Skorpio Page 14

"Bingo"

  It was an eighteen hour drive. Beadles drove straight through downing shots of 5 Hour Energy Drink every four hours, stopping only to eat and piss. He was wide-awake at two a.m. when Art Bell assured him that the UFOs were real and that the Air Force had been hiding definitive proof since 1954.

  The address Ninja had given, 1442 K St., was in an industrial district separated from the river by a broad swath of railroad tracks. It belonged to a three-story red brick warehouse housing a half dozen businesses. Beadles parked directly in front of the building around six-fifteen, as the sun was rising. Carrying his laptop in backpack he entered the foyer and consulted the listings. A vid cam stared from the ceiling. He pushed the button for Global Consulting. A second later the inner door buzzed and he went in. He took the staircase to the third floor. As he exited the well, Ninja poked his head out of a door halfway down the hall.

  "Yo."

  He went back in. Beadles followed, finding himself in a broad loft with a steel beam ceiling criss-crossed with air ducts and filled with hard drives, monitors, routers and storage systems. Ceiling fans stirred the marijuana-scented air. An enormous black man wearing shades and a black skull cap lounged on a sofa. Ninja stood with hands in pockets.

  "That my man Gregorio. Say hello to the professor, Gregorio."

  "Hello," Gregorio rumbled in sub-bass frequency.

  "You know what Beadles means, Professor?" Ninja said.

  "No."

  A parish officer having various subordinate duties, as keeping order during services."

  "I did not know that."

  "Tell me bout the gold," Ninja said.

  Beadles sat at a a long table holding printers and scanners. He opened his lap top, plugged it into a power bar on the table, and brought up his notes from Balmora's diary. Ninja sat, pulled the laptop in front of him, and read through the diary entries.

  "Mm-hmm. How I know you didn't just make all this shit up?"

  Beadles stared at him in astonishment. "That would make me batshit crazy."

  "I do my research, professor. You was just fired by Creighton University for stealing ancient artifacts."

  "I was framed!" Beadles said surprised at his own vehemence.

  "Mm-hmm," Ninja said with a knowing look. "Me too."

  "Me three," Gregorio rumbled.

  Ninja smiled revealing perfect teeth. "Twelve pounds of gold, huh? Well that beats a poke in the eye. Gregorio! How much twelve pounds of gold worth?"

  "At today's prices," Gregorio rumbled, "320 thou."

  "Mm-MM," Ninja said. "That sound good to me!"

  "If they're in the form of Anasazi artifacts they could be priceless," Beadles said.

  "So what we talkin' bout," Ninja said. "Spanish conquistadors rippin' off the gold from Native Americans? And how they not bring that out with them?"

  "Because they all died," Beadles said. "The Azuma killed them. That's who we're looking for. The Azuma."

  "I be looking for gollld. You want a NOS or somethin'? You want to get mellow, do a line?" Ninja held up a pinkie. "Imbibe an adult beverage?"

  Beadles noticed the slick under Ninja's nose. Looked like they had both pulled all-nighters. Beadles was too excited about his work to even entertain the idea of sleep, although he had been up for 24 hours. Best to push it through, then crash.

  "Could satellite technology locate 12 pounds of gold in the desert?"

  Ninja got up and walked among the work stations, sitting at a monitor mounted on an industrial cafeteria table. "Maybe. You gots to know where to look. We start with the National Recon. They the guys that launch the satellites. Spy satellites. They all kinds of shit up there now. HBO, weather, Sirius XM. We got to go where the money is which mean slipping into DARPA. We can't leave no fingerprints. That why they come to the ninja man."

  "What's DARPA?"

  "Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Dat where dey got de good stuff!"

  Beadles wondered if Ninja was putting on an act. The screen morphed beneath Ninja's hands. Numbers and warnings appeared and disappeared like carp surfacing in a pond.

  "They launched these cubesats last Summer, each one with a special focus. One tracks maritime shipping. Another tracks weather. They got one that can see beneath the surface for certain geological concentrations. That's how they found that Mayan pyramid in Guatemala--by zeroing in on certain limestone composites the Mayan used to build. Lime seeped into the earth, turned the trees funny.

  "Where zackly we lookin'?" Ninja said.

  "Four corners region. Most likely north central Arizona."

  "That's a big place."

  "I can narrow it down some," Beadles said. "I'm pretty familiar with all the known sites, and which areas have resisted exploration. Can you draw up a map of that area?"

  "Sheeit. You just want Google maps! Hang on."

  Ninja saved his screen and brought up a satellite photograph of the Four Corners region overlaid with counties, towns and roads. Beadles directed him to the area he thought most likely to be the site of the Azuma civilization. Even in the 21st Century with the internet and globa communication, there were places that had never been completely explored. Places right here in the United States. Oh they'd been mapped, platted and photographed, but they all said the same thing. Nothing there. A barren desert where the only things that lived were rattlers and scorpions.

  Ninja worked in silence for twenty minutes, got up, went to the john, got two Mountain Dews from the fridge, tossed one to Beadles, sat at the long table, rolled a doobie, lit it, offered it to Beadles who declined and Gregorio who took it. Ninja returned to the computer. A bewildering series of numbers scrolled across the screen followed by a warning in red letters. He restarted the computer and began anew.

  "Ain't this a bitch," he muttered.

  Fifteen minutes later he said, "We're in."

  Beadles looked over his shoulder at a view from space of the southwestern United States. Ninja typed in commands and the view magnified a hundred times encompassing an area of approximately twelve square kilometers.

  "This here shit goes beneath the surface to find ancient roads which are usually made of a particular type of stone. They find them pyramids in Mexico by lookin' for the limestone signature. The limestone leaches into the ground and affects the forest--they chemical composition changes and they ain't the same color as the surrounding forest.

  "But we ain't got no forest. This here program sees fault lines, roads, anything ain't consistent with the surrounding shit. Uses an extreme low alpha waves to look beneath the surface."

  Beadles thought Ninja had to work at appearing stupid. Ninja hummed to himself while he worked, adding a little rhythm with his fingers and toes. The focus on screen shifted as Ninja worked the area like a forensic scientist. The area was located in North Central Arizona on the Carson Mesa some fifty miles from Monument Valley.

  Fatigue washed over Beadles. He was light headed and needed to rest. He wondered if he could safely drive to a motel.

  "I need to crash," he said.

  "Hold on, hold on," Ninja said. "I got somethin'."

  Under his hands the screen changed color several times. Ninja zoomed in a blank spot on the map. "Lookit here," he said.

  Beadles blinked. He didn't see it. And then he did. Ninja put his finger right on the screen. A series of squiggly lines in a sunburst pattern.

  ***

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  "And So to Bed"

  Beadles felt the blood frothing in his chest. His heart played paradiddles. He'd tried using satellite imagery before to locate the Azuma through the university. But he hadn't know for what he was looking. It only became apparent now that he had the amulet in his possession.

  "Can you give me the GPS coordinates?"

  Ninja stroked the keys and the printer chattered. "Already done, son. You need a place to crib? You lookin' 'bout baked."

  "Yeah."

  Ninja pointed to the far end of the loft, separated by a series of incongruously be
ige and institutional acoustic dividers. "Go crib over there. I got to catch some too. Can't keep doin' crystal."

  "No you can't," Gregorio rumbled from the sofa.

  "My heart beatin' like a tom tom. You want some valium?"

  Beadles was so exhausted he knew he would sleep through the bounce valium provided. "Sure."

  Ninja gave him one of the pink tablets. He washed it down with Mountain Dew, went outside, got his overnight bag out of the Jeep and returned. "Can I park out front?"

  "No prob," Ninja said. "They a bathroom off the side back there."

  Beadles walked behind the screens and found four military-style bunk beds made up with tight sheets and khaki blankets. Some personal items were scattered on one. Beadles took the one at the other end of the line. The bathroom had a sloping concrete floor with a drain in the middle and a shower head protruding from the wall. He stripped and took a hot shower. He put on his skivvies and slipped beneath the clean sheets. It never occurrred to him that Ninja would take off and seek the stronghold himself. Nor did he worry how vulnerable he was, sleeping under a jailbird's roof. The vibe he got off Ninja was a very intelligent young man trying to hide it.

  Beadles shut it all off. He was asleep within minutes. He slept dreamlessly for some hours, got up in late afternoon to visit the bathroom and when he returned he saw that Ninja was sawing logs on the far cot. Beadles instantly went back to sleep.

  Desert. A cookie sheet in an oven with an intolerable incandescence beating down like a KGB interrogator. Hot. So hot. And thirsty. Beadles could not, dare not raise his head to that awful light. It would sear his eyes and burn out his brain. His mouth was mired in muck. He scooped it out with his fingers like bailing a boat. It was a thick rubbery substance. No matter how much he scooped it kept pouring into his mouth.

  He tried shielding his eyes with his hands. He could barely see--just his shadow in front of him as he trudged east toward a distant butte. It was afternoon. He looked down and saw eggs and pancakes sizzling on the desert floor. He trudged on, dying for a drink.

  He was at the butte. He scrambled up the scree apron and began climbing a lava chimney, searching blindly for hand and toe holds. He opened his eyes. A rattlesnake stared at him from six inches, jaws wide, teeth aching, maracas shaking.

  Beadles climbed on. He opened his eyes. A nest of milk-colored scorpions danced on a tiny shelf. He clmbed on.

  He emerged at the top. It was dark.

  Beadles woke with a start, sweating, wrapped in the khaki wool blanket and sheet. He peeled them off and sat n the edge of the cot breathing heavily. It was dark out. He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty. He'd slept twelve hours.

  Beadles went into the bathroom and took another shower. A cold one. When he stepped back into the big room Ninja was seated on his cot pulling on an XXXL Bulls T-shirt.

  "Give me a half hour to get my shit together and we'll hit the road, Jack," he said.

  Beadles stared. "What?"

  "'At's right. Omma come with you. Protect my investment."

  "What investment? All you did was twist dials for an hour."

  Ninja flashed a slash of white. "People pay me big bucks to do that. Been thinkin' bout applying to the CIA, get on that sweet gummint gravy train."

  Beadles adopted his best professorial tone. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work, Ninja. People are watching me. You'd attract too much attention."

  Ninja stood and puffed. "Whatchoo sayin? No respectable college professor be travelin with a nigger?"

  "I'm not a racist," Beadles declared despising himself.

  Ninja grinned. "See? See? I gotchoo goin. I pay half the expenses we can take my donk stead of that peckerdick redneck wagon you got."

  Beadles shook his head. "No can do. I'm not the only one looking. I can't attract any attention! Not until I have incontrovertible evidence that the Azuma existed."

  "That be the gold?" Ninja headed around the partitions. "Le's get some coffee goin."

  Beadles followed. 'It could be the gold, it could be an authentic record of their civilization. Heiroglyphs. A temple or dwelling. Something that sets them apart from the other known civilizations of the Colorado Plateau."

  "You want to see my donk?"

  "Ninja, I'm fine. I'll give you a contract. I'm not looking to grab the gold and run. It's worth a hundred times more as authenticated artifacts. I'm trying to vindicate myself! I have nothing to gain and everything to lose by betraying you. But this is something I have to do alone."

  Ninja poured Javatime ground coffee into the coffee machine. "Let me think on that."

  ***

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  "The Copper Kettle"

  Summer checked into the Kayenta Hampton Inn under the name Alice Showers. She'd never been religious although she'd attended a Baptist Sunday School at Maria's insistence, a twenty-four mile round trip to Hanes Baptist. She had a hard time believing the old stuff but there was no denying Grampa Ned's power. It was an electro-magnetic field affecting anybody who came close. And she'd seen Ned and others do amazing things. Handle rattlesnakes. Walk on hot coals. Always, always they preached the gospel of the old ways, worship of the sun and moon, worship of the earth.

  Summer was twenty-nine and desperate. What did she have to show for her hardscrabble life? No husband, no children, no future. She'd wanted to go to school and become a nurse but her grades weren't good enough even with affirmative action. Twenty-nine, broke, a pole dancer.

  "I must be stupid," she said softly.

  She had no choice but to believe in the old ways. What else did she have left? She was uncertain exactly what awaited her at Shipapu but she had to find it. Along the way she would find a champion. She came to Kayenta because of the search.

  After showering she went out through the lobby and walked across the baking highway to the Copper Kettle Lounge. It was six o'clock. The Copper Kettle was a family-friendly stucco joint, parking lot filled with cars from half the States come to visit Monument Valley. She went in through the front. A Navajo girl seated her at a small table in the big dining room, with a view of the highway and the hotel. She'd ditched her cell phone in Hava, fearing that Vince would somehow track her using his mob connections.

  Maybe taking the Camaro was a dumb idea. He might have let her go if she'd left his ride. No. Not after she slipped him the rufies. She'd seen Vince break a guy's arm for looking at him crosswise. She shrugged it off.

  Come on, girl! Get some balls! She touched the Beretta in her pocket.

  Her waittress came. She was young and Indian. "Would you like something to drink before ordering?"

  "I'll have an Absolut martini straight up with an olive."

  "Perfect." The waitress handed her a menu advertising "authentic Native American cuisine." She passed on the rabbit and rattlesnake and when the waitress returned with her drink, she ordered the meatloaf and a salad.

  "Perfect," the waitress said.

  Summer was in a good position in the corner to see the whole room, which was three quarters full. Four families traveling with young children. Some long-necked college boys on vacation, their tanned, lean physiques suggesting they were mountain bikers or climbers. A couple truckers in caps. The pleasant murmur of conversation and clinking silverware filled the room. On the walls were framed photographs including a couple Ansel Adams, two Georgia O'Keefe prints and paintings by local artists depicting the landscape, daily life and spirituality.

  The waitress made her rounds. "How is everything?"

  "It's good."

  "Perfect."

  The waitress turned to go. "Ma'am," Summer said, "would you bring me another martini?" She gestured toward the window. "What's out there?"

  The waitress looked at her quizically. "Excuse me?"

  "To the northwest. Is there anything out there between us and the Utah border? I mean apart from Monument Valley."

  The waitress scrunched up her nose. "Just Gap."

  "Gap? What's that?"

  "Basically, just
a bar and a gas station trying to be a town. Kids like to go out there and ride dune buggies or trip in the desert. It's a good way to die. People pass through there and go out in the desert and you never hear from them again."

  "How far?"

  "Sixty miles or so. Why? There's nothing out there."

  Summer smiled. "I like out of the way places."

  "Well it doesn't get much more out of the way! I'll be right back with your drink."

  Something tugged at her. Tugged her northwest. Sixty miles. She could be there tonight but then the waitress returned with her martini. She already felt the effects of the first. She'd acquired the taste from a guy she'd dated, a high-roller from Palm Springs twenty years her senior. Decent guy, treated her well, probably better than any other boyfriend. But not for her.

  She gazed into the martini's oily depths before tilting the glass to her lips and feeling its shivery contents. Stupid glass though. She would have preferred it in a tumbler. Easier for the waitress, easier for her. But maybe that was the point. Make the glass as ungainly as possible and the glass would tell you when to stop drinking. Palm Springs had once told her that the "champagne coupe" had been modeled on Marie Antoinette's breasts. The martini glass must have been modeled on Madonna's.

  The second martini hit. Summer felt a knot at the base of her neck start to loosen. God she couldn't wait to get back to her room and take a hot bath. The early evening sun turned western walls white. Summer turned and looked out the window at the hotel across the street. A gray Humvee slid beneath the porte cochere too fast. A knot coalesced in Summer's gut.

  The driver opened his door and got out. He wore a cowboy hat. It was Vince.

  With a bolus of dread in her stomach Summer searched through her backpack and found Earl's card.

  ***

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  "That's Earl, Brother"

  "We're at the casino in Many Farms," Earl said. "We can be there in forty-five minutes."

  "Please come," Summer said into the house phone as the maitre' d seated a family of four. "I'm in the Copper Kettle directly across the street from the hotel."