Jenna Kernan - Shadow Wolf

“Clay? Kino? Over.”

Clay lifted the radio. “Here, sir.”

“Border patrol is requesting you meet them at the closest access point. If you aren’t there, they’ll miss it.”

“No doubt,” muttered Kino.

“Yes, sir.” Clay glanced at Kino, who nodded. “On my way.”

“Can either of you identify the shooter?” asked Captain Rubio.

“Negative. Only witness is Miss Altaha.”

“From Oasis?”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay. Bring her for pickup by BP in twenty.”

“En route.”

Clay hooked his radio back on his shoulder and met Kino’s gaze. “I’m calling Councilman Mangan. He’ll want tribal representatives here.”

“Satellite phone’s in the car,” said Kino. “I’ll get Altaha.”

As he turned to collect their witness, he glanced at the four bodies. He had considered them no more than collateral damage, pawns in this game of chess. They weren’t the first to be killed execution style, stripped of the drugs and then left to rot. But they were the first he’d really noticed. He had his witness to thank for that.

What had she said—that they were people? He looked at them—really looked for the first time. The men were thin, dust-covered, wearing old trousers and new camo shirts provided for their journey. Their feet were sheathed in the odd shoes sewn from sections of carpet to obscure their prints from trackers like him. They’d been hired to carry a load with promises that it would earn them their passage. Instead they had earned a body bag. They’d been used and discarded, as if they were nothing more than the empty water jugs they had carried. Kino admitted to himself that he had used them, too. For him, they had been just a means to find the Viper.

The discomfort made Kino turn away.

Clay was on the satellite phone, the only sure means of communication in many of the more isolated areas out here. He lowered the phone and turned to Kino.

“Mangan is coming himself with another member of the tribe. They want us to meet them, as well.”

“We’ve gone from trackers to an escort service.”

Clay’s smile was fleeting. He motioned with his head. “She’s crying.”

Kino met his brother’s look of discomfort with one of his own.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Your witness. You said so.” He might as well have shouted, “Not it!”

“Great,” said Kino, hoping his captain got here before border patrol so they could get going.

Kino headed to the battered pickup and found Lea wiping her eyes. But she didn’t fall into his arms or shatter like the windshield. Instead she met his cautious gaze with one of her own.

“What now?”

“Gotta get you to Cardon Station. They’re coming to pick you up.”

Lea sighed and followed him to the SUV, where they drove to the highway.

An hour later the rattlesnake rattle had been removed from the one man’s wound and all four bodies had been bagged. The Bureau of Indian Affairs—BIA—and the US Border Patrol, the field operations director from ICE, Shadow Wolves captain Rick Rubio and two members of the Tohono O’odham tribal council were all on site. Lea had been transported to border patrol headquarters while Kino and Clay continued to cook out here in the desert heat.

Kino stared up at the sky, counting the minutes the Viper had to escape. But now Kino had something he’d never had before: a witness.

The last to arrive was a representative from Oasis. Their regional director was a guy named Anthony DeClay: a white guy, tall, with a muscular frame evident beneath the pale blue, long-sleeved, button-up shirt he wore. Stitched to the left breast pocket was the Oasis insignia: two crossed flagpoles topped with triangular royal blue flags. The flags were a shorter interpretation of the ten-foot poles and flags that alerted travelers from a distance to the presence of water. Kino glanced from the symbol to the worn circular ring on the opposite pocket.

Was it tobacco or a tin of rattlesnake rattles?

Kino’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man now engaged in conversation with one of the tribal council, comparing his body type to the Viper and finding a possible match. The gist of the conversation was the time frame for removal of the water stations from tribal lands. Kino knew that the Oasis organization had many stations set up illegally on federal land and the Bureau of Land Management seemed to mostly look the other way. Kino thought that Oasis made a habit of going where it was not welcome. Oasis claimed it had not erected the stations, but did seem to be maintaining them.

DeClay appeared to be in his midforties with an affable smile and mirrored sunglasses. He was covered with dust even though he’d been in an air-conditioned Ford Explorer complete with water tanks, pump and coiled hose. He dangled his keys off his index finger. Kino noticed the key ring immediately because it included a one-inch rattlesnake rattle encased in clear acrylic. The man fingered the fob as he spoke to the tribal councilman.

Kino glanced at Clay, who gave the slightest nod. He’d seen the fob, as well.

Border patrol captain Gus Barrow joined the conversation. DeClay said that he had not met Lea Altaha yet, as she had been out in the field both times he had been through to check in with their area supervisor, a woman named Margaret Crocker. DeClay explained that he supervised the Oasis program in Texas, New Mexico and now Arizona. He said they had strict regulations about traveling in pairs, a rule that Altaha had apparently ignored. According to the manager, Crocker, Lea’s usual partner had recently left the organization. Altaha had been assigned a temporary partner who had called in sick. At that point, Lea had taken her own initiative and picked up the wrong map, the one denoting the stations designated to be removed, and come out here all alone, which was against every protocol they had. She had received no authorization from anyone to be on Indian land and DeClay was not willing to guess if her mistake was accidental or intentional.

The one tribal councilman Kino knew, Sam Mangan, had words with DeClay, telling him to get this station off Indian land today. DeClay promised to remove the barrels immediately and excused himself to make some calls.

Kino glanced again at the two blue barrels resting on their sides on a wooden frame. The two-by-fours and nails had that just-built glow. Strange, he thought. They were not scratched from blowing sand or worn. In fact, the station looked brand-new.

“That station hasn’t been there very long,” said Kino to his brother.

“Nails are still shiny.”

Kino watched DeClay and one of his fellows get the blue barrels loaded. The fact that they could lift them without emptying the water led Kino to surmise that the barrels were empty. But the way the two men carried them seemed wrong.

Kino went to speak to his captain. “I think there might be something in those barrels.”

Captain Rubio glanced at the two men hoisting the containers with renewed interest. “Maybe so. Worth a look.”

Clay asked permission to cut for sign but their conversation was interrupted by Captain Barrow.

“Why wasn’t I alerted to your men’s location?” asked Barrow.

“We alerted you,” said Rubio.

“After they found the bodies.”

Rubio said nothing.

“We’re supposed to be coordinating operations,” Barrow reminded Rubio. “If your men don’t report in and they go missing, we won’t have the first idea where to begin our search.”

Rubio smiled. “I would.”

Barrow snorted. “What if they were shot?”

“That’s easier.” Rubio pointed skyward. “Just follow the buzzards.” Sure enough, the black birds already circled, having smelled the carrion from miles away.