weapon that was used both times before. It’s the same guy, Ella, I’d bet anything on that.”
“I agree. And it’s now clear to me that he was listening to our radio communications, too. That’s how he got to Haske’s ahead of me. Make sure the others know about that.”
“Since he failed to take you out, he’s likely to try again. He did with Ford,” Justine warned.
Ella stood up. “Speaking of Ford, he’s intercepted more of Dr. Lee’s e-mails, so I’m on my way over there now. Let me know if you turn up anything new.”
When Ella arrived at Teeny’s, Abednego came up to her holding his favorite stuffed monkey. His tail was wagging and he looked a lot happier than either Ford
or Teeny.
“Well guys, what’s up?” she asked.
Ford waved her to his chair. “Going through her previous e-mails and blogs, we’ve been able to narrow down certain elements of their code. I’ve already told you about the words ‘red rock’ being a trigger for events, but what we’ve also been able to determine is that it only holds true if they’re preceded by the word aqalani.”
“ ‘Greetings’ in Navajo,” Ella said. “Interesting.”
“The words they use when referring to the attempt to kill me are aqalani, red rock, and Wednesday. I believe ‘Wednesday’ is their code name for me,” Ford added.
“They’re going to an awful lot of trouble to neutralize you,” she said slowly. “Any idea why yet?”
“No, I just can’t figure it out. I wouldn’t have given myself away. I’m too well trained for that.”
“Yet Dr. Lee found the tracking device you planted,” she said. “They must have made you, Ford, and know that you’re trying to compromise their operation. That’s the only answer.”
He nodded slowly. “But they also want you out of the way. I’ve been studying this carefully and an e-mail sent less than twenty-four hours ago mentions problems with ha’asídí, ‘watchman’ in Navajo. That correlates to the attempt on you today.” He showed her the e-mail and the time it had been sent. The name of the sender had been blocked out, but the addresses of the three recipients showed clearly. “The addresses you see were originally blind copies, but we got past that. What we haven’t been able to do is identify the sender.”
“Do you think the sender is their leader?” Ella asked Teeny, who now stood behind her.
“There’s a real good chance of that. We never figured Jane Lee as the brains behind this operation.”
“Whoever it is, that person sure knows how to run a tight ship,” Ella said quietly.
“I’d like to run a program that’ll check out the other recipients of the e-mail, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with that first,” Ford said. “I can’t guarantee it won’t tip them off.”
Ella considered it briefly, then nodded. It was time to start taking more chances.
“Then I’ll get started on that right now,” Ford said. “All I have to do is designate the key words and phrases we know about. The fact that some of the words are in Navajo should get us more reliable hits.”
The vast, data-mining program originated in a major computer network that Ford wouldn’t identify, but Ella got the idea it was either the NSA or the CIA. The program searched millions of recent messages on the Internet, looking for anything that contained the search words. After several minutes, it produced an e-mail address. The recipient was an ex-Marine named John Baker, according to his profile on one of the Internet sites.
Ella sat up quickly. “Get a photo on screen.”
As Ford pulled one up and moved aside, Ella studied the picture. “There’s a strong resemblance between this man and the composite sketch we got from Haske. Chances are this is the guy he knew as Nafus.”
Ford smiled. “That’s an anagram for SNAFU: Situation Normal—All Fouled Up,” he said.
“I’ve heard that phrased a bit differently,” Teeny said, chuckling.
Not commenting, Ford switched to a DOD database, checking service records. “Baker served in the Marines fifteen years ago, in artillery. Now he’s a truck driver. According to this, he receives regular benefits.”
“Get me his address,” Ella said.
A moment later Ford read an address off the screen while Ella wrote it down. She’d need Blalock on this, since it was off the reservation. “One more thing,” she added. “See what you can get me on Henderson Whitefeather.”
Although Ford tried several searches, there was little on Whitefeather online, other than a few newspaper articles where he’d been mentioned as a deputy at an accident or arrest.
“I can hack into the county’s files,” Teeny suggested, “but it’ll take time. The sheriff’s department has a really good firewall.”
“And you would know because . . .? Never mind, go for it. But be careful. If Whitefeather hears about it and spooks, I have a feeling we’ll lose him for good,” Ella said.
“If he’s not involved and hears about it, there’ll be all hell to pay with the county,” Teeny added. “But I’ll take precautions.”
“There’s another way to go about this if all you want is his background,” Ford said. “I have a facial recognition program the Bureau gave me. That could uncover a great deal of information based on his photo alone. I might be able to remember where I met him, too, by the time I’m through.”
“Go for it,” Ella said.
Ella waited as Ford accessed Ella’s terminal at work, using her password, then retrieved the photo she’d stored there.
“How long does it take?” Ella asked Ford as he brought up the file and began to run the program.
“Have a cup of coffee with us,” Ford suggested. “If by the time we’re finished, this hasn’t come up with something, then it’s going to take some serious time.”
“I’ll keep watch. You guys go ahead,” Teeny said, his attention riveted to the screen.
Ford led her to the coffee machine Teeny had set up. “You place a coffee packet in the center and you get a perfect cup every time,” he explained. “There are tea and cocoa packets available, too, and even decaf for sissies. It’s really a wonderful gadget, but I don’t think our church can afford it.”
Ella accepted the coffee he made for her with a “Thanks.”
He put in a new packet and made himself a quick cup. “Am I losing you?” he asked, glancing over.
Ella blinked. “No, I get the packet idea. It’s like the vendor at the station, but more hands-on.”
“No, I’m talking about man to woman,” he said.
Ella reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. “I want more, not less,” she murmured.
“So do I,” he admitted. “But we’ve been through this.”
Ella sighed. “I won’t marry you just because I want to make love to you,” she said, moving away from him.
Ford started to say something, but Teeny came in just then.
“Guys, come see this.”
Ella hurried back into the main room, Ford a step behind her. The program had found a match. Ella looked at Henderson Whitefeather’s photo, but the name listed below was Ernest Blackwater. The biographical information showed Blackwater, a Navajo, had worked at a tribal casino in California.
“His father died of acute radiation poisoning contracted while working in the uranium mines here on the Rez,” Teeny said, skimming faster than Ella.
“I think we just found our motive,” Ella said. “All things considered, he’s got a really good reason for wanting to keep anything nuclear off the Rez.”
“Now I remember where I met him before,” Ford said, studying one of the images on the screen. “He was Ernest Blackwater to me. I was working undercover at the time with the FBI as a tribal gaming consultant—looking for corruption.”
“Blackwater must have seen you or your photo and realized that the second you remembered him, his new identity would be compromised—along with whatever else he was planning. As a sheriff’s deputy working the reservation borders, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to find out you did consulting work for the Navajo Tribal Police. He had two reasons to be gunning for you.”
“But even if we assume he’s working with Dr. Lee and John Baker, what exactly are they hoping to accomplish?” Teeny asked. “Do they want to prevent the power plant from ever becoming operable, or will they wait until test operations begin, then try to cause a major accident that’ll force it to shut down?”
“I don’t see how they could assault the place, not without a dozen more just like them and a lot more firepower. Even then, their chances are slim. I’m sure they have a different point of attack,” Ella said. “And we need to find out what that is.”
“We’ll keep digging through the e-mai
ls, and see what we can come up with,” Ford said.
“I’ll concentrate on Baker,” Ella said. “I think he killed Haske and, with luck, he’ll lead me to the others.”
“That’ll take too much time,” Teeny pointed out. “The reactor vessel is scheduled to be delivered and installed in just a few days. That will be their last opportunity to act before everything’s sealed up tight inside their grounds.”
“The design of the power plant and the use of helium coolant would eliminate the chances of a catastrophic accident like Chernobyl,” Ford said. “There’s a dome to seal off any accidental radiation leaks, too, and a fire suppression system that cuts off all the oxygen. Yet the facility’s opening could be indefinitely delayed if they were able to damage the reactor bottle before it’s put into place.”
“The question is, other than step up security on the bottle and pellet delivery convoy, how do we stop something we haven’t quite nailed down yet? All we have are guesses,” Ella mused.
“The time for playing it safe is long past,” Ford said. “We know at least three members of the cell. If they want me so bad, I need to set myself up as a target and force them to take action,” he said, then mapped out his plan.
Ella listened, liking what he was saying less and less. When Ford finished, she remained silent.
“It’s our only viable option,” Ford added.
“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll talk to Big Ed and, providing he okays this, we’ll get things rolling tomorrow. But no matter how well we plan, Ford, they might make their move before we can react,” she said, meeting his gaze.
“Then that’s the way it is. By keeping innocent people from being injured by these terrorists, I’m honoring my Lord’s commandment to love my neighbor as myself. Your job is to restore harmony, Ella, but this is the essence of what I do.”
“I wish I could do or say something to change your mind,” she said.
“I’ve often felt the same way about your police work,” he answered gently. “But we each have to follow our own path.”
Earthway Page 26
