He felt the prick of a needle in a vein.
The cuffs and shackles came off again. He was lifted to his feet and dressed.
Everything fit perfectly. Keys and a wallet went into his trouser pockets, socks and shoes went on his feet, tape was pressed over his mouth, an empty shoulder holster was strapped on.
Restrained again, walked to the bed and laid out, Charlie wondered why the hands didn't just kill him and put him in a coffin. He tried to keep track of time, but lost count as a wave of memories flooded his mind. He was back salmon fishing in Alaska with his father, then walking a Jamaican beach with his first girlfriend after college. He couldn't remember her name.
The sound of chopper blades intruded. He was pulled to his feet and marched outside. The cold air had a parched, dusty smell, his feet crunched on hard-packed sand, the wind whistled relentlessly.
Bundled into the helicopter, Charlie knew he was leaving the desert.
But he didn't care. He was still trying to remember the name of the girl on the beach.
Outside Albuquerque, Kerney and Sara headed west up Nine Mile Hill.
Soon the old trestle bridge that straddled the Rio Puerco on a dead-end stretch of old Route 66 came into view. Fifty miles to the south Ladron Peak, a hideout for thieves and rustlers in the territorial days, broke the horizon.
They sped through hill country that dipped and rose to reveal the ancient Laguna Indian Pueblo, where low adobe homes clustered around a humble white church.
Kerney eased off the Interstate at Grants. Established as a coaling station for the railroad, the town had thrived on logging and mining operations for a time, but now survived on the payroll from a state prison and the money travelers left behind as they stopped for meals, gas, or a night's lodging.
The icy state road to Ramah forced Kerney to slow down. For a while Sara imagined herself simply on a pleasant weekend outing. The porous black lava beds of the malpais mesmerized her. Stark and vast, it had a harsh, unrelenting beauty.
The badlands drew Sara's thoughts to Kerney. Could he ever be drawn away from a place of such breathtaking horizons, immense spaces, limitless skies, sweeping mountains? Probably not. Much like her father and brother, who ranched in Montana, Kerney's connection to the land was inbred and strong. In her heart that affinity made him even more endearing.
She rubbed her hand on his leg.
"What's that for?" he asked.
"Nothing," Sara said.
The weather closed in, bringing wind-driven snow. Past the badlands they moved through frosted mountain woodlands that gradually gave way to fallow pastures and glimpses of red rock mesas. The storm lifted outside of Ramah, swirling away to reveal a cold blue sky.
They passed El Moro National Monument, a massive sandstone butte with Indian ruins on the top and inscriptions carved into the soft rock at the bottom by early Spanish and Anglo explorers. yond El Moro giant monolithic figures, carved out of the sandstone by wind and rain, stood like sentinels overlooking a broad valley. They climbed a gentle rise, dropped into a shallow basin, and entered the Mormon settlement of Ramah, a charming village of stone and wood-frame houses with pitched tin roofs, fenced yards, and massive cottonwood trees. The fresh snow made everything look picture-postcard perfect.
Kerney stopped at a restaurant and got directions to Proctor Stra ley's ranch.
He cut fresh tracks on a snow-covered dirt road that wandered past some ancient cliff dwellings, narrowed down to a fence-lined track, and then opened onto miles of rangeland. The road led to one solitary round-top mesa where a cluster of buildings stood.
As they drew closer, Sara studied the buildings. The original ranch house had a hand-chiseled stone exterior, an enclosed front porch, and dormer windows. Some distance away on a small rise stood a flat-roof, modern Santa Fe-style adobe home. Beyond it, a little higher still, an estate-size residence with separate guest cottages, a swimming pool and cabana, and a detached six-car garage surrounded by perfectly landscaped grounds sprawled at the foot of the mesa.
"My, my," Sara said as Kerney braked to a stop, "what a nice place Proctor Straley has here."
"Where's the barn?" Kerney asked.
"The shipping pens? Equipment sheds? Not to mention the cattle."
"Gentlemen ranchers prefer to have such things out of sight," Sara answered in a highbrow tone.
"After all, it's a question of ambience."
Kerney laughed.
"You mean they don't want to get cow shit on their boots."
"Exactly," Sara said, climbing out of the truck.
"Let's go see what kind of feed supplement Proctor Straley favors for his herd."
Kerney laughed again. It felt good. *** A housekeeper took them through a great room with an arched wood ceiling offset by pale white smooth plaster walls. Recessed lighting accentuated oversized western paintings by modern cowboy artists. Deep green sofas and chairs were arranged to create quiet conversation areas.
Large slabs of polished marble on pedestal bases served as tables, and expensive Navajo rugs littered the hardwood floor.
Proctor Straley waited for them in front of a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace in a study room. A row of windows gave a view of the open range and forested ridge beyond. Under his feet on the flagstone floor was an early Navajo chief's blanket with strong alternating black and red horizontal stripes broken by a series of zigzag diamond motifs.
Heavyset with a ruddy complexion and closely clipped gray hair, Straley carried his seventy-plus years well. He had the eyes of a man who knew how to watch and listen.
Kerney flashed his shield and introduced Sara as Lieutenant Brannon.
Straley moved behind an oval mahogany desk, motioned at two low-back leather chairs, and waited for Kerney and Sara to settle in.
"Did you get a call that we were coming?" Kerney asked.
"No," Straley replied.
"Then I'm sorry if we've inconvenienced you," Kerney said with a smile.
"My secretary was supposed to call."
"She didn't," Straley said.
"Why are you here?"
"We'd like to ask you a few questions."
"What are they?"
"Were you aware of your daughter's affair with Scott Gatlin?" Kerney asked.
"Yes, but what's the point?" Straley asked.
"We're not convinced your daughter was murdered by Gatlin," Kerney said.
"Does that possibility interest you?"
Intense curiosity flickered in Straleys eyes.
"I hired Scott Gatlin, brought him to this ranch, treated him like a member of the family, trusted him. If he killed my daughter, I bear part of the burden. How do you think that makes a father feel?"
"Terrible," Sara said softly.
"How did you learn other affair with Gadin?"
"Phyllis never hid who she was or what she did from me, although there were times I wished she had. It took me many years to accept that she was a woman with strong appetites who didn't care what other people thought of her."
"It must have been difficult to raise such a daughter," Sara said.
Straley smiled wanly.
"We were always clashing. She could be as tough minded as any man I've known. While her mother was alive, she protected Phyllis from my censure. I was very disapproving of the way she lived. We had what you might call an uneasy truce over the past ten years."
"But you kept a relationship with her," Sara said.
Straley nodded.
"Absolutely. I did love her and I miss her deeply. She could light up a room with her exuberance. She had a special charisma that drew people to her, especially men."
"What do you know about her relationships with men?" Sara asked.
"She would only talk about them if I asked, and for a long time I avoided the subject. She had what she called her one-love rat-a time rule. As far as I know she never deviated from it, no matter if the affair lasted a week or a year.
Occasionally a lover would filter back into her
life, but most were permanently banished. I think, in her own way, she was looking for the perfect mate to match her."
"You know this as fact?" Sara asked.
Straley nodded.
"After years of arguing she forced the issue with me. We spent an entire night staying up and talking right here in this room over a bottle of Scotch. She wanted me to understand why she lived as she did."
"What did you learn?" Sara asked.
"That she saw no reason not to find pleasure with men. That few could match her as equals. That she had no desire to be possessed or owned.
She firmly believed she could live by her own rules."
"Was she faithful to the ambassador?" Kerney inquired.
"Until the point of their separation, I'd say yes."
"What caused the break?" Sara asked.
"She never said, but it came suddenly. I assume Hamilton tried to dominate or control her, which was something that wouldn't do with Phyllis. After all, he had spent many years in the military as a high ranking officer and was used to being in command. Starting out, I think Phyllis may have been drawn to the qualities of leadership she saw in Hamilton. Perhaps she felt she'd found that perfect match," Sara asked questions about the ambassador's personal qualities. Straley sketched Terrell as confident, mature, responsible, and even tempered.
He noted that Terrell had been aware of Phyllis's reputation, appeared unconcerned about it, and seemed very much in love with her.
It wasn't a portrait of the bullying, self-serving officer Kerney remembered from Vietnam. Either Straley wasn't as sharp as he seemed, or Terrell had done one hell of an acting job.
Kerney approached the issue from a different angle.
"How did Terrell wind up on the Trade Source board of directors?"
"I recommended him at his request," Straley said.
"He was between diplomatic appointments at the time, and with his government and military background I thought he could serve the corporation well."
"In what ways?" Kerney asked.
"Trade Source was founded as a venture capital company looking to expand into South American media, publishing, print, and television markets.
The Hispanic population is burgeoning, becoming more sophisticated, especially in large South American cities. That caught my interest as an investor. In Hamilton's prior diplomatic postings he'd worked closely with foreign officials who could open doors to overseas investors. We wanted to make sure each entry into a foreign market would have strong local appeal."
Sara picked up the thread.
"From what I've learned, Trade Source doesn't have a strong media focus anymore," she said.
"Which is why I left the board," Straley said.
"I'm a media man, always have been. Newspapers, magazines, television, the Internet, and radio stations interest me. That's where my corporate expansion goals lie."
"Why did Trade Source veer off in a different direction?" Sara asked.
"Hamilton brought a proposal to the board that had the strong backing of the Commerce, Treasury, and State Departments. They were interested in helping developing nations in South America establish a banking and financial technological infrastructure without using foreign aid appropriations. Trade Source was asked to provide the venture capital, identify subcontractors, and oversee the initiative under a memorandum of understanding that guaranteed reimbursement for all costs plus an equitable profit margin. I opposed it."
"Why?"
"It wasn't where I wanted the company to go, and I didn't think we had the resources to take on two major corporate initiatives simultaneously."
"How did it play out?" Kerney asked.
"Hamilton arranged important meetings between Trade Source corporate officers and ranking financial leaders and money managers in Peru, Venezuela, and Ecuador. Ultimately, Trade Source signed contracts to supply hardware and software products, plus provide technical assistance and training."
"Was Trade Source acting as an agent for a U. S. Government foreign aid package?"
Kerney asked.
"You could look at it that way," Straley replied, "but it wouldn't be accurate.
Using privatization strategies to achieve government goals has become commonplace on the federal level."
"Why did Trade Source buy APT Performa?" Kerney asked.
"As I understand it, that was done based on Hamilton's recommendation.
I was off the board by then, but I heard that APT Per forma had exactly what was needed to begin putting the necessary systems together."
"Do you know Clarence Thayer?" Kerney asked.
"Only by reputation. I understand he runs a tight ship and knows his business."
"What about SWAMI?" Kerney asked.
"That's another issue entirely. As I understand it, Thayer sold the company but kept the rights of certain proprietary inventions. SWAMI was one of those. It was at an early stage of development at the time and not much was made of it.
From what I've read recently it's about to make Thayer and his outside investors very rich men."
"Do you know anything about Terrell's personal finances?" Sara asked.
"Hamilton lives comfortably," Straley said.
"He's not rich by any means, although I know he'd like to be."
"What if he's found a way to become rich?"
Straley gave Sara a studied look.
"Are you suggesting Hamilton may have held back what he knew about SWAMI from the board for a piece of the action from APT Performa?"
"Why not?" Sara replied.
"A technological breakthrough like SWAMI is almost priceless. Granted, Terrell would have eventually made some profits through the stock he held as a board member if Trade Source had secured the rights to SWAMI."
"But what if he cut a sweetheart deal with Thayer to keep SWAMI off the negotiating table for a bigger piece of the pie?"
Straley cocked his head.
"Hamilton has always wanted to be a major money player."
"Think about it," Sara said.
"Terrell brought the APT Performa proposal to the Trade Source board, made the arrangements to bring various federal agencies to the table, and coordinated meetings with South American financial representatives.
Did he do it solely for patriotic reasons?"
"I doubt it," Straley said, holding up a hand to stop further questions.
"But what does any of this have to do with your contention that Scott Gatlin may not have murdered my daughter?"
"We think your daughter was killed because of what she knew," Kerney said, "not because of who she slept with. We believe she learned secrets about her husband's activities that may be directly related to Trade Source, APT Performa, and the SWAMI project."
"What do you think she knew?" Straley asked.
"First, let me give you some facts," Kerney said. He highlighted the major points, concentrating on the FBI cover-up of Phyllis Terrell's murder, her connection to. Father Mitchell, the priest's probe into intelligence operations in South America, and Hamilton Terrell's involvement in the coverup.
"These facts are fully documented?" Straley asked when Kerney stopped talking.
"They are."
"So, what did my daughter learn that got her killed?"
"That, we don't know," Kerney said.
"But, one way or another it directly relates to your son-in-law."
"If it's a government secret, you're never going to know," Straley said.
"Are you willing to share your documentation with me?"
"This isn't a news story, Mr. Straley," Sara said.
Straley looked at Sara straight on.
"I know how the government can manipulate the media under the guise of national security to suit its own purposes, young lady. I have no intention of falling into that trap. But I want to look at your facts for myself before I decide what to do."
"What can you do?" Kerney asked.
"If Terrell played an active role in causing my daughter's death, as
you've suggested, I will find a way to poison his reputation. Sometimes innuendo can ruin a career just as quickly as a front-page scandal headline."
"Perhaps something will show up in your mailbox from an anonymous source," Kerney said as he stood up.
"I'll keep my eye out for it, Chief Kerney." *** Until Kerney and Sara Brannon left Santa Fe, Applewhite had worried about finding the right killing field. Since the hit had to be staged, icing Kerney at home wouldn't do. No matter how well orchestrated, neighbors might see things, remember little details, especially on a weekend, when people were at home.
Applewhite went high-speed mobile down the Interstate in Charlie Perry's car, putting the details into play on the radio. She had Charlie airborne. The pilot had instructions to maintain a holding pattern once he was in range. The men tailing Kerney were in Ramah, ten kilometers away from Proctor Straley's ranch, ready to follow Kerney as soon as he moved. She punched up images on her onboard laptop that gave her satellite visuals of the terrain, roads, vehicles, and structures along Kerney's route.
The area was bracketed by National Forest, Indian land, and the malpais, and had few permanent residents. A winter storm in the mountains had brought local traffic to a standstill.
Storm clouds masked a portion of the satellite visuals. Apple white switched to a Global Positioning System that highlighted topography of the area. Defined by a prominent ridgeline, the uplift ran for a good sixty miles. A state road cut through it at the Continental Divide, dropped out of the mountains, and ran straight west for about fifteen miles through canyons, mesas, and frontage pasture land. The stretch of road would do nicely for a killing field.
Charlie's luggage was in the trunk, along with a wad of greenbacks and a bank confirmation of a six-figure deposit in an offshore account. The money could easily be traced back to Enrique De Leon The fast-moving storm slammed into her east of Grants. She fought her way through it, breaking into sunshine and a slushy pavement. The chopper pilot radioed a diversion around the storm. She caught the turnoff to Ramah through the badlands just as the helicopter reported a twenty-minute ETA.
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