Renee Simons Special Edition (71 page)

"Then why am I still here?" Stormwalker asked in a quiet, reasonable tone. "I've had plenty of time to rescue it and be on my way."

Kenny's eyes narrowed and a sly smile twisted the corners of his mouth. "Maybe you're afraid to go after it with so many people watching you. Or maybe you can't get it because . . . " He looked from one face to the other. "Because it was destroyed when the house burned down. Or maybe it was hidden in her camper and blew up. Or. . . ."

"Stop this insane babbling." Ian's expressionless voice seemed to take on an ominous quality. "I know. Do you understand? I know you killed O'Neill. I know you have the money. And now everyone else knows, too."

Becker's whole body shook. His face went ashen.

"Give it up, man," Stormwalker urged in a calm tone.

"You've lived a lie for too many years," Zan said softly. "Not many men could have survived under deep cover so long. It's time to rest, to let someone else do the dirty work."

"You're wrong," Kenny whispered, nearly but not quite in tears. "I was a good agent, taking every assignment and slogging away at it 'til the job was done. I gave my life to the Agency, sacrificed years and my right to a family to do the government's work in the field. During the toughest years of the cold war."

His voice steadied as he talked. With his next words his watery blue eyes turned cold and hard. "I came back expecting some appreciation for what I'd accomplished. A decent position back here in the States, a promotion, something that would help me build for the future. Instead, I was passed over in favor of a neophyte with a Mensa intellect and a flair for the dramatic. That yuppie brother of yours, who'd inherited the 'family business' but who'd never been out on the line like I had, who couldn't possibly understand the battle from personal experience."

He turned to Zan. "I had to show them," he said with a bitter smile. He gestured toward himself with the thumb of his gun hand.  "I would grab the brass ring before anyone knew I'd climbed aboard the carousel."

Pointing to Fields, he continued. "You think this whole thing was O'Neill's idea? Well, it was mine. I thought it up. I made it happen. And you're right. I have the money."

A smile of satisfaction spread across his face. "I earned it the same way I earned that lousy thirty-thousand-a-year pension the Agency saw fit to grant me for all my years of service. And when you're moldering in your graves, I'll be on a ski slope somewhere enjoying the proceeds."

He pointed the .44 at Fields and giggled. "Payback's a bitch, a glorious bitch."

Stormwalker pushed Zan out of the way and tackled Becker just as he got off a shot. It barely missed the side of Fields' head. Ian pointed his gun at his partner.

"And then you die," his haunting voice said as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the man mid-chest, flattening him. Stormwalker rolled in Zan's direction, placing himself between her and oncoming fire. There was none. He looked up to see Fields raise both hands above his head as Mac sauntered into the cabin. Two men in dark suits and walkie-talkies filed in behind him and flanked the door.

"Don't waste another bullet on this piece of scum," Mac said as he eased the man's gun out of his hand. He checked Becker's non-existent pulse, closed the dead eyes and turned to Stormwalker and Zan.

"You two okay?"

"How long have you been out there, you bastard?"

"Tsk, tsk." Laughter glittered in his dark eyes. "Is that any way to talk to your best friend?"

"Why didn't you come in sooner?"

"Without getting confirmation of our findings? Not a chance."

"He could've killed us all." Stormwalker found it hard to control his anger. "How could you put your own sister in danger?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Where's your common sense?"

"We've had her under surveillance. We had guys on you. We bugged everything, including this place. The bugs had bugs. It just didn't make sense to stop before we got the whole story."

"You wasted your star witness. He could've given you even more information."

Mac made a sign of dismissal with his hand. "Between what we heard here and what we found in his crib, diaries, computer files, even most of the money, we have more than enough." He turned to Fields. "You saved the American taxpayer a wad of cash."

He took him by the arm. "Let's go see a man about a deal."

He look at Zan and Stormwalker. "You guys coming?"

Stormwalker looked at Zan. "Why don't you go back with them? I have something I need to do before I can leave."

Zan stared at him for a moment. Nothing he could have said would have made his feelings any more clear. Though gentle in tone, his words told her that whatever they might have had just wasn't meant to be. Silently, she joined her brother and his men.

*****

Stormwalker climbed Thunder Butte. The ceremonial pipe Grandfather had carved for him when he was ten rested in the crook of his elbow. On the opposite shoulder, he carried the poles he'd made to mark off the area for the vision quest. Making his way up the slope, he felt the effects, both good and bad, of the sweat bath he'd just undergone.

He'd repaired what remained of the sweat lodge after years of disuse and began the ritual late in the afternoon, finishing at dawn. At times, it seemed that his father, his grandfather and Old Elk, the wise man, whispered in his ear, guiding him as they'd done when he was young. Their images swirled in a mist scented with sage and cedar bark; he was sure they'd forgive any mistakes he might make.

The sweat had poured from his body, cleansing him, healing him, helping him put aside anger and bitterness, leaving him young and trusting as he'd been the first time. In the moist, heated darkness of the inipi, the sweat bath, he forgot Stormwalker the man and became once again Stormwalker the boy.

Out in the open now and on his way to the site of the vision quest, some tenuous thread still connected him to the spirits of the inipi, giving him the illusion that two beings inhabited his body, the boy he'd been and the man he was.

For the next two days, his younger self-guided him through the ritual, reminding him how to pray, to walk, to chant. On the third night, he leaned back against the center pole. Smelling the sweet aroma of the sage around him, he wondered if he would receive a vision during the few hours still left to him.

A sudden arrow of blue-white light slashed through the blackened western sky, followed by others in rapid succession. He felt the air vibrate as thunder rolled in across the valley with wave after wave of deep, rumbling sound. The ground shook beneath him with tremors of increasing strength, setting the poles to swaying, although no breeze blew. He pulled his blanket more tightly around his body and watched a familiar scene unfold.

The lightning marched steadily across the sky with the thunder hard on its heels. As it approached the butte, the spidery shafts of light changed color, taking on an eerie yellow-green glow that lit up the sky before fading and merging with the blackness.

Finally, the sound and the light reached the butte and surrounded him. A gentle breeze cooled a brow feverish with anticipation and awe.

"Child of the storm," a voice whispered from within the neon glow. "Why do you wait for me?"

Stormwalker rose to his feet. He held his pipe in the crook of his elbow and asked, "Who are you?"

"Who comes to this place with lightning and thunder yet brings no rain? Even one as young as you should know."

"I am no longer young, as when I first came here."

"The boy lives in the man's heart. The man's heart denies his destiny even as the boy once did."

"Destiny takes away our choices. It says we're not meant to shape our own lives. That our path is laid out before we take our first steps."

"Whose feet, if not your own, took you away from your people to explore far horizons?"

"I wanted to create my own future, to find my own way to use the gifts the Great Spirit had given me."

"Did you not receive those gifts for a purpose? Are they to be hoarded like some men hoard gold? Or are they meant to be shared, to be used where they can do the most good."

"I never wanted to lead."

"Yet you have, by your actions and your example. Many times have you seen a need and acted upon it. Can you not see there is a need here?"

"There are others more worthy, who haven't made the mistakes I have."

"Never to have committed an error is never to have lived."

"Then I must be a thousand years old."

A deep rumble, like laughter, emanated from the midst of the violet cloud. "You are Stormwalker, who was born in a blizzard. At the time of your naming, the holy man saw a vision that your way would be marked by turmoil. Many times will the spirits unite to test you. Many times will you surmount them until you come to your place at the head of your people."

The cloud moved off and with it, the strange light and the voice of Wakan Tanka's messenger. Soon the sky above Stormwalker cleared to reveal a canopy of black watched over by a thin sliver of moon. He lay down on the bed of sage and, with his head resting against the center post, slept.

Just after sunrise, he woke to find an eagle perched on the eastern pole. The bird watched him with piercing yellow eyes.  Stormwalker sat quietly, unsure of what was expected, of how to respond to this new messenger from the Great Mystery.

Afraid his voice would prove too frightening, he directed his thoughts toward the bird.

"Why are you here?"

"Twice, Wakan Tanka has sent the Thunder Being with a message for the future. I have come to tell you that what has been promised will happen. You have risen above your enemies. You will lead. For this reason were you made different than the others, so you would remember the task set for you. That is why I have come. That is what I have to say."

"Hécetu," Stormwalker whispered. "It will be so."

The bird's cry filled the air. He lifted his wings to catch the wind. As he rose into the sky, a single tail feather floated to the ground, landing at Stormwalker's feet. He tied the feather to the pipe stem with a rawhide thong. He had his answer. It was time to leave.

Back at the stream, he felt a presence, benign and definitely protective. He'd had similar sensations up on the butte and remembered his grandmother's dream. A "kindred spirit," she'd said. He let his gaze search the underbrush for a flash of color or an alien shape. He listened for movement or breathing. Nothing registered, but far above him the eagle called. Smiling, he turned and walked to the stream to bathe.

Careful to maintain her cover, Zan left her hiding place and moved closer to the edge of the woods. Stormwalker knelt beside the stream to sluice water over his face, neck and upper body. Sadly, she watched and remembered how he'd felt beneath her hands when they'd made love. She catalogued the memories: his touch, his scent, the sound of his voice whispering in her ear, the way he felt inside her, the way she felt with him there. In a little while, only the memories would remain. 

She had stayed behind when Mac and the others left. She had to know for sure that no chance remained to retrieve the best of what she and Stormwalker had shared during their weeks together. She loved him and would stay until she no longer had any reason to stay.

She'd trailed him to the sweat lodge and then to the foot of Thunder Butte. When she'd heard his deep, strong voice chanting from the top, she'd set up a camp of sorts at the base. She'd left only once, to retrieve the food Emma Redfeather had packed for her and the sleeping bags Ian and Kenny had brought to the cabin. For three days and nights she'd maintained her distance, keeping her own vigil while he kept his. Despite the cool temperatures, she'd avoided a fire until last night, when a cold snap had given her no choice.  Now, at sundown of the fourth day, he'd come to the stream.

She stepped out into the clearing and walked toward him. Her heart thumped loudly as he straightened and watched her approach. In the failing light she couldn't tell if he was pleased to see her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting."

"How long have you been here?" His spoke in a hushed tone that barely broke the silence of the oncoming evening.

"I never left."

"That fire, last night? Was it yours?"

"I'm sorry if I intruded."

He shook his head. "No, it's all right. I saw the glow, but I wasn't sure if it was part of my vision or the real world."

"So you got what you came for?"

"Let's find your stuff and go back to the cabin."

He seemed not quite back from wherever he'd been, almost as if he was walking and talking in his sleep. She accompanied him in silence. At the cabin he built a fire in the hearth and spread out the sleeping bags.

When he sat down in front of the fire, she reached into the canvas sack and pulled out what was left of the wasna Emma had given her. She held it out to him and he took a bite.

"Where did you get this?" he asked with a smile.

"Your grandmother."

She handed him a canteen of water left behind when the others had gone. He drank and ate until all the food was gone. He'd been staring into the flames and now he turned to her.