The Thunder Keeper (19 page)

The pulse was there, faint but regular. “She's alive,” Father John said.

“O'Malley. You up there?” Slinger's voice sounded fuzzy in the rain.

“We need help!” he shouted down at the light wavering below.

There were the sounds of boots scratching over wet rock, someone gasping for breath. A minute passed before Slinger hauled himself over the boulders and onto the
ledge, shining a flashlight about. The light stopped on the girl. “Medic!” the detective shouted.

A couple of uniformed officers were coming up behind him. One of them bounded forward and went straight to the girl. He checked her throat and wrist, then shone a flashlight onto her face. She looked like a sleeping child, eyelids flickering a moment before she awoke.

“No!” she screamed. The small body began to shake, pulling back toward the cliff, as if she could disappear into the sandstone with the spirits.

Father John leaned closer. “It's okay, Ali. It's over.” She stared up at him out of eyes wild with disbelief.

“Eddie?” she said finally.

“I'm here.” The Indian moved between Father John and the medic and took the girl's hand.

“You want to tell me what the hell happened up here?” Slinger said.

 

“
I
need a phone, Slinger,” Father John said.

The overhead light flickered inside the detective's cruiser. Outside was only the darkness and the rain pounding on the roof.

Slinger lifted his head from the notebook balanced on the steering wheel. He'd been scribbling for the last five minutes.

It had taken almost an hour to walk down the path. An officer leading the way, shining the flashlight ahead, then Eddie and Delaney and two officers carrying Ali in a tarp.

Father John had followed the tarp, every step sending shock waves through him. Slinger was beside him, grabbing his arm from time to time to steady him. He must've been stumbling, he realized. He felt weak and dizzy with pain.

On the way down he'd managed to tell the detective about the diamond deposit in the valley, about the boss in Denver—Baider—ordering Buck Wentworth and Jimmie Delaney to kill anyone who found out about the deposit, about the fight on the ledge and Wentworth's body somewhere below on the cliffs.

After the two officers had gotten Ali into the back of a van, the medic insisted on taking a closer look at him. He'd crawled into the van beside the girl. The soaked jacket came off, then the shirt that clung to his skin. Fingers probed at him. “Got a broken rib, maybe two,” the medic announced. Finally the tape, tightening around him. Father John had groaned with the pain.

“You'll want to get an X-ray at the hospital . . .”

He had no intention of going to the hospital. He'd managed to get out of the van and stumble through the rain, past the sedan with Eddie and Delaney in the backseat, to another sedan where Slinger was bent over the notebook.

He'd crawled into the backseat. “I've got to warn Vicky Holden before—”

“Before what?”

“Before Baider kills her.”

“Look, Father, we've got a team coming up to try and retrieve whatever's left of Wentworth's body. Soon's we wrap this up, we'll send an official report to the Denver police.”

That's when he'd said he had to use the phone
now.

The detective looked across the seat at him. “Take it easy, Father.” He reached inside his raincoat and handed him a black cell phone.

Father John dialed Vicky's number at home. He could make out the numbers on the dashboard clock: eight-oh-five. She should be home. He concentrated on the electronic buzz of a phone ringing somewhere in Denver,
barely aware of the tape digging into his skin. His own pain receded in the distance.

“Pick up,” he said into the receiver. “For god's sake, pick up.”

T
he sound of the phone startled her, erupting as it did out of the silence that enveloped the house. Vicky stood in the entry a moment, gripping the doorknob, staring into the shadows. No one was there, and yet something was different. She tried to make out what it might be. An unfamiliar odor. Aftershave? Perspiration?

The phone continued ringing.

She fumbled for the panel of light switches next to the door. The house burst into light: living room on the left; dining room straight ahead. She tried to shake off the feeling of uneasiness that clung to her like a fever.

Five, six rings now. Vicky crossed the dining room and picked up the cordless phone. Black letters floated into the green readout space:
FREMONT COUNTY SHERIFF
.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded shaky.

A shadow moved. The phone jerked out of her hand and clattered on the floor. A muscular arm encircled her waist, a hand clamped over her mouth. She felt the pain rip across her shoulders as she spun around. Her head was jammed back into the rocklike muscles of a man's chest, her cheek buried against the fabric of a coat. Metal buttons pulled at her hair and dug into her scalp. She couldn't breathe.

She felt herself floating upward, watching a scene below: the woman—who was she? So small inside the man's grasp—struggling, arms flailing, head tilted back, eyes wide in disbelief and fear locked on the ceiling.

The hand moved away from her mouth and gripped her shoulder. She gasped with the pain. She couldn't breathe: where was the air? Her heart was bursting inside her chest. Finally she caught a breath, then another, and forced herself to relax. The man's grip loosened.

She waited for two heartbeats, and then, with all of her strength, she rammed her elbow back into the man's ribs. His hand came up to her face, a reflexive motion, and she bit hard into the fleshy palm.

“Bitch!” The voice sounded like thunder.

She was free. A bulky man in a black coat was pedaling backward. She stumbled against the telephone stand, knocking it to the floor, and started for the entry.

The blow came out of nowhere. She crashed against the wall, her legs melting beneath her. The shock gave way to an explosion of pain in her face. She tried to scream, but no sound would come.

The fist rose again, and she drew inward against the stuccoed wall, steeling herself for another blow.

“Enough.” Another male voice sounded through the pain. “She won't be any good to us unconscious.”

The man in the black raincoat still loomed above her, his breath coming in jagged bursts of air ripe with garlic and old cigarettes. She felt the pressure of his grip on her shoulders as he jerked her upright and propelled her past the dining-room table and into the living room. She stumbled out of her shoes, her feet in nylons skidding over the wood floor. She crashed against the coffee table and fell onto the sofa, the knobs of her spine bumping against the armrest.

The second man slipped past and dropped onto the coffee table. He smoothed the flaps of his raincoat over his thighs and gave her a long, tolerant smile.

She'd seen him before: in the entry to the Equitable Building the day she'd gone to see his father. She'd gotten it all wrong. She'd assumed Nathan Baider was still in charge of the company, that he'd had Vince Lewis killed to keep the diamond deposit secret. But it was his son, Roz. Roz who'd been having an affair with Jana Lewis. Roz was the one Jana had confronted about her husband's murder, and he'd had her killed, too.

Roz Baider leaned toward her. “My apologies, Ms. Holden,” he said. He adjusted the flaps of his raincoat again around his gray suit pants.

“Get out,” she managed through the pain.

He gave her a benign smile, the kind he might bestow on a naughty child. “We're all reasonable people here.” He glanced up at the large man moving like a black shadow above his shoulder. “Allow me to introduce Kurt, my security chief, who, incidentally, never saw a lock he couldn't pick. I'm afraid your lock posed no challenge whatsoever.”

Vicky shifted her gaze to the man in the black raincoat. He'd been with Roz at the Equitable Building, but she'd seen him somewhere else: in the black sedan passing her on I-25. As she stared at him, his features rearranged themselves into a satisfied grin.

“Kurt may get a little overzealous at times,” Roz Baider said. “Unfortunately there's been some necessary violence . . .” Another shrug. “There's no need for more, I'm sure you agree. I see no reason that we can't come to an amicable understanding.”

Vicky took in several breaths. Her mind was focused
into a pinprick of clarity.
Be thoughtful
. Survival depended upon it.

“Tell me something,” she said. She was thinking, Keep them talking. Death could come in the silences. “What makes you think you can mine diamonds at Bear Lake? It's a sacred place. Surely you know that. It's been sacred to my people for centuries, longer than anyone can remember. You'll never get permission to mine there.”

“You think I want to operate mines the rest of my life?” A note of incredulity sounded in Baider's tone. “My dear woman, I have no such intention.”

She stared at him. How could she have gotten it wrong? She'd seen the satellite image, she had the evidence.

“I know where the kimberlite pipe is located,” she said. Her head and shoulders throbbed.

“Of course you do. You've been a busy little bee, running up to Laramie this morning to talk to Charlie Ferguson, going to Global Vision this afternoon.”

The image of the black sedan flashed again in her mind. Following her to Laramie, shooting past on I-25 this evening, Kurt's face averted. She understood. He'd taken the Speer exit before she'd reached it and he'd come here. The sedan was probably in the alley. At what point had he called Roz? “I've got her. She's on the way home. We'll have a little surprise party waiting.”

“The diamond world's a very small place,” Roz Baider was saying. “Soon as you left Ferguson's office, he called my father—they're colleagues, you see. He wanted to know if we'd stumbled on a pipe at Bear Lake. Very unfortunate.” He shook his head. “Alarmed the old man for no reason. Caused somewhat of a problem at the office, I'm afraid. I have no time for problems.”

“Your father doesn't know about the deposit, does he?”
Vicky said, her mind still grappling with this new image of what was going on.

Baider leaned toward her, the narrowed eyes as opaque as stone. “My father prefers to concentrate his energies on golf. In any case, he no longer understands the diamond world. With rebels taking over the mines in Africa, the rush is on to develop new mines. Naturally the major diamond companies are eager to find deposits in the United States. The Loesseur Group, for example. Perhaps you've heard of them? No? Major competitor for DeBeers. Loesseur has agreed to buy Baider Industries, after a great deal of effort on my part, let me add.”

He paused and ran his tongue over his thin lips. “Let's just say that Loesseur lost interest for a while, after one of our mines played out, but as soon as they heard about the rich deposit we'd located at Bear Lake, they changed their minds. They're eager to extend their operations into this region.”

“You can't sell what you don't own, Baider.” Vicky made her voice strong. “You don't have a mineral lease on the area. You don't have any authorization to explore.”

“True, true.” Roz Baider nodded for a long moment. “We're selling information, my dear. Information about a rich deposit. Loesseur will take care of the legal technicalities and begin operations.”

Vicky felt a chill run through her. A company that competed with DeBeers, with deep pockets to pay for the environmental study required for a mining permit and fleets of top-notch lawyers, would be able to withstand any challenges the tribes might offer. She said, “A mine will destroy the Bear Lake Valley.”

Roz Baider was grinning at some image in his head. “I can assure you that Loesseur will not operate a mine long.”

“You talk too much, Roz.” Kurt stepped forward, the massive body throwing a shadow over the other man.

“What are you saying?” Vicky kept her eyes on the man perched in front of her. “Loesseur wouldn't buy your company if they didn't intend to operate a mine.”

“Oh, they have every intention of operating a mine. Our tests prove conclusively that the diamonds at Bear Lake are gem quality. Yes, yes, the very best, worth millions.” He slapped one hand against his thigh. “By the time Loesseur gets results from their own tests, I'll be in Brazil. Kurt here—” He glanced up at the man glaring at him. “Where will you be, Kurt? Switzerland?”

“Shut up, Roz.”

Vicky glanced from Baider to Kurt. An old story, a legend she'd heard as a kid, flitted at the edge of her mind. The con artists in the Wyoming wilderness a century ago, duping the big-money boys in New York City by making them believe there were gem-quality diamonds in a deposit, when the only gems found were the ones they had sprinkled around.

“You salted the deposit,” she said.

Roz Baider threw his head back and laughed, then ran a hand under his eyes and dabbed at the moisture. “Funny, isn't it?” he said. “Company out west scamming an international diamond company. By the time Loesseur's geologists figure it out, the deal will be closed and I'll have twenty million dollars in an account in Brazil.”

“Shut up, you damn fool.” Kurt took hold of Baider's shoulder and pushed him down onto the table. “You've got a big mouth.”

Baider pulled himself free and sat back up, rubbing at his shoulder, an aggrieved look in his eyes. “What difference does it make? She's not going to be around to tell anybody.”

Vicky slid down the sofa, trying to put as much space between herself and the two men as she could. A chill had taken hold of her, as if a cold wind had swept through the house. There were no sounds of any other humans—no cars passing outside, no phone ringing. She was alone with the men.

Keep talking.
“You killed Vince Lewis.” She locked eyes with the man in the black raincoat. “Roz gave the order, and you drove the sedan. Vince was going to blow the whistle, wasn't he? Why? Did the man have a conscience?”

Roz Baider gave a nervous laugh. He was still rubbing his shoulder. “Lewis didn't like it I was screwing his wife, despite the fact he was screwing half the women on Seventeenth Street. He thought if he ruined me, Jana wouldn't want me. She wouldn't divorce him and throw him out of the mansion. He could keep his rich man's life. The bastard would have blown the whole deal out of the water. Fortunately I overheard him making an appointment with you on the telephone. I knew what he intended to do, and I couldn't let him do it, now could I?”

“Why did you kill Jana?” Vicky glanced at the man in the raincoat. “She couldn't have done any harm. She didn't have any evidence.”

Kurt reared back. “You got it wrong, sweetheart. The lady's sudden demise wasn't my doing.” He gestured to Baider, still rubbing at his shoulder.

“An unfortunate accident.” Baider turned his gaze on some point above the sofa. “Jana was a very silly, stupid woman. She asked too many questions, got hysterical over what happened to her husband. Said she didn't want anything to do with murder. The woman should have been thanking me.” He shrugged. “You never know about a lush.”

Vicky felt like she was going to be sick. The man perched across from her had beaten Jana Lewis to death. Had he dumped her body? Or had he called in Kurt to mop up after him?

“Enough stalling!” Kurt shot forward, and Vicky felt herself being lifted off the sofa, his fingers digging into her bones, shooting pain through her body.

“You have information we want,” he shouted. “We can make this easy, or we can make it hard. You cooperate, or you're going to be in more pain than you could ever imagine. Do you understand?”

Vicky tried to wrench herself away, but his grip tightened. The man's face came close to hers: lips peeled back from clenched teeth. “Who have you talked to beside Ferguson and the scientist at Global Vision? Who else knows about the deposit?”

“Everyone,” she said. The pain pulsating through her body seemed remote and unimportant. All of her energies were concentrated now on staying alive. “Detective Clark. He's on his way over now.”

“You're lying.” The sharp, open-palmed blow across her face sent her spinning backward onto the sofa.

“He's already talked to the sheriff in Lander,” she managed. She could taste the blood in her mouth. “That was the sheriff on the phone wanting more information.”

The house went quiet. Kurt seemed to hold his breath for a long moment. Then: “Check the phone, Roz.”

Roz lifted himself from the coffee table and disappeared into the dining room. Vicky was aware of his footsteps clacking across the wood floor, and something else: the almost imperceptible sound of a door opening. Cool air floated over the room.

Baider was back, his gaze on the receiver in his hand. “She's right. This says Fremont County Sheriff.”

“Let's get her out of here.”

Vicky leaned away, but Kurt had hold of her again, lifting her upright. She let her weight go dead, and the man pulled her across the coffee table. She felt the table edge cut into her shinbone.

“Nobody's going anywhere.” The voice boomed from the entry, and Vicky jerked back onto the sofa. Past Kurt, past Roz, she could see Nathan Baider standing in the archway: He was all in gray: gray overcoat hanging open over a gray suit, thin strands of gray hair combed back from a gray face.

“What have you done?” The man kept his eyes on his son.

“Dad! Stay out of this.”

The older man remained motionless, never taking his eyes away. “You lied to me. You said there was nothing in what this lady told Charlie Ferguson. I decided to come over here and talk to her myself. And what do I find? My own son—”