by Bob Mayer
“Keep your mouth in check,” Crawford said.
“You killed my father,” Toni said. “You’re running drugs and guns and who knows what else. But you’re in trouble.” She nodded toward the Hmong. “They wouldn’t be here if you weren’t scared. Same with the bikers. Kane is going to kill you. All of you.” She looked Yazzie in the eyes. “Now, I’ve said it.”
The cargo bay was dim, just red lights, allowing them to maintain their night vision. The sound of the four turboprop engines reverberated through the interior. Caitlyn leaned close, his mouth inches from Kane’s ear so he could hear.
“Can I ask you something?”
Kane waited.
“What happened to Ngo? You never admitted anything. Nor did anyone else.”
Kane turned and shouted back. “I can’t talk about that.”
“Is he dead?”
“You’re the first person who ever asked that. Everyone assumed he was dead when we came back from that op without him and reported him KIA. But I’ve been thinking of that photo of him and the Laotian general. We weren’t shown that. We only saw the one with him and the NVA. What if Ngo wasn’t an independent operator like you speculated. What if we were working for the CIA? Or, more accurately, with it as a freelancer. And the Agency fed us that picture to eliminate him for some reason? Perhaps he was going to turn on them.”
Caitlyn nodded. “Possible. You still haven’t answered my question.”
“And I’m not going to.”
“Your prerogative,” Caitlyn said. She checked her watch. “Time for you to rig.”
Kane went over to the pallet of gear that had been waiting for them on the plane. Grabbed one of several parachutes and slipped it on. He quickly attached the straps, moving instinctually. Attached his rucksack below the reserve in the front.
He gestured at Caitlyn. “JMPI?” he asked.
She nodded. He put his hands on the back of his and performed a jumpmaster parachute inspection. She checked the straps and connections, her eyes following hands, pulling, tugging and checking.
“Turn,” she ordered.
He did so and she inspected the chute on his back. She gave him a slight slap on the butt. “Good to go.”
Kane waddled over to the red web bench that ran along the interior of the plane’s fuselage. He slumped onto the bench. Caitlyn sat next to him.
Kane checked his watch, peeling back the Velcro.
“How long?” Caitlyn asked.
“Five minutes,” Kane replied. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the hard, cold skin of the plane.
“Fuck it,” Caitlyn muttered.
Kane sensed her getting up and opened his eyes. She retrieved a chute from the pallet.
“Give me a hand,” she said.
Kane opened the rig as she turned away from him and extended her arms. He slid the harness over her arms, settling the parachute on her back. He awkwardly reached down and grabbed one of the leg straps. “Left leg,” he called out.
“Left leg,” she affirmed as she reached back and grabbed it. Buckled.
“Right leg.”
“Right leg.”
Caitlyn rigged swiftly, tightening down all the straps. She strapped the M-21 to her left side, sling over her shoulder, cinching the waist belt tight around it.
“Does this mean we’re getting married?” Kane asked her.
“I’ll land on the runway, northwest side. There’re two guards according to Bluehorse. One of the Flint Boys, Reed, and a biker. Right now, your plan doesn’t account for them.”
“Right,” Kane said. “I figured I’d get to them eventually.”
They both turned as the back ramp of the C-130 cracked open, the lower portion dropping while the upper part was drawn up into the tail recess of the cargo bay. Chill night air swirled into the cargo bay. At eighteen thousand feet, the air was thin.
Kane looked up at the red light in the tail as the ramp leveled in front of him. He moved to the hydraulic arm on the left side and knelt awkwardly. He peered forward.
Unusual for the United States, the land below was dark with no sign of civilization anywhere nearby. There was a cluster of lights far to the south, a town, but nothing within many miles. He had to trust the pilots gave the green in the right spot, because it was going to be tough to navigate. He squinted against the one-hundred-and-thirty-fifty-knot wind, trying to get oriented. He finally spotted the dammed-up waters of the Colorado River. He mentally matched the map he’d memorized and located the spot where the Escalante River entered the Colorado which fixed his position. The dark line of the cliff that marked the edge of the Staircase angled northwest from the Colorado River. The plane was offset east of the Colorado River by five miles, meaning that at this altitude and that lateral distance, the engines couldn’t be heard at Fiftymile Point. The plane’s exterior lights were off making it a dark, fast-moving silhouette against a night sky.
Kane got to his feet, his internal clock warning him and shuffled to the very edge of the ramp. He looked over his shoulder at Caitlyn. Pointed above him. “Follow me.”
She gave him a thumbs up.
The light turned green and Kane stepped off into the void. Two seconds behind him, Caitlyn jumped.
“This is Tsosie. Vehicle inbound, over.” The message was in Navajo.
The radio broke through the glare standoff between Toni and Crawford. Crawford grabbed the headset. “That will be the two Hmong. Let them pass. Out.” He put the mike down and shifted to English. “Antonia. There is only one way you get out of this situation alive. Tell us the key phrase your father used. He wouldn’t have put this—” he indicated the material— “in your office if he didn’t think you knew it or could figure it out. So figure it out.”
“I thought I was here to bring Kane to you,” Toni said.
“You are,” Crawford replied. “And he has the ledger from Damon. We’re trading you for it. Then you go home.”
“What about the blood feud? You don’t lie very well. I know too much and I’ve seen too much.”
Yazzie had been listening to the exchange without a word but he’d been considering something else. He picked up the mike. “Tsosie? This is Yazzie. Over.”
“Tsosie here. Over.”
“How close is the truck? Over.”
“Half mile away. Over.”
“Is it one of ours? Over.”
“Headlights look like a Defender. Over.”
“Stop it and check who is inside. Out.” He put the mike down and turned to his ‘father’. “We can’t assume anything when it involves Kane.”
Kane pulled the ripcord less than five seconds after exiting the plane. Checked to make sure he had a good canopy as he grabbed the toggle on each riser. Spotted Caitlyn’s canopy above and behind, tracking.
He turned toward Fiftymile Point and began flying the chute laterally as he descended.
“The guards are ahead, to the left, after the last turn before the tunnel,” Bluehorse said.
The headlights of the Defender pushed back the darkness just far enough to allow him to negotiate the switchbacks up the slope of Fiftymile Point.
“Do you remember the story I told you?” Kinsman asked.
“Yes.”
“Word for word?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Maybe you can pass it on to your son one day.”
“Time to get down to business,” Crawford said to Toni. “I want the key.”
Yazzie walked behind her. When she tried to stand, his hands on her shoulders shoved her back down on the bench.
“You’re correct,” Crawford said. “You’re not getting out of here alive. It’s simply a question of how much you want to suffer.”
“You have to keep me alive until you talk to Kane,” Toni argued.
“Alive doesn’t mean not bleeding,” Crawford said.
Yazzie drew his knife and pressed the edge against her cheek. “You have nice skin,” he said.
“Alive also doesn�
�t mean having all your body parts,” Crawford said. “I’ve watched Yazzie take people apart, piece by piece. Something he learned overseas.”
“I don’t know the key,” Toni said. “And I’ve been hurt before.”
“Ah yes,” Crawford said. “Damon’s Holy Trinity. I watched the film. You’re lucky they left you alive. Damon should have let them finish you and then fed what was left into the stoves. The fact he didn’t ultimately led to his demise. I’m not going to make the same mistake.”
Kane spotted a flicker of headlights on the northwest side of Fiftymile Point. Kinsman and Bluehorse. They were very close to the location Bluehorse had given them for the guards on that side and the entrance to the tunnel.
He dumped air, quickening his descent and passing through five thousand feet. He gave a quick glance up but couldn’t spot Caitlyn’s canopy in the dark and assumed she’d broken off toward her target. He looked back down and focused on his own navigation.
“We’re close to the guard post,” Bluehorse informed Kinsman. “Beyond this next switchback, about twenty yards. They’ll be on the left side.”
“Let me out,” Kinsman ordered.
Bluehorse tapped the brakes. Kinsman slid out. As he moved out on foot, Bluehorse continued.
The Defender came around the switchback and Bluehorse hit the brakes upon spotting Tsosie’s large frame standing in the middle of the trail, holding a flashlight pointed down in one hand, an M-16 in the other.
Kane flared the chute to slow his descent, but he landed hard, crumpling to his side in the way he’d been taught years ago by the Blackhats at Fort Benning: balls of the feet, shin, butt, and flat of the back. The rock knocked the wind out of him and he was forced to take a moment. Then he got to his feet. He didn’t unbuckle the harness but pulled the quick releases on the risers, separating the chute from harness.
Bluehorse rolled down the window as Tsosie came toward him, shining the flashlight into the windshield and blinding him. He turned off the headlights and kept his hands on the steering wheel.
“Bluehorse?” Tsosie was confused as he approached and recognized him. “What are you doing back?”
Caitlyn landed on the northwest edge of promontory. The chute settled as she unbuckled and shrugged off the harness. She pulled back the charging handle on the M-21, seating a round in the chamber. Then headed toward where Bluehorse had told them the security post was.
Tsosie arrived at the Defender and shone the light at Bluehorse first, then at the biker. “What the fuck!” he demanded when he saw that the man was dead and strapped to the seat. “What happened?”
“Kane,” Bluehorse said. “He ambushed us.”
“Did you kill him?”
“He escaped,” Bluehorse said.
Tsosie gestured to the side. “We need to radio Yazzie. Let him know.”
Bluehorse shut off the engine and got out. He followed Tsosie.
In the darkness to the side of the trail, Kinsman shadowed them.
The air shaft was easy to find because of the low chug of the generator. Kane cut the wire at the base of the antenna and tied off the loose end to prevent it falling into the shaft. He looked down, saw the glow below. He did a guess estimate of how far it was.
He opened his ruck and pulled out a length of rope. Ran it through his hands measuring. Tied it off to the generator. Looped the rope through the snap link he’d emplaced on the front of the harness. Tied a knot in the free end and tossed it in the shaft. Took out the set of night vision goggles and put them on his head, resting them on his forehead and turning them on.
Kane sat down, edging his feet over into the shaft while keeping the free end of the rope in his left hand. Kane pulled the goggles down over his eyes.
“Get up,” Tsosie said as he kicked Ortega. Bluehorse was standing him.
The biker gang leader pushed aside a blanket and sat up, confused for a moment. “What?”
The thirty-caliber round from Kinsman’s M-1 hit him in the side of the head and blood, brains and bone blossomed out of the exit wound. Ortega’s body tumbled to the side.
Bluehorse had his pistol out, pointed at Tsosie. “I don’t want to hurt you, brother.”
Kane heard the shot in the distance. He spun about into the shaft, brake hand tight to his lower back, suspended by the rope. He began descending, not able to bound because of the tightness of the shaft, rapidly walking his way down.
Caitlyn was on her belly, at the edge of the promontory, only fifty meters from where Reed and the biker had their observation post. She had her cheek pressed against the stock of the M-21 and was looking through the Starlight Scope. She didn’t need the magnification given the distance but the night vision helped.
As Kinsman’s shot echoed across the promontory she tenderly pulled back on the trigger, appreciating the satisfying recoil in her shoulder. The 7.62 mm round hit Reed in the throat, which is where she’d aimed just to make it more of a test. It ripped through both carotid arteries as he was sideways to her position.
As the biker watched Reed collapse, blood spraying around hands futilely held against his neck, Caitlyn fired again. The round hit the biker in the forehead and took off the top of his head.
She stood and began running across the top of Fiftymile Point for the other side toward the entrance to the tunnel.
“The key?” Crawford asked.
“This is insane,” Toni said.
Crawford nodded and Yazzie slid the sharp edge back along her cheek, slicing it open. Not a deep wound but bloody.
“Fuck you!” Toni screamed.
Yazzie turned toward the entrance tunnel where the two Hmong sprang to their feet, alert, looking into the tunnel. “What was that?”
Kane heard Toni’s shout as he was halfway down the shaft. One hand holding the braked rope, he pulled a set of rubber handled wire cutters out. He heard two distant shots from a different location.
“You promised, Elder,” Bluehorse said as Kinsman came into view, M-1 leveled at Tsosie.
“You are responsible for him,” Kinsman said. “Give me the truck keys.”
Bluehorse handed them over. Kinsman backed up, keeping the gun on Tsosie, even though Bluehorse had him covered. When he was far enough away, he turned and jogged for the Defender.
“Those were shots,” Yazzie said as he sheathed the knife and grabbed his M-16.
“Why haven’t we heard from—” Crawford began, then the lights went out.
Kane pulled his left hand wide, releasing the ‘brake’ on the rope and slid down, bouncing and scraping against the narrow sides of the shaft.
He came to an abrupt halt, head slamming against rock, as he ran out of rope and reached the knot several feet above the cavern, his guess estimate about five feet short.
The two Hmong were shouting near the tunnel entrance in their native tongue.
Toni rolled off the bench and scurried underneath the table.
Yazzie and Crawford readied their weapons.
Kane let of the rope with his brake hand and drew the Fairbairn. He sawed back and forth on the taut rope.
Kinsman drove past Bluehorse and Tsosie, the former holding the gun on his ‘brother’. They were arguing loudly, but Kinsman had no time to waste on them. He left them behind, driving as fast as possible. The tunnel entrance lay directly ahead as he turned the last switchback. He accelerated, heading directly into it.
The last strand parted and Kane dropped out of the shaft, slamming into the floor of the cavern, momentarily stunned. He blinked, unable to move for a moment, getting oriented, looking up, everything a very dim two-dimensional shade of green given the almost complete lack of light in the cavern to amplify. The goggles flared out as a set of headlights entered the chamber, flooding it with light and aimed directly at him.
Kinsman didn’t brake as he entered, slamming the Defender into the two confused Hmong mercenaries, one of whom managed to get a burst off from his M-16 before being tossed into the air and to the side by the truck’s b
umper. The rounds ricocheted off the rock walls. The other one was crushed under the truck’s wheels, killing him instantly, a speed bump for the big-wheeled Defender.
Yazzie had his M-16 trained on Kane as he got to his knees, spotlighted by the Defender’s headlights
“Kill him,” Crawford ordered as he aimed at the Defender.
Yazzie’s finger was on the trigger. “Blood for blood.” He slowly lowered the rifle.
Kane got to his feet, ripping off the goggles, pulling the forty-five.
“What are you doing?” Crawford demanded of Yazzie.
“Honor,” Yazzie said. He dropped the M-16 and drew his knife. He took several steps toward Kane. “Blade on blade.”
“Sergeant Crawford,” Kinsman called out as he got out of the Defender, the wire stock of the M-1 tight to his shoulder. “Do you have honor also? Blade on blade? Do you remember killing Private Yazzie?”
Crawford squinted into the light from the truck. “Kinsman? Oh yeah, hombre. I’ve got honor.” He pulled the trigger but missed, thrown off by the glare of the headlights.
Kane had the forty-five pointed at Yazzie, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger.
“Fuck honor,” Toni said. She’d picked up Yazzie’s M-16. As he turned toward her in surprise, she fired. The round hit Yazzie in the stomach. She kept firing as fast as she could pull the trigger as he fell to the stone floor.
Crawford swung his rifle about, aiming at her while she was still shooting.
