Wareagle twirled a finger through his ponytail and walked to the window. He gazed out as he spoke.
“Blainey, the hellfire was a beginning. It revealed to us the blackness of men’s souls. But a beginning requires an end. I waited all those years for you to come back into my life because I knew your lot was to lead me to the truth of my existence. Our journeys together have confronted us with Black Hearts in many forms. But this time we face the enemy I was reunited with you to face. Everything the spirits have shown and made me — everything I have done — has built to this. The Wakinyan are out there, and I must find them.”
“Not alone, Indian.”
Wareagle swung slowly back to McCracken. His massive shoulders blocked the sun from the window.
“My people have a test for all braves seeking to become warriors. It is called Hanbelachia — vision quest — a series of rituals through which the brave must pass to enter manhood.” The big Indian’s eyes bored deeply into McCracken’s. “Blainey, facing the Wakinyan is part of my vision quest.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be entering manhood, Indian?”
“It is a difficult path and never truly complete.”
“Where will you start?”
“Wherever the spirits direct me.”
They stood there staring across the room at each other, even after a repeated knocking came on the door. At last McCracken walked over and opened it.
“Jesus H. Christ, McCrackenballs,” said Sal Belamo. “What I gotta do, scrape my knuckles raw to get your attention?”
Patty Hunsecker followed Belamo into the room and wrapped her arms around McCracken.
“Good to see you up and around again,” Blaine said, easing her away.
“I’ve been up and around for a year and a half now.”
“But the last time I saw you, you were lying in that hospital bed in Guam.”
“Thanks to you,” Patty said only half jokingly.
In point of fact, McCracken had saved Patty’s life, but only after he had nearly lost it for her. He had procured use of her original Runaway because it was the only ship on the island with deep-salvage equipment. A battle with a twin-engine Cessna had sunk it — and nearly sunk them — Blaine managing to keep both of them afloat until help arrived.
“Yeah,” Blaine said, “but apparently you didn’t learn from my mistakes. Almost getting yourself killed is getting to be a habit.”
Patty’s stare hardened. “On the ocean you told me you were doing things for individuals these days. For people in trouble.”
“Mostly.”
“I need your help. My…father died a week ago.”
“Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry. Really.”
“He was killed, Blaine. He was murdered.”
McCracken could see her struggling to hold back the tears. Eyes glistening, she looked toward Sal.
“My brothers and I would be dead, too, if it wasn’t for him. You’ve got to help me. I’m all they’ve got. My mother died, too. Before. A year ago.”
Patty broke down, collapsing into Blaine’s arms. He held her tight and spoke softly.
“I didn’t know. You should have called me. I wish you had called me.”
Patty eased herself away from him, looking embarrassed. “Recent experience shows you’re not an easy man to get hold of.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“And I’ve got something to show you….”
Patty pulled the crinkled manila envelope from the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She held it tight, as if to let go was to relinquish something much more important than paper.
“They wanted me dead because I was stirring up trouble, talking to the wrong people. No one listened, but I guess that didn’t stop them.”
“Listen to what?”
“Something’s going on. My father’s not the only one. There’ve been others, lots. Men killed, made to disappear. Important men, powerful men, influential men.”
McCracken stole a glance at Wareagle. His nod affirmed he was thinking just what Blaine was: Virginia Maxwell had mentioned a pattern as well. Six assassins who had killed General Berlin Hardesty and others. He pried the envelope from Patty’s grasp and opened it.
“You scared me in Guam, McCracken. Scared me because of what you were, what you could do. I’d never seen so much rage. It was repressed, yeah, but always there, right below the surface.”
Blaine lifted his eyes from the envelope’s contents to meet hers.
“I understand now. They killed my father. And when I went after them, they didn’t just go after me, McCracken. They would have killed my brothers, too. A couple of kids. Kids!”
“You’re right, Patty. You do understand.”
“This proves I’m onto something, doesn’t it?” she asked as he began to scan her tattered tear sheets. “This proves I’m not crazy!”
“Jesus Christ,” Blaine said as he flipped through them.
“I know that look, McCracken. I’ve seen it before. You know I’m right!”
Blaine looked at Johnny. “All these incidents have occurred in the past ten or eleven days.”
“Since the entry of the six killers, Blainey.”
“What killers?” demanded Sal Belamo. “You ask me, there’s a party goin’ on here old Sal ain’t been invited to.”
Blaine finished skimming the tear sheets and handed them to Wareagle, who started looking them over quickly.
“This must be the Indian friend you told me about,” Patty remarked. “You should introduce us.”
“Johnny, meet Patty. Patty, meet Johnny.”
Wareagle’s huge hand swallowed Hunsecker’s. “You must excuse Blainey’s insolence.”
“I’m used to it, believe me.”
“Let’s get back to these tear sheets,” McCracken broke in. “Did your father know any of the other victims?”
“Not that I can find any evidence of. But there is something I realized a few days ago. Nobody else thought it meant anything, which—”
“What is it?”
“Age. All the victims were between forty-two and forty-five.”
McCracken looked at Wareagle. “Berlin Hardesty was forty-four, Indian.”
“What the fuck’s going on here?” Belamo asked, a whine creeping into his voice.
“Plenty, Sal. We’ll tell you all about it in good time.”
“You ask me, good time ended when I stepped through the door.”
“Who’s Berlin Hardesty?” demanded Patty. “You know something. What is it, McCracken?”
“Simply this, Hunsecker. We know six killers who rival Johnny and me for downright meanness are at large in this country. It looked like the victims were limited to government types, but you’ve opened up a whole new door.”
“I tried to go through it, but—”
“You had it slammed in your face. Don’t worry, you’ve come to the right place.”
“I want a computer,” Patty said suddenly, after a pause.
“Come again?”
“I want a computer with access to a data bank that can help me find more links between the victims. Maybe I can find more victims…and potential future ones.”
“U.S. taxpayers pay good money for pros to do that.”
“The pros don’t have a stake in this. I do.” When Blaine started to protest, she talked right through it. “This is my trail, McCracken, in case you’ve forgotten. My father’s the one who’s dead. My brothers were almost killed.”
Blaine turned to Belamo. “Sal?”
“I can make the arrangements no sweat. Maxie’ll be pissed, though.”
“Be good for her complexion. Okay, Hunsecker. You’re in.”
Patty looked relieved, and a new sense of determination replaced the sadness on her face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”