ZACA (Zack Tolliver FBI)

by R Lawson Gamble

  "The copter's leaving in an hour," Clem called back. He sounded anxious.

  Darby sighed. "We'll have to come back tomorrow, I guess." He glanced at Zack. "Will you come back out again?"

  "I can't say. It's likely, though. If not, I've got the GPS coordinates for that new blood in my phone. I'll send them to you."

  Eagle Feather handed Darby the rifle he carried. "This might interest you. We found it near the big man's blood."

  Darby inspected the weapon, holding it by the tip of the barrel.

  "There may still be some of his prints on it along with mine," Eagle Feather said. "I'd have left it, but someone was shooting at us at the time and I needed it."

  "Someone shot at you?" Darby stared from one to the other.

  "Tried to kill us," Zack said. "If I hadn't seen the sun glint off his rifle, I wouldn't be here."

  Darby inspected the rifle in his hands. "Did you get him?"

  "No, we didn't," Eagle Feather said. "We went toward the sound of his rifle, but he didn't hang around. Left no trace, like he got carried off or something."

  Darby shook his head. "There's entirely too much of that going on. We need to break this case––and soon." He picked up his kit and the cooler. "Let's get back to the bird. The investigating team will want to debrief you."

  Late afternoon in the mountains was hot and dry; the dusty earth seemed to float into their lungs like smoke. Zack helped Darby with the cooler. Eagle Feather carried the rifle again, since his prints were already on it, as Darby pointed out.

  As they straggled across the meadow toward the helicopter, one of the investigators near it hailed them. "Have any of you guys seen Dom?"

  They all shook their heads.

  Eagle Feather said, "We didn't hang around with him."

  Zack threw him a warning glance.

  They loaded the equipment into the McDonnell Douglas craft. Everything was ready for departure, yet still was no sign of Dom. They stood there, talked and waited.

  "Does anyone know where Dom went?" Darby said.

  "He left the crime scene up in the arroyo after an hour or so," one of the investigating team said. "He just picked up and left with that fancy rifle. He didn't pass you?"

  Darby shook his head. "Never saw him. I was at the other blood slick all day."

  The man eyed Zack. "Where were you?"

  "We tracked the wounded man from the second crime scene. His tracks went west to a deep valley. As we told Darby here, we found another blood pool down there."

  All conversation stopped; heads swung toward him.

  "It wasn't..."

  "Oh, no," Zack said. "It wasn't Dom. It was the guy with the large Vibram sole footprints."

  "But someone shot at Zack and Eagle Feather," Darby said.

  All eyes went back to Zack. He retold his story. "Someone was shooting to kill out there,' he said. "If Dom was out wandering on his own, I'd be concerned for him."

  Shadows were already deep in the meadow. The pilot looked at his watch. "I have to get you gentlemen back," he said.

  Darby took charge. "Climb in, everyone. I'll call the sergeant and let him decide what to do next."

  There wasn't much talk on the trip back; it was too noisy to converse anyway. Zack used the half hour ride to think about recent events. They were right about Dom, he was sure of that now. The trooper must have been the inside man for one of the cartels. It made sense, how he volunteered to help Malden all the time. What better way to access information about ranger activities and marijuana crop locations? Dom must have figured Zack and Eagle Feather were on to him––or maybe he thought they would learn something if they caught up to the grower. Either way, it all began to make sense.

  His mind went the other problem, the mystery he didn't want to think about. Who or what was that giant Indian? Could the legend actually be true? Or was someone enacting the legend for his own purposes? No ordinary person, though. He'd need to be abnormally large and possess strength and agility beyond the greatest athlete anyone has ever known.

  Zack shook his head, stumped, unhappy with his conclusions. He remembered his own words to the law enforcement students: once you've eliminated all other possibilities, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. So deal with it, Zack told himself.

  By the time the copter set down on the airport tarmac, Zack was no closer to answers. He jumped down from the craft...and came face to face with Rick Malden.

  Rick stood on the tarmac supported by a crutch. He had a wide grin stretched across his face. "I had to see with my own eyes that you two characters are alive," Rick said. He had to yell over the noise of the blades.

  The three men walked into the terminal together.

  "How about a bite?" Malden said. "There's a nice little Mexican restaurant here."

  Pepper Garcia's was near the baggage claim, at the south end of the building. They found it nearly empty; Happy Hour was a half hour away, the downstairs bar was empty. Malden steered them to a corner table in the restaurant. A waiter appeared at once with menus.

  "You should try the shrimp fajita," Malden said. "But don't worry, everything here is good."

  The waiter went to get their Margaritas, the men settled in to talk.

  Zack gave an account of the long string of events of the day.

  The Ranger's eyes grew wide as the story progressed. Malden did not interrupt even once; he sat perfectly still and listened.

  After Zack described their narrow escape from the sniper in the hidden valley, he paused, glanced at Eagle Feather.

  Malden waited. After a moment, he said, "Well? Did you catch the sniper?"

  "No, we never caught him," Zack said.

  "When we got back we found Dom missing," Eagle Feather said. "He didn't make the flight back."

  "Dom's missing? Do you think this sniper got him?"

  Before anyone could answer, the waiter was back. They gave their orders; she took them and bustled off.

  Malden put the question again. "Do you think Dom's in danger?"

  Zack fiddled with his knife. "You're pretty close to Dom?"

  Malden stared at him. "We've known each other a long time."

  Zack sighed. "You may find this difficult. We think it was Dom who shot at us."

  Malden went pale. He scrutinized their faces, one after the other. "How can you possibly think that?"

  Eagle Feather counted on fingers. "First, he had a long range hunting rifle with him, real fancy, probably scoped. I wondered about it when I saw that fancy case. Did he plan to hunt deer while the others investigated a crime scene?"

  Zack leaned toward Malden, studied his face. "So far as Dom knew, all the cartel killers were dead, nothing but blood smears in the hills. The only folks left alive out there were an injured grower and some guy who helped him to escape. Dom knew that."

  Eagle Feather held up a second finger. "We heard just two shots all day. One was aimed at us. The second we heard across the ridge from us. It was faint, but it was the same rifle."

  Malden's face was a picture of doubt. "You don't know that was his rifle you heard. It could have been another cartel killer who shot at you first, then at Dom."

  "Look, Rick," Zack said, "we won't say this to anyone else until the search team has a chance to locate Dom. We can't prove anything directly, not now, anyway. I wanted you to know what we believe, in advance."

  Eagle Feather lifted up a third finger. "I found his prints, right where the sniper stood to ambush us. I'm not guessing, I know."

  Rick looked unhappy, but he agreed to keep this news to himself, at least until they saw the results of the search. The meal ended on a less jovial note than it began.

  Malden dropped them off at the hotel with the promise to contact them the following morning. He wouldn't stay for a nightcap; he had a lot to think about.

  The desk clerk signaled to Zack as they entered the lobby. "You have three messages, sir."

  Zack glanced at Eagle Feather, his eyebrows raised. "I'm the
man tonight."

  The clerk handed him three folded slips of paper.

  Zack read the first. Please call Sheriff Barnard at your earliest convenience. He opened the next. "Come by my room when you get back. Susan. The final one read: Please call. Rufus Reyes.

  Zack called Barnard as they walked down the corridor.

  The sheriff sounded terse. "I thought you were going to keep me updated?"

  "Uh, sure, Sheriff, I'll tell you what I can." Zack retold the events of the afternoon, omitted his knowledge of Dom and the giant Indian.

  Barnard sounded mollified. "You got no idea who sniped at you, huh? Probably another of them cartel killers. They're crawling all over those hills now. You say Dom's missing? Well, I wouldn't worry too much. He can take care of himself. "

  Zack rang off after promising to call Barnard more often.

  They had come to Zack's room, he waved Eagle Feather inside, followed. He touched Rufus Reyes' number on his phone.

  Rufus picked up after several rings.

  "Rufus? Zack Tolliver."

  "Zack, thanks for calling. I wanted ya to know one of my workers came down from the hills today. He's been lost and chased and all sorts of crap. They found him over at Rancho Sisquoc, dehydrated and wounded. I sent him to the hospital."

  Zack struggled to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Where was he wounded, Rufus?"

  "He has a badly swollen knee from crackin' it on somethin', and a big gash in his leg he says came from a rock. Looked like a bullet wound to me, though."

  Zack didn't know what to ask first. "Who else knows about him?"

  "Well, just my supervisor Jorge, I guess. He went and got him, then took him to the hospital for me. Why, does it matter?"

  Zack was firm. "Yeah, Rufus, it really does. If we want to keep him alive, we've got to keep this to ourselves. Please tell your man Jorge not to say anything. What hospital is it? What's his name?"

  "Whoa, there, podner, slow down. His name is Jesus sumthin', Romano, I think. We sent him to Marion. And yeah, I'll talk to Jorge. What's this all about?"

  "I don't know as much as I should just yet. I'll just say there's been several murders, and I think there could be an inside man assisting the cartels, which is why we need to keep this to ourselves. Are you okay with that?"

  "Uh, yeah, Zack, at least for now. I can't make any promises long term."

  "I know that, Rufus. Just for now. I'll get back to you soon, I promise."

  As soon as Zack rang off from Rufus, he called Barnard back. "George, listen, we need to put a guard on a hospital room. Can you arrange that?"

  "What's happened, Zack?"

  "I can't go into it all just now," Zack said. "He's a Mexican worker. He just returned from the hills and he may know something to help us. I'm going over there right now with Eagle Feather to see if we can talk to him." Zack paused. "This is important, George. People have been trying to kill this guy all over the mountains."

  "Sure, Zack. I'll get hold of the Chief at Santa Maria PD. We'll get someone there right away."

  "Thanks, George." Zack rang off. Without pause he punched another number.

  Susan answered.

  "Hello, Susan. We're back in the hotel, but something just came up. I'll be back in an hour or so. Can we see you then?"

  "That would be nice," Susan said. "I'll be waiting."

  CHAPTER THIRTY- EIGHT

  At first the room spun, nothing would stay in focus. He waited; lay still until the double outlines merged into one. The room seemed too bright.

  "How are you feeling?"

  It was a woman's voice, in Spanish. For a dozy moment he thought he was home in Mexico. Somehow, he knew he was not. Jesus let his senses reassert themselves, fearful of what they might tell him. He was relieved to feel no pain. His eyes moved. He could see his toes beneath a white sheet. His right arm was at his side, a tube protruded from a bandage around his wrist. A thicker bandage with support rods encased his entire left leg.

  "You had ligament tears, bruised bone, and a bad infection," the voice said.

  Jesus slowly turned his head. The woman wore a white nurse uniform. She had a pale face with blue-green eyes surrounded by light brown hair. Jesus was surprised. Her Spanish was flawless. He had expected her to look Hispanic.

  "Would you like some water?"

  He was very thirsty, he realized. He nodded his head. The movement caused his head to ache.

  "A simple yes might be best," the woman said in gentle reproof. "You're on drugs for the pain. You were seriously dehydrated." She poured water from a small pitcher into a paper cup, lifted his head with a hand beneath the pillow so that he could sip the water without spilling it.

  The water was life giving. His energy returned. "Will my leg be alright?"

  "I'll let the doctor explain. He'll be along after his rounds." She smoothed out the sheet. "A man from the FBI is here. He wants to speak to you. The doctor said you could talk for a short time after you woke up." She went to the door. "I'll ask him in."

  Jesus felt a chill. The FBI? Wasn't that like the secret police?

  The man entered the room. He looked perfectly normal, dressed in casual clothes, a pleasant face. He held out an open wallet with a card and a shiny badge. Another man was behind him. That man wore a black felt hat with a feather and had a dark complexion. Jesus felt a bit more comfortable.

  The FBI man spoke in English, his voice calm and soothing. The darker man translated. "Good afternoon. I hope you are feeling better."

  "Si."

  The FBI man dragged a chair close to the bed, sat down. "You know, we're old friends."

  Jesus stared.

  "Yes," the man said. "We walked a long way together in the forest, you and I."

  "I did not see you," Jesus blurted.

  The man laughed. "No, I didn't see you, either, but I saw your footprints. I followed them a long way."

  Jesus felt the blood drain from his face. He didn't respond.

  "How is your knee?"

  Jesus had forgotten his knee. His left hand went to it.

  "Yes, it must have been most painful on that long walk," the FBI man said.

  Jesus was confused. "How did you know?"

  The FBI man smiled. "There is no mystery to it. I could see you favored your leg from your tracks." He leaned forward. "Someone shot you in that same leg. You were lucky; something turned away the bullet. Did you wear a brace?"

  Jesus nodded. It all came back to him in a rush. He was afraid now, wary. "I did no hurt anyone."

  The FBI man smiled. "Oh, don't worry, I know that. You are an innocent victim."

  Jesus stared.

  The man stuck out his hand. "I am Zack Tolliver. This is my friend Eagle Feather." The man named Eagle Feather translated, then nodded.

  Jesus liked the feel of the man Zack's grip. It was firm.

  "I am Jesus."

  "I'm glad to meet you, Jesus," Señor Zack said. He crossed his legs, sat back. "Jesus, I'm curious. I followed you and your poor friend for two days; all the way from the marijuana crop to the cave. I know what happened. But I still have a few questions. Will you help me out?"

  Jesus was depressed. This man knew everything. He nodded.

  "Who was the man helped you after you were shot?"

  "His name was Pablo."

  "Did he work for the narcotraficantes?"

  "Si."

  "The same financiero family that pays you?"

  "Si." Only after he spoke did Jesus realized he had just made a full confession. His heart sank.

  Señor Zack looked at him with a sympathetic expression. "I am not here to put you in jail. I am here to find the people who killed your friend."

  Jesus nodded, felt hope rise again.

  "What happened to Pablo?"

  Jesus's mind flew back to the gunshots, the scream he heard outside the cave. "I do not know. I was in the cave. I heard many shots. I heard Pablo scream."

  The FBI man glanced over his shoulder at the India
n, looked back at Jesus. "How did you escape the cave?"

  Jesus hesitated. It seemed a sacrilege to talk about the angel. He did anyway. "The Holy Mother sent an angel to me. The angel found me in the cave and took my hand and led me away from there. It was a miracle. We flew over the tops of the mountains. When I awoke, I was in a vineyard. The workers found me." Jesus felt his eyes water. "Jorge came for me in the truck and I was safe."

  "Jorge? Oh, yes, the supervisor at Mr. Reyes' Rancho."

  "Si. Jorge is my friend."

  "Did you tell your story to Jorge when he came for you?"

  "Si."

  "Who else did you tell?"

  "No one."

  "Not even Mr. Reyes?"

  Jesus shook his head. "No"

  Señor Zack leaned toward him. "Someone wants to kill you. Do you know why?"

  Jesus' mind was once again filled with horrible images from his near escapes. His eyes brimmed. "I have done nothing to anyone. Javier said the other cartel wishes us dead. That is all."

  Señor Zack patted his shoulder. "You'll stay right here in the hospital until you are completely recovered. A policeman will guard your door at all times." He pointed to the Indian. "My friend and I will catch the person who tried to kill you. We will come back tomorrow to speak to you again."

  Jesus looked at him.

  "You help us out and we'll see what can be done to get you home."

  Jesus again felt hopelessness surge toward joy. This time he held his emotions in check. He no longer trusted the feelings.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Susan's blue eyes were alive with curiosity when she welcomed her friends into her hotel room. She had engaged a large room, well appointed, with ample desk room for her work. Zack plopped down in the large sofa with a sigh. Susan joined him. Eagle Feather pulled a damask upholstered chair close.

  "Have you learned more about our mysterious killer?" Susan said. She looked intently from one man to the other.

  "And how are you? It's nice to see you too," Zack said.

  "We saw him." Eagle Feather decided to put her out of her misery.

  "You saw him," she breathed.