Chapter One Colorado, Southern Ute Reservation
Without a thought of mentioning the passing apparition to her nephew, the Ute shaman watched the dreamers phantom dissolve into a shadowy mist, evaporate into nothingness. It was unusual to encounter one of them out and about at this time of day, but during those wee hours just beyond midnight, one might see dozens of these tethered-to-the-body phantasms flitting about like nervous yucca moths. Daisy Perika believed that dreams prepared mortals for that time when the cord between body and soul shall be severedand some must begin to serve their sentences as lonely, wandering ghosts. The aged Catholic fervently hoped (with Gods help) to bypass this dismal interval, and proceed directly to that mansion her blessed Savior had prepared for her in Upper World.
Charlie Moon could not have imagined the thoughts percolating through the old womans singular mind. Nor would he have wished for such a privilege.
The tribal policeman and his aged aunt stood on a curled-up ridge called the Cougars Tail. A little more than a stones throw away, the mouth of Cañón del Espíritu gaped as if it might swallow the entire valley whole, including Daisys little trailer home. Neither Moon nor his closest living relative was concerned about such an improbable outcome. These sensible folk were peaceably watching the scarlet smear of sunset.
Moon pushed his black Stetson back a notch to a jaunty position, looped an arm around the old womans shoulders. “You should move into town.”
Daisy snorted. “Why should I do a thing like that?”
“I worry about you.” The tall man looked down at the top of her head. “In Ignacio, youd have neighbors to look in on you.”
“Neighborshah! Id sooner have a family of skunks nesting under my floor.” Her lips crinkled into an enigmatic smile. And its not like Im all by myself. The shaman gazed into Cañón del Espíritu, far past where her eyes could see, way up there where the dwarf made his home in the abandoned badger hole, even into those dark crooks and crannies where a multitude of spirits mumbled and muttered while they waited for Middle World to end and Judgment to begin. From time to time, one of them would come to talk to her. It might be the Little Man wanting something sweet to eat, or a gaunt old haunt starving for some conversation. Daisys dark eyes sparkled in the fading light. I have all the company I need.
The honeyed sun vanished behind Three Sisters Mesa. Before slipping into an unseen sea to bathe away the heat of day, she would pull a dark, star-sprinkled curtain down behind her.
The quiet in this remote place was more than the absence of sound. It was a peaceful river, flowing slowly out of the canyon. For a few heartbeats, it seemed as if Moon and Daisy were the only human beings in the world.
They were not, of course.
The planet was bustling and crackling with billions of busy people. All over the globe, on a multitude of stages, small and large dramas were being played out.
For example: About four hundred miles south of the Southern Ute reservation, something very big and bad and noisy was about to happenan event that would, in time, unsettle the lives of Charlie Moon and his aunt Daisy.
New Mexico
A few yards above Luna County
A few minutes below midnight
The warning kept hammering in the pilots skullThis is just plain nuts.
William “Pappy” Hitchcock squinted at a tar-black sky that he imagined to be the root cellar of heaven. Or maybe not. It could be the penthouse of that other place. Whatever it was or wasnt, he had the most peculiar sensationthat curious spirits of earlier aviators were watching him, wishing him good fortune, a happy landing. He grinned, tipped his baseball cap at the ghostly audience. Hey, Lucky Lindy . . . Halloo, Antoine-Marie-Roger de Saint-Exupery . . . Howdy there, Gus Grissom! Take a gander at Mrs. Hitchcocks favorite son. Aint this a big, hairy horse-laugh? Me with this rickety old crate strapped to my butt, bumping along barely above the treetops, cant see the ground half the time, cant see the stars at all. And dont forget this humungous summer thunderstorm, lightning flashing, thunder boomingwinds shifting and twisting all over the place! Its like everything and everybody is out to shoot me downwhy, I wouldnt be the least bit surprised at antiaircraft fire!
A heavy barrage of hail rat-tatted on the windshield, dimpled the aircrafts thin skin.
A caustic grin. Well thank you for that.
He estimated the odds of a fatal crash as somewhere in the neighborhood of even money. That was a bad neighborhood. And on top of that, the internal vicinity was distinctly unfriendlyevery one of his surly passengers was airsick, wanted by Interpol, and packing. As if all this were not enough to make the trip sufficiently interesting, he was about to spring a highly unpleasant surprise on these outlaws. One might reasonably conclude that the captain of the 1940s-vintage aircraft was worried, or at least mildly concerned about the situation. If One did, One would be mistaken.
At least for the moment, Mr. Hitchcock was in fine fettle and formparticularly for a man of his years. He was also that rarest of all mortalsa genuinely happy person. This was because he had made a firm decision to put all of his troubles behind him. Most of them already were. Literally. A couple of hundred miles behind him was the Wings of War Military Aircraft Museum, from whose hangarjust hours agohe had stolen the antique U.S. Army Air Force DC-3. As has already been alluded to, some of his troubles were more closely behind him. Back there in the cargo bay, the half-dozen heavily armed cartel soldiers watched over a big pile of laundry bags that were stuffed tight as ticks with twenty-dollar bills.
Hitchcock gave little thought to his disgruntled passengers; his professional duties required all of his concentration. His instructions had been straightforward:
1. Stay under the FAA radar.
2. Land on the makeshift strip exactly six miles south of the Mexican border, where the cartels Humvee and laundry truck and troops would be waiting.
Carrying out Instruction Number One was enormous funsnaking through serpentine canyons, surfing across rippling seas of silver grass, skimming over the crests of rugged mesas. Hitchcock figured he was flying about as low as he could get without clipping off treetops and colliding with high-jumping jackrabbits.
Executing Instruction Number Two might have been mere routinea yawn. Except for the fact that he intended to add a dash of spice to the stew. Hitchcock planned to land the DC-3 at a makeshift strip just six miles north of the Mexican border, where his Humvee and his laundry truck and his troops would be waiting. Yes sirreePablo Feliciano and “Doc” Blinkoe would be there and theyd be loaded for bear. Oh, this switch-and-run was just too sweet. What a fine way to cap off a long career!
Alas, as it would come to passthe worst of Mr. Hitchcocks troubles were still out there in front of him. And coming up fast.
On the Ground
Partly because he was the man with inside connections to the cartel, mostly because he had come up with the hijacking plan, but also because it would have taken both