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

  The time had come for Coyote to go to work.

  The FBI arrived while Ernesto Batista was applying field dressings, courtesy of the local, shuttered-for-the-season drug store, to Charlie and Dog, who like Baker had refused to yield their real names. By way of conversation with his compañeros, Ernesto had learned that Baker had been the one to shoot and kill Gustavo Morales. While not having pulled a trigger themselves, John suggested that Charlie and Dog might be in line for capital murder charges: causing the death of a person during the commission of a crime.

  John mentioned that to Ernesto in the presence of the mercenaries.

  By that point, all three mercs had decided that silence was their best bet.

  Ernesto whispered to John that first aid might be rendered gently or painfully, if he wanted to get the three prisoners talking. John declined the opportunity of enhanced interrogation. It didn’t suit him, and he didn’t want Ernesto to complicate his own situation.

  So the Mexican Marine applied the dressings briskly but not harshly.

  He was working when the FBI arrived in force. Special Agent Mulgrew jumped out of the first of five black Chevy Suburbans. Nineteen of his closest colleagues, all armed and armored to the teeth, kept Mulgrew company, fanning out and looking for trouble. They didn’t find any but maintained an attitude of vigilance.

  Stepping up to Tall Wolf, eyeing Ernesto still holding an AR-15, the special agent asked, “Everything good here?”

  John sighed. “One innocent life lost. Otherwise, pretty good. Those three bozos sitting on the curb are some of the bad guys. The guy on the right pulled the trigger; the other two aided and abetted.”

  Mulgrew summoned six of his people, two of whom were female, John was pleased to see, and ordered that Baker, Charlie and Dog be cuffed and put in the cage at the rear of vehicle number five. The federal minions were also instructed to notify the prisoners of their rights.

  Once the mercenaries were taken away, Mulgrew asked John, “They’re not going to bleed all over my upholstery, are they?”

  “No, señor,” Ernesto said. “They are bandaged properly and I do not think their wounds are life-threatening.”

  Mulgrew looked at the Latino guy casually holding an assault rifle. Up to that point, he’d taken his cue from Director Tall Wolf that the man was one of the good guys. Now the special agent wanted to know, “Who are you?”

  Ernesto came to attention and replied, “Sargento Ernesto Batista, Fuerza de Infantería de Marina.”

  “You need any help with that, Special Agent?” John asked.

  Mulgrew shook his head. “I worked in San Diego for six years. Nice to meet you, Sergeant. Would you mind handing over your weapon?”

  After getting a nod from John, Ernesto complied.

  Handing the weapon to a colleague, Mulgrew asked, “So almost everything is good here, after we drove hell bent for leather through a real fine imitation of a typhoon?”

  John said, “Before they clammed up, one of those mopes your people took into custody said there’s a drug baron hiding in the woods nearby. He’s all yours, if you want him.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I’d better justify the expense of this little joy-ride somehow. But I got word the Acting Secretary of the Interior and a billionaire named Freddie Strait Arrow are on hand. They’re all right?”

  Before John could respond, a loud female voice filled with anxiety shouted, “¡Detiene!”

  All three men understood the command to halt.

  Only Ernesto recognized Valeria’s voice.

  He was out front as the forces of law and order converged on the nearby house.

  Basilio Nuñez used the oldest gag in the book to escape: He had to go potty. Not just pee. He could have managed that with his hands tied in front of him, which they were. No, he said he had to make a little mierda. Shit.

  That’s what he told Valeria.

  She didn’t like the leering look in his eyes or the smirk on his lips when he told her. “You can watch me while I do my business, señora, if you think I’m playing a trick. Also, see what you will be missing by not having the pleasure of my company in your bed.”

  Valeria spat in Basilio’s face.

  To her dismay, he only wiped it off and stared at her more offensively than ever.

  “Such passion. It is my loss not to have you. Still …”

  He passed gas, underscoring his need of the moment.

  Even so, she was not going to touch him in any way. She ordered Julián to help his cousin.

  He laughed and shook his head. “Wipe the shit from that cabron’s backside? You can shoot me first.” Ever the negotiator though, he added, “Put him in the water closet off the kitchen, the little room without a window. I can untie his hands and close the door.”

  That was just what they did. Along the way, as the women in the house had no guns, Valeria picked up an eight-inch butcher’s knife from the kitchen. It had a fine edge, bringing a drop of blood as Valeria tested it with a thumb.

  Valeria told Basilio through the door, “You have two minutes, and then I will come in and use this knife on any skin I see exposed.”

  The sicario only laughed at the threat. He’d seen Valeria draw her own blood and it had excited him. “Two minutes,” she repeated.

  She gave him five. He didn’t say a word. He made no sounds of defecation. Valeria began to worry. Ernesto had entrusted her with the job of keeping all the women safe inside the house. That and making sure neither Julián nor Basilio escaped. A verbal threat from Ernesto had been sufficient to make Julián promise to make no escape attempt. Basilio’s hands had been bound.

  Had been.

  Valeria had asked for a gun. Ernesto said for her own protection and that of the other women he could not do that. If the gun was taken from her, things would get very bad. The implicit idea that she would lose rather than use a gun had angered Valeria. She wished she’d had one that very moment. She would shoot right through the door. Hope to kill Basilio where he sat … if that was what he was doing.

  She was tempted to run outside and call for Ernesto’s help.

  Only what if that was when Basilio chose to make his escape?

  None of the other women would be able to stop him.

  Valeria pounded on the door. “Come out right now or I’ll cut off your verga.”

  Literally, stick. Colloquially, dick.

  Basilio didn’t even laugh at the threat. He said nothing. Made not the slightest sound.

  Madre de Dios, Valeria thought. There was no way out of the room except through the door. Even if the turd had managed to flush himself down the toilet she would have heard something. Forcing herself to be strong, at least to the point that her teeth didn’t chatter, Valeria shoved the door open and jumped back.

  The light in the water closet was out, but the illumination from the kitchen let Valeria see that the toilet was unoccupied. Her mouth fell open in stupefaction. Where could that bastard have … She stepped into the small room.

  And Basilio fell on her from where he’d wedged himself against the ceiling.

  He wrested the knife from her with one hand and locked his other arm around her throat, cutting off the chance for her to cry out. He whispered to her, his lips against her ear, “Clearly, you don’t watch the right movies, señora. I will be back someday and we will have a much longer and more intimate conversation.”

  He ran the back of the hand holding the knife along her thigh, and then he was gone.

  Valeria had to swallow hard twice before she could find her voice.

  Then she cried out, “¡Detiene!”

  Marlene could have stopped Basilio before he got out the back door of the house, but that wasn’t her plan. She walked calmly past the women who were taking shelter in the wake of the sicario’s escape. Most of them probably thought she was going to lock the door through which Basilio had escaped, so he couldn’t get back in. Only Julián, in the kitchen, saw the look in her eyes and perceived that she had other intentions. He
quickly figured out what they were: She was going hunting.

  He told her, “Buena suerte.” Good luck.

  She replied, “Ninguno necesario.” None necessary.

  His nod to her prowess struck Marlene as both gallant and subservient.

  Two qualities she appreciated in a man. She made a brief mental note to see what became of this young man. Possibly, she might exert some subtle influence over the justice system’s handling of the charges brought against him. Leniency might be available should she decide he might be useful to her.

  The moment she was out the back door, Marlene raised her nose to the sky. She caught Basilio’s scent despite the rain. His fear and excitement hung rank in the air. He might as well have erected neon lights pointing out the direction of his flight. He was headed uphill into the forest. Marlene followed at an easy lope.

  The sicario thought his best chance to make an escape was to avoid human contact, not let Tall Wolf, his woman or their ragtag militia catch him. Then Marlene noted other nearby scents. The FBI had arrived. Who else would have come in so many overpowered vehicles spewing exhaust? That and the scent of naked ambition to reach the heights of power in Washington.

  Well, with her own goals, she couldn’t fault others for that.

  Once Marlene reached the shelter of the trees, she let her shape shift. Her ears rose to points listening to a chorus of sounds most humans never heard. Her eyes enlarged, processing low levels of light in ways people needed night vision goggles to achieve. Her nose, though, became her most sensitive and wondrous guide. The range and note of scents would have overloaded the human mind. To her, on the other hand, the olfactory sense was the surest path to her prey.

  She completed the change, dropping down to four legs, moving at an easy pace.

  There were other wild creatures in the woods with her, wolves and a mountain lion. Not far off. The ordinary members of her species would give them wide berth lest they become prey. She, however, was anything but ordinary. She was a creature of legend, and the other lesser beasts knew they were the ones to scurry away from her approach.

  Basilio Nuñez was now running for all he was worth, within the limits of his dim senses and thready musculature. Mixed in with his human scents was the tang of metal. A gun? No, there was no sweet stink of lubricant present. Guns were always oiled. Filled with cartridges that reeked of gunpowder. Here there was only metal. The sicario had a knife.

  The one advantage humans had over wild things was that they could laugh.

  She would have done just that in her everyday form. The pitiful man thought a knife was going to help him? Well, he’d learn, and soon. Then she might laugh.

  Keeping pace with Basilio didn’t require her to do more than trot. Gave her the freedom to search out one specific member of the forest populace … and there he was. Oh, so hungry, too. From that point, the game was easy.

  She picked up speed, proceeded to make as much noise as she could. Let the sicario hear her coming up behind him. To his credit, he seemed to have unusually good hearing for his kind. He began to run with desperation. She could hear his breath come harder and even the accelerating, panicked beat of his heart.

  The horrible knowledge that he’d become a prey animal filled his mind.

  He wasn’t ready to turn and fight yet. That would come soon. She ran ahead to her quarry’s right and growled. Crossed to his left and yipped. Closed the distance from behind and growled louder. He undoubtedly would have run straight into many a tree if she hadn’t been giving him vocal cues as to which way to veer.

  In the end, she herded him into a clearing that Basilio sensed would be the arena in which he lived or died. Well, where he could cling to the slim hope that he might somehow get away with his life. That dim flicker of optimism expired when another creature entered the space.

  Brother Bear.

  Though it was none of her doing, it pleased her to see the clouds above part at just that moment and the moon shone on the clearing like a spotlight. Basilio Nuñez saw the bear clearly, sensed it was the same animal he’d faced before. This time, though, there wasn’t a line of people behind him with firearms to drive the creature away or kill it.

  This time, all Basilio had to defend himself was a kitchen knife, which might as well have been a sewing needle for all the help it would be to him.

  Lacking language in her present form, Coyote nonetheless formed the thought she was sure Brother Bear already had in mind. Bon appétit.

  She turned and trotted off into the trees. Hadn’t gone far before she heard the sicario’s first, last and well deserved scream of mortality. One fewer kidnapper in the world to threaten Freddie Strait Arrow. To disrupt her plans.

  Mateo Trujillo walked into Tesla unarmed with his hands in the air.

  His timing was such that Julián Fortuna was just being led to an FBI vehicle for transport back to Seattle where he would be held as the range of charges to be brought against him would be determined by the U.S. Attorney’s office. Julián’s jaw dropped when he saw Mateo.

  He quickly regained his wits and said to John and Special Agent Mulgrew, “That’s him, the man who was sent to kill me. He’s Fausto Zara’s second in command.”

  His hands still raised, Mateo shrugged. “That’s half true.”

  “Which half?” John asked.

  Mulgrew didn’t wait for an answer. With a nod of his head, two of his burlier agents grabbed Mateo and cuffed his wrists behind his back. The same way Julián was secured.

  Once that formality had been accomplished, Mateo answered John’s question. “The fact that I was Señor Zara’s top aide. I did not come here to kill my young amigo, though. I came to make sure he would be able to testify along with me. Verify what I have to tell the American authorities.”

  Julián sneered and said, “Bullshit.”

  Mateo chuckled. “He doesn’t know it, but he flatters me.”

  “How’s that?” Mulgrew asked. “Of course, you don’t have to say anything.”

  He recited Mateo’s rights, including the one to remain silent.

  “That’s okay,” Mateo said. “I have to talk to let you in on my little secret.”

  “What’s that?” Mulgrew asked.

  “For the past ten years, I’ve worked for your CIA. I’d like you to contact my case officer at the Agency.” He gave Mulgrew a number to call.

  The FBI special agent looked at John, who, after all, outranked him in the federal bureaucracy.

  John took the passed baton without missing a step.

  “You know what,” he said, “I’ll just call the vice president’s office at the White House. With something like this, I think we should go straight to the top. Maybe even bring the president into the loop.”

  Mateo looked at John with disbelief. He saw the tall man’s indio features. Could one such as him really have such powerful connections?

  Mulgrew knew just what Mateo was thinking.

  The FBI man nodded to dispel any doubts the new prisoner might have.

  “Director Tall Wolf is wired in right to the top,” he said. “Guys, take this CIA-connected gentleman to his ride. We’ll hold him until we get word from Washington.”

  “Just a minute,” John said. He asked Mateo, “Did you give the order to shoot Gustavo Morales?”

  It took Mateo a moment to make the connection. “The campesino in the forest? No, it was the fool who calls himself Baker. He shot before I could stop him.”

  “But you hired Baker and the others, didn’t you?” John asked.

  Mateo hesitated a long moment before answering. “Yes.”

  “Why did you need four armed men to accompany you here?” John asked.

  When Mateo hesitated again, Julián answered for him. “He came to kill me and steal the bribe money I had on hand. Maybe take as much of the processed marijuana as he and his men could carry, too.” Looking at Mateo, who was glaring at him hatefully now, Julián made a spot-on guess. “If he truly is betraying Fausto Zara, he was looking
to pad his retirement fund.”

  Mulgrew asked Mateo, “Any rebuttal?”

  “I want to speak with my CIA case officer. That is all I have to say.”

  “Sure, but as Director Tall Wolf said, we’ll see what the White House says first.”

  Mateo and Julián were led off to separate SUVs.

  Mulgrew shook John’s hand. “Nicely done, Mr. Director. I don’t know how all this is going to play out, but better it should happen in DC than Seattle.”

  John said, “Yeah, well, that’s why we get the big money.”

  Beebs screened the video of the takedown of the mercenaries shortly after the FBI left town. His audience consisted of John, Rebecca, Freddie, Marlene, Ernesto and Valeria. He told John, “I didn’t want to take a chance on the feds grabbing it. You know, except for you. You’re cool.”

  “Thanks,” John said. He gestured to Marlene. “But you’re forgetting the Acting Secretary of the Interior.”

  Beebs looked at her and blinked. “Is that who you are?”

  She nodded.

  “Sorry,” Beebs said. “No offense intended.”

  Marlene only grinned, in a way that still sent a chill through Beebs.

  The photographer quickly moved on to show the video on his iBook laptop. The capture of the three mercenaries looked easy as pie. Well planned and executed. Everyone complimented Rebecca on her archery. Ernesto said, “¡Viva Canada!”

  Marlene asked Rebecca, “If it had been necessary, could you have made your shots fatal hits?”

  With a straight face, she replied, “If necessary, yes.”

  John asked Beebs, “Just in case I wasn’t such a good guy, you sent copies of the video to a couple of cloud servers, right?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Beebs nodded.

  “Good,” John said. “Keep their locations to yourself, but in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you sent a copy to my phone and another to a friend at the FBI. He’s a good guy, and I think he should see this.”

  John gave Beebs his phone number and one for FBI Deputy Director Byron DeWitt.

  With that business concluded, Ernesto Batista cleared his throat and asked John, “What will happen to my wife and me? Us and our countrymen.”