Joe Gores - Glass Tiger

‘A bearskin?’

There were tears on Mary Coggins’ face, but he could see her deciding to go all noble and protect the doctor and the rest of the staff. He didn’t care what she did, as long as he got what he wanted.

‘Yes, a bearskin,’ said Coggins. ‘Janet said on the phone that she needed it for some sort of ceremony. That is not a federal offense, not in the United States of America.’

A ceremony, he thought? What the hell did she mean? He said, without much force, ‘I can make it one.’

She raised her head proudly.

‘Go ahead, then! I did it. Alone. Nobody else helped me, not the doctor, not the other nurses. They didn’t know anything about it.’

If anybody called his bluff, Hatfield knew he couldn’t make anything stick. Not against her, not against anyone else. Better to get what he had come for and get out, before Houghton returned from his hospital rounds and made an official complaint.

‘All right. Just give me the address, and I won’t have to file a written report on this.’

She took the offered way out. ‘Janet Roanhorse, General Delivery, Groveland, California.’

Janet Roanhorse? A red Indian instead of a Mex?

‘I thought her name was Amore.’

‘She wanted it sent to Roanhorse.’

They got to Ferry Bridge just at four p.m., as scheduled. The guides splashed into the knee-deep eddying water to pull the rafts up onto the earth bank so the passengers could get out. Using supplies from the guide house tucked up under the bridge, the guides turned into cooks. The clients sat around eating crackers and oysters and veggie dips while the guides worked to turn out a surprisingly complete dinner.

Jimmy’s mother abandoned the appetizers to approach Janet where she was using stainless steel tongs to expertly turn the chicken breasts grilling on the propane stove. The woman had a quizzical expression on her face.

‘Jimmy said you eat poison oak leaves. Do you? Really?’

Janet gave her an almost sheepish grin, and nodded.

‘Yeah, from time to time, to keep up my own immunity on these trips. It does work, but I don’t usually tell any of our passengers about it. But Jimmy was so curious, I just showed him. He’s a great kid. He’s so observant and interested that he got the other passengers really seeing what was around them. It was great having him in the group today.’

Jimmy’s mother leaned close. ‘I think he’s in love.’

After dinner, they brought out the guitars and more wine. Everyone felt fine and mellow, but for Janet it was bitter-sweet. A high point, but of what was her final trip as a guide down the river that she loved.

Hatfield was on his cellphone with AIC Sammy Spaulding.

‘I’m on my way to the Burbank Airport to meet the other members of my team. I need a smaller plane that can carry all six of us and our weapons up to a little town called Groveland, not too far from Yosemite.’

‘Christ, I can’t do that, Terrill. The red tape—’

‘This afternoon, Sammy. I don’t want to pull rank, but this is a National Security issue and I’m under direct orders from the President. How about in your report, you just say it’s a Hostage/Rescue deep-cover training exercise?’

There was a long, stunned silence. ‘That might do it.’

‘Two more things. Lean on the Groveland postmaster to get the address of a woman named Janet Roanhorse. They’ll sure as hell have it, a hick town like that. And have a couple of rental cars waiting for us wherever the pilot sets us down.’

He could hear the muted clicking of Sammy’s computer keys.

‘That’ll be the Pine Mountain Lake Airport a few miles out of Groveland. The cars’ll be there waiting.’ He added, trying to get back a modicum of control, ‘You owe me bigtime, you bastard,’ and hung up.

It was nearly dark when the party finally broke up. The bus was waiting to take the clients back to Groveland. There was a lot of loud talk and laughter; it was cold enough so their breaths sent puffs of vapor into the air. As they were filing aboard, Jimmy turned back to shake Janet’s hand, very formally.

‘I want to come back every week this summer,’ he said.

She didn’t say anything about this being her last trip. But as Jimmy boarded the bus, she gave him a little hug and a peck on the cheek. His mother embraced her; then they were gone.

For the next hour, the guides were busy deflating the rafts and lugging them and all the rest of the gear up to the edge of the road. When the truck arrived, they stowed everything aboard and climbed aboard themselves for the trip back to Casa Loma. Everything Janet did had an end-of-summer flavor to it. An ending. But she reminded herself it was also a beginning.

On the flight to Groveland, Hatfield planned his strategy.

He needed that girl, whatever her name was, because he needed to know why Thorne was looking for her. And he wanted her before Thorne found her. When Thorne did, Hatfield wanted to be there frst. If she was an American Indian, native-born, he couldn’t play the greencard game with her, but he could pressure her as he had pressured Mary Coggins: by using the threat of arrest as a security risk.

Franklin came up the aisle and leaned over him.

‘When do we get briefed on what’s up, boss?’

Hatfield slid over so Franklin could sit down beside him. It was always good to give his team the feeling that they were all in this together.

‘We’re trying to track down a woman named Janet Amore or Janet Roanhorse, take your pick. From the Roanhorse I think she’s at least part Indian, but I’m not sure. We want her because someone else does. And we want her first.’

‘Who wants her? Why?’

‘I don’t know why. That’s what I want find out. As to who...’ He paused, savoring what Franklin’s reaction would be. ‘Brendan Thorne.’

‘That prick!’ exclaimed Franklin. ‘I’m gonna enjoy this.’ He slid out of the seat. ‘I’ll give the guys a heads-up.’

Hatfield thought about what he’d told Franklin. Yeah. He was sure he was right. Thorne had crossed the woman’s tracks somewhere and was looking for answers just as they were. But answers to what? There was still too much he didn’t know. Did it all go back to the California Delta? He had been there himself, but he still didn’t know what really had happened there on election night.

Jaeger had been there, and Jaeger was dead. Corwin had been there, had killed them, and Corwin was dead. Thorne was trying to find out some of the same things Hatfield was, but Thorne would soon be dead, too. Did it really matter that much what had gone down before he had arived at the scene?

What did matter was finding Janet Amore before Thorne did.

Under one of the Casa Loma store’s night lights, Thorne leaned against the big spare tire mounted on the back of the 4-Runner, his arms crossed, deliberately obscuring the vehicle with his body. He watched the guides unload the rafts and equipment.

He instantly identified Janet Kestrel. She was a tawny-skinned mid-twenties, full-bosomed and lithe, her warrior blood unmistakable: it was there in the strong nose, the high cheekbones, the deep-set liquid eyes with their predator’s fierce gaze. No physical effects seemed to remain from the savage beating she had sustained five months before. A fit companion for the much older Corwin, whatever their relationship had been.

As she talked animatedly with the other guides, Thorne could see that her eyes were the only jarring note in that Indain warrior look: they were the clearest, most crystalline blue Thorne had ever seen, glacier-deep.

After the four guides had shut and locked the shed, the other three crowded around Janet, hugging her in turn, as if she were going away and these were their goodbyes. He was glad he had pushed so hard and fast to find her.