Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. (39 page)

“Appreciate that,” Rye told her with a nod. “Heard any news?”

“Yeah, I’ve got plenty. But first, let me ask you a question.” Rye tilted his head and she continued. “Why did you tell my men follow the owl? It seemed like an odd request at the time … and it’s only gotten odder.”

“An old Navajo tradition. When a person dies, they take on the form of an owl. When Sunflower passed, that owl landed on the church then took off. I figured, you know, what the heck, it might be Sunflower searching for her killer.”

“Thanks to the owl, we located a blood trail near the point of your archery explosion and followed it for several miles.” She paused, and her voice grew hesitant as if unsure what to say next. “It ran cold. All we found were animal tracks. Wolf tracks to be exact.”

Rye, his officers, and Dee exchanged looks.

She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear anything about Navajo Skinwalking witch mumbo-jumbo. We’ll find him eventually. Either in Mexico, or his bones bleaching in the desert.”

“Yeah, that’s the way I see it,” Rye said.

Clark paused and gazed with eyes unfocused across the ICU unit.
She sighed and said, “We received a tox report on the body of your officer …”

“Juan. A good man.”

“Yeah. Well, he had been contaminated with some sort of chemical comp. Our lab is still working on the exact formula. Whatever’s in it prevented death’s favorite insects from … you know. I don’t need to paint a picture.”

“That’s weird.” Rye rubbed his forehead. “Makes no sense.”

“Okay then,” Clark said drawing out the words. “You need to know about Johnny Batts. He’s been working undercover for some Washington agency. He’s a former CIA operative. Retired to his family mining site to live quietly. With all the UDAs entering the country, the government pressed him into service. He’s been instrumental in sending some big time bad guys back home. Including a couple of al-Qaeda terrorists.”

Everyone stared at her, each with their own interpretation of incredulous stamped on their face. Rye broke the silence, “Who’d a thunk it? Batts. A spook. But it explains some of his nutty behavior.”

“What we’ve uncovered so far in investigating Mayor Richard List,” Clark continued, “reveals a Medusa-like smuggling operation. He had operatives stealing military grade weapons. He’d trade these to Mr. Amo for drug shipments. List would turn around and sell the drugs for profit and purchase more weapons.”

“Figures.” Rye grimaced as he moved his leg into a more comfortable position.

“There’s more. He just purchased some island in the Caribbean. We figure he was fleeing the states. There’s evidence indicating his involvement in smuggling young Mexican girls to be used as sex toys.
One girl, Amalia, is providing us with some interesting details. One of our agents has uncovered a money-laundering scheme. We’ve seized his assets, and your department will benefit from that seizure.”

“Good,” said Rye. “We can use a little help.”

“The judge ordered him held without bond. But he’s got his lawyers …”

“Great.” Rye frowned.

“I never cared for the man,” said Dee. “You could see evil in his eyes.”

“And I just thought he smelled bad,” said Heilo.

“We also have Mr. Barend Jilt in custody—in a Phoenix hospital due to his injuries—along with several of List’s men. So far, we haven’t located List’s son. We have an BOLO out on him.”

Rye laughed, “Junior’s not the sharpest cactus in the desert. He’ll stumble into a gas station to pick up some beer, and there’ll be a cop.”

“I … uh …” Dee stammered for the right word. “Junior tried to rape me. I’ve tried to put it out of my memory, but I can’t do it. And, well, I shot him.” Dee’s words tumbled out. “I didn’t kill him. Demonio captured me before I could.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I … I …” and the tears came. Rye took her in his arms.

“Do you know where is he, ma’am?” Clark asked.

Dee’s shoulders drooped. “Last time I saw him, he was lying in the roadside ditch by the List residence.”

“It’s alright, hon,” Rye whispered in her ear. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Auborne added, “He’s probably hiding in some mountain shack. Or camping on a mesa. If he’s alive.”

Dee shook her head. “But Manny saved me.” She rubbed her son’s head. “Junior’ll be singing soprano for a little while.”

“Hi-yah,” Manny said and swung into a karate form. Everyone laughed.

Rye held Clark’s gaze in his. “Agent, your team did good work.”

She smiled. “Yours too. Stay safe.” Clark patted him on the shoulder and left the room. A shower of byes followed her.

A sudden tiredness swept over Rye. He fought to keep his eyelids open. He stifled a yawn and said, “Isn’t there anybody at the station? What are my best officers doing lingering around a hospital room?” His voice faded as he spoke.

The cops started babbling about getting back to work, filling out reports, running checks on various investigations. They mumbled their good-byes and filed out one after another.

Iona came over to the bed and leaned over to whisper into Rye’s ear, “I love you, Rye Dawlsen. But I’ve never been one to go after another woman’s man. You take good care of her, you hear me. She loves you, you know.”

Rye smiled. “Thanks, Iona. You’re one special woman.”

“But if you two don’t work out …” She kissed him on the forehead. “Get some rest,” she said after standing upright.

Rye closed his eyes for a moment and felt the mattress settle. He cracked open one eye to see Dee sitting on the bed. She reached out and took his hand. She smiled. How long had he waited to see that smile? He squeezed her hand, and she returned the squeeze.

“I called my story into the paper,” she said. “My editor wants me here a few more weeks. You know … reporting on the loose ends. I’d like to spend …” Her voice trailed away to an awkward silence.

“I’d like that,” he mumbled. He struggled to keep his thoughts from fading into the sleep he desired.
Just a few more minutes with her
.

“I didn’t tell you. The pastor of that Baptist church came by while you were asleep.”

“Okay? Why? Was he looking to preach to me?”

“No. He said he appreciates your efforts to keep Whiskey safe. He heard you were in need of living quarters. It seems one of his parishioners has an empty rental house he’s offering to you. Says you can use it rent free until you get another trailer.”

“That’s nice of him,” Rye mumbled, his eyelids drooping. “Tell … him … thanks.”

“Good night, Dad,” Manny said, his voice sounding far away.

“Thanks,” Rye replied, his voice hovering above inaudible. He reached up and touched his dog tags.

“One last thing,” Dee said. “The President called to wish you well.”

“Tell him …” He succumbed to the realm of sleep.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Demonio reached the tunnel just after midnight. High clouds partially hid the moon. Shrubs and rocks hid in the dark. Looming overhead like a sheer black mountain, the border wall blocked further travel overland.
No problemo, I got my own way across.
He scanned the dark desert, glad to be returning home to Mexico. But, he’d be returning real soon to the US of stinking A. Unfinished business.

A creaking noise interrupted the desert quiet. A few feet away, the ground shook, and a square piece of land swung upward. Issuing from below, a soft blue light hinted at the tunnel opening. A featureless head-shaped oval raised above the lip of the entrance.

“¿Filino?” The head whispered the soft question in the breeze.

“No. Canino.” Demonio replied, moving towards the tunnel.

“Demonio,” the man said, “Good to see you, mi amigo. I hear you had some tough times in Whiskey. I have news. Bueno and mal.”

Demonio stood on the edge of the tunnel. The light from the tunnel revealed a yawning pit.

“Tell me,” Demonio snapped.

“The bad news …” the man paused. “Your wife has disappeared. We had her detained. But she vanished last night.”

Demonio spat a string of curses.

“Good news?” said the man in a rush to appease his boss. “The shipments arrived. We received many guns. And the radioactive material.”

“Bueno. Forget mi espousa. Plans for the revolution move forward. But I have one thing I need to do before that. A man I need to kill with a very ugly death.”

“And who is this unfortunate hombre?”

“Rye Dawlsen.”