They’d run out of time.
Now they reached the closest building. Light streamed out a small window, and Nora could make out a few figures inside, sitting around a table. They hesitated, uncertain, as the helicopter banked in for a landing.
And then Skip picked up a heavy rock and heaved it through the window with a terrific crash.
“What the hell are you doing?” Corrie cried.
“What the hell do you think? Getting our asses arrested!”
There was no time for any more talk. The door flew open, and several sailors came out, weapons drawn. Skip raised his hands. “Don’t shoot. We’re unarmed!”
“Down! Face down! Hands behind your heads!”
They threw themselves down in the dirt and were immediately surrounded. An officer in a commander’s uniform came running over. “What’s this?” he cried. “Who are these people?”
“Intruders, sir.”
“Good God, way out here?” He looked down at them. “Who are you?”
Corrie spoke. “Special Agent Corinne Swanson, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“What? FBI? Show some ID.”
“No ID, sir.”
“They threw a rock through the window, sir,” one of the seamen said.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. More nuclear protestors. You wouldn’t think they’d tramp all the way out here.” The officer sighed with irritation. “Search them.”
They were quickly patted down for weapons and then pulled to their feet.
“You’re under arrest,” the officer said. “Master-at-Arms, cuff them.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Their hands were pulled behind their backs and cuffs slapped on. Nora saw the helicopter settling down on the landing zone a few hundred yards away, dust billowing upward.
“It’s General McGurk, sir,” said a sailor, bringing the commanding officer a radio. The CO listened, spoke briefly, handed the radio back.
“Bring them inside,” he said. “We’ll wait for the general.”
60
THEY WERE MARCHED inside to a small, bunker-like room where the sailors had been playing cards. A few minutes later, Nora could hear the general’s barking voice and the door opened again. McGurk stepped in, followed by half a dozen army soldiers. Lieutenant Woodbridge came last, as cool and controlled as ever.
The general turned to the CO. “These are the spies I told you about,” he said in a loud voice. “I’ll take them now.”
“Wait,” said Corrie. “The general is engaged in illegal activity. I’m an FBI agent with the Albuquerque FO. Call them for verification. Special Agent Corinne Swanson.”
The CO looked at her again with naked disbelief. And no surprise—they were filthy, sticks in their hair, clothes torn and wet, faces bloody from scrapes and cuts.
“Call the FO—” Corrie began again.
“Quiet!” said the navy CO. He turned to the general and said in a cold voice, “Our master-at-arms has placed these intruders under arrest. They are in navy custody.”
Only now did Nora realize the genius of what Skip had done in getting them arrested.
“I’m the commanding general here,” McGurk said. “I order you to turn them over, Commander.”
“General, with all due respect, I’m in command of this station, and that decision is mine. Will you please tell me exactly what is going on here?”
The general made a visible effort to control himself. “Commander, we’ve been pursuing these intruders. They’re spies.”
“What kind of spies?”
“We don’t know yet. Possibly nuclear saboteurs for a foreign government.”
“We’re not spies!” Corrie said. “The general and these people are in the process of stealing a valuable Spanish treasure from Mockingbird Butte—”
The general stepped forward. “Shut up,” he said. “How long are we going to listen to this?”
“Treasure?” the commander asked incredulously.
“That’s right!” Corrie cried. “He’s been searching for it for years! Our investigation uncovered where it was hidden, and he forced us to take him to it! His soldiers are emptying the treasure chamber right now as we—”
The general smacked her across the mouth. “I told you to shut up.” He turned. “Commander, I appeal to your sanity, if nothing else. FBI? Spanish treasure? Do you really need any more evidence to show these are intruders at best, and spies at worst?” He took a deep breath and continued in a more reasoned tone. “And now, Commander, would you be so kind as to turn them over to me? This is an army problem that has taken place on army land, and I think you’ll find it difficult to explain why you disobeyed my direct order.”
The commander, who had frowned disapprovingly when the general struck Corrie, hesitated. Then he turned to the masterat-arms. “All right. Turn them over.”
“No!” cried Skip. He started struggling with the handcuffs behind his back.
“He’s got a weapon!” somebody cried.
But even as they spoke, Skip managed to shove one hand into a pocket and pull out of fistful of something. There was a sudden glitter of multicolored brilliance as a half dozen gemstones clinked and bounced and rolled across the floor, along with several gold doubloons.
The silence was electrifying. All eyes had swiveled to the gold and precious stones.
“The treasure,” he explained. “I, um, swiped some earlier tonight.”
The silence continued a moment longer. Then the commander cleared his throat.
“What is this, General McGurk?” he asked, gesturing toward the now-glistening floor.
The general had gone pale, but when he answered, his voice was even. “I have no idea. Some trick.”
The commander gestured to the master-at-arms. “Belay that last order.” He removed his cell phone.
“What are you doing?” McGurk asked.
In a calm voice, the commander replied: “I’m calling our emergency FBI liaison number, to check on the existence of a Special Agent Corinne Swanson.”
“Of course you’ll find there is! This woman’s obviously an impersonator!”
The CO punched in a number.
“I’ll have you court-martialed, Commander!” McGurk turned to his men. “I order you to take the prisoners into custody!”
But the soldiers hesitated while the commander, with steely coolness, briefly spoke into the phone, listened for a long moment, then thanked the person he was speaking to and returned the phone to his pocket. “There is indeed a Special Agent Corinne Swanson working on a case involving WSMR—and she meets the description of this young woman.”
“As I said—an impersonator.”
“Perhaps,” the commander said quietly. “Or perhaps not. But the fact is, she’s in navy custody. I have decided not to turn over the prisoners at this time. If you wish to take custody, General, there’s a process, as you well know, and it involves paperwork.”
The general pulled his sidearm. “Paperwork, you son of a bitch? You turn them over or I’ll take them from you by force!” He turned to his men. “Soldiers, ready arms!”
The soldiers drew their weapons. In response, one or two of the seamen raised weapons of their own, forming a defensive posture around their CO.
“General,” said the commander, “are you aware of what you’re doing?”
The general’s gun hand began to tremble.
“Men,” the CO said, “stow arms.”
The sailors lowered their weapons. But the tension in the air remained almost unbearable.
The commander took a deep breath. “We—that is, the navy—are going to verify the identity of these individuals. And then we will decide the next steps—not in an ad hoc manner, but following the established protocol.”
The general’s hand shook more violently, the barrel trembling.
Lieutenant Woodbridge had drawn her weapon, and it was still pointed at the commander. Now, suddenly, she pivoted, pointing it toward the general. “Sir?” she said. “Lower your weapon.”
The general gaped at her, uncomprehending.
Weapon still trained, she spoke to the CO. “Commander, your investigation will find that these people are who they say they are. The Spanish treasure is real, and the general is having it removed right now. We were forced, by orders and threats, to obey him.”
The general stared at her. “What? You … traitorous, backstabbing bitch.”
“All of us were required to do the general’s bidding,” she continued, and turned to the soldiers. “But it’s over now. Lower your weapons, gentlemen.”
The soldiers complied.
“General,” she said in a voice that to Nora seemed impossibly cool, “you, too.”
But instead of obeying, the general backed toward the open door of the hut, trembling weapon still trained on the naval CO. He reached the door, ducked out of it, and disappeared into the night.
“Let him go,” said the CO.
A silence. And then the CO said: “Lieutenant Woodbridge, contact WSMR’s second in command. Explain the situation, and get your men to halt the looting of that … ” He swept a hand across the floor, where the gold and gems continued to gleam. “And get them to call off those damn drones circling overhead.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nora watched her turn and leave. What had at first seemed an incredibly stupid move was, she decided, actually incredibly clever: in a moment, the lieutenant had transformed herself from a willing accessory to a loyal army officer.
The CO turned to Corrie. “And you—you’re really an FBI agent?”
“What do you mean, really?” Corrie said angrily. “You heard Lieutenant Woodbridge! Get these handcuffs off us right now, and let me call my supervisor!”
61
THREE DAYS LATER, at ten o’clock in the morning, in the evidence collection room, Special Agent Corrie Swanson had carefully laid out everything the FBI team had recovered at the residence of Charles Fountain. It was quite a haul. Fountain, it turned out, had been running a sophisticated looting operation for more than three years, using a select group of the very same criminals he had defended as an attorney. Fountain was the only member of the group up at High Lonesome to survive the shooting—Watts had wounded him in the arm and, being no gunfighter, he’d lain low until it was all over. He hadn’t spoken a word since—not one word—even after lawyering up.
And so it was up to them to figure out what exactly Fountain and his gang had been searching for up at High Lonesome. Even a cursory look over the mass of documents showed that it wasn’t the Victorio Peak treasure, as Fountain had confirmed to Watts during the gunfight. No: there was something else, something of great value, hidden up there. But what? The documents recovered from Fountain’s walk-in safe were as voluminous as they were confusing.
In preparation for stepping back and letting Corrie take full control of the investigation, Morwood had asked her to assemble all the documentary evidence for a group review. It was a common FBI trick for analyzing large amounts of confusing evidence—lay it all out and get everyone in the same room looking at it.
Corrie was nervous. This was a big deal. She glanced over and saw the coffee was on and fresh, and everything else was in its place. It was 12:55. The group would be arriving in five minutes. She had set it up before lunch.
She adjusted her suit, straightened the lanyard holding her badge—and just then, she heard voices in the hall. Morwood entered, his hand heavily bandaged, followed by Nora Kelly, Sheriff Homer Watts, Milt Alfieri, Don Ketterman, and Nigel Lathrop. And coming in last was someone Corrie rarely saw: Special Agent in Charge Julio Garcia, head honcho of the Albuquerque Field Office.
“This is quite a spread, Corrie,” said Morwood, carrying a clipboard with the master evidence list. While he hadn’t actually said anything to her yet about discovering the gold and unmasking the general—or, for that matter, the medicine bag’s disappearance from FBI custody—her gut told her that she’d pulled off a major coup. “Let’s see if we can make some sense out of it, shall we?”
“Yes, sir.”
Morwood consulted the list. “Why don’t we start with the master plat of High Lonesome itself.”
Corrie quickly located it, drawing it out of the mass of evidence and spreading it on a second table. They all gathered around.
“Excellent,” Morwood went on. “The aerial photos would be useful as well, for comparison purposes.”
Corrie glanced over to where she had laid out the pictures and started searching through them. “Which aerial photos, exactly?” she asked, a sinking feeling in her gut.
“The blow-ups. The ones with the most detail.”
Corrie searched, then searched again, while a silence fell. “I don’t seem to have them.”
Morwood raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “Okay,” he resumed a few seconds later, “how about the plat showing the interior of the structure?”
“Yes, sir.” Corrie went to where she’d placed it that morning. It, too, was gone.
She swallowed. “It’s not here.”
Another silence fell. “What do you mean, not here?” Morwood said. “Are you saying that evidence has gone missing?”
Corrie felt her face flaming with chagrin. “It seems so.”
“Who’s been in here?” Garcia asked sharply. “Who has access?”
“I don’t know,” Corrie said. “I laid out all this evidence this morning. The plat was here then. But now … ” She swallowed.
“It must be a mix-up,” said Morwood, trying to cover for her. “Corrie, why don’t you look back on the shelves and see if you inadvertently left out a box?”
Corrie knew she hadn’t, but she didn’t want to disagree. “Yes, sir.”
She walked back into the storage area with her copy of the evidence list, but the shelf that contained the Fountain haul was bare. She had taken everything. And there was no other place it could be.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she returned, “there’s no evidence there. This is all of it.”
“How can this be all of it,” asked Garcia, his voice climbing, “when key pieces are missing?”
Corrie stared at him, flushing in confusion. “I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know?” Garcia said, staring at her.
Corrie felt like dying. All her hard work, all the danger she’d endured, the plot she’d uncovered, the treasure …
Somewhere behind her, she heard the faint sound of a door opening, and then a honeyed voice spoke in disdain. “May I inquire when this coffee was made?”
She turned, as if in a dream … and there was the tall figure she knew so well, in the severe but flawlessly tailored black suit, with the silvery eyes and pale chiseled face.
“Who the devil are you?” Garcia demanded.
“Special Agent Pendergast.” He glided over and extended his hand. “So good to meet you.”
Garcia stood as if thunderstruck. “Pendergast?” he repeated, shaking the hand robotically. “The Agent Pendergast?”
“I believe so, yes.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Ah—hello, Nora. Corrie.”
“This … this is unexpected … ” Garcia stammered. “What, ah, brings you to Albuquerque, Agent Pendergast?”
“I’ve taken a small interest in the case that my protégée, Agent Swanson, has been working on. Forgive me for borrowing some of your evidence. I was delighted by how much she’s accomplished and, ah, intrigued by what few gaps still remain.”
“Your protégée?” Garcia said.
“Well, I suppose that, technically, she’s Agent Morwood’s protégée now. Nevertheless, I have a few thoughts. Would you care to hear them?”
“Well, yes. Of course.”
“I borrowed this little empty room over here, if you’d care to follow me?”
Still stunned, Corrie followed the rest as Pendergast, moving smoothly as a cat, led them to what almost looked like a disused broom closet. A table filled the entire space—and there, on the table, lay the missing evidence.
“I’ve brought myself up to speed,” Pendergast said with a cool smile. “So we can skip the background. I believe we all agree Fountain and his group were not after the Victorio Peak treasure. But whatever they were searching for, it had to be of great value—so valuable it was worth killing a peace officer, as you learned, Sheriff Watts, when you surprised Mr. Rivers digging in the basement of this building here.”
He tapped an old plat of the site with a spidery finger.
“It has been mooted that this structure was a house of prostitution. However, it was not. It was merely a boardinghouse with a downstairs saloon. You can see the names of various people written here and there on this plat—in Fountain’s handwriting. He wanted to know who was living in each room. Based on the evidence, it seems his interest focused on one individual in particular: a certain Houston Smith.”
He slid the plat toward the group. “Here is his name, in this little room here.”
They all peered at the name scribbled on the plat.
Pendergast straightened. “And who was Houston Smith? Not surprisingly, a miner. As you will see from this mining company employment list, here, many of these miners came from the Fourth Cavalry, headquartered near Socorro. That was the cavalry troop that pursued and captured Geronimo, the Apache war chief. After his capture, the members of the Fourth Cavalry were discharged. Several went to work at High Lonesome, because gold had just been discovered there and mining was ramping up fast.”
Corrie listened, wondering where this was going. She remembered Fountain saying much the same thing when Watts first showed her the ghost town.
Pendergast pulled another document forward. “Here are Smith’s discharge papers. He was once a lieutenant in the Fourth Cav and right-hand man to Captain Henry Ware Lawton, commanding officer of the Fourth. Lieutenant Smith played a decisive role in the capture of Geronimo—or I should say ‘voluntary surrender,’ since Geronimo was never captured. He was deceived into surrendering.”
Now Pendergast slid out a photo. “And this is the famous picture taken of Geronimo and his band of warriors as they came in to ‘surrender.’ Note how heavily armed they were. They had long ago laid aside bows and arrows for the latest and deadliest rifles.”
The Scorpion's Tail (Nora Kelly Book 2) Page 31
