Shadow Dragon (6 page)

CHAPTER 11

Montana

Five miles south of Poulson on Highway 93, the Flathead County sheriff’s Yukon slowed as it neared the Salish-Kootenai People’s Center. It was easy to miss if one wasn’t looking for it among the string of billboards for lakeside campgrounds, antique stores, business parks, and car dealerships, or one of the numerous new casinos that had sprung up along the road since he had last been here. Sheriff Greyhawk looked out the window, his cold gray eyes expressionless as he passed the large tepee set up alongside the highway for the benefit of the tourists. It had been many years since he had been here, and he might never have returned had it not been for the call from someone claiming to have information about the Hungry Horse murders.

The past week and a half had been spent chasing down leads in relation to the killings only to be frustrated time and time again as they all proved fruitless. To make matters worse, a local man had disappeared while he had been skiing last week. Search teams had been organized, and his car had been found at a lookout point near Swan Lake; however, they had yet to find any trace of him. While it wasn’t uncommon for someone to become lost or wounded in the wilderness, the man had been an experienced skier, and there had not been any sudden storms that might have caught him unprepared. His disappearance had only served to fuel the growing paranoia among the area residents. Leads had been pouring in from all over the valley, people reporting everything from a headless skier to Bigfoot himself.

George felt certain this one, like all the others, would turn out to be nothing as well, but when he had seen the name of the person claiming to have information, he had decided to check it out personally.

The reservation wasn’t in Flathead County, and therefore, it wasn’t under his jurisdiction; however, because he knew the caller, he hadn’t bothered to request permission from the Lake County authorities. There was no law prohibiting a county sheriff from visiting his grandmother.

Just past the visitor center, he turned off the highway onto a gravel road. A collection of rundown trailer houses wedged between the visitor center and a lumber company formed a small neighborhood of a sort. A group of mangy dogs ran loose, barking and snapping at each other while several kids played in the dirty snow. As George made his way down the road, he fought to keep the memories of his childhood here at bay. Things had been a lot different back them.

At the end of the block, he pulled up in front of one of the houses, a faded, yellow-gold one with aluminum foil covering the windows. Up close, it was evident that the place, like most of the others in the area, was in serious disrepair.

The view beyond the trailer was that of a large, sheet-metal barn and a junkyard full of discarded refrigerators, freezers, washing machines, and dryers, all of which were slowly rusting away, their doors hanging open or missing entirely.

As he got out of the truck, George noticed a thin young boy he guessed to be about fifteen or sixteen standing in the doorway and watching him. George was certain the boy was his cousin, Joseph, but he had just been a baby when George had left the reservation. He didn’t see him as a cousin. To George, he was just his aunt’s son. The boy opened the door as he approached. His hands trembled slightly, and his eyes darted about nervously as George walked up. In spite of the cold, a fine sheen of greasy sweat covered the boy’s face. The muscles in his jaw twitched, and he licked his dry, cracked lips incessantly.

George was sure the boy was on crystal meth. On the reservation, addiction among the younger generation had been a big problem for years, and it didn’t appear to be getting any better in spite of the anti-drug programs and frequent busts.

With a dejected sigh, George pushed past the boy. Inside, incense burned in a holder on top of the TV and filled the room with its cloying scent.

“She … she’s in the back room,” the boy stammered.

George stepped through the living room and down the narrow hall to the small bedroom at the back. A curtain of colored beads hung across the doorway. George paused for a moment and then parted the beads and stepped inside. The room was musty and smelled of urine.

His grandmother lay on her back, her eyes closed. Her breathing was faint and shallow. Her brown, wizened skin gave her face the appearance of an apple that had been left in the sun to dry and shrivel. Thin wisps of silvery-white hair spread across the yellowed pillowcase.

“It has been a long time, Little Hawk.” Even after so many years, the voice was still the same. He looked down and found her half-open, rheumy eyes looking up at him.

“It has.”

“Sit.” She lifted her frail arm to point at the wooden chair beside the bed.

George sat down and waited for her to speak.

“I did not know if you would come,” she said.

“I almost didn’t. Why did you call?”

“I know what killed those men at Hungry Horse.”

George remained silent. He knew that when the call had come in, she had professed to have information about the murders, but he had suspected it was just her way of asking him back. He knew that her health was failing and that she refused to be treated by any doctors. She was steadfastly loyal to the old ways of the tribe, clinging to the last remnants of her heritage to the very end. The same headstrong refusal to accept the modern world had kept his mother from going through with the cancer treatments that could have saved her life. After his mother had died, George left the reservation. Today was the first time he had returned in over fifteen years.

“Coyote came to me in a dream,” she said. “He came to tell me the monsters have returned to the mountains.”

George remembered the stories from his youth. Coyote was the wisest of all of the Great Spirit’s creatures, left to watch over all the other animals when the Great Spirit returned to his home in the sky. He could remember sitting on the floor of his grandmother’s house in the middle of winter, listening raptly while she taught the children the legends of their tribe. That was long ago. He had been so young that he didn’t remember the stories, just the sense of warm feelings and happiness.

Perhaps because she knew he had forgotten the old stories or perhaps because she wanted to tell them to him one more time, his grandmother began speaking.

“Many ages ago,” she said, “two monsters lived in the mountains. On windy nights, the sound of their howling could be heard all the way down in the valley. During the long winters, when food became scarce, the monsters would come down the mountain in search of food. They would kill some of the tribe’s people, carrying their bodies high into the mountains where they would eat them. One day, the members of the tribe came to Coyote and asked him to protect them from the monsters. Coyote agreed, asking the hawk to go with him, for he had a plan. Together, they went high into the mountains where they came upon the two monsters. The monsters chased Coyote to the top of the mountain, and just as they were about to fall upon Coyote and devour him, the hawk swooped down and lifted Coyote to safety. The monsters fell from the top of the mountain. They struck the ground so hard they were swallowed by the stone, turning into two tall rocks. ‘And you shall stay there forever,’ Coyote said.”

As he listened to the end of the tale, George remembered the feelings of pride he had felt as a boy when he had heard the stories of his namesake, the hawk, saving Coyote.

His grandmother continued, “But they did not stay forever. The rocks are gone. The monsters are free again, and Coyote has gone to live with the Great Spirit in the sky.” She opened her eyes and looked at George. They were suddenly sharp and clear, and they bored deep within him. With a withered hand, she reached out and grasped his wrist.

“You must become like Coyote. You must destroy the monsters before they kill our people.” The room seemed to close in around him. It was hot, and the incense was too thick, which made it hard to breathe. He rose to his feet unsteadily and made his way toward the door. He was dizzy.

He pulled the bead curtain apart and was about to step into the hallway when his grandmother’s voice came to him once more.

“You must become like Coyote, Little Hawk,” she repeated. “But beware, for unlike the hawk, the coyote cannot fly.”

George stood in the doorway a moment longer, trying to understand what had just happened. But as it had so many years before, understanding the old ways still eluded him.

CHAPTER 12

Maryland

Dr. Myles Bennett walked briskly down the marble-tiled corridor, the bottom of his white lab coat flapping about his knees. He stopped before the large oak doors and pushed his glasses back up from the end of his nose.

His palms were sweaty as he grasped the door handle. He stepped into the office, and surreptitiously checked under his right arm to make sure he hadn’t sweated through his lab coat.

“Hello, Dr. Bennett.”

“Uh, hello—” He glanced at the nameplate on the desk. “Oh, yes, Linda. Hello.”

Linda was tall and thin, a lady of exquisite beauty and composure with ruby red lips and long dark hair. She wore a shapely wool skirt and a silk blouse. She made Myles even more nervous than before.

“I’ll tell the general you’re here,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The waiting room looked like the inside of a law office. There was plush, dark green carpet on the floor and a mahogany sofa table with the latest issues of
TIME
and
Newsweek
in front of him. On the mahogany-paneled walls to his right and left were large, gilded-framed pictures of colonial Williamsburg that had been painted in the early 1800s.

Just as Myles was about to sit down, Linda hung up the phone. “The general will see you now.”

Myles stood back up and stepped into General Colquitt’s office.

“Good-afternoon, Dr. Bennett.” The general stood and motioned toward the chair across from his desk.

Myles stepped up to shake his hand, but the general had already taken a seat. Even so, Myles noticed that the general was considerably shorter than he had thought. He had guessed the general to be at least five ten or five eleven like himself, but he couldn’t have been more than five seven.

Myles took a seat, sinking into the low-slung leather chair, and found himself eye-to-eye with the general.

The general cleared his throat. “Dr. Bennett, I am sure by now you are aware of the tragic death of Dr. Jacobson and his family.”

“Yes, sir, I am. It was a shock to us all.”

“Indeed. A terrible accident … that,” the general said, picking a piece of lint from the sleeve of his suit. “I am sure you are also aware that we will have to find a replacement as team leader on the Mandarin Project.”

“Yes, sir, I am,” Myles said. In spite of his best efforts to appear calm, his left leg was twitching up and down uncontrollably. His heart pounded in his chest so forcefully that he was certain the general could see it.

“You don’t have a family, do you, Dr. Bennett?”

Myles was caught off guard by that question. “Uh, no, sir, I don’t, but—”

“I don’t have to tell you how important this project is, do I, Dr. Bennett? You see, we want to be certain the person we select as Dr. Jacobson’s replacement is totally dedicated to the success of this project. Committed to do whatever it takes. Someone who will not be encumbered by—shall we say … family responsibilities?”

“Oh, yes, sir, I understand. And let me just say that I have been involved with this project since the beginning. I was the one who—”

“Yes, yes, but are you committed to seeing it through, no matter what it takes?” The general leaned forward and looked directly into Myles’s eyes.

Tiny circles of fog had formed on the bottom half of each lens of Myles’s glasses. He quickly pulled them off and began wiping them clean with the corner of his lab coat. “Uh, yes, sir, I’m committed. I am.” He squinted to try to see, but all he could make out was a blurry figure rising behind the desk.

“That’s good, my boy. That’s what I wanted to hear.” The general pushed a button on his phone. “Linda, send a memo to all department heads, informing them of Dr. Bennett’s promotion, effective immediately.”

CHAPTER 13

Seattle

Joe’s Barbeque was a small storefront restaurant a couple of blocks down Third Avenue on the ground floor of the Washington Mutual Tower. A cold wind swirled into the place, rifling the stack of yellow to-go menus beside the front register as Kyle walked in. Lewis had already grabbed them a spot at one of the tables, which was a good thing, because it was already getting crowded. It wasn’t one of Kyle’s favorites, but Lewis loved the place. Their claim to fame was coffee-based barbeque sauce with plenty of kick to more than just the taste buds.

It wasn’t much to look at inside, even though they had tried to give the place some atmosphere. The walls were covered with weathered wood and rustic hardware like the inside of an old barn, while wooden picnic benches covered with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths filled the room.

Kyle squeezed between the people and benches and took a seat across from Lewis.

Lewis nodded at Kathy, the only waitress in the place, who in spite of her enormous bulk, slipped effortlessly down the narrow aisle.

As always, Lewis ordered the pulled pork sandwich with the espresso sauce, home-style fries, and a Coke, while Kyle ordered the sliced turkey with decaf sauce, coleslaw, and water.

“You go to Haskin’s funeral?” Lewis asked.

“Yeah,” said Kyle. “It was strange. His parents didn’t want his remains cremated. They just had a closed casket. The whole time, all I could think about was the fact that there was nothing in there but his head.”

“Shit.”

“I know. The forensic report come in?”

“Yeah, I’ve already gone over it, and in a long-winded, scientific manner, it basically says we don’t have shit.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle asked.

“What I mean is that all the blood samples collected were matched to the three dead men, so whoever killed them wasn’t wounded. And all the fingerprints taken belonged to either the dead men or Henderson.”

“That’s it?”

“Basically.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We keep working the leads until something comes up.”

They fell into silence. It was so loud in the place that it was hard to hear anyway. Kyle would have pressed Lewis for more information, but today, his mind was elsewhere. He stared out the window, watching as bits of loose garbage picked up by the growing wind went tumbling and bouncing across the street and into the gutter.

“You doing anything this weekend?” Lewis asked.

“Not really.” Kyle knew Lewis was just trying to jump-start the conversation, but he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get their food. The place was so small that it had to “turn ’em and burn ’em” in order to make any money.

“Ah, here we go,” Lewis said and smiled as Kathy returned. She set the red-and-white paper-lined, plastic baskets down in front of them along with a bottle of the espresso sauce. Lewis smothered his sandwich with the stuff. It was thick and black and looked like used coffee grounds in molasses to Kyle. Lewis then picked up the squeeze bottle of ketchup from the table and covered his fries. Kyle just shook his head.

“Man, what’s wrong with you today?” Lewis asked. “You’re acting like a puppy that got whipped for pissing on the rug.”

“Sorry, I just … never mind.”

“Come on, man. Spill it.”

Kyle sighed. He knew Lewis wouldn’t let it go until he told him. “It’s Angela.”

“Your girlfriend, right?”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh—” Lewis grimaced.

“Yeah,” Kyle said and nodded. “She finally called me back last night. Told me she had been seeing someone else for about a month now. Some doctor she works with at the hospital.”

“Damn. That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “You know what really pisses me off is I should have seen it coming. I thought everything was fine, but I should’ve known when she stopped calling as often as she used to.” It was something he had been afraid of for weeks, but even suspecting that it was coming had not prepared him for the devastation he had felt when Angela had told him it was over. He hadn’t slept at all last night. He had just laid there, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

He had felt like a kid again, bounding downstairs with one of his finger paintings to show Janet while she gossiped endlessly over the phone about an affair one of the ladies at the club was having with the tennis pro. A cigarette in one hand and a vodka soda in the other, she had casually dismissed him with a wave and a: “That’s nice, honey. Why don’t you stick it on the fridge?”

“I know it may not seem like it now,” Lewis said. “But things’ll work out for the best in the end. You wait and see.”

At least Lewis seemed to care enough to try to cheer him up. Kyle had never felt close enough to either of his parents to have a real conversation about things that were going on in his life. His father had always been gone somewhere, building his dams and superhighways, while his mother had always been more concerned with the country club’s social scene and what time happy hour started.

“You know,” Lewis said around a mouthful of food. “I got dumped once by this girl I just
knew
I was going to marry, and I was determined to win her back, so you know what I did?”

“What?”

“I took flowers to her place every day for a week. I didn’t have them delivered by the florist. I took them myself. Every day for a week straight. And every day, she refused to come to the door. She kept sending her roommate to tell me she didn’t want to see me anymore. But I was young and dumb and full of cum, so I just kept on going back for more, and you know what happened?”

Kyle wasn’t really in the mood, but Lewis was just trying to help, so he humored him. “She agreed to go out with you again?”

“Hell no, she still didn’t want to have anything to do with my ass, but her roommate did. On the seventh day, she handed me a note that said, ‘Just because my roommate is too stupid to appreciate a good man doesn’t mean I am.’”

“So did you go out with her?”

“Hell yeah.”

“How’d it go?”

“Why don’t you ask Rochelle the next time you talk to her,” Lewis said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep from smiling. “Thanks.”

“No problem. That’s what partners are for.”

Lewis’s cell phone rang. He answered and mouthed to Kyle that it was SAC Geddes. “At Joe’s, just finishing up lunch. Yeah, he’s right here. Why? What’s up?” Lewis’s eyes grew larger as Geddes spoke. “No shit? All right, we’re on our way,” he said and then hung up.

“What is it?” Kyle asked.

“They’ve found Henderson’s body.”

They were both up and moving for the door when a booming thunderclap rattled the windows and cold, silvery rain began to spatter the pavement.