The Valley of Dry Bones by Jerry B. Jenkins
“Right there in the drugstore, but from one of the tribes here.”
“No. How’d he get there?”
“That’s what I’m sayin’. I don’t know. That’s all.”
“I’m not following. Somebody from one of the California tribes, there in Parker? You’re sure?”
“That’s just it, Zeke. It make no sense to me. I didn’t want to talk to him, but every time I glance at him, he look like he watchin’ me and he look away. I told Danley to go around the other way and see what he think, but . . .” Raoul shook his head.
“What? He didn’t recognize him?”
“Sorta.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, he say think he kinda look like someone we might know from one of the tribes, but—”
“But what, Raoul?”
“See, this guy was wearin’ pants and a shirt and a hat kinda like you wear, and he had long hair like mine.”
“So?”
“And he was stocky, strong-looking, like about Katashi size.”
“Okay.”
“I thought Danley was bein’ loco.”
“Why, about what?”
“He thought it might be a woman.”
“What? Well, it either was or it wasn’t, Raoul.”
“You know the Luiseños we had all that trouble with last spring?”
“In La Jolla, sure. They let us tell stories to their children and they traded us vegetables for water, but then they told us not to come back.”
“They had some ugly women,” Raoul said.
“Well, was it one of them or not?”
Raoul shook his head. “I don’t think so, man. Anyway, they was so poor, how would any of them ever get that far from La Jolla? They didn’t have no cars even.”
“So are you sure it was someone you’ve seen before? Or maybe it just reminded you of someone.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Raoul, there are a lot of Indians in Arizona! In fact, tens of thousands displaced from California, lots of ’em related to the tribes we worked with here. Man or woman, this could easily have been a relative to someone we’ve seen here. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Well, hold on. That’s not the last time we saw him, or her, or whatever.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but listen to this. There’s two guys wearin’ suits in the drugstore too, just standin’ around watchin’.”
“Watching what? You?”
“I think so.”
“Were they watching anyone else?”
“Maybe, but they were still there when we got back from the car dealership, and they made us late. Just like two other guys at the car place.”
“Okay, wait. You need to tell me this in order. The prescriptions still weren’t ready?”
“Right. So we go to gas up the 300 and to look at cars.”
“So by now this is what time?”
“Late afternoon. And I remind Danley what we’re lookin’ for and that we don’t wanna take a lotta time. In fact, I tell him we don’t even gotta come back with nothin’ if we don’t find what we want.”
“Good.”
“I think we were followed.”
“To the dealership? Why?”
“I didn’t see nobody behind us while we drive over there, but as soon as we get there and a salesman comes out, a government car pull up and two guys get out and pretend to look at cars too. I tell the salesman I’m gonna look on my own and Danley is the guy to work with, so I circle around and pretend I’m lookin’ at cars near the federales.”
“How’d you know they were government?”
“I can read English, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I memorize it. On the front window, a little sticker. It’s got a eagle and it say 1824 and Department of the Interior, Bureau of Indian Affairs.”
“Can’t be clearer than that. And they were watching you?”
“They weren’t shoppin’ for no cars, I know that.”
“How do you know?”
“No salesman. We get there, salesman come out. They get there, no. Like they knew they were comin’.”
“Hmm.”
“And you know how fast we can usually buy a car, Zeke?”
“Sure. Pretty fast with cash and a cashier’s check.”
“Danley find a Land Rover a couple years older than Doc’s, good shape, take a test-drive, say we want it. Take ’em two hours to get the deal done! Then they want to prep it. We say no, and they still stall.”
“What was going on?”
“I don’t know. I finally tell ’em we’re leavin’ in five minutes with our money or that car, and if they think I’m kiddin’ they’ll find out. Five minutes later we stand up and start movin’, and that guy hand Danley the papers and the keys. You ready for this, Zeke?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
“We get back to the pharmacy, the Indian still there and those two other guys in suits.”
“What was the Indian doing?”
“Sittin’ by the cashier, like waitin’ for a prescription. All that time? I don’t think so.”
“And the guys in suits?”
“They show us IDs from DEA and say they got questions about our prescriptions. I told ’em they weren’t for us, that we’re just drivers, couriers for doctors.”
“Good.”
“One of ’em say, ‘So you don’t even know what you’re ordering?’ I say, ‘No, sir. I can’t even read his handwriting.’”
“That was good thinking, Raoul.”
“Good thinkin’? It’s true! I don’t know what Doc orders and I don’t care. And you seen his handwriting? Can you read it?”
“Ha! No.”
“English is my second language, man! Anyway, this guy ask me if I knew the doctor I worked for was also a mortician. I say I don’t even really know what that is, and he say I was probably lyin’. I said, ‘Well, I can guess it has somethin’ to do with funerals, but I don’t like to think about stuff like that and like I said, we don’t really work for him as much as we just run to the drugstore to pick up prescriptions for him.’”
“What do you think he was talking about, Raoul?”
“No idea. Maybe Doc order somethin’ for Jennie you get only for people just before they die, I don’t know.”
“That’s such a strange question,” Zeke said. “I’ll have to ask Doc.”
“But then, you know, when we finally leave there it’s already late and we got that long drive ahead of us, and I see that same car that was at the car dealer’s and I just know it gonna follow us. I don’t know how these guys connect. I mean, DEA and Indian Affairs, and then that Indian—man or woman, whatever—it just don’t make no sense, man.
“So I tell Danley to drive around while I make the grocery store run and see which one of us is followed. Then I gonna drive west of town and wait where I can see him from maybe a half mile away. I tell him to flash me once if he alone and not bein’ followed, and we head back here but still stay far enough apart to keep from kickin’ up too much dust. Then if he ever pick up a tail and have to shake ’em, give me three flashes and I know that’s what he doin’.”
“So that’s what happened?”
“It work perfect at first. I see him comin’ and he flash me, and I take off. It’s late, you know, way after dark, but we makin’ pretty good time. You can’t go fast but you keep it steady, and that’s what we doin’ most of the night till all of a sudden he flash me, like I said.”
Zeke looked at his watch. “We should go looking for him.”
“I wanna go,” Benita said.
“No!” Raoul said.
“I can shoot better than you!” she said.
“I know! But what’re you gonna do? Shoot los federales?”
“Before I let them find this place or take one of us, yeah!”
“We’re not going out looking to shoot anyone,” Zeke said. “If Danley’s doing what he’s supposed to,
“Zeke, come in, please, over.”
“Go ahead, Elaine.”
“Lights on the horizon, looks like two sets of headlamps.”
“Say again, two?”
“Roger that.”
“On my way.”
“Comin’ with you,” Raoul said, pulling on his boots.
Benita grabbed her holster and sidearm from a hook by the door. “Me too.”
“Keep up!” Zeke said, sprinting.
19
ACCOSTED
“REMEMBER OUR PROTOCOLS,” Zeke told Raoul and Benita. “Don’t draw unless you intend to shoot. Don’t shoot unless you intend to kill, so—”
“Don’t draw ’cept for life or death,” Benita said.
Zeke outfitted the couple with walkie-talkies and told them to wait inside the garage. “Obviously Danley’s safety is your top priority. Second is keeping our location from whoever is following him. Go!”
As they jogged off, he slipped into Elaine’s chair at the periscope. If the lead car was the new Land Rover, it was clear Danley was doing all he could to elude whoever was trailing him. He had gotten far enough ahead that he was now creating a colossal cloud of dust in a massive arc by spinning in circles so he could shut off his lights and make a straight dash through the blur to the compound.
“Get on the squawk box, Elaine, and repeat what I’m saying.”
“Ready.”
Zeke watched and dictated: “Danley’s executing the shroud-and-elude maneuver so, Benita, be ready to open the door on my command. Raoul, gas up one of the dirt bikes and have it running next to the utility door for me. When his lights go off we’ve got less than a minute, and with him coming in blind we’ve got to get this right. Make sure he’s in and I’m out and both doors are shut before you turn on the garage light. If whoever’s following him sees anything, it’s got to be me on the bike.”
“Copy,” Raoul crackled. “How about me on the other bike too?”
“Negative!”
“Roger,” Raoul said, disappointment in his voice.
“Danley’s lights just went off!” Zeke said. “We’re going dark! Get that door up and my bike ready!”
He lowered the scope, told Elaine to tell the other monitors to lower theirs, and ran toward the garage—already regretting denying Raoul’s request. Having dirt bikes flying in different directions would be perfect. But Raoul had already driven five hundred miles over rough terrain in one day. That was a blueprint for failure.
The dirt bike stood brr-acking in the darkness as Zeke leapt aboard and guided it outside on his toes. He pulled the braided leather cord from the wide brim of his hat and tucked it snug under his chin. As the Land Rover roared ever closer, it sounded as if it were coming down the decline straight at him. At the last instant Danley jerked it sideways and it slid into the garage as the big overhead door descended.
Raoul slammed the utility door behind Zeke, who revved the high-pitched engine just as the headlights of a sedan emerged from the roiling cloud. Zeke let off the clutch, cranked the throttle, and the drive wheel tore into the parched floor of the California Basin, sending a rooster tail of dirt and powder flying. As the front of the bike lifted Zeke flipped on the headlamp, and as soon as the tire touched down again he spun in tight circles, amusing himself with what the feds had to be wondering. The Land Rover they had followed for hours had suddenly disappeared into a dust storm, only to reappear as a dirt bike?
And now the sedan was bearing down on him.
It would have been easy to elude, probably for as long as he cared to. The point was to lead it as far from the compound as he could and keep it there. His delicious secret was that with all four periscopes down, there was zero visible evidence of the compound, and a natural rock outcropping hid the decline to the subterranean garage. The rest was as flat as the desert floor and virtually undetectable without heat sensors or metal detectors.
After letting the sedan futilely chase him about the landscape in loops and circles for twenty minutes, Zeke slowed to thirty-five miles an hour and headed east, back toward where the feds had come from. They fell in behind him, flashing their lights and honking, as he led them in a straight line for thirty miles before finally stopping, setting his kickstand, stepping off, and leaning back against the seat, arms folded.
The sedan stopped behind him, engine idling, lights lit. The driver and the passenger, dark-haired men in their late thirties, stepped out and approached. The driver was tall and thin with short-cropped dark hair, the passenger stocky and bald. The driver did the talking.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good morning.”
“Duly noted. Are you armed?”
“I am,” Zeke said. “May I ask who’s asking?”
In the light of the car Zeke saw the man pull a snub-nosed revolver from a holster on his belt. “Show me your hands, please.”
Zeke complied, then folded his arms again. “I carry a Glock 21 in back.”
“Aah, the forty-five automatic,” the second officer said.
Zeke nodded. “And if you’ll reholster yours, and answer my question, I’ll leave mine where it is.”
“Billy Fritz,” the first said, putting his gun away and producing his identification. He introduced his partner, but Zeke paid no attention. “We’re police officers with the US Department of the Interior, Bureau of Indian Affairs. I am obligated to inform you that I am memorializing this conversation on a digital recorder located in my breast pocket, and I shouldn’t have to tell you that drawing down on a federal agent would be a felony, not to mention would likely cost you your life.”
“No, you don’t have to tell me that. And I shouldn’t have to tell you that giving a law-abiding US citizen with a concealed carry permit a reason to do that would be royally stupid, so why don’t we stop the posturing?”
“May I see some ID?”
“To what end?”
“So that I may know who you are and what you’re doing in territory declared verboten to US citizens.”
“It’s my understanding that I am breaking no laws as long as I stipulate that I waive all protections afforded me under the laws of the US as long as I’m here.”
“True, but we also have a duty to determine that you are not a foreign agent or any threat to the United States.”
“May I reach into my pocket?”
“Slowly.”
Zeke produced his driver’s license, and Officer Fritz read aloud, “Ezekiel Thorppe Sr.” and his mailing address in Arizona. “Occupation?”
“Hydrologist.”
“Not much for you to do here, is there?” said Fritz, handing it back.
“Not much.”
“So what are you doing, so far from home?”
“Minding my own business. How about you?”
“Our work is self-explanatory. You sure you want to be recorded showing disrespect to federal agents?”
“I mean no disrespect. I believe I have a right to do whatever I wish here, as long as I break no laws.”
“Do you interact with Indian tribes, Mr. Thorppe?”
“At times, yes.”
“In what way?”
“I minister to them. Trade with them. Teach them. Share with them.”
“Are you a medical practitioner?”
Zeke hesitated. What was going on? “No.”
“Are you aware of any Native Americans who have recently died?”
“No.”
“Do others work with you as you interact with Native Americans, Mr. Thorppe?”
“I don’t care to speak for or about anyone else.”
“Anything else you’d care to share with us?”
Zeke was about to say no and consider himself fortunate that this had gone only as far as it had, but he found himself saying instead, “Yes” and was as surprised as Officer Fritz appeared to be.
“Oh, you do? And what is that?”
Yes, what is that?
“Perilous times? That right?”
“Yes, sir. Men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power.”
Officer Billy Fritz cleared his throat and looked at his partner. “Is that so?”
“Yes, and from such people you should turn away.”
“Should we?”
Zeke nodded, feeling bold but also foolish. “Yes. This sort are those who creep into houses and make captives of gullible women loaded down with sins, led away by various lusts, always learning but never grasping the truth. Others also resist the truth: corrupt men, but they won’t get far, for their folly will be obvious to all.”
“Will it?” the officer said, peeking at his partner again.
Zeke nodded. “It will.”
“If I have more questions, where might I find you?”
“I don’t know. You might find me here. You might not.”
“You trying to be smart again, Mr. Thorppe?”
“No. I’m just not sure where I’ll be and I don’t feel obligated to tell you. No matter where I am, I receive mail at the address I gave you.”
“That where you’re going now?”
“I’m going wherever I want to now.”
“You’ve been heading east.”
“I go where I want, which is my right.”
“I don’t understand why you want to be uncooperative, Mr. Thorppe.”
“What is it you want me to say?”
“Whatever you want to tell us.”
“I’ve told you all I care to. And now I am leaving.”
“You are not free to go.”
“You have no cause to detain me.”
“I can detain you for suspicion of criminal activity.”
“Good-bye, Officers.”
“I said you are not free to go.”
“Then inform me of my crime and arrest me for it.”
“Harassment of Native Americans, exploitation, and intolerance of their religion, a hate crime.”
Zeke mounted the bike.