Authors: CJ Lyons
Dr. Bearmeat had been so excited by her interest in the pact and the prospect of seeing
his work used for the
Duke Law Review
that he’d told her she could keep the books longer than the usual seven-day lending
period. After all, he’d said, no one else had checked them out in decades.
They’d had several lively discussions on the legal ramifications of the pact, especially
given the recent rulings in the Oklahoma Cherokee freedmen case. He’d used the special
large-format printer to make her a copy of the pact, which she’d dropped off with
a woman he’d recommended as a translator.
The most fascinating thing—and Dr. Bearmeat agreed—was how no one seemed to remember
or even care about the pact. No Freedmen had lived on the land granted to them for
generations; in fact, the Hale family was the last freedmen family who’d lived anywhere
near the Qualla Boundary, and they’d moved away after Eli was sent to Butner.
“It’s like someone wants to bury our history,” she’d said as he fixed them tea. The
several times she’d visited the archives no one else had come in. She had the feeling
Dr. Bearmeat was a very lonely man, anxious to share the knowledge he had before he
died and it was lost in the masses of documents he so painstakingly tended.
“Computers,” he said, stirring milk into his Earl Grey with more vigor than he needed.
“I blame the computers. If they can’t find something in two nanoseconds on Google,
people assume it never existed. They aren’t patient enough to trace the original sources,
not like you.” He beamed at her like she was a star pupil.
“You said the original pact was lost?”
He squirmed and focused on his tea. “Yes. When Tommy Shadwick’s house was burned.”
“By my father.” Over the past few weeks since Eli had ordered her to stop appealing
his conviction, she’d come to terms with the fact that her life had built upon a lie:
her mother and sister’s belief in his innocence. As she accepted Eli’s guilt, she
felt a guilt of her own, a strange impulse to seek out her family roots and find some
way to restore the Hale name. Learning of the pact signed by her ancestor seemed like
a Heaven-sent opportunity.
Dr. Bearmeat nodded. “Yes. When Tommy died and his house burned, we lost an irreplaceable
historic document. Of course, no one other than myself saw it that way. As long as
there were copies, they couldn’t care less. Back then these archives were merely stacks
of boxes dumped in my dad’s garage. The Bearmeats have long been the history keepers
for the tribe, so folks got used to collecting any papers or old books they found
and giving them to us like hauling out the trash.”
His voice filled with scorn. “That was the 1980s. Everything had to be rebuilt, shiny
and new and chrome. Modern. They all wanted modern. Forgot about their heritage.”
“Not everyone, Dr. Bearmeat.” She patted his arm. “If it wasn’t for you, all this
would be lost.”
He smiled at that. “And you’ll carry on the tradition. Let the world know about the
pact.”
More than that. Now that her time wasn’t filled with conjuring legal arguments to
appeal Eli’s conviction, Lena wanted to settle down. She liked it here in Cherokee.
The mountains, as stern and forbidding as they looked down from the heavens, felt
like home. She began to fantasize about using the pact to restore her family name
on the Eastern Band rolls, getting a job helping Dr. Bearmeat, maybe even setting
up a small practice here. Combining history and the law to help people. It felt right.
Until she’d taken a good look at the books she’d checked out. Dr. Bearmeat was right:
no one had taken the books on the pact from the archives in decades. Twenty-six years
to be precise.
When Sean Tierney had checked them out. The week after Tommy Shadwick was killed.
A few days before her father was arrested and Sean died. Dates all indelibly etched
into her memory.
If Eli killed Tommy because the elder refused to give freedmen tribal status under
the terms of the pact, then maybe Sean Tierney was simply curious about Eli’s motive.
Wanted to understand what had driven his best friend to kill a man.
Made sense. Except for a sliver of paper she’d found tucked between the pages of Dr.
Bearmeat’s dissertation. A handwritten scrawl with a question:
Casino?
The casino was the Hale family’s current source of income. Before his conviction,
Eli had invested heavily in it through Jimmy McSwain’s development company. Tommy
Shadwick had also opposed the casino development—which only added to Eli’s motive,
although no one had ever mentioned it during Eli’s short trial.
But given that Sean Tierney’s note was shoved between the pages containing the maps
of the Qualla Boundary and the area allotted to the freedmen under the pact, she couldn’t
help but wonder if Sean had stumbled onto something more.
Something that maybe had gotten him killed. By her father, his best friend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Goose seemed to expect some kind of reaction with his pronouncement, but Caitlyn was
more interested in answers.
“Who are these people behind the Reapers?”
He narrowed his eyes. “We don’t know yet. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. But
I can give you one thing.”
“What?”
“I really do know where Lena Hale is. And she doesn’t have much time. Poppy put out
a hit on her and Bernie, one of the Reaper prospects, who’s been helping her.”
“Bernie—Bernard McSwain?”
“Yeah. He’s your cousin, right?”
“I haven’t seen him in years.”
“I suggest you get going now before you miss the chance at a family reunion. Permanently.”
“You just want me out of your hair.”
He shrugged. “Two birds. But Lena and Bernie really are in danger. And I can’t help.
Weasel isn’t going to be tied up for long. I can’t risk my cover. Not to mention an
operation that’s taken a year and a half out of my life.”
He was right. She knew exactly where he was coming from—years ago she’d worked undercover
in Boston. Nothing was more important than preserving your cover and finishing the
op.
But if she went after Lena and Bernie, she might miss her chance to get the answers
she needed from the Cherokee interpreter. Although Lena might already have all the
answers. Then another thought occurred to her. “If Poppy’s coming after me, he’ll
be after Paul as well.”
Shit, shit, shit. And here she was, standing around talking. She holstered her weapon
and yanked the Subaru’s driver’s door open.
“Pick him up after you get Bernie and Lena. They’re at the old Teddy Roosevelt Lodge.”
“The lodge?” She glanced at his Harley. “That thing any good on rough roads?”
“Yeah, why?”
“The lodge is only a few minutes away if you cut across the old logging road just
down the mountain. You watch over Lena and Bernie while I get Paul. I’ll meet you
at the lodge, pick up the kids, and you’ll be in the clear to wrap up your operation.”
He frowned. “I can’t take too much time. We still need to find the cash. Tie it to
the principals.”
“Is it tagged?”
“Yeah, some of our guys in Florida managed to slip marked bills into a stash used
for an arms deal with the Nomads. They gave it to Caruso to launder. Now we need to
document Caruso taking it to the bank.”
“You mean the casino.” Millions of cash flowing in and out every week, the VistaView
made for a perfect money-laundering center. “How are they doing it?”
“Not sure. The casino is off limits to the Reapers. My team’s been in there monitoring
operations during times when we know the money is being exchanged, but came up empty
every time. At first we thought it was a few of the dealers at the tables or one of
the cashiers, but we haven’t been able to get any concrete evidence.”
“Have you talked to my uncle Jimmy or his security chief? I’m sure they’d cooperate.
It hurts the casino as much as anyone if it’s being used by the Reapers.”
He was silent. And the penny dropped. “You suspect my uncle.”
“Not just him. We suspect anyone connected with the VistaView. That much cash walking
in and out every day, there’s a dozen ways from Sunday they could be making the exchange.”
“Why are the Reapers so interested in Lena? She doesn’t have anything to do with the
money laundering, does she?”
“Nope. I have no idea what they want her for. Poppy acted like it was maybe personal.
You know about her father, right? Killed some tribal elder a while ago.”
He obviously didn’t know much about the local history—or her own family history. “Yeah,
I know. He’s dead. Killed at Butner.”
“Really? When?”
“Yesterday. About two minutes before I was about to question him.”
“Well, hell. Anything to do with my case?”
“I don’t see how. The VistaView wasn’t even built last time Eli Hale was in Evergreen.”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Me neither. But until we have more answers, we’d better get the civilians off the
playing field.”
“Okay.” He blew out his breath and swung his leg over the Harley. “I’ll secure Lena
and Bernie. Just until you get there. Where’s this logging road?”
* * *
As she drove back over the mountain to Cherokee, Caitlyn couldn’t stop thinking that
she’d missed something. Some key that tied Lena’s research into ancient history to
the Reapers. But no matter how she twisted the little she knew, she couldn’t make
anything fit.
The one fact that stood out was Lena’s interest in the pact. But there were copies
readily available, so why would that make the law student a target?
The only thing Caitlyn could think of was that most of the world, even many living
on the reservation, didn’t speak or read Cherokee. Could the translation of the native
language trigger a reinterpretation that would set up a new legal battle for the freedmen?
But why would that be worth killing for? The Oklahoma freedmen’s court case had been
going since 1985. Not exactly the Reapers’ kind of quick and easy payday.
Still. If Lena’s interest in the pact had triggered the Reapers’ interest in her,
then the interpreter might be the key.
She turned onto Acquoni. The parking lot in front of the archives office was still
empty, the lights on against the early-January twilight. The interpreter didn’t live
far, maybe three minutes out of her way. Poppy would never think to look for Paul
at the archives; he’d be safe a few minutes longer while Goose protected Lena and
Bernie.
She passed the archives office and kept driving. Maybe it was just curiosity that
wouldn’t allow her to give up her search for the answers; maybe it was instinct. She
had no idea, and she hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake, putting lives at risk.
But she couldn’t pass up a chance at solving the mystery.
* * *
Logging road, his ass, Goose thought as he bounced the Harley over the hard-packed
trail gouged out with tire treads. At one point something flew off the bike, but it
didn’t seem to affect the engine or steering, so he ignored it. Thankfully the bike’s
suspension was good enough that he didn’t risk permanent damage to his internal organs.
Not that that was much protection as his spleen slammed against his rib cage every
time the bike catapulted over a rut or off a rock.
Tierney had been right—the trip only took a few minutes, rough as they were. He emerged
from the trees between two cabins. A large two-story log building stood in the center
of the plateau. He idled for a moment, remembering what Weasel had said. Something
about the leopard being inside the lodge. Okay, leave that as the last place to search.
The sun had already vanished behind the mountain peaks to the west, leaving the area
shrouded in shadows. The wind had picked up and brought with it a few snowflakes.
There were no lights in any of the cabins or smoke coming from any chimneys. Had Bernie
and Lena left on foot? Or were they hiding?
He decided to search the buildings in a counterclockwise pattern. Parked his bike
but left it idling in case he needed a quick escape, and opened the door to the first
cabin. He had a small Maglite with high-intensity LED bulbs, tiny but very bright.
A strange musty smell greeted him from the darkness within the cabin. He swept the
light around, revealing a dead tree, leaves hanging from its branches, lying across
the center of the floor. Then the light reflected from two large eyes that blinked
slowly, winking out of sight.
He moved the light and saw the three-toed sloth’s large claws clinging to the tree.
“Lena? Bernie? I’m here to help.”
No answer except for the rustle of another creature out of sight in the shadows. Good
enough. He slammed the door shut and rode the Harley to the next cabin.
This time when he opened the door he was greeted by a lion’s roar. He slammed it shut
before even getting a look at the creature.
Damn it, Bernie, what the hell were you thinking?
He slowed down in front of the third cabin but didn’t stop as the Harley’s headlight
found Bernie’s truck parked beside the cabin two doors down. Alongside it was Lena’s
Honda.
And sprawled across the Honda’s hood was the leopard.
The leopard leapt up at the sight of the headlight. It didn’t run; rather, it turned
to face Goose, its head swinging in time with the bike’s motion, tracking it. It stood
on all fours, its chest pushed out as if protecting the car.
Then he saw what it was really guarding. One of the rear doors of the car cracked
open and a girl shouted, “Help us! Please!”
The leopard whipped his head around at the motion of the car door and she pulled it
shut again.
“It’s okay, Lena,” he called back, although he had no idea if it really was okay.
How the heck could it be okay when there was a freaking leopard between him and her?
Not to mention the Reapers who might be on their way here anytime now. Plus Wilson
was going to kill him if he ended up blowing the operation.
First things first. He drew his pistol, a Browning 9mm. It looked very small next
to the leopard on the car. A wounded cat would be more dangerous, and he doubted he
could kill it easily. But he didn’t have to kill the damn thing, just spook it enough
that it ran and gave him time to reach the car and Lena. How the hell had she gotten
herself trapped in there?