Shaman Winter (11 page)

Sonny felt sweat along his back. The pot Eric was describing was Owl Woman's Calendar of Dreams! He looked at Lorenza and the look on her face told him she, too, was stunned.

Is it possible? His look asked, and she nodded.

“Where did you find it?”

“At the Raton incident. The cop shot Raven's accomplice, a second state police car came up, and Raven fled.”

“Unbelievable!” Sonny said. Raven had taken the bowl when he kidnapped Owl Woman.

“It's believable all right!” Doyle snapped.

Eric continued, “I recognized a few of the glyphs on the bowl. The ankh sign. A tree. The sign for infinity. And something that reads like an explosion. A sunburst, much like our Zia sun. And near the radiating sun the glyph of a bull. Sonny Baca, Matt figured. He knew you had chased Raven. And perhaps Raven is chasing you.”

“What do you think?” Matt Paiz asked Sonny.

“Yes, that's Raven's method. He leaves clues. Where's the bowl now?”

“It's sitting down at TA-Two with the pit.”

“Can I see it?”

Eric looked from Paiz to Doyle. “Do you think you can read the glyphs on it?”

“I don't know,” Sonny replied.

He did know that the inscribed bowl was the Calendar of Dreams that belonged to Owl Woman. Maybe Raven interpreted the sun symbol as a sign for the apocalypse of time. Time would come to an end unless the Calendar of Dreams was returned to the people, the heirs of the dream of peace. It was just a stroke of luck that a state cop had stopped Raven near Raton and stumbled onto the bowl and the plutonium.

And, Sonny thought, looking out the window at the gathering clouds of the afternoon, the time of the winter solstice is upon us. Raven has it all figured out.

“It's important,” Doyle said. “If you can read any part of it, it might give us a clue about Raven and what he's up to. We need to know who funds him.”

“That's why we called you,” Paiz added.

“I'll try.” Sonny nodded. “One stipulation.”

“What?”

“The bowl belonged to my grandmother—”

“What?” Eric arched an eyebrow.

He looked at Doyle, who shrugged.

“Then you did know something about this?” Doyle asked.

“It's a long story,” Sonny explained, “but I need to return the bowl.”

“Do you expect us to believe—” Eric's voice rose in irritation, but Paiz held up a hand.

“Come on, Sonny, level with us. If the bowl really belonged to your grandmother, does that mean you can read the glyphs on it?”

“No.”

Eric shook his head. “The bowl doesn't mean anything to us, as long as we have the plutonium. If it belonged to your grandmother, as you claim, you can have it. What's your grandmother's name?”

“Owl Woman.”

“Where does she live?”

Here, Sonny thought, in my heart. In me. In my dreams, in Raven's nightmare.

“Here,” he said, looking out the window at the plateau that sloped into the valley. Here in La Nueva México, everywhere.

Eric didn't understand, but he reached for his parka. “I don't care if we believe you or not, Sonny. The important thing is for you to look at the bowl and see if it has clues about Raven. Come, let's go.” He walked briskly toward the door.

“I'll drive with Sonny and Lorenza,” Paiz said, and took the back handles of Sonny's chair.

Eric glanced at Doyle, nodded, and they headed out the building. They were immediately flanked by security guards armed with automatic weapons, dressed in protective vests and headgear. Outside, Eric and Doyle boarded Eric's Jeep.

“I'll be at TA-Two with these three persons,” Eric said to the captain in charge. “Stand by.”

The captain saluted and pulled back, as did the guards around him.

“Follow us. Stay close,” Eric shouted at Paiz.

TA-Two, the nuclear research reactor building, lay at the end of Omega Canyon. Crossing Omega Bridge, making the loop, and driving along the floor of the canyon meant they could be there in five minutes.

On either side the canyon's walls rose as natural protection for the labs, which produced PU-239. For research purposes only, the labs' administration kept telling the public for years, but those who followed the labs' role in the nuclear industry knew better.

“How well do you know the place?” Sonny asked.

“I've been here a few times,” Paiz answered.

“Is TA-Two guarded?” Sonny asked.

“Eric has three or four lab security men there, but they don't know they're guarding a plutonium pit. They think they're guarding an Indian bowl just uncovered at one of the construction sites nearby. Eric knows how to lie. Frankly, I'm surprised he let Lorenza in on the meeting. But you have us over a barrel. You know Raven better than anyone.”

“So Doyle is hoping I read the bowl and lead him to the nest of the world terrorists who are behind all this,” Sonny said.

“Something like that,” Paiz agreed. “I understand the chemists from the metallurgy lab won't have a look at the plutonium until tomorrow.”

“How dangerous is it?”

“You wouldn't want to hold it on your lap for too long, but it's fairly safe for now. It's either nickel or silver coated. If you held it in your hands, it might feel warm. Right now it's subcritical, as the physicists put it. You can transport the pit easily enough; couriers transport that stuff all the time. You might be sitting in an airplane, taking your family on a vacation to San Francisco, and the middle-aged executive sitting next to you might be carrying a nuclear substance in his briefcase. Destination, Livermore.”

“But a machined pit is quite a bit more dangerous,” Sonny said.

“Yup. You don't want to be around if the thing goes critical.”

“How does it go critical?” Sonny asked.

“If you wrap it in plastic or drop it in water. In other words, if enough neutrons are aimed at the core or if in some way you excite that baby, then you've got trouble.”

“You seem well versed.”

“The agency has been aware of the problem. We get training.”

“The problem?”

“The number one post—Cold War fear is that a terrorist group might smuggle in nuclear material and build a bomb. The movies you see about terrorists stealing missiles or planes armed with nuclear weapons are just that, movies. What we're afraid of is what Raven seems to be up to. You get hold of a pit and ‘buy' the services of the right experts, and you can build a bomb in downtown Santa Fé.”

“Why not in New York, or San Francisco? A dense population center.”

“No one knows why he picked this place. I guess in large metropolitan areas he could hold the public for ransom, and if he actually blew a bomb, he could cause a lot of casualties. Maybe here he can threaten Sandia Labs in 'Burque.
Suppose
the army has dismantled bomb pits stored in the Manzano Mountains, or right on Kirtland base. And further suppose that a nuclear bomb in our midst would set off those pits, create a superbomb.”

“The end of the world,” Sonny whispered.

“Something like that. Anyway, I don't believe your grandmother story, either, so why do you want the bowl?”

“Historical continuity,” Sonny replied.

Paiz scowled. “What were you doing in Santa Fé?”

“Missing girl. Consuelo Romero, sixteen-year-old daughter of Arturo and Eloisa Romero, disappeared last night.”

“The mayor's daughter?”

“Yup.”

“You think Raven was involved?”

“Yes.”

“So, he's in the vicinity,” Paiz murmured, and made a note in the notebook he flipped from his pocket. “I'll follow up on it.”

The conversation had broken the ice, Paiz was friendly, but Sonny sensed there was more to be revealed. Why else had he insisted on riding in the van?

“Has Doyle identified any of the so-called terrorist groups that help Raven?” he asked.

“Off the record?” Paiz replied.

“Sure.”

“Doyle's story is that Raven has Mideast connections. He has some, but those aren't the groups funding him.”

“Then who?”

“Someone in this country wants the bomb built,” Paiz replied.

Sonny arched an eyebrow and looked at Lorenza's face in the rearview mirror.

“Someone in
this
country is behind Raven?”

“Yes. As near as I can tell, it's a far-right group that calls itself the Avengers. They're probably the best-funded, best-organized group in the country.”

“A militia group?”

“They have militia chapters in every state. People who hate the federal government, hate income tax, hate the United Nations, and fear the so-called One World Order. These groups also claim the country's being overrun by ‘the brown hordes from Latin America, the yellow from Asia.'”

“White supremacists,” Sonny said.

“In the worst way.”

“What are they going to do, bomb the immigrants who come looking for work!” Sonny exploded. “What the hell ever happened to the American Dream! Every white person in this country has immigrant ancestors! What the hell are we doing now, closing the doors!” He caught himself, paused. “Sorry. I just don't understand this entrenchment. What's the fear?”

Paiz shrugged. “You put your finger on it, fear. They're afraid of the exploding population in the Third World. They look south and say Mexico and Latin America will soon overrun the borders. Food and population will force the people north. Hey, my parents came from Zacatecas, worked hard and contributed to society, raised four kids, and we've done all right. I figure without that escape hatch my dad would still be sweeping streets in Juarez, and I'd probably be running dope for the Mafia.”

Sonny nodded. For centuries the Mexicanos journeyed north to trade in the land their ancestors had called Aztlán. There were no borders then. The pre-Columbian Indians from Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon had trade routes into Mexico.

This was the land of the Aztecs' birth, recorded in their legends and codices. Their ancestors were born in the Seven Caves of Aztlán, their sacred birthplace. Aztlán just happened to be the northern Río Grande valley.

Later the Spaniards and Mexican mestizos had traveled north, using the old trade routes. The Españoles called the road El Camino Real. They came in search of gold and to finally settle down. The people from the south brought their willingness to work hard, their language, music, fiestas, and added their skills and talents to the native cultures of the Southwest.

“Fear of the Other,” Sonny said. “Except we're not outsiders.”

“Yeah, but they continue to make us objects of their fears. They believe the government is protecting the so-called minorities, so their plan is to take over the government.”

“A military dictatorship,” Sonny said. “Won't work.”

“It will if they can create a crisis that will topple the government.”

“Like Oklahoma? That didn't work.”

“Bigger. They've been waiting for a really bad economic downturn or a catastrophe—any crisis, and they blame the government. But they don't want to wait much longer. They believe the country is ripe for a civil war. The bombings create distrust in the government. If the feds can't protect the public, they preach, then topple the government and let the Avengers run it.”

“So they plan to use the bomb to create the crisis,” Sonny said, and whistled softly.

“It sounds far-fetched,” Paiz said, “but that's the way I read it. They have a lot of explosives stored around the country, so they can set off enough bombs to create havoc. But they know we're on their trail. We've infiltrated some of the groups; we've recovered explosives. The public is now aware of their tactics and is condemning them. So now their plan is to use one big explosion to create the catastrophe they need. And that's a nuclear bomb. It's the way most dictatorships come into being. Frighten the people into submission. Prove the current government can't provide for their security.”

“I used to think these people were nuts,” Sonny said. “People who want to return to the Garden of Eden. A kind of frontier mentality where every man is his own boss. No feds, no taxes, everyone armed to the teeth to protect his castle. Lord, it was never that simple. To build their castles they destroyed Native America. Don't they see the falsehood of their arguments?”

“No, they don't. That's the scary part,” Paiz said. “You see, the Avengers are a core group we've never been able to infiltrate.”

“I thought you said—”

“We've gotten into the militia groups, but the government takeover doesn't just involve the state militia groups. Not just the good old boys who will fight for the right to bear arms. Not just the America-first crowd of the love-it-or-leave mentality. The real leaders are in high government posts. In the military, in research labs, in the Pentagon, senators, representatives, you name it.”

“You're kidding.” Sonny looked at Lorenza. She was listening closely to Paiz.

Paiz shook his head. “Not kidding. The Avenger group is real, and its members are some of the highest officials in government and business in this country.”

“If Doyle knows this, why does he keep harping on Middle East terrorists?” Sonny asked.

“Well, the director has to report to Congress,” Paiz said, but his cynical look told Sonny something else.

“The director of the FBI?” Sonny shook his head. “But the militia groups hate the FBI.”

“It's a game they play. Hate the government and destroy it, and what better way to topple a government than to have your men in key positions. They've been plotting this for thirty years. They don't want to engage in guerrilla warfare in the woods against the U.S. Army. They're right in the center of power. Washington, D.C.”

Sonny slumped back in his chair. So they've gotten into high places, and the bomb Raven would build was to be the trigger to bring down the government. Lord, he thought, life under the Avengers would be like living under Nazi Germany. They would allow no dissension. They would close the borders, not just the physical borders, but the forums where ideas were debated. There would be deportations of those who didn't agree with the party line. The radical white supremacists would create a race war. There would be a bloodbath, the Armageddon they had been preaching all along.