Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) (25 page)

The silver mine was pretty much what I’d expected it to be: A leveled-out stretch of property, just before the rise of a near-vertical scraggly hillside, with a dark, gaping mine opening that was supported by thick, re-purposed railroad ties. A set of train tracks led into the orifice, soon swallowed up in the darkness further on. Three wooden structures, all in splintered shambles, stood nearby. One, the furthest away, looked to be some kind of barrack—housing for the miners. The other two, closer in to the tracks, looked to be more crucial in the process of extracting silver ore.

While the mine’s backdrop was mildly interesting, the abundance of pre-party setup decorations took center stage. Countless large and colorful helium balloons, all tugging at their strings to escape into the blue sky above, and scores of red, white, and blue triangular flags, fluttering on long guide wires, crisscrossed ten feet above our heads. Multiple picnic tables were oriented in a semicircle, close to the mine opening. One held tall brown liquor bottles, all lined up like erect soldiers, standing at attention. Another table provided plates and cups and eating utensils, and another held the still smoldering carcass of a wild boar. A chef of sorts, in a white apron, was cutting generous slices and placing the meat onto a platter. The other tables were dedicated to offering up cobs of corn, watermelon slices, platters of burgers and hotdogs, and heavy metal serving vats—their lids still secured. Off to the side, away from the festivities, stood five, empty, flatbed wagons.
Seems this is the feast before the reckoning to come …

We were directed toward a makeshift corral, where we promptly dismounted and handed our reins over to the equivalent of an 1880s parking attendant. I watched as Gunner trotted off, not a care in the world. Sundance and I headed toward the picnic area where I immediately inhaled the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. One table supported several industrial-sized coffee urns. Sundance apparently had the same idea, and together we made a beeline toward the stack of ready mugs. It was a help-yourself setup. After Sundance filled his mug to the brim, I did the same.

“Gather around, gentlemen.” Billy the Kid, standing on an overturned wooden box, waved his hands over his head in a come-toward-me motion—only adding to his bird-like characteristics. “Before you run off to fill your bellies, I want to take a few moments of your time.” Billy waited for a few men to leave the corral and join the assemblage. He looked down from his platform and scanned the crowd of close to one hundred men. The silence became a bit uncomfortable. In the pause both Sundance and I exchanged a quick glance. Billy finally continued on in a louder voice, “Well … you’ve made it!” He smiled and held out his hands, palms up, in much the same way countless church statues of the Messiah were presented—both fatherly and accepting.

“Let’s dispense with all the pretense. I can now say it outright … welcome to the Order!”

The crowd cheered in unison—fists punched into the air while others high-fived the man next to him. Smiling, I watched as Billy the Kid again made exaggerated eye contact with every man there. What the men here did not know, but I did know, was that Billy was making a mental checklist who would, and who would not, survive through the afternoon. He knew each man’s real name, along with his assigned Tombstone moniker. He knew each man’s profession and what he meant to the advancement, if any, of the Order. I watched, through Billy’s eyes, as the progression of two words flashed before his eyes when he glanced at each man: Live … Die … Live … Live … Die … Die … Die … continuing on and on, till eventually his eyes reached mine. His eyes fell on me, wavered, then passed on, mentally condemning the man in front of me to die. By the time he finished, I was the only one he’d passed over.
A deliberate slight?
Yes … I was certain it was. Perhaps he hadn’t made up his mind yet, or was conflicted in some way I wasn’t able to determine. What I was certain of was almost half the men here had been condemned to die.

I turned and found Sundance, standing off behind me, three men to my left. I zeroed in on his thoughts and looked for specifics on how the imminent cave-in would take place. Here, my ability to make mental suggestions became vital. Typically, I gently and unobtrusively guide another’s thoughts in a certain direction, imparting my own influence—something visual—that will conjure up in them their own relative image loops that I’ll then be able to decipher. In most instances, simply offering up certain visual words is all that’s needed to start the progression of images forming within. I used the words
Explosives
,
C4
, and
Detonator
, and watched for Sundance’s response. His mind quickly returned to the previous night spent here at the mine. The image loops I was observing were dark: Within the confined tunnels of the mine, multiple flashlight beams, like miniature spotlights, shone down on a singular small box, filled with wires, a circuit board, and a pasty chunk of c4 explosive. Interpreting what I was viewing, along with the steady progression of other images, it seemed that Sundance, along with three accomplices, had placed a total of six charges within the mine’s interior—hidden close to crucial support structures. The charges, connected wirelessly, were set to explode simultaneously.
Huh …
wirelessly? Through solid rock, plus all the twists and turns inside the mountain?
That, I knew from my own experience in the military, would take government-grade equipment. With a little more probing, I discovered the Order was using the latest high-tech mining system—one involving magnetic radio waves, whereby a signal is generated through a loop that’s wrapped around a pillar placed deep within the mine. When the signal is sent through a loop of wires it creates a momentary magnetic field. That magnetic field, essentially, creates a bubble of magnetic energy, which rises to the surface. Somewhere here, external to the mine—perhaps higher up on the mountain—was another antenna, an inductor. The way I saw it, I had two options: either find the wireless detonator switch, or find and destroy that second antenna. I scanned the mountain along the ridgeline, far above the opening of the mine. All I could see were tall evergreen trees. Hell, it could be anywhere. The crowd began to dissipate around me, everyone moving off toward the food tables. Glancing back, I noticed Sundance lurking behind, unmoving, watching me as I scanned the ridgeline.
Shit!

I nodded toward him. “Ready to grab some grub?”

“Nah … go ahead, Doc. Enjoy yourself.” He took a steely glance in Billy’s direction before heading off alone toward the corral. It was clear to me that the guy was quickly losing it. And why shouldn’t he be? Only last night, he’d set up charges within the mine in order to commit mass murder. Finished with that chore, he met up with his girlfriend and promptly fired a bullet into her head. He’d never slept—everything done in the pursuit of loyalty to Palmolive and the Order. But his conflicting emotions were exacting a toll, plus a heavy dose of self-loathing. What I was witnessing in Sundance’s mind was akin to a volcano’s eventual eruption. When that happened, I wondered if I’d be able to use the fallout to my advantage.

Using one of the empty flatbed wagons as a stage, two young cowboys—one with a banjo, the other a guitar—started playing a familiar folk song. I headed in the direction of the mine, where Billy the Kid and Jude were speaking together in hushed voices. I figured it wouldn’t be long now before the men would be ushered into the mine, under some pre-planned pretense. I needed to find the detonator switch before it was too late. They both glanced up as I approached, neither looking particularly pleased to see me.

“What do you want? Grub’s that way,” Jude said, gesturing toward the picnic tables.

“Thought you might want to know … I let Johnny Ringo go last night.”

They silently looked at me for a moment and I knew from their similar expressions that this wasn’t news to them. They already knew full well what I’d done; had probably watched the whole thing on security video.

Billy looked in my direction. “What you did is not news to me, but
why
is another matter.”

I didn’t answer him right away, as if contemplating the question. Instead, I mentally inserted my own question—
where did I leave that wireless detonator—
into Billy’s consciousness. Immediately, looking nervous, he patted his front vest pocket. Okay, there was one of them. I mentally inserted the same question into Jude’s mind—
where did I leave that wireless detonator?
Jude didn’t reach for a pocket, like Billy. Instead, he looked toward Billy the Kid’s vest. That was promising. There seemed to be only one detonator switch and Billy was pocketing it.

“Look, you appointed me sheriff, Billy. With Calamity Jane out of the picture I went ahead and made a management decision. Added to that, I had enough of emptying his shit bucket. Tell me … how is it possible for any one person to shit that much?”

Billy the Kid continued to stare at me for several long beats before abruptly laughing out loud. He slapped me on the back and shook his small, bird-like, head. “Doc … I don’t know if I should be impressed by your initiative, or if I should shoot you for flagrant disobedience.” He continued to laugh, then, looking over to Jude with raised eyebrows, asked, “What do you think, Jude? What should I do with this guy?”

Jude hesitantly smiled, which was, of course, only for his boss’s sake. In a blur, he drew his Colt .45. I had a feeling he was well practiced using a six-shooter, but this guy was fast—very, very fast. With a steady hand, he kept the gun pointed at my chest. “My vote would be to shoot the S-O-B dead … right here … right now.”

Billy the Kid looked at Jude and then at me. “Put the gun away, Jude … this is a celebration. We’ll deal with all this unpleasantness later.” He looked out at the festivities, noticing that most of the men were finished eating. He then studied the trail we’d arrived up on, anxiously looking for Heidi and Jordan to arrive. “A few more minutes … then I think it’s time we move on to the main event.”

Before actually seeing them, I heard their approach, coming up the mountainside—first, the distant whinny of a horse, followed by the barely audible sound of a woman’s voice. Billy, consumed by the prospect of seeing Heidi Goertz again, brushed past me and ran to meet them—needing to ensure he’d be the first there, the one standing in front, once they turned that final bend.

Whereas Palmolive was on the verge of pissing his pants with anticipation, I was anything but looking forward to her presence here; to being anywhere near her. The Neo-Nazi leader was responsible for untold thousands of deaths. She’d recently watched with amusement as Pippa was nearly beheaded. Now, evidently, she was the catalyst taking the Order in a far more ominous direction than its former, behind-the-scenes, mode of operation. She was true evil incarnate. The mere thought of her presence made me feel sick.

Jude, pointing his Colt at me, wasn’t the slightest bit distracted, like his boss, Palmolive.

He holstered his gun and said, “Later … you’re all mine.” He too brushed past me and headed for the group of three mounted riders, just coming around the bend.

Billy the Kid stood, his arms apart, a welcoming gesture that Heidi mirrored with her own arms, also held wide open, while siting atop her horse.

“Polly, my love!” she said affectionately.

Obviously, that was her pet name for him.
How cute.
Jordan held the reins of her horse as she slid down from her saddle. She wore tan, skintight riding pants that emphasized the curve of her small, well toned behind, and a snap-down, pink-plaid shirt that was open enough at the top to expose her ample cleavage. Her long hair was probably tucked into her bright-blue cowboy hat. She looked tan, fit, and beautiful—ready for a photo-shoot. Even more than killing Palmolive, I wanted to kill the woman, and I wouldn’t think twice about doing so. The thought of looking into that wretched mind of hers revolted me. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

The musical duo was now playing and singing,
The Yellow Rose of Texas.
I watched as Heidi ran into Palmolive’s arms, kissing him passionately on the lips. I was struck by the seeming inappropriateness of it all: Not just the prolonged kiss—well, that too, but they were such a mismatched couple. He—small, twitchy, and bird-like, and she—strikingly beautiful and, simply put, way out of his league. Yes, he was wealthy, but so was Heidi. But what he possessed was raw power. Perhaps more power than any one person on Earth. Power she’d manipulated her way into and was now part of.

The onlookers applauded her, with several hoots and hollers, and more than a few whistles. Jordan held onto the reins of the other man’s horse—the third rider. I recognized him immediately as the man who placed a garrote to Pippa’s neck.

I moved quickly, weaving in-between the numerous cowboys. My hand hovered an inch above my six-shooter—my eyes locked on the large, pretty-faced man.

“Hey … watch it!” someone said, as I nearly toppled him over.

He must have seen movement in the crowd—me, heading right for him. We locked eyes. A bemused smile crossed his lips before he went stone-faced serious. Heidi, several paces in front of him, saw my approach, her eyes suddenly going wide. I ignored her … I had someone else in my sights.

An outstretched arm brought me to an abrupt standstill. Then, that same arm pinned my drawing arm to my side.

Sundance held fast—his face inches from my own. When he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper, “Not … now!” His eyes conveyed his seriousness. “Your gripe with the guy will only get you killed. Suggest you bide your time
.
”

Heidi said something then spun around, giving everyone another good look at her outfit. She laughed as more catcalls came from the crowd. Unknowingly, she’d also kept their attention off me—a welcome coincidence.