Cold River Resurrection (19 page)

C
hapter
44

Kah-Nee-Ta High Desert Resort and Casino

F.B.I. Supervisory Special Agent Dennis Oakley followed a line of people toward the two  Blackhawk helicopters that were warming up in the parking lot of the casino. It had been roped off to accommodate the crews and machines. It was just after first light, and the boss wanted to get the woman and be back in Portland before the workday started. For some of these people, this would be their first time in a helicopter.

The drab military machines were, he knew, a show of force for the Indians, and anyone else who might be watching or interested in what the feds were doing on the good ol’ rez. They were there courtesy of the power of the U.S. Attorney Julie Sturgis, who had good traction inside the Beltway. It had been rumored that she was on a short list to replace the current Attorney General, a man embattled since the day he took office last year.

Sturgis was in the lead. Her dark hair bounced down the back of a flight jacket that she was making look fashionable. She wore tan slacks and carried a black briefcase. Always in charge. Behind her and trying to keep up was the new Assistant U.S. Attorney, Teresa Barrett. Barrett struggled with two briefcases and a bag. Someone didn’t tell Barrett that they were going for a helicopter ride, as she was wearing a dark pin-striped suit with a knee-length skirt. Barrett, short and blonde, must have been good in law school and have some skills, or she wouldn’t be here, but her newness to the job made her appear vulnerable, scared.

I sure wouldn’t want to be second to Sturgis, especially as a woman, Oakley thought. Behind Teresa Barrett was the other AUSA, Kelly Devans, the Indian specialist
. He was a pretty good guy, but was supporting his boss by dutifully lining up behind them.

A helmeted crew member tried to help Sturgis into the lead helicopter. She waved him off and climbed in unassisted. Teresa Barrett needed the hand, and Oakley stopped and admired the view as she handed the briefcases up and then took a hand and was lifted aboard.

Stop it Oakley. Pay attention to what’s going to happen. Sturgis had wanted him in the lead helicopter, since he was the one designated to take Jennifer Kruger to Portland and interview her again. His boss, James Russell readily agreed. Oakley was the only one who had had a prior relationship with Lt. “Smokey” Kukup.

Oakley followed Russell to the lead machine and looked over as the rest of their crew walked to the other helicopter.

Oakley took a seat inside, sitting on a jump seat next to Teresa Barrett. He smiled at her and gave her a thumbs up. She gave him a grateful smile back, and looked a little sick.

He leaned over and cupped his hands to her ear. “Been in a helicopter before?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“It’ll be fine,” he said.

The helicopter lifted off and headed west, moving slowly, coming up over the light standards in the parking lot. Teresa Barrett did indeed look as if she were going to lose her breakfast.

Oakley looked out at the sun as it peeked up over the Mutton Mountains to the east. The resort was in a valley, surrounded by beautiful hills of grass, sagebrush, and lava rock formations on the mountain tops. As they gained height, Mt. Hood towered to the north, to their right, and ahead and slightly to their left, glacier
-covered Mt. Jefferson. They were heading west, to the edge of the forest past the traditional community of Sidwalter, to the Kukup ranch. To get Jennifer Kruger.

Gonna piss off the Indians.

Won’t be the first time.

The flight wouldn’t be long, probably ten minutes in all, since they could have driven there in forty minutes from the resort. Oakley was thinking of how he would try to make this right with Smokey and Martin Andrews.

The pilot first told them of trouble, five minutes into the flight.

“Uh, folks, we may have a problem.” Oakley looked up ahead as the pilot pointed out the windscreen. “Smoke, a lot
of smoke, coming from the coordinates, or close to, where we are supposed to take you.”

“Slow us down a little, and let’s take a look,” Russell said.

Oakley glanced over at Teresa Barrett, and now she looked both pale and green at the same time.

Oakley leaned forward and watched as they flew to the tree line, then came up slowly on the smoke.

“Jesus Christ,” the pilot muttered. He spoke urgently into his headset. Oakley heard him tell the pilot of the second Blackhawk to take a holding position up at five hundred meters above ground level, to stand off a kilometer. Oakley strained to look out at the fires below. What had once been a house was almost completely burned out, the wall on one end still standing; a haystack was burning, and what had once been a barn was completely destroyed. In the yard a tree was on fire, with no apparent attempt to put it out.

A large SUV
was in the front yard, and looked as if it had been bombed. Oakley could see a number of bodies on the ground, one smoldering.

Fuck me. What the hell happened here? This looks like a war zone.

Oakley unhooked his seat belt and moved between the seats, leaning between the pilot and co-pilot for a better look. He pointed.

“Is this mess where we were supposed to land?”

The pilot turned slightly.

“Yes sir,” he shouted. “These are the GPS coordinates that were given to us for the landing.

Oakley looked back at Russell, and glanced over at Sturgis. She didn’t look any too good either. Back to Russell, who pointed down to the floor with his index finger.

Oakley held his hand up, and turned to the pilot.

“See any sign of life?”

The pilot pointed. “There. An SUV with two people standing beside it.
” Oakley looked and saw the green Trailblazer. Looked like Police Chief Martin Andrews, and Smokey. Oakley looked at the tree line and pointed. Two additional SUV’s, people wearing battle gear around the vehicles. He turned back toward Russell.

“Sir. The chief of police and his
lieutenant are on the ground, look okay.” Russell motioned down again.

“Let us off,” Oakley said to the pilot.

He put the Blackhawk down a hundred feet behind the police car, two hundred yards from the house. When the crewman opened the door, the smell of burning bodies came to them. As Oakley and Russell jumped down, Oakley looked back in the cabin of the aircraft and watched as Teresa Barrett vomited on her boss’s briefcase.

He thought then that this would not end well, that this entry into Indian country where things were going to shit in a global way
, was going to make all of them vomit, if they were lucky, before it was over.

Oa
kley watched as Sturgis climbed out and jumped to the ground, and turned and yelled something to those inside the helicopter. She was bending down under the rotors and stopped That was about where the smell of the bodies would hit her. Okay,
fine
, Oakley thought.

Welcome to war on the rez. And that’s what this was.

War.

Hope the U.S. Attorney for Oregon is having a good time. Maybe the rest of the feds will get their shoes dirty before this is over.

But they all would.

He knew it.

Because he knew stuff he didn’t tell the Indians. Couldn’t tell them. And that was a damned shame.

C
hapter
45

Smokey heard the choppers before the rest of them did, a product of his recent tour in Afghanistan. The team had pulled their vehicles up to the tree line behind Chief Andrews. He waited with Nathan. The officers were shedding gear and cleaning wounds. The choppers came in from the east and slowed.

Here to pick up Jennifer. How thoughtful of the feds to let us know.

Smokey watched Nathan cup a hand over his ear piece, and then motion to talk.

“They have the runner,” Nathan said.

“Make sure they know there are choppers in the air,” Smokey said.

“They know, they won’t be seen.”

“Anything yet?” He knew it would be fast.

“They’ll call me. I’ll be on your hip, Boss.  Oh, and Boss,” Nathan said, waiting.

“Yeah?”

“The troops, all of us, we need to
laatlat
, in
xwayatsh.
We have touched the dead.”

Smokey felt it too, a growing dread of having touched the dead. They all needed to sweat in a traditional sweathouse.

Before the helicopters arrived, the team moved through the killing ground, gathering intelligence on the invaders before all of the evidence disappeared into the federal system, never to be seen or talked about again, at least not to them. It required the touching of the dead.

Smokey moved to the SUV with Sarah at the back tailgate. She was looking at the approaching choppers; Plug was trying to wipe the wound on her hand.

“Hold still,” he said, looked up at Smokey and grinned with a missing tooth.

“It talks,” Sarah said.

Smokey thought that they were the first words he had heard Plug say in months.

“El Tee,” Sarah said, wincing as Plug applied an antiseptic. “El Tee, did Laurel really
shoot that guy at the back door?

“Yeah, and the runner.”

Sarah touched his arm. “She’ll be okay.”

Yeah. One way or the other. But what have I done to my daughter?

C
hapter
46

Oakley stepped off the Blackhawk into a war zone. The barn and house were blazing ruins. Black smoke poured from what was left of a haystack, and bodies were scattered on the ground as if they had been thrown there by a careless war god. There was a body halfway in the doorway of what had once been a farmhouse. The upper part of the body was on fire, the legs sticking out as if the person were taking a nap.

The smell of the burning bodies was stronger here, away from the Blackhawk. Russell walked toward Chief Andrews, holding  his hand out. Oakley looked back at the scene.
An SUV on fire in the haystack and another in front of the house; an assault team of a dozen men.

Oh, Christ. One of the bodies on the lawn has an RPG launcher. What the hell? This was an all-out assault by a well-trained and equipped team. Who are these people? Some of Kal-leed
’s or from the cartel?

Oh shit. Maybe both.

Fuck me, this is a mess.

Oakley turned to walk toward Chief Andrews, when several things happened at once:

Julie Sturgis was moving away from the Blackhawk, walking purposefully toward him; Teresa stumbled out of the helicopter, moved a few feet away, and sank to her knees and put her head down; the gas tank of the front SUV blew up with a sudden whoosh, and some ammunition cooked off with a barrraaack and Oakley ran for Sturgis, pulling her the rest of the way to the Chief’s car. He looked over at Teresa Barrett. She didn’t even look up from getting sick all over again beside the Blackhawk.

Lieutenant Kukup ran from the trees to help Teresa.

Oakley stayed with the car, watching as Smokey scooped Teresa up and jogged with her to their car. The Blackhawk’s rotors picked up speed and the big chopper lifted off, leaving them on the ground.

With the Indians.

Oakley met Smokey and took Teresa from him, sitting her in the front seat of Chief Andrews’s car. He put his left hand on the back of her neck and eased her down. An explosion from the remains of the house sent debris down over the front yard. Teresa gripped his arm hard, her eyes wild, not seeing, a string of saliva dripping from her mouth.

“Teresa! Look at me.”  Oakley bent his head down in front of her, inches from her eyes. “Look at me,” he said, softer.

This kid needs medical help. She’s in shock, lost a lot of fluid, and at this rate is gonna need an IV soon.

Smokey leaned in and looked at Teresa, his long braids hanging down in front of his uniform shirt. He stood up behind Oakley.

“We have an ambulance on the B-100 road. I’ll get them to look at her.” Oakley nodded.

“Smokey, what about your team?”

“Got some scratches, but okay.”

Holy s
hit, Oakley thought. They did all this? Against a trained, equipped battle team? Oakley shook his head. He continued to hold Teresa’s hand and waited, looking around at the absolute fucking mess. Well, he had heard of Chief Martin Andrews and company in Peru, they all had, and they were capable, he would give them that. But, look at this.

Welcome to the rez, Teresa.

Smokey stood to the side and waited for his cue to talk. Chief Andrews started. He addressed Russell and Sturgis.

“So, to what do we owe this unannounced visit by the two most powerful feds in this sovereign nation?”

“Uh, C
hief,” Russell started. Chief Martin Andrews held his hand up.

“Let me guess. You were going to pick up Jennifer Kruger, without so much as a kiss my ass to Lieutenant Kukup?” The chief looked at Russell and Sturgis. Smokey thought they were looking as green as the woman in the car seat. He waited for  his turn.

Chief Andrews swept his hand around (a gesture he must have picked up from watching the tribal council members, Smokey thought) and had them all look at the carnage.

“This is Lieutenant Kukup’s family home, their tribal land, and it has been inv
aded by what looks like a well-equipped team, a well- financed team of killers. They tried to kill Smokey, his daughter, Jennifer Kruger, and members of his team.”

“Doesn’t look like they succeeded,” Oakley said.

Smokey looked at the chief. Andrews nodded.

“My turn,” Smokey said.

Keep it cool, keep the anger down, won’t help with the feds. Besides, Oakley is a good one.

“Someone,” Sm
okey said, raising his voice, “someone owes my mother a new
nishaykt
. Owes me a new barn and some hay for the winter.” He looked over at the assembled group, aware that the ambulance had arrived and two crew members were leading Teresa to the back doors. He had the attention of the feds. He was dimly aware that an SUV had pulled up alongside the ambulance, driven by Sarah.

“You have a hell of a crime scene here, Madam U.S. Attorney.” He pointed around his property, with his finger stopping at Sturgis.

“You feds need to tell us who these people are, the ones who came unannounced much like you did today. Oh, you come here with your Blackhawks and your shiny clothes from town, and whether or not you will admit it, you look down on us poor Indians, you don’t think we know that?”

He had their attention. Chief Andrews told him to go ahead with this, to put the feds on the defensive so they could get the people out of here while the feds were somewhat in disarray.

“You,” Smokey said, pointing at Sturgis and Russell, “you have a crime scene here. My
nishaykt
, my mother’s
nishaykt
, my daughter’s house. My mother had a life’s worth of valuable items inside, valuable to real people, not store bought stuff made in China like you Šiyápu fill your houses with. It doesn’t matter that much to me, but I had a few ribbons and medals in there, given to me by the Šiyápu army for fighting in Afghanistan and elsewhere. But here on the reservation, where I have to fight for my family myself, you come with your helicopters to take a woman with you, a woman who doesn’t want to go with you.”  He looked around.

“Where the hell were you all earlier this morning, with your helicopters and your shiny pants from town?”

Smokey could see Jennifer and Laurel listening, watching from his SUV.

“Oh, and you should know, there’s a few more dead around here, two at the haystack, one inside what used to be my back door.” Smokey looked at Sturgis as he said this, and then walked to the driver’s side of the SUV.

“Uh, Lieutenant Kukup, where are you going?” Sturgis found her voice. “We need to talk to you and Jennifer Kruger.”

She walked over to the car as Smokey got in behind the wheel. “We really do need to talk. Leave Jennifer Kruger here, talk with us. Where do you think you can go?”

“Somewhere to keep her alive,” Smokey said, starting the car, “and somewhere to find out what just happened here.”

Jennifer leaned over Smokey, looked at Sturgis.

“Look, I don’t know who you are nor do I care. I’m going with them.” Laurel struggled over Jennifer’s lap and moved her head next to her father.

“You, lady, we fight as a family. That’s what we’re gonna do. My dad will protect us. Jennifer and I will protect him.”

She leaned over and put her arms around Jennifer as Smokey rolled the window up. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He put the Suburban in gear and turned around, looking at his place for one last time. As he turned for the driveway to go out to the Sidwalter road, his team stood up and saluted, Sarah’s salute the sharpest, Plug’s a little sloppy, but Smokey was never more proud, more caring for them, wouldn’t trade them for any military unit he had ever served with.

What the hell just happened here? Three tours in Afghanistan and I lost Amelia to loneliness and drugs. And Laurel is getting so attached to Jennifer, a young woman I don’t know much about.

Maybe you should get attached too, buddy.

But she’s a Šiyápu.

So what, as Laurel had said. Tutu likes her, Daddy, and so should you.

Chief Martin Andrews walked toward U.S. Attorney Julie Sturgis. She was in a huddle with Russell, the F.B.I. Special Agent in Charge of Oregon. The feebs, they do like their titles, he thought. He waited until they looked up.

“Well, folks. Let me show you around your crime scene.”