“Al Wasabi is here, too?”
“Yes, he is.
“Hmm, this I did not know,” Rainhorse admitted. “It makes the matter more complicated. Why is he here?”
“One of the men you killed in Yemen was his son,” Lindsay groused. “From what Andrews tells me, papa is flat-out pissed.”
Rainhorse let out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, “It changes nothing. This ends tonight.”
“I’m not letting you do this,” Lindsay cried out. “Matty is in a coma and I don’t know if he’s going to live. I lost you for five years, already. I’m not going to lose you forever.”
Rainhorse reached across the seat and touched her face. Lindsay grabbed his hand and kissed it, holding it. She waited for Rainhorse to say something . . . something comforting. Instead, he said nothing. It was then Lindsay came to a grim realization.
She sighed, releasing a long, slow breath.
“You don’t think you’re coming back, do you?” she asked.
Rainhorse looked into her eyes. He again said nothing, but his eyes told her she was right.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve always told me it’s nearly impossible to stop a man who is willing to sacrifice himself to complete a job. That’s what you’re doing here. You’re going to sacrifice yourself to kill Rattling Thunder, Aretas and Al Wasabi.”
“Lindsay . . .”
“Please . . . Jackson,” she continued. “Don’t go.”
“Lindsay, listen to me. Rattling Thunder, Al Wasabi and Aretas will never stop until I am dead. If they are here in Montana with Rattling Thunder, it means they know about you, and Neha, Jackie, Matty, Red and his family. They will kill all of you to find me. They will never stop. I have to end this.”
“I don’t want you to die.”
“If they kill me, it’s over,” Rainhorse said. “There will be no need to come after you, or Jackie, or Neha or Red, again. Al Wasabi and Aretas will go back to Yemen. Even Rattling Thunder would not risk it.”
“It’s a suicide mission, Jackson. You know it.”
“I would have difficulty arguing the point.”
“Why won’t you just let the FBI do their job?” Lindsay pleaded.
“Rose Rattling Thunder told me HRT had a surprise in store for me,” Rainhorse said. “It means they are counting on me to find them. HRT is no dummy. He has prepared for every contingency. If the FBI finds his location and goes swooping in, they will disappear . . . but not for long. The FBI cannot protect you forever. HRT will just bide his time and come back again with more force than before. The only way to keep all the people I love safe is to end this once and for all. They are all in one place now. They will never be in one place again. The time is . . . now.”
“No, I won’t let you,” she cried.
“Lindsay, I have to.”
“No, Jackson, you don’t,” she shuddered. “You are amazing, and I’ve seen you fight against incredible odds before, but these men . . . they are too powerful . . . even for you.”
“I know what I face.”
“At least take help. What about my stepfather? Sam Steele is a former Ranger. He can help . . .”
“No, Lindsay. Sam is a great man, but should the worst happen, I need him here to take care of you.”
“At least take Kujo with you,” Lindsay begged.
“No. I will not send him to certain death. This is not his fight. He has done all I am willing to accept. I cannot work effectively when I am worried about the safety of someone around me. I must do this alone.”
“But you’ll die,” she cried.
“If that happens, I know all of you will be safe. It is a price I am willing to pay.”
Lindsay sighed, “You know, I haven’t cried once since this whole shitstorm began.”
“Truly?”
She nodded, “I’ve been strong, Jackson. You taught me that. I’m not the same kid you kidnapped back in Chicago when I was sixteen. You’ve made me strong.”
“This I know,” he said. “You are an amazing woman. You have made me proud.”
Lindsay’s chest swelled with pride.
“You’ll need to ditch this truck,” she noted. “It won’t be long before the FBI discovers I’m gone. They’ll figure out I went out the back. They’ll pull video from the cameras and pick up your truck.”
“I know,” Rainhorse said. “I have already arranged to take Ellie’s Jeep.”
“What should I do, now?”
“Stay with Ellie. The FBI will know you are missing but it will not be for long. When this is over, she will take you back to the hospital.”
“Please, please don’t do this. I don’t know where you’ll be,” she replied. “You haven’t told me the location.”
“Ellie knows the location,” Rainhorse said. “She will tell you when the time is right . . . not before.”
“Right for what?”
“When it is over.”
In the next twenty minutes Rainhorse delivered Rose Rattling Thunder to Ellie Limberhand for safe keeping. Ellie handed Rainhorse the keys to her Jeep. Lindsay approached him as he was transferring the weapons and equipment he needed from the truck to the Jeep.
“It is time to say goodbye, Lindsay,” Rainhorse told her.
Lindsay nodded, choking up but fighting back tears, “I’m not going to cry. I just wanted you to know, my son will grow up knowing who you are, no matter what happens.”
Rainhorse nodded, “I must go now.”
“Are you going to call Neha?” Lindsay asked.
“I will call her from the road,” he assured. “There are things I must say to her. Private things.”
“I understand, but I have her phone,” Lindsay said. “That’s how I reached you. Do you have Ska’s number?”
“Yes. Good idea. I will reach Neha through Ska.”
Lindsay nodded, “You be careful out there.”
“Always,” he said.
“I love you, Jackson. I always have,” Lindsay said.
“And I love you more than you will ever know,” Rainhorse replied.
Lindsay slid into him, feeling his enormous arms wrapping around her body. She squeezed him tightly, finally letting go of the tears she’d been holding back for days. She sobbed freely, crying like she’d never cried before.
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” she cried.
“You are an amazing woman, and you will raise an amazing child. Take care of Matty. He loves you. And Neha . . . I hope you will . . .”
“You’ll never have to worry about Neha,” she interrupted. “I’ll make sure she is taken care of, always. I promise.”
Rainhorse nodded. He kissed Lindsay lightly on the lips and then the forehead. He hugged her one last time and turned away.
Lindsay heard the Jeep’s engine turn over and watched him drive away, perhaps for the very last time.
Chapter 20
Rainhorse spoke to Neha for twenty minutes. He outlined what he was about to do. She cried; she begged; she cajoled. He patiently listened and then reassured her he would see her again, if not in this life, then in the next. Like himself, Neha was Cheyenne. She understood the old ways, the ways of their forefathers. She understood, but it did not make it hurt less. It was the most painful conversation he ever had, and he hated himself for doing it over a cell phone, but there was no choice. The FBI had staked out Ska’s place.
With the conversation with Neha behind him, Rainhorse turned his attention to the matter at hand. He turned north on Oswego Road, heading for the tiny incorporated community of Lustre.
Lustre was founded in the early 1900’s by Mennonite families who homesteaded the area. The modern-day community is populated by approximately two hundred Dakota and Sioux families and consisted of two churches, two schools and various farms. One of the larger farms belonged to Eli Raven Claw, a former drug user who was deeply indebted to Hank Rattling Thunder. It was here that HRT set up his secret command center.
With no dire
ct connection to HRT, it was the perfect place for the criminal Sioux to base his operations. There was a farmhouse and several barns. The land was flat and in the middle of nowhere. It would be difficult for helicopters or cars to approach the property without being detected.
Rainhorse knew what it meant for him as well. He was certain Rattling Thunder expected him and was ready. HRT knew Rainhorse would come alone, for all the same reasons he’d outlined to Lindsay earlier.
He parked Ellie’s Jeep on the side of Oswego Road near the one-hundred-yard driveway leading to the main house. The night sky was brilliant with stars burning bright tiny holes in the celestial sphere. The moonlight was casting enough light to make him visible on his approach. The good news was, the same moonlight would also make his opponents visible as well. He unzipped his bag, pulled two Glock 19’s, and a belt containing several spare clips. He stripped off his shirt, attaching the belt over his shoulder and across his bare chest. He checked his Glocks and proceeded down the driveway, slowly and deliberately. There would be no clandestine approach, no surprise attack. They knew he was here already. They were waiting to dance. He would not disappoint them.
Twenty yards on either side of the driveway was a grove of trees. Rattling Thunder’s men would be hiding there. They would begin firing soon. He crouched low to reduce the size of their target and quickened his pace. The first bullet whizzed behind him, missing him by more than two feet. He began to run, still in a low crouch.
Two more bullets kicked up gravel on the driveway in front of him. This time he caught a glimpse of the puff of smoke left by the weapon fired at him. He stopped, turned and aimed, firing two shots. He heard a man cry out in pain.
He immediately rolled onto the soft ground to the right of the driveway, hearing two more shots coming from behind him. Neither connected.
Rainhorse stood, hearing the whistle of a bullet passing his head, within inches. Rainhorse fired twice and heard a loud gasp from a man he’d hit. Rainhorse rolled again but when he stood, he felt of the burn of a bullet penetrating his left shoulder from behind. He spun and looked in the direction of the shot and caught reflections of the moonlight off two rifle scopes. He fired four times. He heard cries of pain. Both reflections disappeared.
He once again crouched and ran as hard as he could. Several shots whizzed by him or kicked up dirt and gravel near him. One connected, this time on his right thigh, slowing his movement. He grimaced but pushed on. He was less than thirty yards from the house when a flood light nearly blinded him, exposing him and the entire area in a white glow. He stopped.
“Hold your fire,” he heard a voice call out. He knew the voice. It was Hank Rattling Thunder. He used his hand to shield the light from his face. He made out three silhouettes standing before him, perhaps thirty feet away. The man to the far left was Hank Rattling Thunder, he knew. The man in the center was HRT’s height and age but built stronger. This had to be Aden Al Wasabi, he believed.
The man on the right was enormous, larger than himself, even, at least six-foot-five and nearly three-hundred-pounds of muscle. It was Aretas.
“Your men have failed,” Rainhorse bellowed.
“I didn’t expect them to succeed,” Hank Rattling Thunder replied. “I only wanted them to take a little wind out of your sails . . . slow you down a little.”
“Well, I’m here now,” the Cheyenne replied. “What now?”
“You killed my son,” Al Wasabi called out. “You killed Aretas’s father. Tonight, you will die at the hands of the most powerful assassin in the world.”
“So be it,” Rainhorse said, wincing at the pain in his shoulder and leg.
Aretas walked forward toward Rainhorse. The closer the Yemeni assassin came the more he realized he’d underestimated his size. The man looked as though he was chiseled from stone. Aretas stopped ten feet from Rainhorse and sneered.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
“You would never be happy to just shoot me,” Rainhorse replied. “A man like you wants to look me in the eye as he guts me with his knife.”
Aretas smiled and dropped his handgun to the ground, and pulled a huge Jambiya Khanjar, a Yemeni silver dagger, from his belt at the small of his back.
“Our audience?” Rainhorse asked.
“No one will interfere with you and I settling our differences,” he promised. He turned around and shouted. His voice resonated loudly. “Any man who fires his weapon will have to answer to me,” he bellowed.
He turned back to Rainhorse, “Satisfied?”
“Completely,” Rainhorse said. He pulled the bullet clip belt from his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. He dropped the Glock in his hand and pulled the Glock from his waistband and dropped it, too. He reached behind him and pulled a Deer Antler Howling Wolf Pack Dagger, an eight-inch Native American hunting knife.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Cheyenne,” Aretas said, taking two steps forward.
“I know you have,” Rainhorse replied, taking two steps forward himself.
“You were great in your day,” Aretas admitted, “but now you are old and slow.”
“And shot. I’ve been shot twice, don’t forget that,” Rainhorse added, circling to his left. “Did you ever know the reason I killed your father?”
Aretas began moving to his left as well, the two men now moving in a deadly circle.
“Yes, I do.”
“Abbas tried to kill me,” Rainhorse announced.
“Bullshit. My mother told me you and he were partners and you shot him in the back,” Aretas said.
“That is a lie,” Rainhorse snapped back. “I didn’t shoot him in the back. I slit his throat when he tried to kill me.”
“You’re a liar, Rainhorse,” Aretas barked. “Al Wasabi confirmed what my mother told me. You shot him in the back.”
“Did you ever see his body?”
“Yes.”
“And did you see the cut on his neck?”
“No . . .” Aretas said. “His neck was covered with Yemeni head silk and . . .”
Aretas paused and fell silent.
“Why would they adorn Abbas’s neck with head silk if he had been shot in the back?” Rainhorse asked.
“Why would my mother lie?” Why would Al Wasabi?”
“Because they were lovers,” Rainhorse said. “They wanted to get rid of your father, so they sent him to kill me. I received an anonymous warning just minutes before Abbas attacked me. I was warned so I could kill Abbas.”
Aretas glared at Al Wasabi. His eyes were filled with rage.
“He lies!” Al Wasabi screamed. “The man standing before you lies for a living. This is the moment you’ve waited for your whole life. Remain focused. Kill him now.”
Aretas took in a deep breath and glared at Rainhorse once again.
“You are a liar, Rainhorse!”
Aretas screamed at the top of his lungs and charged the Cheyenne. The former Ranger stepped aside but the younger, strong Yemeni opened a cut on the belly of the older man as he passed.
Rainhorse gasped as the blood began to flow from the cut. Aretas swung his massive arm backward the Cheyenne and the handle of the silver dagger struck Rainhorse in the cheek, sending him reeling backwards.
Aertas charged again, this time bringing the dagger down in a hammer motion. The knife cut into Rainhorse’s flesh on the inside of his right arm. Realizing his opponent was momentarily stunned, Aretas swiped three more times, cutting on the insides of Rainhorse’s left arm and right forearm.
“Ahhhhh!” the former assassin cried out in pain. He managed to strike back, however, slicing the Yemeni across the chest.
Aretas howled as the sensations from the deep cut sent bolts of agony throughout his body. Rainhorse kicked Aretas in the groin. The assassin bellowed in pain once again, falling onto his back.
This time it was Rainhorse’s turn to charge, but Aretas recovered quickly, rolling to his left and jumping to his feet with cat-like quickness. He cut
Rainhorse twice more and sent the Cheyenne to the ground with a crushing left cross to the chin. Rainhorse’s knife was dislodged and landed more than six feet away.
He tried to stand but Aretas struck him in the face once again, sending him back to the ground. He rolled onto his back; his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
Between the running, the shots, the cuts and the blows, Rainhorse was exhausted, bleeding . . . spent.
Aretas stood over him, knowing Rainhorse was defeated, “Get up old man. I don’t wish to kill you while you are on your back. Stand up. I want to look into your eyes as the life fades from your body.”
“Don’t wait,” Al Wasabi screamed. “Finish him now.”
Rainhorse struggled to get to his knees and then he managed to get into a crouching position. He tried to stand but he had no remaining strength. He gasped again for air. Blood was dripping from his wounds, his mouth and his nose.
“I am done,” Rainhorse acquiesced. “Finish it.”
Aretas smiled and lunged forward, charging the fallen man, bellowing at the top of his lungs. He leaped high into the air toward Rainhorse with his dagger raised.
Rainhorse reached to his ankle with his right hand and pulled a second hunting knife from a sheath strapped to his calf underneath his pants. As the Yemeni came down to strike, Rainhorse drove his knife deep into the man’s chest and into the center of his heart.
The Yemeni assassin froze and dropped his dagger.
Rainhorse saw blood gushing from Aretas’s chest and mouth as the large Yemeni warrior fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Now mortally wounded, the assassin tried vainly to reach again for his dagger, which he released when he was stabbed. Rainhorse stood and kicked the dagger away.
He watched as Aretas lay choking, trying unsuccessfully to breathe as blood filled his lungs. He knew the Yemeni assassin would be dead within a minute.
“I am done, Rainhorse,” Aretas said, gurgling blood. “Tell me the truth before I die. Did my father really try to kill you?”
Rainhorse opened his mouth to speak but two gunshots interrupted him. He saw Aretas wince again. Both shots went into his body. Rainhorse slowly turned to see Al Wasabi standing just a few feet away. Still, the assassin clung to life. His eyes were barely open.
A Good Samaritan Page 12
