"I've had worse enemies, including the distinguished gentleman at the foot of your bed," Jojola replied as Tran waved.
"What do you want me to do?"
Jojola got up from where he'd been kneeling by the side of the bed. "Nothing much. If my guess is correct, you're all set up from here with a public address system. So I'd like you to call an early morning rollout. Tell them you have an important announcement."
"They won't buy that crap," Hamm said.
"Well, then, I guess my friend is just going to have to persuade you to do your best," Jojola said, and nodded to Tran, who stood and slid a knife from a leg scabbard.
Hamm considered his options. There were nearly four dozen men in the barracks; many of them had been training for months. And there were enough weapons-including handheld rocket launchers and machine guns-to make the event in Waco, Texas, look like a walk in the park. He had wealthy friends in powerful places who made sure the compound had the best weaponry money could buy.
Then again, the Asian looked like he meant business. Better to live to fight another day, he decided.
"All right, all right, I'll try," he said. He rolled out of bed, flipped a couple of switches. "Arise, Aryan people, a new day has dawned. Report to the parade field for an important message from your leader. All warriors of the white race must report."
Hamm looked at his captors. "How was that?"
Jojola shrugged. "We're about to find out. But if something goes wrong, and one of my friends outside gets shot, I won't hesitate to blow what few remaining brains you have all over the grass."
Hamm stood and was allowed to pull on his underwear and T-shirt. "It's cold out there," he complained when they wouldn't let him wear anything else.
"Then you'll want this to go quickly," Tran said as he turned him around and bound his wrists.
Jojola's two-way radio beeped once. "We have the reverend," he answered. "What's it looking like out there? Really? Without a fight?"
Suddenly there was the sound of gunfire outside and the phone went dead. Jojola put his gun against Hamm, who promptly wet his underwear.
"Please, I did what you said," he pleaded. "It must be those Valknut guys. They never listen to me."
The radio beeped again. "What happened?" Jojola asked. He listened to the angry voice on the other end, then flipped the phone shut. "All right, let's move out."
Tran pointed to the girl. "What about her?"
"Guess we better wake her up and bring her along," Jojola said.
A few minutes later, Jojola and Tran emerged from the house with their prisoner, trailed by a yawning teenager who'd been allowed to dress appropriately for the weather.
They were greeted by the strange sight of forty men lying on the ground with their hands tied behind their backs. They'd been made to strip down to their underwear and T-shirts and were already shivering as four members of the SWAT team stood guard.
"Wow, quick work," Jojola said to Ireland, then noticed that the sheriff was bleeding from the side.
Ireland noticed the look and shrugged. "Grazed a rib," he said. "About eight of these guys saw us and took off running for that barracks over there. I was dumb enough to run after them when I was talking to you and one of them turned around and shot me. Now the morons have really pissed me off."
"What are you doing about the guys in the barracks?" Tran asked.
Ireland shrugged. "Nothing. Four of my men have all the exits covered and there's no way out. The clowns are probably hoping for a glorious last stand, but we're not going to give it to them…at least not at the moment."
"Should we read them their rights?" the SWAT officer asked.
"Yeah, one at a time," Ireland said. "We're in no rush. Set up a little table in the office and take them in one at a time. Get their names, dates of birth, place of permanent residence. Then read 'em the Miranda warning, and if they want to chat, let 'em chat."
"What should we tell them they're charged with?" the officer asked.
"Rampant stupidity," Ireland responded. "No? Well, how about accessory to murder, resistance to a peace officer performing his duty, i.e., serving a search warrant, and I expect we'll discover a few weapons violations when we go through those barracks. The important thing is to take your time and let those folks over in the gravel pit do their work undisturbed."
"They're complaining about being cold," the SWAT officer said.
"Well, are they now," Ireland said with a look of disgust. "Bunch of weekend warriors. Keep them just as they are. Cold men don't think or act very quickly. Those that are cooperative, let them hang out in one of the barracks-as soon as we've cleared it of weapons. The others can freeze their dicks off for all I care."
"Well, things seem to be under control here," Jojola said, and laughed as he turned to Tran. "I wonder how Marlene and the others are doing."
"Let's go see," Tran replied. "If you think you can still walk that far."
"Yeah, yeah, Ho Chi Old Man," Jojola replied. "And by the way, your coyote-speak still sucks."
"Shows what you know, Pocahontas. That was a wolf."
26
Although she'd never physically been to the property before, Lucy knew where she was the moment the police cruiser she was riding in turned off the highway and stopped at the gatehouse. Two-lane highway…but rural Idaho, not New Mexico…onto a gravel road.
Then as she waited with her mother and the others at the guard tower for a signal from Ireland to proceed to the gravel pit, a train whistled over in the direction of the highway. A train, just like in the peyote dream, then one mile to where the road splits off to the right. And I was thinking in Euskara!
Some people might have called it deja vu, but Lucy had no doubt that somehow the spirit of peyote had chosen to guide her through the final torment of Maria Santacristina. But for what reason, she wondered. John's not here, and I'm not going to tell anybody else about this. They'll think I'm nuts. Still, I am supposed to be here for a reason.
Lucy glanced down the road toward the gravel pit and shuddered. She looked back to her mother, just as Marlene got off the radio and gave a thumbs-up. "Okay, everybody," she shouted. "Plan A worked. Let's go!"
Everybody piled back into the cars and the convoy turned right down the road. After about three-quarters of a mile, they reached the entrance and stopped. The gravel pit was huge-more than a hundred acres according to the maps-and now that they were there, it looked bigger than that. Although the snow had melted from the sunny, southern exposures of the barren landscape, there were still large patches on the north sides of hills and in depressions.
"Which way?" asked Swanburg, who was riding in the first car with Marlene, Lucy, and Ned.
"Straight ahead about a mile," Lucy said.
The others turned to look at her. "Just a hunch," she said, and turned to look out the window.
Swanburg shrugged and looked at the small Global Positioning System display on the laptop computer next to him. "Looks like as good a place as any to set up shop."
A mile farther, the convoy stopped again. The Baker Street Irregulars got out of their respective vehicles and gathered around the pickup truck, where they began unloading their equipment from the back. All except for Warren, who opened the kennels, leashed his three dogs, and took them for a walk.
As they worked, Marlene walked back to the minivan, whose occupants were climbing out and stretching. She spoke to their leader. "Are you okay?"
Jose Katarain, aka Eugenio Santacristina, reached up and held Marlene by her shoulders. "I am the most okay I have been since my daughter disappeared," he said. "Today, we find Maria and take her home to her mother. Thank you, my friend."