“So she loves the outdoors,” Sonny said sarcastically. “Doesn’t prove a thing. I bet she also has hand grenades stored somewhere, all come in handy during a weekend stroll in the mountains.”
Two huge files sat to the back of the very spacious closet. Sonny pulled a handle and the drawer slid out. He riffled through the files. Lots of Intel material. The second and the third were all the same, but in the bottom drawer was the thing he was looking for. The Doomsday file, thin but full of encrypted codes he couldn’t begin to read.
He was flipping through it for names when he heard the front door open, and a happy but muffled voice. “There’s wine in the fridge. I’m going to take a shower.”
Eric and Mona? She’s supposed to be in D.C.
“Chingao,” Sonny cursed. Could he race to the patio door and make a quick escape in the wheelchair?
No, the voice was already in the hallway, heading for the bedroom. He was trapped! He slid quickly into the closet and closed the door behind him. He turned the chair and pushed back against the wall, away from her gowns, covering himself with the business suits.
He didn’t hear her footsteps on the carpet. The closet door opened and Mona Vandergriff quickly pulled a silk gown down from its hanger. She closed the door and headed for the shower.
Sonny breathed relief, then peered through the slats. He saw her enter the bathroom, heard the water running.
Make a run now, he thought, and was about to push out when a tall, assured Leif Eric entered the bedroom, two glasses in one hand, a bottle of New Mexico chardonnay in the other. Had Eric sensed his movement? Sonny held his breath as Eric looked toward the closet, approached, then shook his head and returned to the bed table.
He poured the wine, sat at the edge of the bed, slipped off his shoes, and drank. He finished the glass of wine and stood to remove his jacket and tie.
Mona, draped in the silk gown, entered from the bathroom, towel-drying her hair. “Lord, it was a tough week,” she muttered.
“Tell me about it,” Eric replied. He handed her a glass of wine.
“I’m glad to see you.” She lifted the glass in a toast.
“I’m glad to see you.”
“This makes it all worthwhile.”
He held and kissed her. “I would go insane if I didn’t have you.”
The gown opened and he pressed his hands against her breasts. She moaned, then drew back.
“Raven?” she asked.
Eric frowned. “Not dead yet, but he soon will be. But let’s not talk about it.”
“What do you mean ‘soon’? You know how dangerous he is. Why haven’t they caught him?”
“Not that easy,” Eric replied. “Look, let’s not discuss Raven. I only have a few hours. Let’s relax.…”
He ran his hands down her hips.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“God, I need you.” He kissed her hard, taking her breath.
“And I need you. I am so fucking tired of the nerds I work with.”
“I’ve got the thing for all that tension.”
“I need it,” she moaned, “oh, I need it. I’m still cold.”
“I can warm you up.”
“Promise, laserlick.”
He laughed and pulled her down on the bed.
Sonny leaned forward, slightly moving a suit on a hanger. The squeak was barely perceptible, but Eric heard it.
“Do you have mice?” he asked, and stood, facing the closet.
“No,” she replied, drawing her gown around her and reaching into the nightstand by her bed. When she turned, she was pointing a .38 toward the closet.
“Raven?” she asked, glancing at Eric.
“Sonofabitch!” he swore, stepped to the closet, and threw the door open.
Sonny pressed the forward button on his chair and sped forward.
“Baca!” Eric cried.
“Who?” Mona exclaimed, a hair’s breadth away from pulling the trigger.
“This is Sonny Baca, the private investigator!” Eric explained. “What the hell are you doing here!”
“Looking for the plutonium,” Sonny replied, staring from the barrel of the pistol into Mona’s eyes. As long as he kept eye contact, she might not fire. He smiled. Most people didn’t shoot at a smiling person. But then, Mona Vandergriff wasn’t most people.
“So this is the great Sonny Baca.” She smiled, and her trigger finger eased. “I should kill you for breaking and entering.”
“Ruin your carpet,” Sonny replied, still staring at her.
Her smile broadened. “You’re probably right.” She glanced at Eric. “Should I?”
Sonny cleared his throat. “Uh, I’ve got someone outside waiting for me. A shot would bring them in—”
“I don’t give a shit who you’ve got,” the undaunted Mona replied. “This is a break-in. You threatened us. I have a right to defend myself.”
“You’ve got a point,” Sonny said, widening his smile. Lord, she had a point.
Eric raised his arm, hesitated. His voice grew icy.
“Who’s waiting for you?”
“One of Matt Paiz’s boys—”
“I don’t believe you! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I told you, looking for the plutonium.”
“Why here? Oh, you think we have it?” He laughed.
“You set me up,” Sonny replied, “so you became a suspect.”
“What do you mean set you up?”
“You didn’t tell me about Raven’s past. That he was a courier for the labs. That you’ve used him in the past.”
Eric nodded, his shoulders sagged. “Put the gun away,” he whispered. Mona let her arm drop to her side. Sonny let out a sigh of relief.
“That was the past,” Eric said. “We didn’t know he would go crazy.”
“Is that why you’re trying to kill him?”
“He needs to be killed for a lot of reasons.”
“Doyle has a contract on him?”
“I don’t inquire into Doyle’s business,” Eric shot back. “All I know is the man has a plutonium pit, he’s running around the country, and he has already hired one greedy Ukrainian! If Doyle takes him out, so much the better.”
“He also knows a lot,” Sonny said.
“What do you mean?”
“He knows about the Avengers.”
Eric glanced at Mona, who was coldly watching the exchange, as if measuring the two. She picked up her glass of wine to sip, shrugged.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eric said.
Mona stepped forward, raising the pistol again. “Yes, I can say I shot in self-defense.”
“A man in a wheelchair is not much of a threat,” Sonny said.
“You know too much,” she replied.
“Don’t let him rile you.” Eric stepped in front of her. “A lot of people in government know about the Avengers,” he said, looking at Sonny. “The FBI has a file on them, so what’s it to us?”
“Very few people in government know about them,” Sonny replied. “The real question is, what do you know about them?”
“Nothing. The FBI says it’s a hotheaded militia group. Saturday soldiers pissed off at the government. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“You hired me to find Raven and never told me he had worked for the labs!” Sonny exploded. “That’s what I’m getting at. And the military uniforms in the closet! What about the Doomsday group?”
“Oh, I get it,” Mona replied. “You’re trying to tie me to a militia group.” She laughed softly. “You’re way off track. I’ve been a sharpshooter since I was in college. Saturdays when I get a chance to go out, I go to the range and shoot. I dress up for the part. There’s a group of us—ladies. Mostly professional women. We call ourselves Doomsday. If it proves anything, you’re welcome to join us sometime. I assure you, we’re quite harmless, perhaps that’s why we use the name Doomsday. Some of the nicest women in town belong.”
Eric nodded
, confirming her story. Alibis thick as flies, Sonny thought. Where did the truth lie?
“You haven’t done your research, Mr. Baca,” Mona continued. “Or should I call you Sonny? You should know our security receives briefings from the FBI. We keep files on terrorist groups. Actually, we keep files on any nation, corporation, or individual who might threaten our firm. That’s no secret.”
“Same at the labs. The FBI helps us, so we supply them with information,” Eric said.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Raven?”
“Not relevant,” Eric responded. “The only thing you have to know is that he’s got the plutonium. If you can help Paiz, fine. If not—”
“It’s not fine. Not if I put my life on the line!”
Mona raised an eyebrow, smiled. “You mean like being shot for being in the wrong woman’s bedroom?”
“You’re making too much of the Avenger thing,” Eric said. “The truth is there are groups like them all over the country.”
“None so well placed,” Sonny said.
“I think you should leave now,” Mona interjected. She had kept her eyes on him the entire time, measuring him. She had come close to killing him, and the excitement shone in her eyes.
“You need a security system.”
“I know. Or take my chances with whoever breaks in.”
Eric looked at her, frowned. “Just get out of here.”
“Sure.” Sonny started out.
“And you’d better tell your hacker that we’ve got his number. Tell him it’s a federal offense tapping into our computers.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sonny called. “It’s been a pleasure. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“I’m sure I will,” Mona answered, glancing at Eric. “Not even your break-in can ruin that.”
Sonny scooted his chair out of the room, followed by Eric.
“You know she could have killed you.”
“I thought of that,” Sonny said.
“I don’t want your blood on my hands. I think it best you forget about playing a role in finding the plutonium. I’m calling Paiz. As of now, our relationship is ended. We never met you, do you understand?”
“You mean you’re firing me?”
“I never hired you. Your role was to help Paiz. It’s over.”
“Yeah,” Sonny replied. “Except I was being used, and I don’t like that. Look, I don’t mind you folks playing your games and blowing yourselves to pieces, but there’s a lot of good people who shouldn’t get hurt. People who still think a democracy suits them fine.”
Eric laughed. “Think what you want. I’m only saying this for your own good.”
Sonny’s anger rose to the surface, but he kept it in check. They had used him, but he was on their turf, and this was no time to blow his top.
“Sure,” he said, and scooted down the walk to the van.
A very concerned Lorenza greeted him. “Thank God you’re safe. I saw them drive in, but there was no way to warn you. We’ve got to hurry. Rita’s in the hospital!”
“Hospital?”
“Don Eliseo just called. She had a miscarriage!”
23
“She never told me,” he whispered, shaking his head. Don Eliseo’s message had hit him like a ton of bricks.
“She didn’t want to worry you,” Lorenza said, gunning the van down the hill. “What’s going on with you is a matter of life and death. Finding the kidnapped girls means a lot to her. She wanted you to concentrate on them.”
“You knew.”
She nodded. “That’s why I suggested she see a doctor. She made me promise not to tell you.”
“Not to worry me,” Sonny said. “She should have told me.”
Nothing was more important than Rita. But she was thinking of him and the girls, and so she kept her pregnancy a secret.
“Hurry,” he urged Lorenza, realizing she was already driving as fast as she dared. He wanted to go faster, to fly to Rita’s side. Concern for Rita’s safety pumped through him, mixing with self-anger. Why hadn’t he been more aware of the change in Rita?
At Presbyterian Hospital they headed for the maternity ward, and Sonny manuvered his chair down the corridor, whizzing past startled nurses and patients. Lorenza ran beside him. He turned the corner and careened into the nurses’ station.
“Rita López! What room is Rita López in?”
The heavyset black nurse peered over her glasses. “Hold on, young man—”
“I need to see Rita!” Sonny shouted. Behind him Lorenza put her hands on his shoulders.
“Easy,” she whispered.
“Rita López? She just came in.” The nurse flipped through her charts.
“Yes,” Sonny cried. “Where is she? Is she all right?”
“You the husband?” the nurse asked.
“No,” Sonny shook his head. “Yes, she’s my—”
“Uh-huh,” the nurse said, flipping again through the charts on the clipboard. “Sonny Baca?”
“Yes.”
“Husband. She just came out of the operating room—”
“Operating room! Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” the nurse said, putting aside her chart, turning to Lorenza. “It was a standard procedure. Went just fine. The miscarriage began at home. She’s resting—”
“I’ve got to see her,” Sonny interjected.
“Humm,” the nurse puckered her lips. “If she’s awake, you can visit awhile.”
“Yes, please—”
“Follow me.” She led them down the hallway.
“Does she need anything?” Lorenza asked the nurse.
“She did ask for lipstick and a comb. By tomorrow she’ll be up and around, so she’ll need a robe.” She opened the door to the room. “Rita, honey, you got some company. You up for a little company?”
“You go on in,” Lorenza whispered to Sonny. “I’ll drive to the house and pick up some of her things.”
“We can do that later—”
“There’s things I know she needs. Be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay. And flowers. She loves roses.” He fumbled for his wallet.
“I’ll get them,” Lorenza said. “Go on.”
Sonny nodded and guided his chair into the room.
“She’s resting,” the nurse said to Sonny. “Bed number two.” She pointed at the bed by the window.
The pregnant woman in bed number one, swollen stomach covered by a white sheet, lay staring at the television. She glanced at Sonny, then turned her gaze back to the set. The TV’s light flickered in the room as a soap opera played itself out on the small screen.
“You got company, honey,” she said to Rita. Sonny pushed around the curtain to Rita’s bedside.
“Sonny,” she greeted him, her voice weak, her face pale and drawn. Sonny drew close and took her hands.
“Oh, Sonny,” she cried.
He kissed her. “Rita …”
“I’ll pull the curtain so you can have some privacy,” the nurse said. “Now don’t go tiring yourself out. And you call me if you need anything,” she whispered to Sonny, patting his shoulder as she walked out.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Rita cried. “It came so suddenly. There was nothing I could do.”
“Shuu,” Sonny whispered, his voice choking. “You’re all right. That’s what matters.”
“I tried to stop it, but suddenly it started letting loose. There was nothing I could do.”
Her words came in soft sobs, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry.” Sonny tried to comfort her, holding her hands, reaching up to touch her face, handing her a tissue from the box on the bed stand.
“I don’t know why,” she sniffed, trying to control her sobs. “Our baby—”
“Don’t think about it,” Sonny said, searching for comforting words. “Whatever happened, you’re safe. That’s what matters, amor. You’re all right.”
“After you and Lorenza left, I went to take a nap. I felt tired. I must have fallen asleep, because I remember the dream. It wasn’t a dream; it was a horrible nightmare. Where is Lorenza?”
“She went to the house to pick up some things for you.”
“God bless her. She thinks of everything. I have to tell you my dream—”
“The nurse said you have to rest—not to worry yourself.”
“No, I have to. It was so vivid, I actually felt I was living it. I finally understand what you’ve been trying to tell us about your dreams. You said you were actually in the dream. That’s how I felt.”
Sonny felt a shiver. “Yes, tell me your dream.”
“I could see everything so clear; I was a Navajo woman, and the red cliffs around me were home, I was in a hogan, about to give birth. Yes, women were there, taking care of me. Then there was shooting and fires, and the army was killing the men and burning the hogans and the peach orchards. You know what it was? It was the time Kit Carson drove the Navajos out of Canyon de Chelly. The men cried his name, like a curse. They shouted for us to run into the hills and hide, but it was too late. It was an army of wolves. We were rounded up like sheep and made to march many miles.”
She stopped to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.
“Don’t tire yourself,” Sonny pleaded, knowing what was coming.
“No, I want to,” Rita whispered. “I want to tell you. Something about the terrible nightmare was so real. I was there, pregnant, and there was no rest. No food. No protection from the cold wind. I began to bleed. I looked around me, and all the women were bleeding. All the strong Navajo women were bleeding to death as they walked, and the blood was staining the earth. No children could be born. We were all strong women, but we were slaves, leaving our land. The babies in our wombs drained out and became the blood marking that trail of tears.”
She clutched Sonny’s hand. “What does it mean?”
Bile seeped through Sonny’s veins. He knew what it meant. He had lost his child, perhaps a son who would carry his name, perhaps a daughter whose beauty would fill their home—Rita had lost her child. That loss was cause enough for the anger he felt, but a new emotion swept over him that was far stronger. Something boiling in his blood, something he tried to control as he held Rita’s hand. Vengeance.