What explosive discoveries were made by an eccentric desert collector who chose to hide his phenomenal secrets for over thirty years? Blake Henderson inherited more than just a key to a remote storage garage in Farmington, New Mexico. When his estra...
Tuwa's abductors held true to the hooded man's plan. They drove her outside of town where she had earlier been overtaken and captured. The van stopped behind her vehicle and Michael's Harley quickly rumbled up next to the Jeep to insure her delivery to freedom. It was offered with no interference.
She was allowed out of the van while both undesirables stayed inside.
"I hope your boss is paying you two enough to beat the wrap for kidnap and incarceration!" Michael shouted back as he escorted Tuwa to her Jeep. "You're gonna need a lot of cash for lawyer. When they catch your sorry asses!" He yelled this loudly, holding up his middle finger while as the van sped away. Blake noted the vehicle's license plate had been cautiously covered by a plastic shopping bag.
"Seriously now, Professor . . . you OK?" Michael asked, giving her a brief and caring hug.
"Yeah. I'm alright. Their search was a little . . . rough."
"Yeah? How rough," he asked.
"Well, they didn't leave out my panties and bra," she said disgustedly. Guess they figured we had something that could be hidden there."
"Great . . . We can now add to the charges, sexual harassment! These guys will be doing some real time."
"Michael . . . I'm not sure going to the police, other than the Rangers, is a good idea."
Blake was surprised by her comment.
"What are you talking about?" Michael said, still angry. The Feds can get these guys on a roadblock out here. It's a case of kidnap, for Christ's sake!"
"Don't be so sure," she said, opening her Jeep door to get in. "You've been spending too much time in the East. This is still the wild west. I don't need to remind you of our Native American persuasion out here, shaman. Did the government ever do us any favors? What makes you think the Feds wouldn't be briefed on this? And then influenced big time by you know who . . . the military."
"Shit! You're probably right, Tuwa."
"Besides, I think I recognized one of those men. I could identify him. The one with the ponytail. He was working last summer. Doing some clean-up work over at Pueblo Bonita. Maintenance on the tourist section."
"You sure?"
"Pretty sure, yeah. These guys are just dumb locals being offered better money for dirty deeds. Usually its drug hauling. Must be better money than that in this."
Yeah . . . and from whom? That guy had a Russian accent. Ukrainian maybe?"
"It was Russian. I heard the phone call to them in the van. I nailed his accent right there."
"So why do you think . . ."
"Look Michael. You guys are angels for being here for me. But it's almost midnight. After the day we've had . . . I'll barely be able to get this mule back Albuquerque to my place and crash. Let's discuss our next moves over a mid-day breakfast somewhere tomorrow. Can you guys just follow me a ways home before I totally crash?"
"No way, Tuwa! You're going back to the hotel with us. And take a room there. You're staying close-by tonight. I don't trust anyone now. Never did out here. But this has taken on a new level. We're all in danger now, sweet friend."
A major chill ran up Blake's back as Michael said this.
"Come 'on, Tuwa. Follow us back to town."
"Alright. If you promise there's soft bed there."
"And protection. Let's go."
Michael and Blake led the way back to the town, where they parked several blocks from the hotel. It was where Michael spotted a lonely taxi driver who seemed to be asleep in his beleaguered and dusty taxi. The engine of Michael's Harley woke him up.
"Can you give us a ride to the Desert Hills Motel?" Michael asked.
"Sure folks . . . get in."
The plan was to be as inconspicuous as possible as to where they were staying. Being let out at Michael's request, when no other cars were in the area, the three entered to hotel quickly. There were no obvious signs they were being watched near the entrance.
Once inside, and after Tuwa's room was arranged, the two men went down the hall nearby to their former room. They entered and locked the door.
Inside, they were both shocked by what they found.
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The entire room was torn apart, obviously by individuals looking for something. What little belongs the two had in the room from their impromptu stay at the hotel, were buried and lost amid a pile of lamps, sheets, towels, bedspreads and toiletries—all dislodged from their places and heaped on the floor.
Michael went quickly over to his mattress which was askew on the bed frame. After carefully removing it and lifting up several of the wooden slats, he saw to his delight the two discs were still there, overlooked by the marauders who had torn apart the room looking for whatever they believed they might find.
The experience of finding their room in such disarray caused both men quiet anger and a growing sense of fear that their space had been so easily located and violated.
"Jesus, Michael," Blake finally said. "We need to go to the management . . ."
"No. Tuwa was right. We tell no one about . . . any of this. At least for now. We're totally exposed, Blake. Trapped like rats, to be honest. But as long as we've not played our hand—he gripped the discs strongly. We have survival on our side."
This was not particularly comforting to Blake.
"OK. So do you think Tuwa should . . ."
"No! They've already dealt with her tonight. They know she's clean. We'll let her sleep tonight. But how we get out of here with these tomorrow is the problem."
He held up the greenish, corroded discs like they were a pair of large, invaluable coins. Their worth to the world was indeed immense, as both young men understood.
So . . . who do you think did this, Michael," Blake asked quietly, pushing his mattress back into the frame and sitting on it. "The U.S. Gov . . . or our . . . Russian friend?"
"That's the question of the day, my friend."
"Could it be . . . anyone else?
Michael was surprisingly pensive for the moment.
"And that's an even more brilliant question, Blake."
The Californian waited for him to say more. But he didn't.
"Best we get some rest now," he mumbled exhaustedly. It's probably the safest time we'll have for a while. Here in this mess."
Blake just lay back on his mattress and let himself drift off to a troubled but unstoppable sleep.
