Shadow Moon

by Alexandra Sokoloff

  Singh wraps her support hand high on the grip, softens her knees, breathes in and fixes her gaze to take in the floor space beyond the doors and reception desk.

  The three militia men walk through the door, their gaits heavy from the handguns on their hips. Each man bears a rifle.

  In her mind, Singh smells gunmetal and testosterone….

  From behind the men comes the motorized whir of Strauss’s wheelchair as he rolls forward to join them.

  The men stop in the lobby entrance, brandishing rifles, staring up and around at the balconies, the staircases, the rafters, the skylights.

  Their voices echo in the empty space, disembodied, easy to hear.

  “Fucking place is a mall. Where do you think we’re gonna find her?”

  “So we split up. It’s just one little girl.”

  “Not just the girl,” someone says. From behind her tree trunk column, Singh recognizes Furman’s voice. “That’s their SUV. Those Feds.”

  “Aww, whassamatter?” another of them taunts. Sing envisions the tall, twichy one. “You worried about an old man and a Muslim bitch?”

  “They’re Feds—”

  A hard voice cuts the other off. “Exactly. They’re Feds.” Singh recognizes Sheriff Preston, now. She can hear the ugliness of his smile. “Who do you think folks are gonna believe? This is my jurisdiction. They have no rights, here.” There is the sound of a shotgun racking. “We take out the old guy and the black cunt. Then we grab the girl and go.”

  Singh sees a flash of movement in one of the windows across the balcony. A human form. Her pulse skyrockets. She is reeling with the impossibility of it… then logic kicks in.

  There’s another one. There are more, climbing up from outside…

  She lifts her weapon…

  And almost cries out in shock, as a face she knows as well as her own appears behind the glass.

  Damien.

  He spots her almost instantly. Roarke appears beside him. Damien lifts his service weapon to break the glass and Singh shakes her head frantically, puts her finger to her lips to indicate silence. Then she points down toward the lobby level and holds up four fingers.

  Roarke and Epps nod tensely.

  She holds up a hand, palm flat, to tell them to stay there.

  Then she takes slow steps to back up from the column until she is against the inner wall, out of sight range from the lobby below.

  Softly, swiftly, silently, she moves around the rectangle of balcony, hugging the inner wall, rounding one corner of the balcony, then the other, until she arrives breathless at the window.

  Damien’s eyes caress her through the glass as she fumbles at the window lock, twists it open. Roarke holds up both hands, his gesture cautioning—Slow. Easy.

  The three agents grasp the bottom of the window from both sides and begin to ease the window up. A freezing wind blows through the opening and Singh flinches, wondering if the militia men below can feel the change in the air.

  A hard male voice speaks from the end of the balcony. “Gotcha.”

  Singh twists around… to see Furman standing in the stairway door, aiming his rifle straight at her.

  Damien shouts her name from behind the glass—

  A shot BOOMS, a double CRACK—

  Singh feels fire in her arm… at the same instant Furman is blown backward, a crimson bloom opening in his chest.

  Singh staggers on her feet, grabbing for her bleeding arm, dimly aware of Agent Snyder walking forward past her, arm straight, Glock raised. He fires again toward Furman. The wounded man twitches on the carpeted floor… then lies still.

  Through the ringing in her ears, Singh hears glass shattering as Roarke and Epps break the window and scramble through the empty frame.

  Damien catches Singh, holding her up.

  Chapter 115

  Many Glacier Hotel, Montana - present

  Roarke, Epps, Snyder, Singh

  Roarke strides past Epps and Singh to the balcony, taking position behind a tree trunk column. He can’t see the men in the lobby, but he shouts down.

  “This is ASAC Roarke of the San Francisco FBI. Drop your weapons and come out on the floor with your hands up.”

  There is a burst of deliberate laughter from somewhere below.

  “You got zero jurisdiction here, Fed. This is my turf. You are in violation.”

  Against the wall, beside a guest room door, Epps pulls off his coat and ties the sleeves tight around Singh’s bleeding arm.

  “I am fine,” she protests fiercely through the stab of pain. “Go. Go.”

  Suddenly Snyder is kneeling a bit slowly down beside them. “Go,” he repeats to Epps.

  Singh feels Damien’s arm tighten around her in a quick embrace. Then he quick-crawls over the floor to Roarke’s column.

  He crouches there beside Roarke, Glock drawn, peering through the slats of the balcony wall. The militia men have disappeared from the center floor space.

  “This game is over,” Roarke shouts down. “One of your guys is down already. You get anywhere near the doors and you get shot.”

  “We got plenty of time and plenty of ammo, A-Suck,” another voice taunts from somewhere below.

  “These guys are crazy,” Epps mutters. “What do they think they’re going to do?”

  “They want casualties,” Roarke answers, without taking his eyes from the main floor. “Militias want martyrs. This is the kind of standoff they’re always looking for. A war against the government.”

  “Fuck that shit. We have to get Tara out and find the girl,” Epps says.

  One of the men below exclaims, “What the hell?”

  The agents turn to look down… and see a slender figure in a hotel uniform walk out onto the middle of the floor.

  “I’m right here, assholes.”

  Chapter 116

  Many Glacier Hotel, Montana - present

  Roarke, Epps, Snyder, Singh, Maise

  Hearing the young, feminine voice, Singh feels her heart jump into her throat. A ripple of dread passes through the four agents on the upper balcony.

  Epps gets a glimpse of the tall man hovering behind a chair. He shoots to his feet, aiming his Glock. Roarke leans over the balcony, training his weapon on Furman while he shouts down, “Don’t move. Anyone tries to hurt her, you’re dead.”

  Maise stands on the lobby floor, against the militia men.

  On the floor, Singh feels Snyder take her hand and press something cool and rectangular into it. His phone.

  “Film it,” Snyder says to Singh, low. “We need proof. They’re going to twist this story every which way. Whatever happens, we need the truth.”

  He pulls her to her feet, supporting her as he walks her across to the nearest column. He leans her up against it, looks into her face. “You’re good?”

  Singh presses her back against the hard, solid wood. “I am good.” She lifts the phone with her uninjured hand and points it below.

  Snyder moves off to the next column and takes aim.

  Singh eases her head around the tree trunk until she can see the lobby floor.

  From her new angle she can see the militia men beneath the balcony. Maise stands in the middle of the semicircle of them, Sheriff Preston and the tattooed one with rifles leveled at her, Strauss in his wheelchair, clutching a handgun in one of his clawed hands.

  Maise is very still, her chin lifted. “What are you going to do, kill me like he killed my brother?”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, bitch.” The tall, twitchy one raises his rifle, pointing it straight into her face. She doesn’t flinch.

  From the balcony, Roarke shouts, “We’ve got every one of you covered. Anyone touches that girl, you’re going to get shot. Drop your weapons now.”

  The militia men don’t move. Maise stands her ground. She is vibrating with anger. Singh can feel it in the air.

  “You don’t get to make this world. You all… you preach the Bible.” Suddenly Maise turns—

  The three militia men lift
their weapons in tandem—

  On the balcony above, Roarke and Epps and Snyder raise their weapons—

  Singh prays to all her goddesses at once as she holds the phone steady on Maise and the men.

  The girl raises her arm and points at Strauss. “He raped and killed my brother. And that was okay with all of you.”

  Maise slowly lowers her arm, and looks at Sheriff Preston. “You think you can tell any story you like and stupid people will just believe you. So go ahead and kill me. But smile while you do it,” she adds flatly. She turns her face up, toward the balconies. “Cause you’re on the Many Glacier webcam. Broadcasting live.”

  Her gaze returns to Strauss. And her eyes bore into his.

  “The whole world’s going to know what you did. The whole world.”

  There was a silence that seemed to Singh to last forever.

  And then chaos.

  Chapter 117

  Many Glacier Hotel, Montana - present

  Singh

  Even in retrospect, no one could be precisely clear what happened next.

  It seems to Singh that Sheriff Preston jerks forward, with a curse. Instantly Roarke fires, hitting Preston’s shoulder and spinning him around. The tall, twitchy man twists and stares past Preston—and Epps shoots him in the back of the thigh. The militiaman falls forward, his rifle jumping from his hands and skidding on the floor. And as Strauss howls in rage, Maise bolts out of sight behind the copper fireplace.

  Roarke shouts to Agent Snyder, “Cover them!” and Snyder leans over the balcony railing, taking aim on the men on the floor below. Roarke and Epps run for the stairs.

  Singh hugs the tree trunk column and holds the phone steady, filming, as her eyes search below for Maise.

  Then there is another, single shot, just before the agents burst through the doors on the first floor.

  And Singh gasps… as Strauss slumps forward in his wheelchair, his own handgun hanging from what is left of his mouth.

  Chapter 118

  Many Glacier Hotel, Montana - present

  Roarke, Epps, Singh, Snyder, Maise

  Sheriff Preston’s own departmental vehicle provides convenient secure transportation for the wounded militia men.

  Roarke and Epps load the captives into the caged back seats and lock them down. Roarke takes the wheel, with Snyder riding shotgun. The plan is to rendezvous in Browning, the closest town with a law enforcement presence and a hospital.

  Against Singh’s protests, Epps carries her downstairs and outside to tuck her into his rental vehicle in a nest of blankets and pillows Maise pulls from a linen room, before she climbs into the back seat with Singh.

  And sits there, calm, stoic, glassy-eyed.

  Shock, Singh thinks dimly. She is drifting that way herself.

  Epps gets into the driver’s seat, and looks at Maise in the rear-view mirror. “That was pretty damn brilliant about the webcam. Was it true?”

  The girl seems to rouse herself, and meets his eyes in the mirror. “Online for everyone to see.”

  Epps smiles grimly, starts the engine, and drives.

  Maise is able to ID Young John Doe as her brother even before Singh is able to show her photos. She tonelessly describes a cluster of moles on Danny’s left shoulder that Singh recalls from the autopsy report. Not that she had ever been in any doubt.

  She reaches out, puts her unwounded hand gently on the back of Maise’s neck. “I am so deeply sorry.”

  And finally, Maise leans into her and cries.

  Chapter 119

  Browning, Montana - present

  Singh

  Singh wakes in a hospital bed in the town called Browning. Much has gone on while she has been in surgery.

  Sheriff Preston and the tall militia man, Frank Saccaro, are now in the custody of the Glacier County Sheriff’s Department.

  Roarke has returned to Many Glacier with Agent Snyder and a team of sheriff’s deputies to process the crime scene.

  Epps of course has stayed in the hospital with Singh. His large frame is hunched in a hospital chair by her bed, so his face is the first thing she sees as she awakes.

  She is glad to be injured, to have Damien worried and protective. It will help ease her way when she confesses to him. And she has much to confess. She must ask his forgiveness for standing apart from him and keeping secrets. She has hidden her darkness from him for too long.

  It is time to let in the light.

  At the moment, Damien is thinking of none of this. He is overcome with gratitude toward Snyder.

  “I owe that man everything. If he hadn’t...if you…” He cannot finish. She has never seen him so close to the brink.

  She puts a hand to his face. “We are fine. It could never have been otherwise.” She can feel some narcotic working in her bloodstream, but she needs to speak. “We were drawn, all of us, to be exactly where we needed to be. Precisely. Perfectly. We are connected. It is all connected. That is our power.”

  He turns his head to kiss her hand. For the first time in a long, long while, she feels her goddesses around her. And she knows the lightness of serenity.

  Later, when Agent Snyder walks into Singh’s hospital room, Damien stands to greet him, so effusively it is several minutes before he notices Roarke’s absence.

  Snyder explains, “Matthew stayed at the hotel. He said he wanted to walk through the whole episode in person and in his mind, while the memories are fresh.”

  He steps to Singh’s bedside. She smiles up at him, and sees his eyes are focused and clear.

  “Heal fast,” he says. “You and I have some work to do with Maise. She’s been collecting records of missing children. It’ll make our ViCLAS work a walk in the park.”

  “How is she?” Singh asks.

  “She needs this,” he says simply. “I’m going to check on her now.” He bends and kisses her forehead.

  As Snyder disappears through the doorway, Damien’s face is stormy.

  “Bullshit he’s ‘walking through the episode,’” he says. Meaning Roarke.

  She does not know how to answer. Damien lowers his voice. “I saw your map. Those timelines. The red string. He’s there because he thinks she’s there.”

  Singh looks at him. There is nothing she can tell him that he does not already know, in his soul.

  He looks toward the door, fretting. “Should I go back?”

  She reaches for his hand, raises it to her face. “That is not our story.” He looks at her, and she rests her cheek against his palm.

  “Our story is here.”

  Snyder steps out through the hospital doors into the brilliant sun, with all the glory of Montana’s sky before him.

  Maise sits on a high stone wall to the side of the path, looking up into that blueness.

  He walks over to the wall. She looks down on him from her perch. Open. Calm. Ready.

  “Young lady,” he says. “You and I have work to do.” He reaches up, extending his hand gallantly, as if this is some Golden Age Hollywood movie. She puts her hand in his, and lightly jumps down.

  Chapter 120

  Many Glacier Hotel, Montana - tomorrow

  Cara

  She stands in snowshoes and hiking gear, looking down from the trailhead at the shimmer of Swiftcurrent Lake, and the hotel slumbering beside it.

  She tips her face to the rising sun, and feels the calm of an Encounter brought to a perfect conclusion.

  And more. There is a new kind of peace. Perhaps, for a while, she can rest.

  Because this Encounter has shown. There are good people. There is good law enforcement. And there is the future.

  There is Maise.

  She turns away from the hotel, toward the signpost: Swiftcurrent Pass Trail.

  She knows this trail, has hiked it. There is snow now, but spring will come early under this sun. There will soon be a riot of wildflowers on the hills, explosions of color in oceans of emerald green. Glacial lakes of powder blue. A wind so pure it is like breathing liquid crystal.
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br />   And there are backcountry lodges, small chalets along the trails. Just seven miles to the first, Granite Park. Built of native stone to withstand the winters. Stocked with dried food and propane for the stoves. All she could need. And deserted now, doors and windows bolted shut, as the park is closed to all visitors for two months, still.

  She will have it nearly to herself.

  Nearly.

  She breathes in and steps forward, into Beauty.

  Chapter 121

  Many Glacier Hotel, Montana - tomorrow

  Roarke

  Roarke wakes to feel the warmth and weight of the sun on the blankets covering him.

  He slowly comes to full consciousness, opens his eyes to bright sunlight streaming through the slanted windows of the hotel room across from Maise’s.

  He lies in bed, listening to the wind against the windows.

  Yesterday, after he and Epps had secured Sheriff Preston and his tattooed compadre with Preston’s own cuffs, Roarke had checked them over for injuries. And had found a wound he wasn’t expecting.

  There was a hole in Preston’s uniform, and a bleeding gash in Preston’s back. A knife wound.

  As if someone had thrown a blade from behind him.

  Roarke had asked Maise, of course. At the hospital. In private. “Was there another person here with you? Helping you, maybe? Someone who threw the knife?”

  She’d just looked at him.

  As knowing and inscrutable as Brandi had been, when he’d asked about their “mutual friend.”

  After a shower he dresses for hiking, then takes up his emergency backpack, as always filled with basic camping supplies, dried food for several days, a water purifier.

  He exits the room and descends the stairs of the staff quarters. At the floor below the lobby he pauses at the side door.

  A framed map on the wall confirms what he has seen on several other maps scattered throughout the hotel. Outside, he will find a path that leads to several world-famous hikes. Highline Trail. Granite Park Trail. Swiftcurrent Pass.