Smoke Signals (A John Tall Wolf Novel Book 4) (10 page)

Marlene Flower Moon, the Acting Secretary of the Interior and John Tall Wolf’s nominal boss, sat bolt upright in bed with the feral alertness of an animal sensing that its den had been invaded. Something, somewhere was threatening Marlene’s interests. A low snarl boiled out of her throat. Not loud enough to wake Freddie Strait Arrow sleeping at her side. She’d drained him of all the energy he’d possessed beyond what was necessary to keep his heart beating.

The two of them occupied the master bedroom of the finest house in the hamlet. Beebs Bandi slept downstairs in a small room off the kitchen. Marlene’s ears seemed to grow points as she listened for any sound elsewhere in the house. Hearing nothing, she sniffed the air. Her nose told her the photographer was right where he should be: asleep in his bed.

For a second, it amused her that Bandi could sleep so peacefully.

A young man with a clear conscience. Just like the one sleeping next to her. What was the world coming to? Where were all the rascals and troublemakers? Well, no problem, she’d been known to lead many a Boy Scout astray.

Not that she’d succeeded in corrupting Tall Wolf, after many years of trying. With Freddie well in hand, she might have lost interest in Tall Wolf, but try as she might, she couldn’t let him go. The more he resisted her, the more she wanted him to bend to her will. Their fates were locked together.

Tall Wolf had joked with her that when she finally got to devour him she might not like the way he tasted. He could well be right about that. It wouldn’t matter though. The taste of him could be as bitter as the memory of a lost love but she’d still take satisfaction in every bite.

Now, though, she sensed Tall Wolf was in danger.

The threat could be found in the nearby mountain forest. She opened a window to the chill night air and lifted her nose high. There were other people near Tall Wolf, but they weren’t the danger. Tall Wolf could handle them. He always did. No, this peril belonged to …

The points on Marlene’s ears sharpened and grew taller. She could hear the beat of a mighty heart now and recognized the rage within its thumping percussion. Brother Bear. He was furious and determined to have his vengeance. He was watching from the woods, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

But what had Tall Wolf done to Brother Bear?

Marlene couldn’t imagine Tall Wolf indulging in any casual cruelty to what he probably regarded as an animal. He certainly wouldn’t partake in anything so vile as trophy hunting. Tall Wolf’s mother knew that the spirits of wild creatures were powerful. She would have taught him better than to take any life that didn’t threaten his own.

Had Brother Bear been the transgressor? Had he tried to make a meal of Tall Wolf? That possibility raised Marlene’s ire. Tall Wolf’s fate belonged to her. No other creature great or small would take him from her.

She’d have to intervene. Have a long talk with Brother Bear. A mirthless smile came to Marlene’s lips. When the time came for her to testify before Congress at her confirmation hearing to be Secretary of the Interior, how would her inquisitors react if she let them see exactly how qualified she was for the job?

The thought of the throng running from the hearing room drew a small laugh from her.

A cold breeze wafted her way and now she had a better idea of who Tall Wolf’s human company out there in the forest was. His woman, Bramley, was with him. So was another female and two men, one of them bleeding. The scent of blood sent a thrill racing through her.

While lost in that primal rush, Freddie managed to surprise Marlene.

Speaking in a sleepy voice, he said, “Hey, come back to bed, will you? And close the window. I’m freezing.”

Marlene lowered the window, letting her everyday appearance reassert itself before Freddie could notice how she had changed.

Wouldn’t do to have him say, “My, what big teeth you have, Grandma.”

She slipped into bed beside him, turning up her body heat as she embraced him.

“Go back to sleep,” Marlene whispered. “We have to get up early.”

As John entered the tent, the round-faced man with the assault rifle in his hands was on his feet; the guy who’d brought a handgun to a rifle fight was flat on his back, out cold and bleeding from his right shoulder. The fact that his blood still flowed told John that the guy’s heart was still pumping. John wasn’t worried about that. He had his MP5 pointing at the guy who had his weapon, an M16 knockoff, trained on him.

Rebecca had her little Glock pointed at the other woman in the tent, who appeared to be unarmed at the moment, but might have something up her sleeve. You never knew.

Before anyone could suffer the proverbial itchy trigger finger, John asked the man,
“¿Habla inglés, señor?”

“
Sí,
yes, I do.”

John said, “I am a federal officer. Do you understand?”

“FBI?”

“Bureau of Indian Affairs.”

The man frowned. “This is Indian land?”

“It’s private property owned by a Native American.”

A smile of genuine amusement lit the man’s face. “Even
los indios
are rich in
El Norte?”

John smiled back. “Some. This one in particular.”

“What about you?”

“I make do with my salary.”

By now, John had seen the man’s casual comfort with his weapon. He was relaxed but ready to fire the moment he saw hostile intent enter John’s eyes. He’d been well trained.

“You are a soldier,
señor?”

A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s face. “Not many see that. I was
un marino.”

“A marine. So you not only know how to use your weapon, you also know duty and discipline — and honor.” John took things a step farther and played a hunch. “That was why you spared the life of the boy with the camera.”

The Mexican woman reacted with a comical look of surprise. She turned to the man with the assault rifle and said,
“¿Cómo sabía eso?”

Asking how John knew that. About Ernesto sparing the boy.

In the tension of the moment, she’d forgotten John had spoken Spanish.

To Rebecca’s credit, she remained stoic, silent and ready, though she hadn’t understood what the Mexican woman had said.

“Señor,”
the man said to John. “I am curious also how you knew this.”

“I met the young man with the camera. He told me he didn’t know how you missed him. I know. You didn’t kill him because that was not your intention. You are not a man who kills without a good reason.”

John slowly lowered the MP5 and extended his hand. “I’m John Tall Wolf.”

Still cautious, the man with the assault rifle asked, “Do you know who that
cabrón
is?”

He pointed to the bleeding figure on the ground. John saw the flow of blood had stopped. Either clotting was taking place or the guy’s heart had quit. John felt no great concern. Chances were humanity wouldn’t weep at his passing.

“I think he’s the man whose wallet your lady friend found. He probably came back for it.”

The billfold was now on top of the pillow not beneath it.

“I did not take any money,” she said.

John shrugged. “I’m not concerned about that. Besides, he took a photograph of you. My impression was he caught you unaware.”

The man and woman looked at each other.

John said, “It’s in the wallet.”

She opened the wallet, found the Polaroids and took them out. Made a disgusted sound and said,
“Puerco,”
pig, when she saw the first one. The quartet of nudies. She tossed it on the bed and was even more disturbed when she saw the next shot.

Without a word, she passed it to the man with the rifle, who lowered his weapon and clicked on the safety. He studied the picture, smiled and shook his head.
“Estás siempre fotogénica.”

Photogenic as always.

John whispered a translation to Rebecca.

The man extended his hand to John.
“Ernesto Batista y mi esposa, Valeria.”

John introduced Rebecca, “My fiancée, Lieutenant Rebecca Bramley of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

The Mexican couple was surprised to learn of Rebecca’s nationality and police affiliation, but kept any questions they may have had to themselves. Valeria, though, seemed to find the idea of a female Mountie interesting.

In the face of social courtesies, Rebecca pocketed her Glock and shook the Batistas’ hands. The expression on Ernesto’s face clearly said he wanted to know what the Mounties’ interest was and to make sure he hadn’t traveled farther north than he’d ever thought. But his wife beat him to the verbal punch.

She told John,
“Señor
,
my husband and I have worked very hard. May we please keep the money I found?”

“No, es mio.”
It’s mine.

Everyone turned to look. The guy who’d been shot was staging a comeback, propping himself up on his good arm and asserting a claim to the money.
“Es mio.”

Valeria kicked him in the thigh, drawing a howl. She flicked the picture of the uninhibited ladies at him. He actually managed to snag it out of the air and stuffed it in a pocket.

Ernesto asked John, “May I kill this man?”

“What’s his name?”

“Basilio Nuñez.”

John looked at the now fearful figure on the ground.
“
¿Basilio, me puede dar una razón para que usted vive?”
Can you give me a reason to let you live?

Basilio replied in rapid-fire Spanish until he ran out of breath.

Then he clasped his hands in a prayerful manner and gave John a beseeching look.

“Is that right?” John asked the Batistas.

With a look of both disgust and regret, Ernesto nodded.
“Sí.”

Valeria gave Basilio another kick and bobbed her head in agreement.

John translated for Rebecca. “The guy who got shot claims he’s a little turd but he can give us a lot of the big shits.”

Rebecca said, “Give you,
kemosabe
.
I’m just a visiting Canadienne.”

Valeria, with Nuñez’s wallet in hand, thought the moment right to renew her plea. “The money, señor?”

John said, “It has to be the proceeds of a criminal enterprise, so you really don’t want it.”

“I do,” Valeria insisted.

John looked at Ernesto. He had an M16 knockoff resting upright against his right leg, but he wasn’t about to argue with his unarmed wife. Smart man.

“Señora,”
John said, “I know of the man who owns all this land. He is a
very
rich Indian. I’m sure he will reward you for helping to capture this man who was using his land illegally. I will ask him to match the money in that wallet dollar for dollar — and the money he gives you won’t come with any bad luck attached. I mean, look at what happened to Mr. Nuñez when he came back for it.”

Valeria needed only a second to consider those words.

She dropped the wallet and the money, but kept the Polaroid bearing her likeness.

John couldn’t begrudge her that.

In the first light of day, Beebs Bandi snapped a photograph from his perch on the ridge. He had the huge SUV on the road below, a black Lincoln Navigator, smack dab in his telephoto lens. The vehicle looked ominous in its own right, but what really scared Beebs was the guy in the front passenger seat. He took sitting shotgun very seriously.

He didn’t have a pump-action Remington in hand; he held what looked like an assault rifle. Having recent experience as the target of such a weapon, it sent a chill through Beebs. The Navigator’s windshield was clean as a whistle and had no sun reflecting off the glass so Beebs tripped the shutter on his camera and got a good picture of the man and his weapon. In Texas, a guy riding in a $60,000 truck with an assault weapon in hand might only be making a statement, fashion or political.

In Washington State, Beebs felt sure he saw bad news coming down the road. He knew he had to get back to Tesla to let Freddie and that hot Indian babe, Marlene, know. The Navigator had to take the winding mountain road slow. Beebs had a shorter, more direct line back to town on foot. If he didn’t break his neck jumping from ledge to ledge, he thought he could get there in time to sound the alarm.

Marlene was awake and stood naked at the bedroom window once more, looking down at the only road in Tesla. Cute place, she thought. With the advent of indoor plumbing and central heating, there was no reason someone couldn’t spend the winter there. All you’d need was enough food and drink in the freezer and pantry. Fuel and solar to generate electricity. If you got snowed in, so what? Spring always came.

It struck her as a fine place for someone who needed to hide out.

When you owned the whole place, you could set up your own movie theater in one of the buildings. Maybe build an skating rink. Go snowmobiling through the forest. Sit in an outdoor hot-tub looking up at the frozen stars. Enjoy just about any kind of amenity you wanted. Set aside one of the dwellings for the help. They could cook and clean, clear snow from sidewalks and the road.

And if you didn’t need to hide out, you could rent the place to someone who did.

Marlene believed in making the most of her resources.

She’d talk to Freddie about the idea when the time was right.

All of Marlene’s scheming was put on hold the moment she saw Beebs sprinting down the road as if the hour of his death would arrive any second. Was Brother Bear hot on his heels, she wondered. She’d thought she sensed the animal lurking nearby last night. But seconds passed and no fur-bearing predator appeared hot on Beebs’ heels. Still, the young man, clasping his camera to his side, sped onward.

He had to be heading for Freddie’s house.

Marlene threw on a robe and, moving faster than Beebs could ever hope to, met him at the front door.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Beebs needed a moment to catch his breath. When Marlene lost patience with his recovery time, she grabbed his shoulders. “What is it?”

“SUV coming,” he gasped. “Guy in front seat has assault rifle.”

He stopped to think for a moment, regaining a greater capacity to speak. “It’s a damn big truck, a black Navigator. Might be more than just two guys. What the hell do they want?”

Marlene made the immediate assumption that the armed men were coming to protect their marijuana, maybe to
persuade
the landowner that he was going to let the operation continue and keep his mouth shut about it, if he wanted to go on living. On the other hand, they might just intend to kill Freddie and let his death be a warning to anyone else whose land they were appropriating.

Or they might simply be kidnappers. Out to demand millions for Freddie’s freedom.

That was a far more common crime in Mexico than in the U.S., but maybe kidnapping was something else that was now crossing the border.

Whatever the case, Marlene wasn’t going to let any harm befall Freddie nor was she going to permit anyone else to direct the choices he made. She’d remove Freddie from harm’s way … and she’d give these interlopers a warning of her own. Something they couldn’t ignore.

She squeezed Beebs’ shoulders harder. “How soon will they be here?”

“Five minutes, maybe.” Scared as he was of the guys in the truck, and now Marlene, too, Beebs couldn’t help but wish he could raise his camera and take a photo of Marlene’s face. Her eyes, they were like something you’d see in a wild animal … and her teeth, Jesus, they were fangs.

“I’ll take Mr. Strait Arrow into the woods,” she told Beebs. “You will stay in town. You will hide. You will find a way to contact me and let me know what you see. Do you understand?”

A part of Beebs’ mind wanted to shout:
Are you freaking crazy?

Only, without a hint of why it was happening, he was getting hard.

The woman simply had her hands on his shoulders, but she was filling him with a sexual thrill unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Not only was he getting excited, he also felt stronger than ever before. Heroic, even. He wanted to rush out and meet that Navigator head on, smash it, beat anyone inside it into a pulp. Grind their bones to dust under his heels.

He would have tried to do just that, only Marlene told him, “Run, hide, watch, report.”

Coming from her, that worked for Beebs, too.

He ran through the house and out the back door.

Within two minutes, Marlene and Freddie had also left Tesla.

Mateo Trujillo’s first thought upon seeing Tesla through the windshield of the Navigator was:
This’d be a cool place to hide out.
Mountains always made the best refuges. He knew there were those who preferred jungles or remote islands, but jungles were breeding grounds for gruesome diseases and the humidity alone was enough to make you wish you were dead. An island, if it had its own freshwater supply, might be bearable for a while, but you’d have to import all your other needs, and that would be a giveaway to anyone hunting you.

The only problem he saw with Tesla was its road; the pavement didn’t dead-end at the town. It continued on to somewhere else. That meant drive-through traffic. No hideout of his could have that. You’d never be able to tell if your enemies had found you or innocent passersby were just rubbernecking as they went past.

But a place similar to this one with a sign, maybe two miles outside its limits, saying “Road Ends,” would be perfect. Put up a private property sign a mile out with a couple of armed men to enforce your privacy and no one would ever know you were there. Well, they could snoop on you with aircraft or drones, but you could harass aircraft or shoot down drones with your own UAVs.

Mateo wasn’t just daydreaming. His imminent betrayal of Fausto Zara would likely result in either
el jefe’s
death or his lifelong incarceration in an American super-max prison. That wouldn’t mean Mateo was safe, though. Even the boss’s enemies would want to kill Mateo, just to make an example of him. Show their men what happened to traitors.

Zara’s own men, the ones who were loyal and aspired to rebuild
el jefe’s
empire would also be looking for him. Their idea of vengeance would be especially bloodthirsty. No simple bullet to the head for him. His death at their hands would be a drawn-out exercise in sadism, each moment more excruciating than the preceding one.

His only hope was to evade the vengeful long enough that imprisonment or the need to run from their own pursuers would make them focus on more important matters. That and the legalization of drugs in
El Norte
cutting their revenue to the vanishing point.

Marijuana was already on its way to widespread acceptance.

Cocaine would be next.

Hard drugs would be dispensed in medical settings, just like in Portugal.

After that, drug cartels would become as obsolete as oil cartels once renewable energy technology made its inevitable breakthroughs. The bosses south of the Rio Grande could try to muscle their way into local production and distribution within
los estados unidos
— that’s what Julián Fortuna was attempting in the nearby forest, with spotty results — but once the big
yanqui
corporations got involved in selling recreational drugs, illegal competition from any quarter would be crushed.

Mateo, with his access to intelligence reports and his position within Fausto Zara’s organization, had no trouble seeing all these things coming. He’d been planning his exit — his escape — for the last five years. What he hadn’t anticipated, but should have, he supposed, was the idea that Zara and the other bosses, no doubt, would attempt military insurrection. Take over the government in Mexico and rule the country openly, not just exert influence from the shadows.

If Zara was able to get his hands on a squadron of A-10s and find the pilots to fly them, the bloodshed would be horrific and the foundation of Mexico’s society would be destroyed. The Americans would never stand for the presence of an openly autocratic, violent and unpredictable government on their southern border. For all they knew, Mexico might try to reclaim all of the southwestern United States.

Reconquista?
Bullshit.

Mexico would be crushed and Washington would exert direct rule all the way down to the Panama Canal, and God help South America if it got testy about things. Mateo Trujillo wanted none of that to happen. So he would betray Fausto Zara, put an end to his
c
oup d’état
madness, and retire with a great deal of money to some beautiful mountain setting like this one.

But first he had to put an end to Julián Fortuna’s foolish experiment.

Kill whoever needed killing, pick up the few million dollars in bribe money Julián had lying around, and make contact with his friends in the CIA.

Freddie Strait Arrow’s head was still spinning as he sat leaning against a tree just outside of Tesla. It seemed like only seconds ago he’d been tucked in bed having the most wonderful of dreams. Unlike most people, Freddie almost always dreamed in black and white. That was fine by him because he didn’t dream of old girlfriends — he didn’t have any — or embarrassing schoolroom scenes where he showed up not wearing pants or having left the assigned work undone — neither of those things had ever happened.

No, Freddie’s dreams, especially the best ones, were always the same. He stood at a board, an old fashioned blackboard, with a stick of white chalk in hand. At a speed he could never match while conscious, he would whip out the most amazing formulas expressing mathematical relationships that nobody had ever thought of much less seen before. Diagrams of molecules arranged to form new compounds and undreamed of materials also appeared on the board as if produced by a magic wand.

The best thing about this subconscious conjuring was Freddie could remember every detail perfectly when he awoke. Put it all down on paper. Add it to a computer, one not linked to any external network. A machine password protected by a 52-symbol sequence that a super-computer couldn’t crack, but Freddie could remember off the top of his head.

Because he never forgot anything.

Until that morning, anyway. Freddie had forgotten almost everything about the dream he was having when Marlene had yanked him out of bed. He hadn’t been ready to wake up. No, no, no. He could still feel the pain of his newest and best insight into the workings of the universe slip away from him. He felt as if he’d had part of his mind severed from his body.

He wanted to scream in agony, but Marlene overrode the impulse with the scariest look he’d ever seen from anyone or anything.

“Men are coming,” she said. “They might mean to kill or kidnap you.”

Freddie was still trying to register the shock of that notion when Marlene pulled him from bed as if his body was made of balsa. His clothes appeared on his body as magically as his equations did on the blackboard. Then he was moving as if being swept along by his own personal windstorm. Not quite a tornado, but something approaching that sensation.

Within the space of what seemed to be a heartbeat, he was rushed out of the house, the world a blur around him. Moments later, he was in the woods, a quarter-mile away by his usually accurate sense of distance. Only he didn’t know which of his faculties he could trust anymore, what with his memory of the breakthrough concept he’d been putting on his blackboard completely gone.

He’d never had a personal failure like that before … but he’d never been yanked out of bed so urgently either. It wasn’t unreasonable to think the rude interruption of his subconscious mind had proved his undoing. Only Marlene had said she was saving his life or at least his freedom.

He had to wonder about that. He’d been warned by his parents that his sudden accumulation of great wealth would make him a target for both con artists and gangsters. Some of whom might well be girls or women. He hadn’t worried about the grifters; he doubted there was anyone in the world who could out-think him. As for the criminals with guns, well, they were the stuff of TV, movies and video games weren’t they?

Maybe not. After all, he’d never have suspected anyone like Marlene existed. She’d simply walked right up to him and made her pitch. He’d found it compelling, slept with her and now he had to admit he found her company, especially in bed, all but addictive.

Then there were the things she could do that seemed supernatural.

Maybe she’d figured out formulas even he couldn’t imagine.

That was another part of her appeal for him.

Marlene was the only person he’d ever dreamed of in color.

Vivid colors.

For all that, he wasn’t sure he’d trade what she’d brought into his life for what he might lose. He’d be heartbroken if he couldn’t recover the breakthrough he’d experienced that morning. Problem was, he’d never had a recurring dream, had never needed one.

Then, Jesus, an even scarier thought popped into his head: What if he’d lost his
blackboard
permanently? Would never have
any
more breakthrough concepts.

That horrifying idea might have made Freddie weep.

Only a more immediate and mortal terror appeared.

Looking up, Freddie saw an enormous brown bear eyeing him from thirty feet away.

The beast pulled back it lips, revealing great daggers of teeth and began to growl.

And took its first step toward Freddie.

Mateo and the four Canadian mercenaries got out of the Navigator in front of the biggest house in Tesla. The assault rifle each of them carried seemed harshly at odds with the row of gingerbread Victorian homes and shops. Barbarians were crashing the tea party.

The niceties would not be observed.

Able posted Charlie to watch the road through town, keep any traffic from stopping.

“Rules of engagement?” Charlie asked.

“Yell, first. Brandish your weapon, second. Fire a round in the air, third.”

The fourth step wasn’t necessary to verbalize.

“If a cop stops?” Charlie asked.

“Smoke him.” Turning to Mateo, he added. “Killing a cop or two will cost you extra.”

Mateo said, “Just don’t let them call for help. I’m not paying for a war.”

Able looked at Charlie. “Understood?”

Charlie smiled and nodded. He was good with his parameters.

Able told Dog, “Check the rear entrances of all these structures. We don’t want anyone slipping out the back door or firing on us from an outhouse.”