Gabriel's Stand (16 page)

The next day at noon, Roberto came home to find Isaac and Snowfeather in the kitchen. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Snowfeather and Isaac said together.

“What's up?”

“Canned chili and iced tea,” Snowfeather said, smiling.

“Perfect,” Roberto said. “You look rested. I don't think I've seen you since lunch yesterday.”

“You haven't. I think I slept for twenty hours straight.”

At the lunch table, Isaac was beaming. “She's on the run from terrorists, Dad. Is this not cool?”

Roberto raised an eyebrow, but kept on eating.

“It's true,” she said. “I think.”

“Your father made an impressive speech on the Senate floor yesterday about the Treaty,” Roberto said. “We discussed the issue in class today. Senator Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom, one of this generation's greatest orators.”

“He is. But you must never, never tell Dad that. He wants to be a movie star. He's hoping they will revive the Western. So what did he say?”

“Among other things he revealed that the Senate didn't have the full treaty text before it voted, especially the protocol that sets out the composition of the Commission.”

“When was this speech?”

“Caught it on television at five yesterday, so I assume it was prime time in DC when he gave it.” He put his fork down. “So what are you running from?”

“I think some of the Gaia people I was involved with have committed a murder.”

“That wouldn't surprise me.”

“I'm afraid to call Dad. To call anyone.”

Roberto looked up, studying Snowfeather's expression. “If you're worried about
this
place, don't be. You are very safe with us.”

“Thank you.” She smiled warmly. “I keep saying that. But I am so grateful, Roberto.”

“It was a
mitzvah
, Snowfeather. And no trouble at all. Roberto sipped his tea thoughtfully. “So who exactly are you running from?”

“Earth's Sisters.”

Roberto placed his napkin on the table nodding resolutely. “I repeat. You are safe here. Right, Isaac?”

“Sure. Running from terrorists. That's so cool.”

“Take your time,” Kahn said. “I'm going to Shabbat services this evening. You are welcome to come with Isaac or stick around the house. Do you have a key?”

“That's too much…”

“No, not at all. You'll need one. Isaac, you take of that. I've got to go to Temple early this time.” Roberto got up. “Isaac, your paper is due Sunday at noon.”

“How about five?”

“How about noon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I love it when he says that.”

——

That evening Roberto arrived home with Isaac to find Snowfeather writing a goodbye note, her bag packed, her bed neatly made. “What's this?” he asked.

“Roberto, you and Isaac have been wonderful, but I feel like I am intruding. And I
know
I could bring you trouble. It's been great, really, but…”

“Isaac, please go and get to work on that paper.” When his son left, Kahn sat next to Snowfeather on the Sofa.

“I am Roberto Kahn, your lawyer.” He held out his hand, smiling. “Everybody in trouble needs one of Moses' people armed with a law degree.” She chuckled involuntarily, and shook his offered hand. “Now,” his tone was suddenly formal, “what you tell me, and my assistant, Isaac, is fully protected by the attorney-client privilege. What you tell me alone is also protected by the penitent privilege, which is, in my case, a two-for-one protection.”

“I thought you weren't a rabbi.”

“Just a technicality. Moreover,” he said raising his bushy eyebrows, “I have a notoriously selective memory, especially under torture.” He smiled. “So I need to know a few simple things, in exchange for my hospitality. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's yes, Roberto. I am your friendly lawyer.”

“Yes, Roberto.”

“That's better. Let's start with what you were doing on Shaw Island that day…”

An hour later, Roberto got up to pour coffee. “You know what the problem is, from my point of view? The problem with worshipping Gaia?”

“What's that?”

“It is idolatry. The most ignored Commandment of our age,” Roberto said, walking into the kitchen. He returned with two cups. “Even my Jewish atheist friends agree.”

“Really?”

“If there is a God, there is only one.”

“Good one.”

“Snowfeather, I hope you will agree to stay with us at least until Tuesday. Can you do that?”

“You win,” she said. “But I need to be useful.”

“Win? This is not a contest. Useful? I'm doing a Mitzvah. You wouldn't want to interfere.”

“Not with that.”

“For that matter, you can stay until summer vacation or until the Messiah comes, whichever. But I have someone you should meet as soon as we can arrange it.”

“Who is that?”

“Fred Loud Owl. He is a Navajo Spirit Guide. One of my clients and a friend of your father's if I'm not mistaken.”

“Loud Owl? You know Loud Owl? You are kidding.”

“I don't kid about a Spirit Guide. I have met the man. I knew his connection with your father, Snowfeather. I hope you don't mind. I felt that Fred Loud Owl could be totally trusted. So I located him today. We talked. And he wants to take you on a secret journey.”

The Arizona sky was electric blue when Roberto got back in his car, after leaving Snowfeather with Fred Loud Owl. “You will bring her back?” he said from his car window.

“You may never see this particular woman again,” Loud Owl said, winking broadly. Fred was a lean figure, with short, black and gray hair, an ageless face, piercing dark eyes and a raptor's nose. He was dressed in a loose-fitting earth colored tunic and jeans. “I know your mother and father,” he said. “I was in Sandpoint, a few years ago.”

“I remember. You were the one who took Dad to that sweat lodge session.”

“That was me. You look a lot like your mother at that age.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Before we start, do you know of a safe phone?”

“I have one of those at home. It's never bit anyone that I know of.”

“I mean, I need to call my father and mother.”

“You'll need an encrypted line for that. I can arrange it. But we might have to wait a while. Meantime, I know how to get word to them that you're safe. Good enough?”

“Good enough.”

Loud Owl kicked the dry dirt with a sandal. “But enough small talk. You have a journey to make.”

——

A week after his arrival in Canada, John Owen had been moved to a new safe house north of Vancouver. He watched the streaking raindrops in the street lamp across the empty residential street.
I swear the rain is denser here, somehow
, John thought,
the drops are different.
He sat in a wheelchair near the fireplace, looking through a crack in the curtains. Flames snapped and wood hissed behind him. He could feel the warmth against his right leg. His right wrist was in its travel sling, a faux cast hiding the missing hand. A black raincoat was draped over his shoulders, dragging on the floor behind the wheels.
Ten minutes left. Almost time to go
, he thought.
And I'm a brand new grandfather.
The news of Elisabeth's new baby had just reached him.

“God, I love this country,” he said out loud, letting the curtains fall back in place.

“It is pretty, here,” Dornan said from the doorway.

“Hello, Bill.” John turned to look at his old friend. “Sorry, I meant my home country.”

“Oh. I'm sure we'll go back.”

“What the hell happened?”

“What happened?”

“To this country of ours.”

“The people got very, very scared and they let their leaders sell out the country.”

“They've been scared before.”

“Different circumstances now, John. It is more confusing. No clear enemy. And there are clever people who are very skilled in exploiting the situation. It's happened before…to the Germans, the Russians. Remember the Islamist fanatics?”

“But this is the United States of America. The land of the free.” Dr. Owen glared across the room at his old friend, his eyes burning. “I'm supposed to be one of the good guys. I'm not supposed to be a damn fugitive.”

“We'll get everything back.”

“Right,” John said. “Starting with the constitution…eventually, if we fight hard and long and catch some breaks. But we won't get back all the people they kill in the meantime.” His face was a subtle battleground between fatigue, grief and anger. After a minute, his internal struggle subsided. “How long were you standing there waiting for me?”

“Here? Not long. Hey, don't worry about it, John. It is time to leave town, but the company pilot works for you, remember?”

“When did you check on Elisabeth and little Josh last?”

“A few minutes ago. Your new grandson is big, healthy and in very good hands. Your daughter is doing brilliantly. And Ken Wang is with them all the time now.”

“He's such a good young man. How is Elisabeth, really?”

“Of course she is tired. But she is safe. Worried about you, though.”

“Her trip was okay?”

“Elisabeth is as tough as you are, John. And baby Josh Jr. was almost nine pounds and he's healthy as any baby can be. As you requested, Dr. Collins went along with her. The whole group is just fine.”

“Nobody followed them?”

“Nope. That Montana rehab center was a great idea for cover.”

John nodded. “I should be with them.”

“You'd attract far too much attention.”

“I know, I know.”

“You up to this flight?”

“I feel like roadkill on wheels, but I can fly.” John tried to get his raincoat to cover his right side.

Dornan moved to help. “You're entitled to feel like crap,” he said, tucking John's coat out of the way of the wheels.

“I just hate to leave.”

“Me too, John. But you're no good to Elisabeth, your grandson, to the country—to anyone—if they get their hands on the rest of your body parts.”

Dr. Owen smiled grimly. “I do feel like Captain Hook.” He began rolling his chair forward.

Dornan held the door open. “Let's get the hell out of here, old buddy, what do you say? You and Edge Medical have a new start down under…provided the boss gets there in one piece. The Australian coast is very nice this time of year.”

——

Gabriel was waiting for his car in DC, still absorbing his last his two phone calls. Loud Owl hadn't talked for long, and he wouldn't give out his location.
But Snowfeather was safe
. Gabriel had called Alice at work immediately. “Snowfeather is safe with my sweat lodge mentor. I don't know any more right now.” Alice had started crying and Gabriel promised her to meet her at home as soon as he finished a meeting with Fowler which had been labelled as routine.

“Meeting? What meeting?”

“I have no idea what it's about. But I promise not to be long.”

Gabriel had rechecked the directions Fowler's aide had given him twice while his car was brought around. The meeting was to be in a large private suite at Fowler's favorite Beltway hotel.

Routine meeting? That's probably what they told Custer.

Gabriel stood in the doorway surveying Knight Fowler's huge hotel room. Fowler, ever slim and patrician, wore a very expensive suit that complemented his silver hair. He was holding the door open for Gabriel.

“Come in, my friend. Please sit down with us.” This invitation was issued with transparently false joviality. Steven Fall, the Vice President, was seated at a linen covered table next to Warren Thornberry, the Senate Majority Leader. Warren caught Gabriel's eye, frowned, then looked quickly away. The Majority Leader and Vice President didn't get up from the table.

On a cue from Fowler, Vice President Fall rose and vigorously shook Gabriel's hand. “Congratulations on the Habitat Act, Gabriel,” he said. “It will be part of your legacy.”
The Habitat is old news
, Gabriel thought.
What is the game here?

“Steven, I'm not ready for legacy counting just yet,” Gabriel said. He sat down in the empty place. The group was silent. “Am I?” He glared around the table.

Thornberry seemed to squirm.

“I ordered some single malt scotch, Gabriel,” Fowler said.

“Coffee will do,” Gabriel said.

Fowler set out two small glasses, sliding one towards Gabriel, who was staring hard at Warren Thornberry. Fowler poured himself some scotch and took his own seat directly across from Gabriel, pouring some in Gabriel's glass.

“What the hell is this about, Warren?” Gabriel had growled the question. He was still staring directly at the Majority Leader, ignoring that Fowler had just filled his glass. “And where are my friends?”

“We want this handled with delicacy, Gabriel.”

“You want
what
handled?” There was an awkward silence. “Warren, just get to the point.”

“Fine,” the Majority Leader said. “Did you really send this out?” Warren Thornberry pushed a folder across the linen table.

Gabriel pushed the scotch glass aside and opened the folder. On top was a cover letter on Gabriel's Senate stationary, addressed to the Police Chief in Los Angeles, California. It was accompanied by a thirty four page attachment: “
Preliminary Report of the Select Senate Committee on Domestic Terrorism. The G-A-N: Terrorist Activities and Political Allies
.” Gabriel's signature was at the bottom of the cover letter. Gabriel thumbed the document. Of course he had seen it before. He looked up, his face set. “You know I sent this. You all know that. Warren, how did you intercept this particular letter?”

“The LA Chief's secretary sent me a copy. I believe you sent this to four hundred police chiefs?”

“Three hundred fifty-five, I think. And to thirty-five FBI branch offices, fifty U.S. Attorneys, fifty state Attorneys General, and to every governor in the country. You have a problem with that, Warren?”

Thornberry glanced at Fowler, as if seeking guidance. Fowler remained impassive. Warren's face flushed. “It mentions Knight Fowler.”

“So? Knight Fowler is the major contributor in the United Sates to environmental causes,” Gabriel said. “That is a simple fact. We all know that. Knight Fowler contributed to my Senate campaign, and to yours. So what?”

“But he is identified as a funding source for the G-A-N.”

“Yes, I noticed that. If you read farther it also says that there is no evidence that Mr. Fowler was aware of the group's terrorist activities. Look, Warren. I didn't write the report. But I know the investigation was conducted with integrity and by competent law enforcement investigators on loan from Justice and that they took over a year. The damn thing was sealed until after the Treat ratification vote. Finally it is out. This is how I see it: The truth is the truth. Screw the spin. The major law enforcement professionals in this country have a right to know about terrorism.”

“Are you aware of Rule 29.5 of the Senate Standing Rules?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That we can expel any member who ‘shall disclose the secret of confidential business or proceedings of the Senate.'”

“The Smith Committee report? You are kidding, Warren.”

The Vice President spoke up. “That report is still confidential, Gabriel. Senator Smith did not have the votes in the full Committee to release it. You knew that.”

“I did?”

“The Senate cannot function if its members don't respect the confidentiality of its processes.”

“Steve, there were six votes to release the report, six votes against, on the full committee,” Gabriel said. “And a majority of three on the working committee of four Senators wanted it out ASAP. Thurston Smith shared the report with me, as a fellow Senator, as he had a right to do. A majority did not vote to keep the report secret. I had every right—”

“And my vote would have been to withhold it,” said the Vice President.

“With all respect, Steve, the Vice President of the United States does not get to vote on a Senate committee.”

“Gabriel, with all respect, you don't get to unilaterally violate the Senate's rules.” Vice President Fall was speaking evenly and calmly. Gabriel suddenly began to understand that the entire meeting had been rehearsed, the outcome pre-decided.

“I did not send it to the press. Although I could have. And I did not mention it on the floor. Although I still can.”

“Gabriel, I understand and appreciate that,” Fowler said. “But rules are rules, my friend.”

Gabriel slowly reached into his lapel pocket and pulled out a fat cigar. The other three men stared at him in prim disapproval as he pulled out his old fashioned lighter and struck a thin flame. Gabriel took a deep puff. “Should have brought my old peace pipe,” he said. “Could have passed it around the table.” He grinned.

“Gabriel, this Friday, I am seeking an expulsion vote,” Thornberry said.

“You are not actually trying to expel me from the United States Senate,” Gabriel said. Then he glowered, blowing smoke across the table at the Majority Leader. “Seriously?”

Warren glanced at Fowler. “Serious as a radioactive spill, Gabriel.”

“I do not believe this.”

“Believe that I have the votes, Gabriel,” Warren said, glancing at Fowler.

Gabriel took another big drag on the cigar. “I'll just bet you do,” he said.

“We know you have been an important supporter of environmental causes, Gabriel.” Fowler said softly.

“Part of my legacy,” Gabriel said acidly.

“But your opposition to the Treaty, well, frankly it is out of step.”

Gabriel glared so fiercely at Fowler that the older man quickly looked away. “Christ, Knight. Until this moment, I thought you were a decent human being, a little on the edge in some aspects of your causes, but a man of his word. Are you telling me that we can't disagree? That there is a single environmental orthodoxy? Good God, man, there were a thousand reasons to oppose the Treaty. It gives a non-elected Commission power over the Congress and the people. You and I know what they intend to do. Deny all public access. Freeze out the entire Native American community. My people. But I wouldn't expect your people to respect that. The Treaty destroys the Bill of Rights. In retrospect, I should never have expected you to respect that either.” Gabriel took a deep puff on his cigar. “So the
real
reason you white eyes have cornered old Standing Bear is that I voted the wrong way on your precious treaty. One vote out of hundreds in my career. Christ on a crutch.”

“The most critical vote of the century,” Fowler said.

“We agree on that, Knight,” Gabriel said, holding the cigar like a pointer. “It just went the wrong damn way.”

“Senator Smith is leaving the Senate,” Vice President Fall said.

“And why is that?” Gabriel asked, hiding his shock.

“He has an offer from academia,” Fowler said.

“An offer he can't refuse?” Gabriel stared at Fowler.

“Perhaps,” Fowler said, smiling faintly.

Gabriel nodded solemnly, pausing a beat. “And what is my offer?” He spoke evenly, but with implied menace.

Fowler smiled, pretending to ignore Gabriel's tone. “My friend, I think you need to spend more time with your family. Maybe start a new business. A casino. Whatever you like. I would like to invest in your future, Gabriel. I was thinking in the range of twenty five million for the business, and an equal amount just for you.”

“In exchange for what?”

“You will leave public life, of course.”

“Resign the Senate?”

“Obviously.”

“And I keep my mouth shut.”

“That is a bit extreme,” Fowler said, affecting a reasonable tone. “Just no ‘tell-all' books, and no scorching interviews to the tabloids.”

“Just be a good Indian and mind my ‘P's and Q's' on the reservation?”

There was an icy silence. Eventually, Gabriel stood. “No thank you,” he said quietly. He picked up the glass of scotch Fowler had attempted to give him and held it up to the light. Then he set it in front of Warren Thornberry. “You're still accepting handouts?”

“You're upset, Gabriel,” the Majority Leader said.

Then Gabriel carefully submerged his burning cigar in Knight Fowler's scotch. There was a tiny hissing noise in the suddenly silent room.

Gabriel left the hotel room without saying another word.