Empire of Dust (34 page)

He had taken that wound for his country, the same way he had turned himself into a death machine, working in the gyms and in dojos and on the pistol ranges until his skill equaled his muscular bulk. He had been given the nickname "Popeye" for his thick arm muscles and had welcomed it. But other than his nickname and a salary that was far less than he thought it should be, the government hadn't given him much. And when he had been assigned to Richard Skye, he knew things were going to go downhill fast.

Skye was a bastard, best known for his expertise at getting his people into shit situations and his lack of skill at getting them out again. Or maybe it was that he just didn't give a damn, that agents were expendable as far as he was concerned.

Popeye Daly didn't intend to be expendable. Fortunately he had received what he considered "non-trust" assignments from Skye, shadowing agents Skye apparently didn't trust, and now Harris, Stein, and Luciano were on the list. He had crossed their path before, when they were sent—ironically enough, by Skye—to investigate the deaths of eleven men Daly had assassinated.

That mass assassination was his first job for his new employers, those to whom he owed his real allegiance, since they were the ones paying him real money. They had made their approach by opening a Swiss bank account in Daly's name in which they would be able to make deposits only, no withdrawals, and showed their good faith by depositing $100,000 just to get his attention. It was nearly two years' salary, and it worked.

Their goal was to find a certain prisoner being held captive by the Roman Catholic Church, and Daly was told that their efforts to find him would be highly illegal, but also highly profitable. When he asked them why they'd chosen him, they'd replied that they needed someone within the CIA, as they had received intelligence that a CIA functionary was also searching for this prisoner for his own ends.

When Daly asked why he should betray his government, the answer was simple:
for more money than you ever thought you would have—and for the freedom to spend it in perfect safety
. When they told him the name of the leader of their efforts, Daly knew they were telling the truth.

His activities with them had put an additional $250,000 into the Swiss bank account, and if the current mission went as planned, there would be another $2 million deposited within the week. Skye had unknowingly been a big help, assigning Daly to keep an eye on the three operatives, thus sending him right where the action was. His employers lost no time in putting him to work once he had informed them he was in the area.

Yeah, everything was going like a goddamned script he had written himself. And when his wacko employers finally caught up to whoever was being carted around in that lead coffin, Daly would make one final report back to Skye and disappear from the face of the earth, another agent lost in the line of duty. Daly could vanish and forget all about Skye and the CIA and the crazy assholes who were paying him all this money.

The truth was, he didn't like them any more than he liked Skye. He distrusted fanatics in general and religious fanatics in particular. He had no doubt that they would pay him, for they had been prompt when he had killed the eleven men in New York, but he didn't want their relationship to become anything more than business. To their credit, they hadn't tried to convert him. Maybe they thought him a lost cause, an already damned soldier that they might as well use.

Christ, he thought, they were so full of shit. There was no hell to be damned to, no heaven where their God would reward them when they died. There was only this world, here and now, and when you died, that was it. The only thing that made sense was to get as much money as you could and enjoy what life there was. That was how Daly was betting it. From everything he had ever seen in his life, that was how the odds lay.

He kept his eyes open, but got lost in his dreams again, dreams of disappearing forever.

T
he soft rap on the door woke Tony from his dream instantly. He scarcely had time to recall it before he was out of bed, and then it was lost forever to wakefulness.

It was Laika, and she called through the adjoining door that it was time to go. While Joseph was in the bathroom, Tony rapped quickly on the wall of Miriam's room. He wanted her to know that they were up and getting ready to leave. He wanted to be sure that he could say goodbye. When he was dressed, he went outside and was happy to see that her door was opening into the desert dawn.

She looked out, and her face showed a mixture of joy at seeing him and sorrow at the knowledge that it might be for the last time. He took a step toward her, and suddenly she was in his arms, and he was telling her that he would be back, that he loved her, and he would come back for her when everything was over. He scarcely knew what he was saying, and heard her voice, too, telling him that she loved him and she didn't want him to leave, but she understood, and she wanted him to come back, and they were both talking at once, and then they were kissing, and he wanted it to last forever.

But then he heard a door opening, and they broke the embrace, and as he turned he saw Laika coming out of her room with her overnight bag. She looked at the two of them and smiled and said good morning. "Is Kevin up?" she asked him.

"He'll be out any minute," Tony answered.

As if on cue, the door opened and Joseph stepped out, taking in the scene with his usual air of cynical omniscience. "Everybody ready?" he said.

"Which way are you headed?" Miriam asked.

"North on 191," said Laika, "for as long as it—"

She broke off and stared at Miriam. Tony turned and looked, and saw that the girl's eyes were rolling up, and she had started trembling. Her entire body shook, and Tony grabbed her, afraid she would fall. "Miriam," he said. "
Miriam
."

Her breath was coming in sharp, quick pants, as though she couldn't draw in any air, and her mouth was open wide with the effort. Her eyes showed only the whites, and her nostrils flared. Tony knew it wasn't epilepsy, but didn't know what else it
could
be.

All at once it stopped. Miriam slumped in his arms, her eyes closed, and he held her tightly. In another few seconds her eyelids fluttered, she took a few deep breaths, then opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Oh, my God," she whispered, as if still seeing the horror of whatever it was that had driven away her consciousness. Then she shook her head, slowly at first, then more rapidly. "No," she said, "no, please, you can't go . . . not that way. Oh God, no. . . ." Tears were in her eyes as she pleaded with him.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"There are people. . . ." she said. "People waiting for you. They're going to . . . to
kill
you."

"What?" Laika said. "Who?"

"I don't know. But they're waiting for you . . . on that road. They
will
kill you."

"Not now," said Joseph, and Tony couldn't tell from his tone whether or not he was serious. "Now that we know they're waiting."

Miriam shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that you know. There are too many of them. You can't go—please, please don't. You will die, please believe me."

"Okay," Joseph said. "I've had enough dreams and visions. Dr. Kelly, Dr. Antonelli, I suggest we get in that car and drive. We can keep our eyes peeled, but I don't see the point in letting someone's so-called second sight dictate our procedure."

"What do you mean, 'so-called'?" Tony said. "We have seen proof over and over again of Miriam's . . . abilities."

"Wild talents, eh?" Joseph sneered.

"Call it what you like," Tony said, "but she saved our asses once from that rock slide when we picked her up that first night. She saw two of the drawings—got the designs dead on,
and
the two towers of Spider Rock. That's pattern
and
location. It wasn't on the news before she told us, so there's no way she could have known about it beforehand. And you saw how hard she was hit just now. I think it's just plain
stupid
to tempt fate by ignoring this." He turned to Laika. "Dr. Kelly, it's your call, but I feel very strongly about this."

Laika thought for a moment, then looked at Joseph. "What are our alternatives?"

"Oh, Christ," Joseph muttered. "We'd have to backtrack halfway to Gallup and cut across to 666, then go north through New Mexico—Jesus, that's another
state
."

"Thanks for the geography lesson," Laika said.

"Wait, there's another way," said Miriam, as though she had just remembered. "An oil road over the Chuska Mountains. It takes you out onto 666 near Shiprock, but just a few miles north you can get 64 West again."

"What do you mean, an oil road?" Laika asked.

"It's a road the oil company made over the mountain. A dirt road. The public doesn't know about it, though they've used it as a detour already. The Navajo use it all the time."

"And your crystal ball says it's safe?" Joseph asked.

"I don't know," Miriam said simply. "All I know is that the other way isn't. Please. . . ." She looked at Laika. "If you've ever believed that I have any ability to see these things, believe it now. I swear to you, your lives are at stake."

Laika looked hard at Miriam for a good ten-count. "We'll change our route. . . ."

"Oh shit," Joseph said.

"We'll change our route on the condition that you come with us."

"What?" Joseph said with mock delight. "Now we've got our own resident psychic? It's not bad enough we've got Tor Johnson in the trunk, now Shirley MacLaine's riding shotgun?"

"Dr. Tompkins," said Laika, "see if you can't suppress your ebullient sense of humor until later in the day." Then she turned back to Miriam. "I half believe that you do have some abilities, though I might not call them psychic. I believe in them enough to have us go out of our way and lose some time. But I want you to come with us to the other side of the mountain. If there are other consequences to our detour, I want you there to share in them. Do you understand me?"

M
iriam understood all right.
This Florence Kelly
, she thought,
is not someone who will die alone.

But when Miriam looked at Tony, she knew that she not only had to go with them, but wanted to. "If that's the only way I can convince you to change your route, then of course I'll go with you. I'm not afraid."

It was a lie. She was afraid, just a little—not of death, but of damnation, if God thought what she had done was wrong.

"L
et's go, then," Laika said, walking toward the car.

Joseph gestured to the rear. "What about Trunkboy?"

"I don't think we want to open that here," Laika said, then looked around to make sure no strangers were watching, and leaned down and spoke through the crack. "Are you all right?"

A deep grunt came from within.

"An eloquent affirmation," Joseph said.

They got into the car. Laika drove, with Joseph beside her. Their pistols, with extra clips, were under the seats. Tony sat in the back with Miriam, and had his weapon beneath the seat in front of him, next to Joseph's.

As they headed southeast on 12, Laika thought that she really might have gone crazy, believing in Miriam's powers enough to make her change their route like this. But if the girl was trying to steer them into some other danger, at least Laika had been smart enough to take her along with them. Whatever happened to them would happen to her, too.

And whatever happened, they were ready. They might not have been as alert without Miriam's warning, but now they were edgy. She saw Joseph's eyes dart constantly to the side of the road, ahead, then to the mirror of his lowered sun visor to check the road behind them. She found that she was doing the same thing, quick checks that she might have made automatically, only now she was more aware of them. And Tony, despite his proximity to Miriam, was still another pair of searching eyes. It would be a cagy opponent that could take them unexpectedly, at least on this road, with high, open desert all around them.

Just before they got to Lukachukai, Miriam told them to turn onto a wide dirt road that led toward the mountains. Once they were on it, they saw only one other vehicle, a pickup truck coming the other way. "Indians and locals," Miriam said. "They're the only ones who use this road, and even then not very often."

They found out why when they got to the mountains and entered the cover of the pines, where the road became steep and deeply rutted. It also narrowed severely so that passing another car would have meant holding your breath and hoping for the best. In places, the surface was like a washboard, the result of recent rainstorms. Tree roots jutted up through the dirt, helping to make the ride even more bone shaking.