The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sutherland hit the wall in the wee hours of the morning. Her eyes felt as if they were on fire. The words marching across the computer screen were doing jumping jacks. She stretched out on the sofa and pulled a blanket over her body, intending to take a five minute break. The twittering of birds flocking to the window feeder woke her up. When she opened her eyes it was daytime.

She stretched her jaws in a mighty yawn, rose from the sofa and walked stiffly to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. The inn owner breezed in to prepare breakfast. While she stirred eggs for a vegetarian omelet, the inn-keeper said, “Most of the hummingbirds haven’t arrived yet, but there may be a few in the upper reaches of the canyon, if you feel like a climb.”

“Thanks. I might do that,” Sutherland said, only half listening.

She munched on a slice of buttered multi-grain toast and pondered the results of her computer search. She’d found bits of information that bolstered her original findings linking Arrowhead, Trask, Murphy and the Newport Group, through Captain McCormick. She had found no connections between Arrowhead and the other members of the Newport group.

She finished breakfast and helped clean up in the kitchen. The inn-keeper had an appointment in town and said she’d return in a few hours. Sutherland was alone in the inn again, staring at the beautiful sunny morning on the other side of the window. She tried to contact Hawkins on his satellite phone. No answer. Damn you, Matt! Didn’t he know she was numb with worry?

Maybe a walk would help. She gathered up her Canon digital camera, a compact pair of powerful binoculars, a sketch pad, pencils, bottled water and protein bars, and stuffed everything into a day-pack with her computer. She slung the pack onto her shoulders and stepped outside, eyes blinking in the bright sun.

She checked on her Harley, then went over and climbed the low fence into the nature preserve, unaware that unfriendly eyes followed her every move.

Tyler Lee Clayton was a crude, violent man, but he was not stupid.

When Tech had sent the picture of Sutherland on his smart phone, it had triggered memories of the assault on the young army recruit. He remembered planning the attack as if it were military operation. He had watched her leave the barracks every night at the same time for a cigarette. He had enlisted his drunken buddies to help him, knowing it would be her word against theirs that it was consensual. He knew that she would be reluctant to report the attack because she would have to admit going out without her weapon.

And he remembered the hummingbird tattoo on the pale skin of her right shoulder.

He had flashed back on the tattoo as he burned the hummingbird painting, but gave it no further thought until he had come across the promotional brochure in the lobby of the Sierra Vista motel where he and Vinnie had taken rooms for the night.

He plucked the brochure from the case and stared at the photograph of a ruby-throated hummingbird, under the headline, “Hummingbird capital of the world.” The text said that fourteen different species of the “flying jewels” could be found within the three-hundred acre nature preserve on the eastern flank of the Huachuca Mountains.

He handed the brochure to Vinnie. “I know where our little biker girl is hiding.”

Tartaglia looked at the folder with the map showing that the preserve was around five miles from the motel. He wrinkled his brow.

“What makes you think she’s hiding here?” he said.

Clayton put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and brought his mouth to Vinnie’s ear.

“A little bird told me.”

Sutherland hiked along a shaded-trail and crossed a wooden bridge over Ramsey Creek, eventually breaking out of the woods after about a half a mile. She walked along the grassy floor of the canyon at the base of the mountain, past the ruined wooden buildings that harkened back to Ramsey’s days as a mining camp. The mountain was a vertical stone wall, hundreds of feet high that looked as if it had been sheared by a gigantic meat cleaver. The sky was a crystalline, Delft blue.

With every breath of fresh air she pulled into her lungs she seemed to inhale the limitless energy from her wild natural surroundings. Each exhalation purged her mind and body of the memory of her burning house and blew away the dark mists that had been gathering in her brain.

The trail angled up, gradually at first, eventually going back and forth in a series of narrow, hair-pin switchbacks as the slope steepened. Log stairs helped her navigate the steeper parts. She was overweight, not in the best of physical condition, and made good use of the benches built along the trail.

A third of the way up the mountain she was startled by a loud crashing in the woods. She caught a glimpse of brownish gray and realized she had spooked a mule deer. The animal made several bounds down the mountain then stopped and froze in place. Sutherland took a few steps off the trail, raised the camera to her cheek and squinted through the viewfinder. She shot a picture of the doe and was narrowing the focus to its head when her eye caught movement beyond the animal’s ear, through a break in the trees.

A speck was moving along the floor of the valley.

She got out her field-glasses and focused on a man dressed in black. He stopped to remove his cap and wipe his face with a sleeve, which is when she saw the bright red hair. She examined his face through the lenses. She couldn’t see his teeth but she knew they were gapped. There was no doubt. Clayton.

More men were moving single file behind Clayton.

It began to come together. Arrowhead employed former military people. Clayton could not have found a respectable job, especially after she had altered his records, so he went to work for Arrowhead. And now he was after her again.

Clayton had scattered pairs of men around Cochise County: Tombstone, Bisbee to the south and Benson to the north, all within a quick drive of each other. With his call, they had converged in four cars at the mouth of the canyon at dawn and drove along the winding road, stopping at houses and checking cottage colonies. He recognized the motorcycle in the parking lot outside a B and B.

He and his men pulled over, melted into the woods near the inn and watched the inn-keeper leave. Minutes later, Sutherland set off for the preserve with a hiking pack and disappeared into the canyon. Clayton stepped out of the woods and went over to the Harley. Damned shame to mess up a nice machine, but he couldn’t take any chances. He pulled his flip knife from his pocket and stabbed the tires.

He told Vinnie to stay behind to keep watch on their rear, then he took up the lead and the column of men entered the preserve. Clayton had studied the map and seen that it was a box canyon. He had caught a few glimpses of Sutherland moving on the upper trail, but then she disappeared. He told his men to double their speed.

Perfect.

When they caught up with her, she would be far into the woods where no one could hear her scream.

Sutherland didn’t know how Clayton had found her, but there was no time to ponder. She had to keep moving.

She stepped back onto the trail and began to climb. In her panic, she tripped over an unseen root and went flying forward. She pushed herself off the ground and picked up the glasses that had fallen from her face. Her knees and palms were scraped raw. She ignored the pain and used it to help her concentrate.

Think.

There was no way she could escape. She was already winded. She needed help.

She slipped the back pack off, pulled out her spare phone, went down her list of numbers and pressed the call button. After a couple of rings a man’s voice answered. He recognized her voice.

“Sutherland. What a relief. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mac. I mean-no. I’m in trouble.”

“We’ve been looking all over for you. Your house burned down.”

“I know my house burned down!” she said. “The guys who burned it down are after me. I need help.”

McHugh’s cool professionalism asserted itself. “Tell me where you are.”

“Ramsey Canyon.”

“Who are these people who are after you?”

“I don’t know,” she lied; she had no time to explain. “I just need help. Please hurry, Mac.” Her voice caught.

“I know where it is. That’s near the major crossing for illegals. There are always patrols in those mountains. I’ll contact one. Keep climbing and see if you can find a place to hide.”

“Thanks, Mac, but it’s too late for that.”

Her pursuers had stopped. One of them was pointing up the mountain. She peered through her glasses and saw Clayton looking directly at her through a pair of binoculars. Then he and the others picked up the pace.

Sutherland started up the trail. She needed time, but she was tired. She climbed with methodical, deliberate steps and forced herself to sit for thirty seconds at each bench before pushing on.

She cursed herself for eating all that pie the day before. She squinted ahead and back, and then decided to strike off through the woods and find a place she could hunker down.

The vines and thorns tore at her bare legs, and her progress was noisy and slow. Even worse, the woods ended and a rock-studded wall a hundred feet high blocked the way. She couldn’t go back, so she began to climb. There were plenty of natural hand and foot-holds and she was surprised at how quickly she was able to get to the top.

She scrambled over the ledge and stood on jelly legs. She was completely exhausted. Heat beamed from her sweaty cheeks. She put one foot in front of the other and walked twenty feet until she had to stop. She was at the flattened top of a pinnacle that dropped down hundreds of feet to the other side. The sheer rock face was smoother than the one she climbed on the way up. She was half-tempted to try to descend when she heard a wheedling voice calling.

“Suh-ther-land,” the voice said. “We know where you are. Don’t be shy lady hummingbird.”

Sutherland gazed down from her dizzying perch, and knew what she would do if she had no other choice. The jack-hammer beat of her heart began to slow as an inner calm took hold of her fevered emotions. She walked back to the ledge and looked down at the black-clad men standing in a curved line at the bottom of the cliff. One of them stepped forward and gave her a friendly wave.

“Hello, Sutherland,” he called. “Remember me?”

“I remember your ugly face, Clayton.”

“Remember the other part of me? That must have made a big impression on you.”

“Sorry, but I didn’t have my microscope with me at the time.”

There was a ripple of laughter from his friends, but Clayton kept his forced grin pasted on his face.

“I see you’ve still got the big mouth that spread lies about me.”

“How did you find me?”

He flapped his arms like wings. “I remembered how much you liked the little birds. You know, like the tattoo on your pretty shoulder and the paintings I burned along with your house.”

“You’ve already had your fun. What do you want from me?”

“We’ve still got a score to settle. I’m taking the balance out of your hide.”

He signaled his men. Then he and his men moved forward to the base of the rock and began to climb. They looked like big black ants climbing up the side of the hill. There was no escape. She turned around and took a deep breath. She would simply make a running start and jump off into space. Clayton and his men would have made the climb for nothing.

She closed her eyes for a second and when she opened them to prepare for her leap she saw a dark spot against the cloudless sky.

She turned and faced forward. Clayton and his men were about half way up the hill.

“Hey, Clayton,” she yelled down. “Did you ever tell your friends why you got kicked out of the army?”

The line of men stopped and turned toward their leader. “Don’t listen to that crazy bitch.”

“Not so crazy that I don’t know you liked pictures of naked little boys.”

She saw him reach for his holster and stepped back from the ledge. A pistol shot rang out, but the bullet harmlessly pinged off the rocks. As the echo faded she heard another, more reassuring, sound from behind her. She turned and saw that the black dot had doubled in size. She stepped forward again.

Clayton had holstered his pistol. He started to reach for it again, but realized that she could easily move out of the line of fire so he started climbing instead, moving past his men. He made it to the top of the ledge just as the Border Patrol helicopter swooped overhead in an ear-shattering clatter of rotors.

The chopper made a tight banking circle and came to a hovering stop over the side of the hill. As the men retreated down the rocks under the rotor downdraft, a stentorian voice issued from the helicopter’s loudspeaker.

“Throw your guns to the ground or you’ll be shot!”

Clayton’s men bolted for the woods, but the helicopter anticipated the move and rotated sideways. Muzzle flashes blossomed brightly in the open side door and the bullets kicked up fountains of dirt. The men who were trying to escape tossed their weapons aside and flopped down on their bellies.

Only Clayton was left standing. He wheeled around and saw Sutherland standing at the edge of the pinnacle, a big smile on her face.

The loudspeaker voice shouted an order:

“Man with the gun. Throw your weapon down or you’ll be shot.”

Clayton ignored the warning. He wanted to wipe the mocking smile off of Sutherland’s face, but he had learned as a soldier to deal with the bigger threat first. The helicopter was only yards away. A big noisy target. He was quick enough to spin around and snap off a round of shots. And he might have done just that if he hadn’t seen Sutherland raise her hand.

She said, “You like birds, Clayton. Here’s a big one for you.”

He couldn’t hear her words over the helicopter noise, but the gesture was unmistakable. He shouted with rage, brought his weapon up and aimed at Sutherland instead of the chopper. Before he could squeeze the trigger he was practically cut in half by hot lead.

His legs buckled, he pitched forward and in the lingering last moments before a black curtain of death fell over his eyes he saw Sutherland, still standing there with her middle finger in the air.