Leaphorns dream had nothing at all to do with the cave, or kidnapping, or Goldrims, or Hosteen Tso. It was involved with winter and with punishment, and was motivated by the cold of the stone beneath his side and the pain in his hip. Despite his exhaustion, this discomfort kept dragging him back toward consciousness, and finally to a voice which was saying:
All right. Wake him up.
For a moment the words were nothing but an incomprehensible part of a chaotic dream.
And then Leaphorn was awake.
Lets not waste any time, the voice was saying, and it was the voice of Goldrims. I need the one named Symons. A panicky second passed before Leaphorn realized that Goldrims was standing by the cage door and the words were not directed at him.
You’re Symons? Goldrims asked. The voice was loud and the words echoed through the cavern. Wake up. I need to know your birth date and what your wife gave you for your last birthday.
Leaphorn could hear Symons's voice, but not his answer.
May third and what? May third and a sweater. Okay.
Are you going to let us go? It was Theodora Adams’s voice, but she had moved out of the corner now and out of Leaphorns vision.
Sure, Goldrims said. When we get what were asking, you’re free as a bird. The voice sounded amused.
What have you done with Ben? she asked.
Goldrims said nothing. Leaphorn could see his back and his right profile, silhouetted against the reflected lantern light. Far behind him, at the edge of the darkness, John Tull stood. The lantern light glistened on the shotgun Tull held casually by his side. The shadow converted his ruined face into a gargoyle shape. But Leaphorn could see Tull was grinning. He could also see there was no chance for an ambush.
What have I done with Ben? Goldrims asked. He moved abruptly to the cages gate, and there was the click of the padlock opening. Goldrims disappeared inside. What have I done with Ben? he asked again. The voice was fierce now and there was the sudden violent sound of a blow struck. Near him in the darkness, Leaphorn heard a sharp intake of breath from where Father Tso was standing, and there was a muffled scream from the Adams woman.
You bitch, Goldrims was saying. You tell me what Whitey has done to Ben. It got him crawling on his belly to a white mans church, giving himself up to the white mans God, and then a white bitch comes along.. Goldrims's voice broke, and halted. And when it began again its words were paced, tense, controlled. I know how it works, Goldrims said.
When I heard that this thing that claims to be my brother had become a priest, I got a book and read about it. They made him lay on his face, and promise to stay away from women.
And then the first slut that comes after him, he breaks his promise.
Goldrims’s voice halted. He reappeared in Leaphorns view, opening the gate. Leaphorn could hear Theodora Adams crying, and a whimpering sound from one of the Boy Scouts.
Tull was no longer grinning. His grotesque face was somber and watchful. Goldrims closed the gate behind him.
Slut, he said. You’re the kind of woman who eats men.
And with that, Goldrims clicked the padlock shut and walked angrily across the cave floor, with Tull two steps behind him. The lantern Goldrims carried illuminated them only from the waist down four legs scissoring, out of step and out of cadence. Leaphorn told Father Tso where to wait for a second chance at an ambush two hours later. And then he followed the now distant legs through the darkness. It was like tracking a strange uncoordinated beast through the night.
» 18 «
N
o, no, Goldrims was saying. Look. It goes in like this.
They were squatted beside the radio transceiver, Tull and Goldrims, with the one they called Jackie sprawled on the bedroll, motionless.
Like this? Tull asked. He was doing something with the transmitter-changing the crystal or making some sort of antenna adjustment, Leaphorn guessed. From where he stood behind the stalagmites that formed the nearest cover, the acoustics of the cave carried the voices clearly through the stillness, but Leaphorn was too far away to hear everything. Tull said something else, unintelligible.
All right, then, Goldrims said. Run through it again. There was a pause. Right, Goldrims said. That’s right. Put the speaker of the tape recorder about three inches from the mike.
About like that.
I’ve got it, Tull said. No sweat. And right at 4 A.M. Right?
That’s right 4 A.M. for the next one. If I’m not back by then. Just a second and well get this one broadcast. He studied his watch, apparently waiting for the proper second. Then he took the microphone, flicked a series of switches. Whitey, he said. Whitey, this is Buffalo Society. We have your answers and instructions.
The radio said: Go ahead, Buffalo, ready to record.
Your answers are May the third and a sweater, Goldrims said. And now were ready to wrap this up. Here are your orders. Goldrims leaned toward the microphone and Leaphorn could hear only part of the instructions. There were references to map coordinates, a line drawn between them, one man in a helicopter, references to times, a flashed signal from the ground. Obviously instructions for the ransom drop, and like everything else about this operation, it seemed meticulously planned. No way to set a trap if the drop site wasn’t known until the copter reached it. In all, the instructions took only a minute. And then the radio was off, and Goldrims was standing, facing directly toward Leaphorn, talking to Tull, going over it again. They walked away together, away from the pool of lantern light toward the water, still talking.
Then the purring sound of a heavily muffled engine started. Not a generator, as he had thought, but almost certainly a muffled boat engine. The sound moved and faded toward the dim light of the cave mouth.
Leaphorn waited long enough to make absolutely sure that the man returning with the bobbing flashlight was John Tull. Then he moved quietly away from the stalagmites, back into the darkness. It would be at least an hour, he guessed, before the next questions were radioed in and the next answers extracted to prove the hostages still alive. Leaphorn intended to use that hour well. He had not seen the boat. He planned to make sure there was nothing else hidden in this darkness that he didn’t know about.
The dynamite was gone. Leaphorn flicked the flashlight beam quickly across the cartons of supplies to make sure he hadn’t simply forgotten where the wooden case had been.
Even as he did, logic told him the dynamite, and the small boxes containing the timer and the electrical wire, would be missing. He had expected it. It fit into the pattern Leaphorns mind was trying to make of this affair of the relationship between Tull and Goldrims and between what seemed to be too many coincidences, and too many unanswered questions. He snapped off the flashlight and stood in the darkness, concentrating on arranging what he knew of Goldrims and the Buffalo Society, and of what was happening here, into some order. He tried to project, and understand, Goldrims’s intentions. The man was extremely smart. And he was Navajo. He could easily vanish in the immense empty canyon country around Short Mountain, no matter how many people were hunting him. If he had another well-stocked hideaway like this, he could stay holed up for months. But finally he would run out of time. He would be the country’s most wanted man. There seemed to be no real possibility of escape for Goldrims. That seemed out of character. A fatal loose end. Goldrims would leave no loose ends, Leaphorn thought. There must be something Leaphorn was overlooking.
The dynamite and the timer must have something to do with it. But Leaphorn couldn’t see how blowing up the cave would solve Goldrims’s problem. He glanced at his watch. In about forty-five minutes, the next set of questions would be broadcast and brought to the Boy Scouts for the time-buying answers. When that time came, Leaphorn had to be in position to jump whoever came with the tape recorder. In the meantime, he had to find the dynamite.