Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(28)

Tall Bear moved in a slow spiral out from the spot, and as his eyes read the trail sign, the story it told sent a shiver up his back. A man had passed this way carrying someone. Had it not been for the extra weight the man was carrying, Tall Bear doubted that he could have seen any sign at all that anyone had passed this way. As it was, only the slightest of disturbances to the rocks and plants were evident between the occasional spots of blood. Whoever this was, it was someone who moved like nobody Tall Bear had ever seen.

The ghost trail led him up away from the bottom into the roughest part of the canyon, giving indications that the person had been moving quickly. The increase in blood sign told him why. The one being carried was in serious trouble.

Suddenly, Tall Bear froze, every sense attuned to his surroundings. Although he couldn’t see or hear anything, someone was out there, very close now.

Straightening, Tall Bear spoke in a voice that was clear and loud.

“Either squeeze that trigger or step out and talk to me.”





24


Wind stirred the juniper branches, momentarily bringing them across his sight line, obscuring the point where the scope’s crosshairs tracked his target. The man moved along the slope with a steady purpose, head bent, occasionally stooping to examine trail sign. He was a Native American, obviously a tribal policeman. Whoever he was, he was good. Damn good.

Jack doubted that even Harry could have tracked him like that. But Harry was dead, a victim of the one who had called himself the Rag Man. Now, except for Janet, the other members of Jack’s team were also dead, and if he didn’t get lucky very soon, deadly little Janet was going to join them.

Jack’s attention returned to the Indian cop who moved steadily along his back trail. Why was the man out here alone? If someone had found his trail, he would have expected choppers and an army of special ops folks trying to cut him off. Well, Jack didn’t have time to get curious. In a few seconds, the man would step out of the thick brush into which he had disappeared and then he would meet his ancestors.

The tribal cop emerged into the clearing. Jack let the crosshairs settle on the man’s throat. It was a downhill shot of about a hundred and fifty meters. The trajectory of the bullet would put it three-and-a-half inches above the aim point at this angle and range, just above the bridge of his nose. Just as he was about to tighten the muscles in his trigger finger, the Indian straightened, looking up the hill directly toward Jack’s hide position.

“Either squeeze that trigger or step out and talk to me.”

The man just stood there, his long, straight black hair hanging down over his shoulders—tall, proud, unafraid. Incredible.

Jack rose to his feet and stepped out into the open, his long stride taking him quickly down the slope toward the man who awaited his arrival. As he got within a dozen yards of the Indian, he recognized him. It was the cop he had seen on the news, the one who had been the first on the scene at the truck ambush, the one who had given the FBI so much trouble when they tried to intimidate him into cooperation.

“Jack Gregory, I presume.” The tribal cop spat a thin stream of tobacco.

“That’s right,” said Jack. “And you are?”

“Sergeant Jim Pino.”

“Ah yes, I saw you on TV.”

“You’ve been generating some press coverage yourself.”

“And you still thought it was a good idea to follow me by yourself?”

“Let’s cut the crap. I’m here because of what I found at the truck murder scene.”

“And what did you find?”

“What you wanted someone to find.”

“That’s why the FBI came down so hard on you? To see if you’d discovered something you hadn’t reported?”

“Nah. They did that because I’m Navajo. Gotta keep the red man in his place.”

“And that place doesn’t include federal crime scenes?” A thin smile creased Jack’s lips.

“They didn’t seem to think so.”

“What if I don’t like Indian cops either?”

“Doesn’t matter. You know something that makes the government want you very dead. From what I saw in the blood of those truck guards, I think I better know it too.”

Jack paused. The man standing before him knew he was as good as dead, but he had the gall to press Jack for information.

Pino spat again. “Where’s the girl? Dead?”

So the tribal cop had read the meaning of the blood on the trail. A hundred feet above Jack’s original hide position, Janet’s small body struggled for life. Why was it he felt compelled to waste the time required for this conversation? Perhaps he just wanted a few extra moments of delay before he was forced to make the choice, a choice as unpleasant as any Jack could remember.

“She will be soon if I keep standing here talking with you.”

“I know a place near here, an old cave hidden back in the cliffs. You’re going to need a place to hide and someone trustworthy to bring you some supplies.”

Jack laughed, his weapon rising to point at Jim Pino’s chest. “And if I let you take me there and let you go, you’ll take care of us?”

Pino’s black eyes locked with his. “Do what feels right.”

Jack’s voice hardened. “Well, Jim—”

“My friends call me Tall Bear.”