Dark Moon Crossing (35 page)

He blew out a sigh of annoyance, turned, and
re-entered the adjoining room with the other man. They reappeared almost
instantly, one of them pushing, the other pulling a second gurney into the
room, and carelessly parked it beside the first one. When they moved away, I
almost choked when I recognized Tally’s lean form. Apparently drugged like the
others, he lay perfectly still. I had to summon every ounce of willpower I
possessed not to scream in terror and leap down from the ledge. With extreme
difficulty, I kept my cool while the two men grasped the ends of the plastic
sheeting containing the mutilated torsos of the women, and carried it through
another opening on the opposite end of the big room. The head honcho bug man
was alone, busily slicing out the young man’s heart. My stomach quaked with
nausea and it was difficult not to retch. Inhaling deep calming breaths, I
primed for action. I scooted along the perimeter of the ledge until I came to
a well-worn footpath that led down to the floor of the cavern. With measured
steps, I crept down and sneaked up behind him, my pulse racing so fast I felt
dizzy. I’d have only one good shot at him. Grasping the rebar like a baseball
bat, I drew back and slammed him in the side of his head. The scalpel flew
from his gloved hand as he lurched sideways. But I hadn’t hit him hard enough
because he righted himself, turned, and staggered towards me. Staring at the
creepy bug-face mask, it was hard not to cut and run, but before he could
regain his footing I whacked him again. This time he dropped to the floor. I
inhaled a shuddery breath and stood poised, ready to strike him again if
necessary. When he didn’t move, I turned around and shook Tally. “Wake up,” I
pleaded. “Please!”

He didn’t respond. I set the rebar on the floor and
tried to pull him to a sitting position but he fell back limply. I shot a
worried look towards the archway where Jason and the other guy had gone.
Somehow, I had to get Tally out of here before they returned.

I patted his cheeks. “Come on, Sweetie, wake up!” I
whispered fiercely. His lids blinked open and he stared at me uncomprehending,
his pupils still dilated from whatever drug they’d administered. Damn it.

My eyes swept the room again, stopping at the gallon
jugs of water sitting on the floor beside a series of giant batteries that
apparently powered the generator and the lights. I grabbed a jug, tore the top
off, splashed some water on his face and patted his cheeks again. He mumbled
something and I placed a finger on his lips. “Shhhh. Keep quiet.” He seemed to
be coming around, but I doubted he’d be up to walking anytime soon. And then
it hit me. Why not just roll him out of here on the gurney?‌ My mind raced
ahead. How to accomplish that was the big question. The floor of the main
cave was fairly smooth, but how would the wheels handle the sandy surface of
the tunnels?‌ I heard movement behind me and swung around just as the creature
grabbed my free hand and yanked me to the floor. In silent horror, I struggled
to escape from his grasp, fumbling for the rebar, but he knocked it away and
pinned me to the floor. With his monstrous face only inches from my own, I
yelped, “Tally, help me!”

“Let her go!” commanded a loud voice from above.

He jerked, loosened his grip on me and together we
looked up. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Russell Greene was standing on the
ledge above, his rifle trained on us. Attila, his trusty Doberman, waited by
his side, teeth bared and growling. “If I don’t get you the dog will,” he
warned, easing his finger onto the trigger. I took advantage of my assailant’s
hesitation and shoved with all my strength. He fell against the gurney and the
inert body of the young Mexican landed on top of him.

In that split second I scrambled to my feet. Just
when it seemed rescue was at hand, all hell broke loose. Jason and the other
man rushed into the room, brandishing handguns. I don’t really know for sure
who fired first, but the roar of gunfire was deafening. Amid the shouting and
flying bullets, I thought of nothing but Tally’s safety. Grabbing the gurney,
I wheeled it into the adjoining room, frantically searching the new cubbyhole
for an escape route, but there was no way out except to go back through the
main cavern.

We were sitting ducks. Sick with dread, I wrapped my
arms around Tally and laid my head on his chest. “Oh, Tally, I’m so sorry I
got you into this mess.” I reached up and brushed a lock of dark hair from his
forehead. He looked so vulnerable, so dear. “I hope you can forgive me,” I
murmured. “I love you. You are the most important person on this planet and
there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” Scalding tears
stinging my eyes, I squeezed onto the gurney and cuddled next to him, showering
his face with wet kisses, waiting in heart-stopping agony for the worst. I
probably laid there at least five minutes before I realized that, other than
the pitiful whimpering of the dog, no other sounds reached my ears.

I got up, cautiously peeked around the doorway and
recoiled in shock. My attacker was sprawled out face down on the floor beside
the overturned gurney, blood oozing from a head wound. Russell Greene lay in a
heap beneath the overhang, his dog frantically licking his face. The other two
men were gone.

I rushed to Russell Greene’s side and knelt beside
him, appalled by all the blood. He’d been shot in the stomach and I had no
idea what to do to help him. “Oh, Mr. Greene,” I cried. I tore off my jacket
and pressed it against him, trying to stem the flow. “Hang on, I’m going for
help.”

He blinked a couple of times before locking his
intense gaze into mine. “Wait. Please believe that I…didn’t know…about… all
this.”

“I believe you. How did you find us?‌”

He sucked in a tortured breath and moaned, “Saw your
pickup. Followed you.” With what must have taken extreme effort, he moved his
hand and wrapped his fingers protectively around the dog’s leg. “Promise me…promise
you’ll find a good home for Attila.”

“Of course, yes! But…you’re going to be all right.”
I forced an encouraging smile, knowing on some level that it wasn’t true.
There was too much blood and his coloring had faded to ash gray. “Thank you,” I
choked, “Thank you for saving our lives.”

“It’s…it’s okay,” he murmured, his resigned smile
matching the glow of serene acceptance filling his eyes. “This must be the
reason…God made me stay.”

It took a couple of anguished seconds for the
significance of his words to sink in. “Oh, please don’t die,” I pleaded,
thinking that compared to the real monsters of this dreadful night, his ravaged
face was truly beautiful.

“Will you hold my hand for a minute?‌”

Blinking back tears, I grasped it and held on tight,
watching the essence of life fade from his eyes. He coughed and whispered,
“Thank
you
…for…being kind to me.” After a few more uneven breaths, his
head rolled to the side and he was still.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, so overcome with emotion I
could hardly breathe. This man, this poor tragic man, had given his life for
me, while Jason, the coward, had run for the hills. I felt as if I was in an
unending nightmare from which I could not awaken. As I watched Attila lick the
face of his dead master, I heard a groan from behind and swung around, my heart
locked in my throat. The creature wasn’t dead!

Molten anger welled up inside me. I picked up the
rifle and, carefully avoiding the body of the young Mexican man, pointed it at
the man in the blood-spattered costume. I was ninety-nine percent sure it was
Dean Pierce, but I had to make sure. I had to see the face of the man
responsible for such a heinous crime against humanity.

Prodding him with the barrel, I warned with more
courage than I felt, “Move so much as a hair, you sick bastard, and I’ll blow
you away.” With a shiver of distaste, I toed him onto his back. Holding the
rifle awkwardly in one hand, I reached down and pulled the monstrous face- mask
away. Aghast, I stared into the deranged green eyes of Payton Kleinwort.

When the incredible story of Payton Kleinwort’s
unthinkable treachery finally caught the attention of the national news three
days later, the media descended on the Sundog Ranch like hawks on road kill.
Print and cable news reporters from other states donned fancy western gear and
clamored for interviews from anyone even remotely connected to the case.
Luckily for me, I’d scooped the whole lot of them. But then I’d had a running
start and a unique vantage point. Unexpectedly, I’d gained access to Twyla’s
computer and was able to file my front-page story with the wire services, and
in time for a special edition of the
Sun
on Saturday, a full day ahead
of the pack.

Following Jason and Cutter’s capture and arrest
Thursday morning, Twyla Beaumont, reduced to hysterics, was confined to her
room under heavy sedation. With Champ still behind bars, plus Rob and Sloan
being detained as possible accessories to murder, Tally made the magnanimous
decision to stay and help out the shell-shocked family. Also brought in for
questioning were Border Patrol agent Hank Breslow, Froggy McQueen, and several
other members of the Knights of Right crew. Being right there on the front
lines, having access to sheriff’s deputies and savvy Border Patrol officials,
had given me two days to gather additional data to support the biggest story of
my career to date.

While Tally was out heading up a trail ride for the
guests, I made good use of the time, sequestering myself in the corner of the
kitchen at the computer. Sitting there in borrowed clothing that Lin Su had
kindly appropriated from somewhere, I frantically typed from memory, still
lamenting the loss of all my notes, tapes, and laptop.

The price of landing this story had been higher than
I’d ever imagined. I was still reeling with shock over the entire
stomach-turning episode, including the senseless death of Russell Greene. Both
Tally and I had been profoundly affected by his ultimate sacrifice.

As details of the horrifying discovery spread
throughout the surrounding communities, I thought how ironic it was that the
Beaumonts’ wish for publicity had come true. Even though it was negative, it
had nevertheless put them on the map in a big way.

A distressed and chastened Bethany, forced to stand in
for the ailing Twyla, was swamped with calls from people wanting to come to the
site of the worst serial killing spree in the history of the United States.
One local entrepreneur even started jeep tours to Morita so tourists could
experience the macabre thrill of being close to the heavily guarded location
where the debauchery had taken place.

Payton’s demonic scheme to sell organs harvested from
the perpetual tide of migrants crossing the border, and then using the proceeds
to buy weapons for the Knights of Right’s planned overthrow of the Mexican
government, was actually quite brilliant and amazingly well orchestrated,
considering the number of accomplices involved.

Even now, I can’t begin to describe the mind-boggling
shock of seeing Payton lying on the floor of the cavern, blood oozing from the
nasty gash in the side of his head and the bullet wound in the chest. Shaken,
and wondering what to do next, I’d felt a profound sense of relief when Tally
suddenly appeared in the archway of the adjacent room. I don’t think I’ll ever
forget his look of total bewilderment. Having no clue as to what had
transpired since he’d been struck from behind and knocked cold during his vain
search for me, his mouth sagged with disbelief during my breathless summation.
After a tense discussion concerning the best course of action, we’d agreed that
I would be the one to go for help. But the stark fear that one or more of
Payton’s accomplices might return, made me reluctant to leave him.

“Go on,” he’d urged, giving me a confident thumbs up.
“Attila and I will hold the fort until you get back with the posse,” he said,
training the rifle squarely at Payton’s forehead. On my way out, I opened the
doors to the cages containing the migrant prisoners, including Javier, and then
headed into the dark tunnels once again. It seemed to take forever to reach
the mouth of the cave, but once I got out into the moon-streaked meadow, I ran
faster than I ever had in my entire life back to Champ’s truck. Driving like a
madwoman, I reached Dean’s ranch in less than twenty minutes. Within an hour
I’d returned, followed by DPS officers, Border Patrol agents and members of the
Tohono O’odham Tribal Police. It was only then that I realized that the
long-established crossing point was actually a small section of reservation
land.

It had been my sad duty to call Lupe and give her the
devastating news that it was more than likely her uncle and younger brother
were among the gruesome pile of bodies that divers had discovered at the bottom
of the deep spring inside the cavern. Forensic experts were hopeful that,
because of the cold temperature of the water, tissue samples would be
relatively well preserved, making DNA identification possible in some cases.
But sheriff’s deputies cautioned that it could be months before all the bodies
were discovered, if ever.

Payton’s hospital-bed confession to sheriff’s
detectives, added together with statements extracted from Jason and Cutter, had
filled in a lot of the gaps. Climbing inside the mind of this mild mannered,
innocent-faced serial killer to try and exhume the dark, twisted motive for his
diabolical behavior was a chilling endeavor. In light of events, some of his
earlier statements had taken on fresh significance—his suggestion to Dean that
he wished he could wave a magic wand and make the illegal problem disappear,
that ‘timing is everything,’ and the cryptic sentiment etched on his sister’s
gravestone ‘
In death lies the promise of new life,’
no doubt held a
sinister double meaning for him.

“Man, oh, man alive,” Tugg exclaimed during my
conference call with him and Walter late Friday afternoon, following a brief
overview of events, “you must have some kind of magnetic attraction for these
sickos. What’s Tally’s take on this thing?‌”

“He’s glad to be alive and frankly, so am I.”

Walter put in, somberly, “It’s always amazing to me
how these degenerates manage to justify the most horrific crimes. I guess
that’s the only way they can get up every day and look at themselves in the
mirror.”

“That’s sure true in this case,” I concurred. “I hate
to admit it, but he had me fooled. Talk about great acting. He certainly did
an admirable job of hiding his loathing for the entire Hispanic race.”

“Any idea why?‌”

“It started when he was a child and has apparently
been festering inside him all these years. When he told me that his father had
died suddenly, I assumed that he’d suffered a heart attack or something.
Actually, he’d been brutally murdered by a bunch of Mexican criminals who
crossed the border and broke into their ranch house one night. Afterwards,
they raped his mother.”

“Je-zuss!” Tugg muttered. “That’s enough in itself to
traumatize a kid for life.”

“That was just for starters.” With the usual mealtime
pandemonium going on behind me in the background, I explained to them how his
mother’s deteriorating mental condition had ended with her abandoning both
children.

According to the statement Bethany had given sheriff’s
detectives, Payton suffered from severe bouts of depression and recurring
nightmares during the short time they were married. “It really put him over
the edge when his sister, Laura, died three years ago because she didn’t get
the heart transplant she desperately needed. I checked the date of the surgery
at the University Medical Center in Tucson where she was on the waiting list.
Whether it’s true or not, Payton believed that Congressman Stanley’s wife, who
just happens to be Hispanic, received the heart his sister should have
gotten.” I had a quick flash of the newspaper photo on the wall in Jason’s
room with the knife protruding from the woman’s heart. The text beneath it
confirmed that the congressman’s wife had entered the hospital on the exact
date of Laura Kleinwort’s expected surgery. “Payton was close to a mental
breakdown at that point anyway,” I went on. “He was working three jobs to
support Bethany’s extravagant lifestyle and pay the medical bills he’d incurred
for his sister.”

“Oh, I’m starting to get the picture,” Tugg mused with
an undertone of wonderment in his gruff voice. “This whole elaborate scheme of
killing the immigrants was his warped way of avenging his parents’ and sister’s
deaths. His own twisted version of supply and demand.”

“True,” I replied. “But remember, in his mind he was
providing a valuable service by helping to alleviate the critical shortage of
organs.”

Walter jumped in with, “Well, how did he get away with
this?‌ Doesn’t anyone ask where the organs are coming from?‌ There must be a
paper trail.”

“I had a chance to get on the Internet and do a little
research on this subject,” I answered with a yawn. “Needless to say, I haven’t
slept very much these past few nights. It’s been hectic and rather traumatic,
to say the least.”

“Small wonder,” Tugg murmured.

“Anyway, in the past few years, there has been a
threefold increase in demand in the United States alone. He knew he couldn’t
get away with selling them here because The National Organ Transplant Act
passed in 1984 classifies human organs as a national resource and prohibits
their sale in this country, so he had to hire private pilots to fly them
out
of the country.”

“Where to?‌” asked Walter.

“Mexico City. From what the authorities have
discovered so far, he’s got contacts on the payroll at several hospitals there,
including one transplant surgeon. They falsified documents certifying the
legitimacy of the donors, forged signatures on consent forms, and then
falsified the death certificates.”

“Un-friggin’ believable,” Tugg marveled, as I went on
to explain how I’d also learned from my research that the ‘shelf life’ for
organs is between two and forty-eight hours, depending on the organ. It was
clear now why Payton had been in such a hurry to get the coolers to the airstrip
before he could drive me to Dean’s ranch last Monday, following my escape from
Morita. Believing that he was hauling live rattlesnakes had been disconcerting
enough, but knowing now that the coolers jostling around behind me in his
camper contained the freshly harvested organs of recently murdered immigrants,
gave me a double case of the shivers.

“Clever,” Tugg said. “The Feds would be watching
flights coming in because of drug runners, but not going out.”

Walter cut in with an impatient, “Is there really that
much money to be made?‌”

“More than you’d imagine,” I answered, thumbing
through my research. “Mmm, let’s see, a kidney can bring twelve thousand, a
liver seventeen, hearts command about eighteen grand, and that doesn’t include
all the other organs he harvested.”

“What a sick son-of-a-bitch,” Tugg boomed out. “He
must have been raking in a fortune! But wait a second, how the hell did he
have the expertise to pull off something like this?‌ Wouldn’t you have to be a
doctor?‌”

“Get ready, this is the worst part.” The information
I’d gathered from my phone interview with the transplant surgeon in Tucson had
chilled me to the bone, and my heart stopped every time I thought of how close
Tally had come to being the next victim of Payton’s madness.

“If the person removing the organs doesn’t care
whether or not the donor survives, then Payton’s year of medical schooling plus
his experience as a veterinary assistant provided sufficient know-how to
complete the job.” I explained that the animal mutilations he’d performed two
years ago, which also helped perpetuate the accounts of UFO sightings, served
as practice for the real thing, but the most stomach-churning detail of all was
the knowledge that he’d exacted his fiendish revenge on the Mexican people by
injecting the migrant donors with a rarely used drug called Tubocurarine. I
said somberly, “It allowed him to remove their organs while they were still
conscious.”

“Mother of God,” Tugg exclaimed, his voice rising
sharply. “Are you saying that those poor people were
alive
when he cut
them open?‌”

“I’m afraid so, and they didn’t kill them all at
once. Some people were held prisoner in the cages for several days, until he
was ready for another shipment. Can you imagine the horror?‌”

“That is the most nightmarish, most depraved thing
I’ve ever heard of in my entire life,” Walter commented glumly.

I agreed. “I can hear Payton’s defense attorney now
entering a plea of insanity, and who knows, the jury just might buy it.”

“How’d he get mixed up with the Knights of Right?‌”
Walter inquired.

“Through his association with Jason. These were
likeminded people who felt the same all-consuming hatred towards the illegals
that he did, for different reasons of course. But, nevertheless, it provided a
perfect vehicle for him to carry out his sadistic plan of revenge. The group
got the funding they needed to finance their mischief against the local
Hispanics, influence election results to vote out politicians they believed
were Mexican sympathizers like Lyle Stanley, and also purchase arms for their
cockeyed plot to overthrow the Mexican government. Cripes, you should have seen
all firepower they had stored in that cave. And, Walter, you were right about
the fact that these groups have gone underground, except for an occasional
rally.” I added. “Payton came up with the idea for the coded e-mail messages
after reading Brett fairy tale stories.”

“So, was he the leader of the group?‌”

“The authorities still aren’t sure and admit they may
never know the identities of everyone concerned, but they do know that he was
responsible for bailing Jason out under the guise of the Ranch Coalition.”