Smoke Signals (A John Tall Wolf Novel Book 4) Read online

  Leaving the mercenaries behind, Mateo crossed the opening in the trees to where the trembling campesinos awaited their fate. Mateo, though, showed no fear of the armed men he left behind him. The three of them looked at each other not saying a word. They didn’t need to; they all shared the same thoughts. They also knew Baker was the new alpha.

  His look told them: Wait for my decision.

  They’d need Mateo alive to get the second half of their money, but sometimes there were more important considerations than getting paid.

  Mateo stopped just short of the cluster of trembling peasants. He asked a man who dared to glance at him out of the corner of an eye, “Who was that man?” He nodded at the fallen fellow, an assault rifle, sure enough, mere feet from where he lay.

  In little more than a whisper, the campesino answered, “His name is Gustavo Morales. He was a guard.”

  “At your camp, where you lived?”

  Who else could these forsaken illegals be except Julián Fortuna’s people, Mateo thought.

  The peasant nodded. “Where we toiled.”

  “Morales was taking you somewhere? You were his prisoners? Was he going to kill you?”

  As a man responsible for many deaths by his own hand, Mateo recognized the irony of his question. Still, he hoped he could find some justification for Baker taking the man’s life. But the campesino shook his head.

  “We were not prisoners. Gustavo was supposed to protect us.”

  Mateo sighed and reached for another rationalization. “Back home in Mexico, was Morales a soldier?” Soldiers died in the line of duty. That was their occupational hazard.

  “No, he was a farmer. We are all farmers or farmer’s wives.” Taking a deep breath, the man dared to ask, “Are you going to kill us all, señor?”

  Under other circumstances, Mateo had done as much.

  Now, he was tired of blood, and he would be unable to explain a mass murder to the CIA.

  The peasant grew anxious waiting for an answer. He said, “Gustavo has money on him, señor.”

  Despite the wretched nature of the situation, Mateo had to laugh. Mexicans, with good reason, could believe anyone was susceptible to being bribed. Even the Grim Reaper.

  “How much money does he have?” Mateo asked, playing along. Suspecting a pittance would be the amount offered. After all, how much money could a farmer have in his pocket?

  “Fifteen thousand dollars,” the campesino said.

  “What?” Mateo asked in disbelief.

  The peasant nodded and then, as if making a difficult choice, added, “We all have money.”

  Mateo’s incredulity grew. “You all have that much money?”

  “No, señor. Gustavo was a guard. We have only ten thousand.”

  “Among all of you?”

  The man shook his head. “Each.”

  It took a lot to surprise Mateo Trujillo but this situation did.

  Then he came up with a possible explanation.

  “Did you and your friends kill Julián Fortuna to get this money?”

  “No, señor. El jefe gave money to all of us. He called this the golden parachute.”

  Mateo had to repress another laugh. That business school bastard, Julián, he’d given away a good deal of the money Mateo had intended to steal from him.

  “If we give you our money, will you let us live, señor?” the campesino asked.

  Mateo gestured the man to his feet. Told the others to stand up as well. He wasn’t going to kill these people. His grandfather had been one of their kind. He wouldn’t steal from them either.

  “You may live and keep your money. But if you see any more guards with rifles, tell them to lay their weapons down or they may be shot, too.”

  A chorus of people saying gracias, each heartfelt, reached him.

  “What should we do with Gustavo, señor?” the peasant asked.

  “Do you have a shovel to bury him?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Leave him, then. The animals will clean his bones.”

  “What should we do with Gustavo’s money?”

  “Divide it evenly among you. Don’t cheat anyone.” Mateo leaned in close to the man. “Tell me something, amigo. Are Julián Fortuna and Basilio Nuñez still alive?”

  Mateo had spoken to Julián on his phone an hour ago, but that was plenty of time to die.

  “Julián, sí. Basilio left our camp last night. I don’t know his fate.”

  “Gracias.” Mateo walked back to the Canadian mercenaries.

  The peasants were already dividing the dead guard’s money, but Mateo was betting Julián and Basilio had kept a large chunk of their bribe money for themselves. He would happily steal their money. Kill them, too.

  If he let them live, they would be able to trade their testimony for lenient sentences. Devaluing his worth to the Americans. If he was the only one alive and willing to testify against Fausto Zara, he would be in a much better position.

  Unlike Julián Fortuna, Mateo hadn’t been to business school.

  But he knew all about the law of supply and demand.

  Chapter 36

  Upslope in the Cascades — Washington State

  Mateo Trujillo was right about the need to eliminate the competition. Little more than two miles away from where he stood, Julián Fortuna was spilling his guts to John Tall Wolf, who had identified himself as a federal officer. With the Bureau of Indian Affairs, true, but that was good enough for Julián.

  “Yes,” Julián confessed, “I ran the camp where we grew marijuana.”

  “Doing this was your idea?” John asked.

  “My idea, yes.”

  “Okay, taking responsibility is good,” John said, “but who financed your idea? Who supplied you with your workforce? Who supplied your transportation of people and merchandise? How did you market your product?”

  Julián was openly impressed by the tall indio’s business acumen.

  “Have you been to business school, sir?” he asked.

  “St. John’s for a classical education, but I have considerable on-the-job experience. Now, how about an answer?”

  Julián’s admiration grew. It was rare to find a liberal arts major with a practical turn of mind. “I can reply only in a general way at the moment. A major drug trafficker. Someone your government would dearly love to place in an American prison.”

  “You’re hoping to gain leniency for your participation in this operation,” John said.

  “I am the small fish; the other fellow is the whale. It is reasonable, no?”

  John sighed. “It is.”

  “Cobarde,” Basilio hissed at his cousin with a sneer. Coward.

  Basilio was back on his feet, but Ernesto Batista had a firm grip on his collar.

  John turned to look at Basilio. “You don’t have anything to trade to avoid spending the rest of your life in prison?”

  Put that way, Basilio had to reconsider his position. “Yes, of course, I know things.”

  “But you’re not a coward?”

  “No.”

  “Still, you might be willing to talk for the right offer?”

  Julián, seeing his bargaining position slipping away, interrupted, “That cabrón knows nothing. He was only muscle.”

  Basilio did look like he wanted to punch out his cousin, but didn’t deny the charge.

  “What kind of muscle?” John asked Julián. “The kind who kept the workers in line?”

  Before Julián could reply, John turned to Ernesto and Valeria for an answer.

  “Yes,” Valeria said succinctly.

  “Yes,” Ernesto agreed, “but el jefe restrained this one.” He shook Basilio by his collar. “It would have been worse without him.”

  Valeria nodded reluctantly.

  Trying to rehabilitate his image, Julián added, “I gave all the workers a substantial amount of money …” He paused to choose his words wisely. If he were to say before he released them that would imply they’d been held captive. He couldn’t
admit that; things would be much worse for him if he did. “As a parting gift,” he said.

  “How much money?” Basilio demanded.

  “Fifteen thousand for the guards, ten thousand for the workers.”

  “Dollars?” Valeria asked, eyes wide.

  “Yes, of course, dollars,” Julián said. “I would have given you yours, but you’d left already.”

  “How much for me?” Basilio asked.

  “A hundred thousand.”

  “Two hundred.”

  “As you like.”

  Ernesto interrupted the overt bargaining for bribes. He looked at John and said, “Let’s see what he has in his backpack.”

  John had that in mind, himself. He gestured to Julián to hand it over. After a slight hesitation, he did. John hefted it in one hand.

  “All cash?” he asked Julián.

  “Yes.”

  “Mixed denominations?”

  “All hundreds.”

  John nodded, making a calculation. “About twenty pounds here. In hundreds, that’d mean roughly a million dollars.” He tossed the backpack to Valeria, who caught it without physical difficulty, but the emotional weight of holding such a fortune proved to be more challenging. She needed both hands to hang on and clasp it to her chest.

  “Some of that is mine,” Basilio yelled.

  Ernesto jerked him back by his collar.

  Julián kept a diplomatic silence.

  Before the discussion could go any farther, John’s satellite phone rang.

  He listened for a moment and said, “Yeah, we’ll get ready, and we’ll watch for your chopper, if it gets here.”

  He broke the connection and told the others. “Beebs Bandi called the FBI in Seattle and spoke to Special Agent Mulgrew. It seems five armed men arrived in Tesla this morning, charged into Mr. Strait Arrow’s house and started shooting.” He looked at Marlene. “One of them died badly for his troubles. The others, Beebs suspects, moved into the woods and might be heading our way.

  “Mulgrew hopes to send a helicopter with an FBI assault team aboard. They probably don’t want the Acting Secretary of the Interior to come to any harm. The problem with that is the weather in Seattle: A storm has moved in, massive rain and strong winds. They can’t launch a chopper,”

  “Mr. Strait Arrow’s welfare would also be a concern,” Marlene said.

  “Of course,” John said. “You know anything about what’s happening, Madam Secretary?”

  “Mr. Strait Arrow and I left shortly before the bad guys arrived. Mr. Bandi alerted us that they were coming.”

  “Mulgrew said Beebs asked to tell you he’s reported as requested.”

  Marlene smiled and nodded.

  “Beebs also said one of the bad guys had his throat ripped out.”

  Everyone cringed except Marlene.

  She said, “Must have had it coming.”

  John let that go and turned to Julián. “You know who these guys are?”

  “Mateo Trujillo. He called me earlier. The others must be simple gun thugs, probably obtained locally.”

  “You might have mentioned that,” John told him.

  Julián nodded. “I probably should have, as I’m sure Basilio and I are their main targets.”

  “Mateo will want the money, too,” Basilio said, nodding at the backpack.

  Valeria clenched it tighter.

  John sighed. “The money, of course. You never can forget that.”

  Chapter 37

  Descending through the forest

  “Where are the rest of the workers?” John asked Julián.

  He shrugged. “I gave them the money and wished them godspeed.”

  Julián liked that turn of phrase. He’d almost said he’d let them go. Again, that would have implied they’d been held captive. He was sure Basilio, the dolt, would come right out and say as much. But, who knew, maybe Basilio might trip and break his neck on their way out of the wilderness.

  The damn Batistas could also implicate him in the matter of false imprisonment, but that would be their words against his, and how could they explain their freedom to leave the camp if they had been truly confined? Julián felt comfortable he’d be more than a match for them in an official inquisition.

  “Godspeed in any particular direction?” John asked.

  “They did not confide their travel plans with me. Only thanked me for my generosity.”

  John turned to look at Ernesto. “Do you have any idea of where they might have gone?”

  While he was still thinking, Valeria said, “Back to the little town. The one on the road where all of us were dropped off.”

  “Tesla?” Freddie asked.

  Up until that point, the young billionaire had been content to watch, listen and sort through this amazing situation. He’d felt safe enough in Marlene’s company, even though he had the feeling she’d been responsible for the death of the guy back at his house. Freddie had mixed feelings about that notion. Glad that Marlene had facilitated their getaway, a bit aghast if she’d really ripped out the throat of an armed man.

  Having a girlfriend like that meant it’d be a very good idea to avoid arguments.

  “Sí, Tesla,” Valeria said.

  “I never noticed any migrants in town,” Freddie said. “Did you come in trucks?”

  Ernesto answered. “We came in buses, dressed as turistas not campesinos.”

  Tourists not migrant workers.

  John looked at Julián. “Was that your idea?”

  He shrugged. “People are more comfortable when you blend in.”

  Ernesto continued. “The buses had tinted windows. You can see out but not in.”

  “So they arrived full but left empty,” John said. “Pretty damn slick.”

  Julián did his best not to smile.

  Freddie had a question for him: “Where’d you go to school?”

  Julián told him and added, “Graduated summa cum laude.”

  “Impressive, but this was the best you could do?” Freddie asked.

  With a shrug, Julián said, “No pun intended, but this was supposed to be just my seed money. I have other ideas I’d be happy to talk with you about.”

  Having her own plans for Freddie, Marlene gave Julián a look that made him take a step back. “If it’s cool with your lady friend, of course.”

  Before a competition started for access to Freddie’s fortune, John told Julián, “Go stand on the other side of Ernesto. The former camp boss complied and Ernesto took him by the collar, too.

  Then the former Mexican marine told John, “Valeria is right. The campesinos will go to the little town and wait for the next bus out. It is all they know.”

  “All right then,” John said. “That’s where we’ll go, too. We’ll join forces in Tesla, set up a defensive perimeter and hope the FBI can get off the ground sooner rather than later.”

  “How do we avoid the armed men on the way down the mountain, señor?” Ernesto asked.

  John said, “We’ll keep our eyes and ears open. Do our best to be stealthy. Exchange gunfire only if we have to.”

  Valeria asked, “Do you think we will succeed?”

  John said, “Yes, I think so. We have a secret weapon.”

  With a flick of his eyes he looked at Marlene.

  Chapter 38

  Calgary, Alberta — Canada

  Chief Superintendent Edward Bramley, who was both Rebecca Bramley’s uncle and her godfather, sat with Deputy Commissioner Eileen Murphy at a corner table in a private room at The Dominion Club, a members only establishment for the elite of business and government in the province. They’d just finished a late lunch, the table had been cleared and, given the occasion, they were allowing themselves a digestif, a Talisker single-malt scotch for each of them.

  After taking a first sip, Murphy told her friend, Bramley, “The Minister of Public Safety Canada, in his weak-kneed wisdom, has decided to go along with the suggestion of his deputy minister.”

  “Theo Blanchet,” Bramley
said, curling his lip. “No doubt after that bag of guts had dined with Jules Marchand.”

  Murphy nodded. “That is what my spies tell me.”

  “You have spies, Eileen?” Bramley asked.

  She laughed. “Just like you, Ed.”

  Bramley grinned. “Good intelligence is essential to police work, all right. So you will find Rebecca to be in the right, but she will nonetheless be sent to the rough and remote hinterlands along with that swine Serge Marchand.”

  The deputy commissioner took another pull at her glass. “Not with Marchand but in parallel fashion, yes.”

  “She doesn’t deserve it,” Bramley said. “She’s a good cop and she was only defending another member of the force and our family, while Marchand threatened a superior officer.”

  “All true, and you know what? It doesn’t matter because both of the pricks making the final decision can empathize at the most basic level with Sergeant Marchand’s loss.”

  “Well, I can’t,” Bramley said. “Men with balls, in terms of their character, don’t bully women.”

  “I know, Ed. That’s why you and I have always been friends. There’s more to the story, though, my spies say.”

  “What’s that?”

  “While Rebecca and Sergeant Marchand will both suffer in equivalent fashion, soothing both sides of public opinion, Theo Blanchet intends to rehabilitate the sergeant professionally at a much quicker pace.”

  “Sonofabitch. I won’t stand for that, Eileen. My family won’t stand for it.”

  The deputy commissioner held up a hand, stopping Bramley before he said anything she didn’t want to hear.

  “I’ll have my friends watching, Ed. The moment Blanchet starts showing favoritism to the sergeant, I’ll land on him like Mount Logan.”

  Canada’s highest mountain, fittingly in the far reaches of the Yukon.

  “Embarrass the bastard enough to make him resign? That’d be good.” Bramley smiled. “For both of us, I think.”

  Murphy smiled. “I think we can cast a wide enough net to snag Jules Marchand, too, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s only part of what I mean. If I know you, Eileen, and I think I do, you’re looking ahead for yourself as well.”