Wild Wild Death (20 page)

“What I can’t see…” Al this time, Jesse was stil staring at Dan’s picture, and he stood and took it with him to the window where the light was better. He turned it this way and that, and I think the first I realized there was more going on than met the eye (wel , at least my eyes) was when a muscle bunched at the base of his jaw. He strode to the office door, opened it, and cal ed out, “Hey, Olivas, you out there? Come on in here.”

Pete Olivas was young, short, and wiry, with the same dusky-colored skin as Jesse and hair that was buzzed so short, he looked like a Chia Pet with one day’s growth. Jesse introduced me before he handed Dan’s picture to Pete.

“What do you see?” Jesse asked.

“Looks like a nerd.” Pete chuckled, then realized he might have offended me and swal owed his laugh.

“And it looks like some sort of excavation. See? You can see the archaeological equipment and the tents and the tables and stuff in back of this guy.”

and the tables and stuff in back of this guy.”

I, too, had noticed al that back when I first got the picture, but since it was from Dan and I knew Dan was into al sorts of things like history and science and al that, it never real y registered.

Jesse, apparently, was far more interested in what appeared in the background of the photograph than I had been. He leaned back against the windowsil , his arms crossed over his chest. “What else do you see?”

Apparently, this was some kind of test, and it was obvious Pete didn’t want to embarrass himself. Or let down his boss. He swal owed hard and squinted for another look at the photo. “The background is…”

Pete’s mouth went slack and he looked up at Jesse, whose expression said it al . Pete had seen exactly what Jesse had seen earlier, and Jesse was just looking for confirmation.

I, of course, was left in the dust. I waited until Jesse told the kid to get on the phone and cal the tribal governor and the war chief and his staff and get them down to the station ASAP before I popped out of my chair.

“Something’s up.”

“I’l say.” Jesse flicked the photo with thumb and forefinger. “See that formation of hil s in the background?” He tipped the picture so I could see it.

“That’s up on Wind Mountain. Way out in the backcountry. Deep in Taopi land.”

I didn’t know why he looked so grumpy. This was good news. “Then we’re close!” I crooned. “Dan was here. Right nearby. And al we have to do is—”

“Al we have to do is figure out what your friend was doing excavating an ancient site on our pueblo. I guarantee you, there were no permits issued. If there were, I’d know about it. And the place he’s messing with…” Jesse’s mouth thinned. His eyes hardened.

“It’s sacred land.”

My stomach went cold. “What are you saying?”

Jesse dropped the photo on his desk and I looked down at Dan, who grinned up at me. “I’m saying if there’s an excavation going on out there in the backcountry, your friend is messing with my people and their heritage and a place he has no business being in. That means he’s messing with me, too. Once I get a hold of him…” At his sides, Jesse’s hands curled into fists. “Once I find your buddy Dan, he’s going to have bigger things to worry about than just being kidnapped.”

A

little while later, a dozen or so serious-looking men showed up at the police station to meet with Jesse, and I was asked to wait outside. No great shakes since, as far as I was concerned,
outside
included those boutiques across the street that catered to the tourists who came to explore not only the historical aspects of the pueblo, but the many talents of its current-day residents.

Sure, I was concerned about the things Jesse said, about how Dan might be doing something he shouldn’t be doing somewhere he shouldn’t be doing it, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. There is no better therapy for worry than shopping.

I bought a silver bracelet and earrings for myself, and a pot made of some kind of famous clay (the shopkeeper explained, I forgot) to send to my mother in Florida. I was tempted by a dress or two, but an unemployed cemetery tour guide has her limits.

Even if she doesn’t like them.

By the time I walked back into the station with my shopping bags, al those men I’d seen were leaving a conference room—and not looking any happier than when they walked in.

Jesse signaled me into his office, pointed to a corner where my bags would be safe, and without a word, took my arm. A minute later, we were in a convoy of three SUVs marked taopi tribal police and headed out. Someone had kindly tossed my long-sleeve shirt and jacket in the vehicle along with an extra department-issued Stetson, and though I had no plans to wear any of it, I was as grateful for their consideration as I was for the supply of bottled water in the backseat. It was hot and dry up there so close to the sun, and I slathered on lip gloss and watched the last signs of civilization disappear in the side-view mirror.

What had Jesse cal ed where we were going?

Backcountry?

He wasn’t kidding.

Not far from the historic vil age and a couple streets of modern, wel -tended homes on the far side of it, the road vanished completely, and along with the other two SUVs and the officers and tribal elders in them, we bumped over rocky terrain. Jesse was wearing sunglasses, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was royal y pissed. His hands were bunched against the steering wheel, his jaw was tight, and every one of his movements was crisp and efficient.

Oh yeah, he was a man who could lose it at any moment. The fact that he didn’t, that he stayed calm and professional, says a lot about him.

“Those men…” We’d been in the car maybe ten minutes and he hadn’t spoken a word, so when he final y did, I jumped just in time to see him glance into the rearview mirror at the cars that fol owed us. “One of them is the tribal governor,” he said. “He’s the one who takes care of business and civil issues within the vil age. The war chief and a couple members of his staff came along, too. Their job is to protect the Indian lands outside the pueblo wal s.”

“And every single one of them is as honked off as you are.”

“You got that right.”

There was no political y correct way to approach the subject so I didn’t bother trying to mince any words. “Have you considered that you might be wrong?”

He shot me a look. “About Dan? Or about where he’s digging?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re right about where he’s digging. You recognized the place and so did Pete, and I’m guessing the others did, too, when you showed them the picture, or we wouldn’t be here right now.” I glanced out the window, mumbled,

“Wherever here is,” and went right back to talking to Jesse. “What I mean is, maybe you’re not right about Dan. He’s not the kind of guy who would be involved in anything underhanded.”

“He better not be.”

“And he’s been kidnapped, remember. Which means he can’t be doing anything at al . At least not up here on the mountain.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. Definitely.”

“He’s definitely in that picture. And in it, he’s

“He’s definitely in that picture. And in it, he’s definitely somewhere he shouldn’t be.”

“But that doesn’t mean—”

“Yeah. It does.”

So much for that conversation. Convinced Jesse wasn’t going to listen to reason, I spent the rest of the trip staring out the window at the wilderness, which got rockier and more rugged by the moment. I am not the great-outdoors type, but hey, I am from the Midwest. At least in summer, my world is lush: trees, flowers, plenty of green grass. Here, there wasn’t enough water for much of anything to grow.

Those tough, hardy sage bushes were gray. The rocks were brown. So was the soil. There was a certain savage beauty to it, but it sure wasn’t home.

By the time we stopped and parked near a pile of boulders much like the ones we’d hidden behind when we were attacked the night Arnie died, we were high up on the mountain and surrounded by a whole lot of nothing.

When he got out of the car, Jesse didn’t say anything about me minding my own business so I took that to mean I could go wherever he was going.

Along with everyone else who’d come along from the station, I circled the boulders and came up against what looked to me at first like a wal of solid rock.

Jesse knew better. He was leading the way, and he cut to his left, climbed a shal ow slope, and found a path between two steep-faced cliffs. Single file, we made our way through the rock wal s that at a couple places

were

barely

far

enough

accommodate Jesse’s broad shoulders. Like I said, he led the pack and I was near the end of the line.

Pete Olivas brought up the rear. The ground was uneven and the rocks on either side of us were rough and jagged. Within a minute, I’d broken a nail.

Another minute, and both my arms were scraped. I didn’t think this was the time to ask to go back to the car for that long-sleeve shirt.

Ahead of me, I saw Jesse scramble up a rock as tal as he was and offer the cop behind him a hand up. When it was my turn, I grateful y accepted the assistance of the silver-haired senior citizen in front of me and Pete behind, whose cheeks got as red as a New Mexico sunset when he put his hands on my butt to give me a push.

This was feeling a little too much like actual exercise so when I saw that, up ahead, the cliffs on either side of us were farther apart and the ground was flatter, I actual y would have breathed a sigh of relief if I could have caught my breath.

“Here.” From behind, Pete gave me a poke and handed me a bottle of water. “We’re almost there,”

he whispered.

He was right. Just another minute or two and the cliff faces parted and we stepped onto what looked like a flat, broad plain, longer than two footbal fields and just as wide. Once the crowd in front of me parted, I saw that we were at the top of what Jesse would tel me later was cal ed a mesa, a flat-topped elevation that soared even higher than the rest of the mountainside around us, with a kil er view of the surrounding countryside and a front-row seat on what must have been heaven’s front door.

To our left, one of those cliff wal s we’d walked beside only a bit ago rose to the sky, its surface decorated with pictures carved into the stone: curlicues and animals with long snouts and short legs, and people with flat-top heads and triangle noses. The wal was pocked with doorways carved into the stone.

Another pueblo. And from the looks of it, one that was far more ancient even than the vil age I’d visited earlier.

Tucked away in one corner of the mesa between the pueblo and the panorama beyond was a weird-looking structure. Think raised dinner plate shored by timbers that stuck out of one side of it like spokes. It was flat on top and low to the ground, and directly in the center of it was an entrance that led down into the floor of the mesa, into what must have been an underground cave.

“Kiva.” Stil behind me, Pete explained. “It’s a sacred space. For sacred rituals.”

Grateful for the update, I studied the kiva and the tents, tables, and equipment set up around it that I recognized as part of the background of that picture Dan sent me. Al around the complex, the place was alive with workers, who scuttled back and forth like busy ants.

I had to give Jesse credit. He was itching to charge ahead. His shoulders were so stiff, I waited to hear the snap, crackle, and pop, and he whipped off his sunglasses, the better to take a gander of al that was happening. He held back, though, and we did, too, knowing he was the one who had to make did, too, knowing he was the one who had to make the first move.

He didn’t. While we waited for Jesse, he waited for the tribal elders to take the lead, and when they did, we al fol owed along. In fact, Jesse didn’t even say a word. Not until we got as far as the outermost canopy, where a petite blonde who barely looked old enough to be out of high school was standing at a table cleaning pottery shards with a soft brush.

“Who’s in charge here?” Jesse asked.

Young or not, one look at the cops and elders and she gulped and looked over her shoulder to where a short guy wearing thick glasses was looking at a rock through a magnifying glass.

“In… charge?” He was a gulper, too, but then, I don’t suppose these science-y types are used to being surrounded by cops and stern-faced Indians.