“Get out of here!” he screamed.
The ski boat driver wheeled the boat around and shoved the throttle to full. The boat shot forward and they sped away.
“Not a wise move, El Cobra,” Grandpère said, half to himself.
I saw instantly what he meant. The combination of a hard turn and the application of full power from the ski boat had created a huge wake. Waves were rippling outward in all directions, including toward the sandbar and El Cobra’s boat.
Armando and Eileen saw it too. She screamed. He shouted something. They grabbed each other’s hands and leaped over the side just before the wave hit the boat.
The boat rocked violently, once, twice. We could see the water pouring over the gunwales. There was a gurgling sound, and a moment later, the boat slipped beneath the surface, taking untold millions of dollars with it.
Grandpère and I stood together on the sandbar, watching the two figures in orange life jackets bob past us about a hundred yards away. They were swimming hard, but they were in the current, which was moving them downstream faster than they could swim toward us.
“Help us,” El Cobra shouted. “Help.”
I cupped my hands and shouted back. “It would probably be better if you didn’t show your pistol to someone who stops to help.” I had the biggest grin of my whole life on my face. It was over. Well, not fully. Someone had to find us and go after the gang and get Clay and Mom and Dad and Cody. But it was over with El Cobra.
I sat down with Grandpère and slipped my arm through his. After a moment, Grandpère reached in his pants pocket and brought out a cell phone.
“They left you your cell phone?” I cried.
“Of course. You heard the man. He said he had to keep track of us.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out.
With an exaggerated flourish, he hit the button to turn on the screen.
“It won’t work. Not after it’s been in water.”
“Oh? That’s not what the man at the store said. I asked him if I were ever to accidentally fall into Lake Powell if it would continue to work. He said he thought it would.”
“You did not,” I exclaimed. “You’re making that up.”
But just then, his phone lit up and the picture of me and Cody he kept as his screen saver came up. He touched the text message button and began to type with his thumbs. He was very fast at it.
I was flabbergasted. “Who are you texting, Grandpère?”
“The FBI command center at Bullfrog.” There was the tiniest smile on his face. “Clay forgot to mention that one over the radio. Thought I’d better catch them up on things. Clay’s going to be getting very anxious right about now.”
I stared at him as he continued texting with what was pretty impressive dexterity. I couldn’t text that fast, and his skill was totally, seriously cool in my book. I laid my head against his shoulder and hugged myself. “I’m sorry I lost the pouch, Grandpère.”
“You mean the nanny pouch?”
I pulled a face. “I don’t call it that anymore, Grandpère. I’m sorry I ever did.”
“It’s an honorable title. Or was, until Hollywood got their hands on it.”
“I like Le Gardien much better.”
“Well, then you got to that point much sooner than I did. I didn’t start calling it that until I was in my midtwenties.”
I pulled back to look at him. “Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“It’s not my job to make you feel better,” he chided.
“What did you call it?”
There was the slightest hint of a smile behind his eyes. “The DI.”
“DI? What’s that?”
“Drill instructor. That’s the guy in the army who turns raw recruits into soldiers. It wasn’t a term of great affection.”
Well, well. So Grandpère had had his own problems with the gift. “I’m just so sorry that I lost it, Grandpère. It’s been in the family for generations, and I’m the one to lose it.”
“Ah, it may turn up. Maybe we should leave a notice on the bulletin board at Bullfrog or post it on Craig’s Head.”
“You mean craigslist?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Or we could do some Twittering on your Facebooks.”
I laughed, realizing he was pulling my chain again. I was such a sponge, believing everything he said. “I love you, Grandpère. Thank you for coming with me. I’ll never forget it.”
He sent his text, then put his phone away. His arm came up around my shoulder. “I’d give you my jacket,” he said, “but I think it’s colder than you are.”
“I’m fine now. How soon do you think someone will be here?”
He pulled the phone out again, and, half closing one eye, peered at it. “Says here their ETA is about fifteen minutes.”
I laughed again—I was doing that a lot—then kissed him on the cheek. “You are a wonder, Grandpère. An absolute wonder.”
“That’s what my mother always said too.” He chuckled. “But she didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
Chapter 79
Grandpère was right. The FBI arrived fifteen minutes later—a team of three men in a speedboat. They waved as a similar boat raced past us going downstream; a helicopter passed overhead a few moments later. They had brought blankets, sandwiches, and bottled water. Soon we were both warm and comfortable.
Since we were closer to Iceberg Canyon than we were to Bullfrog, they wanted to wait until they heard from the others before moving out. In another ten minutes, the reports started coming in. The first one was that El Cobra and his wife were in custody. They had been picked up by a couple of bass fishermen who were now making their way back upstream. The two had surrendered without a fight; Armando had dropped the pistol when he and Eileen had jumped out of the boat.
Evidently, El Cobra had sent some kind of coded “all clear” signal for the helicopter pilot. When the pilot approached the airport at Hall’s Crossing, he suddenly veered away and disappeared. The FBI still got the registration number and were following up to see where it had come from. Next came the news that Dad was free. Agents had been waiting at the marina and swarmed in before the bad guys knew what hit them. The other boat had been taken a short time later.
Finally, and best of all, about an hour after that, the other FBI team returned. The boat turned out of the main channel and joined us on the sandbar. Clay, Mom, and Cody were in it. It was a warm and sweet reunion. Clay reported that the helicopter had taken Rick to the Lake Powell Medical Center in Page, Arizona, where he would have the bullet removed from his leg. Once we got back to Bullfrog, Clay had another chopper coming in to fly me, Mom, Cody, and Grandpère to Page to see Rick. They were also flying down Charlie Ramirez and Rick’s two sisters.
Since Dad, under duress, had already called his Canadian associates and moved up the signing to Monday afternoon, he decided it would be more complicated to revert back to Tuesday than to just go ahead with it. So he left with the first boat headed to Salt Lake. The rest of us planned to fly up later. What Dad will do with twenty million dollars is yet to be determined, but I’m pretty sure Rick and I will have some say in it.
That left only one group unaccounted for. The other boat with three men on it had not yet been found. Clay speculated they had turned downstream and were headed for Wahweap, down by the dam. That or Hite, which was upstream. Either way, someone would be waiting for them.
Obviously, we were all generous in our praise of Clay and his team, and I was quick to apologize for the lingering doubts I had harbored about them. In return, he promised to have our family over for dinner where we could meet his family.
As we wrapped things up and the FBI started loading things into the boats, I went to fetch Grandpère. He had walked to the west end of the sandbar and was gazing out across the water. Though the sun wouldn’t go down for a few more hours, the cliffs were so high that we were in shadow. As I approached, I saw him look down, then bend over at the water’s edge and retrieve
something, but the light was such that I couldn’t see what it was.
He started a little when I came up to him and spoke. “Did you find something, Grandpère?”
“Uh . . . no. Nothing much.”
I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. He still had a blanket around him, but I could see that the whole front of his shirt was wet beneath it. My eyes grew wide. “Did you find Le Gardien, Grandpère?”
“The pouch?” he scoffed. “It’s too heavy to float, and besides, it would drift with the current. There’s no way it would be clear over here.”
“Then why is your shirt wet? What do you have under there?”
He seemed surprised. He turned around, looking down at where he had bent over, as if trying to figure out what I was talking about. When he turned back to face me, his shirt front was totally dry. Which only accentuated the fact that there was something beneath it, something fairly large and bulky.
“Grandpère,” I chided.
He put an arm around me. “You have a vivid imagination, Danni. I think you have had way too much excitement for a girl from Hanksville. I mean, seriously, totally, way too much excitement.”
And with that, he gave me a nudge forward, and we started back for the boats.
Chapter 80
Lake Powell Medical Center, Page, Arizona
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Page, Arizona, came into existence in 1956. The town was created to support the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam, not far below the Arizona and Utah border. Now it’s a modern, bustling town of about seven thousand people. It sits on the bluffs overlooking Lake Powell from the south.
The Lake Powell Medical Center in Page is a small but modern clinic serving local and regional populations, as well as any of the tens of thousands of visitors to Lake Powell who end up needing medical attention.
We arrived at the Page airport about seven thirty and found a car waiting to whisk us to the clinic. We had learned from Clay that the clinic did not have a surgical center, but the doctor was able to remove the bullet from Rick’s leg without performing any major surgery. They had used only a local anesthetic, and so he was awake and in good spirits when we came trooping in. About an hour later, his father arrived with Kaylynn and Raye.
It was a small and relatively quiet group. I told Rick that he better appreciate it while he could. When word hit Hanksville tomorrow that one of their native sons had been shot by an international kidnapping ring, he was going to be inundated with calls and visitors. Frowning, he begged his Dad to let him go with us to Salt Lake. But the doctor had already nixed that. Rick had to be careful with his leg for at least two weeks; they even issued him crutches.
We all teased him about walking about town with his new “badge of honor.” Kaylynn told him that they would help him look more mature, which he desperately needed. Raye said they would make him look silly.
A little before nine, a girl brought in a huge floral spray that surely must have cost several hundred dollars. She explained that the owner of the floral shop had received a call from the FBI saying this was an unusual situation and they would do whatever they could, the cost being no object. The girl handed Rick a large get-well card, then left.
“Who’s it from?” Raye asked. She was sitting on the bed beside his good leg.
“All his girlfriends in Wayne County?” Grandpère suggested.
“No, only about half of them,” he said with an impish grin. “There’ll be more flowers coming tomorrow.”
“Not!” I cried. “You are so full of yourself. I’m going to ask the doctors to put that bullet back in again.”
He ignored me and opened the card. As he read it, a smile spread over his face. “It’s signed Clay Pigeon.”
I gave a hoot. “Really?” I walked over beside the bed. He was laughing softly to himself as he read. “What?” I said.
He looked up, then read the card out loud. “‘Rick. Sorry about the flowers, but when I told my wife what had happened, she said I was to send the biggest bouquet I could find. I’m sure Danni is envious—’”
“Not!” I cried again.
He continued. “‘But tell her that none of the florists we contacted could produce anything nearly as large as we needed for her on such short notice. Tell her several semitrucks will be coming to Hanksville tomorrow afternoon.’”
“Yeah, right,” I said. I felt my cheeks getting warm.
My family and the Ramirez family broke into applause, which only turned my face a brilliant pink. Even Rick joined in. Then Raye and Kaylynn insisted on kissing me on the cheeks as everyone snapped pictures with their cell phones.
Finally, Rick lifted the card again. “‘My wife asked if your family and the McAllisters would join us for dinner next week. We’ll send a limousine so you can travel in the style to which you have grown accustomed. Then we’d like to go through a full debriefing with all of you. BTW, the Deputy Director of the FBI in Washington, DC, will be flying out to meet the both of you. Thanks for making me look so good.’”
“What’s BTW mean?” Raye asked.
“It stands for ‘by the way,’” Grandpère volunteered with a smile. “I think Clay must have grandchildren who text.”
Rick read on, then laughed. “Listen to this. ‘I’ve asked the doctor on call to save the bullet. Since Danni has her beat-up capris and a couple of nylon handcuffs, the bullet will give you something to show when you tell your own grandchildren about this day. With warmest thanks and much respect, Clay Zabriskie, Special Agent in Charge, Salt Lake City Field Office.’”
I turned away and looked out the window.
“Danni?” Rick asked softly. “What is it?”
I shrugged. “I was just thinking about how close I came to refusing to talk to him. Then someone came along and told me I was being stupid.”
“You said that?” Charlie Ramirez said, scowling at his son.
Rick’s face went red. “Well, not exactly in those words.”
“I’m glad someone did,” Grandpère said, giving me a look of reproof.
I touched Rick’s arm. “Thank you. Thank you for being that kind of friend.”
“And with that,” Charlie said, looking up at the clock, “I think it’s time we got two young girls to bed.”
“And a boy and his mother,” Grandpère said, nodding. “Let’s go, Cody.”
To my surprise, he didn’t object. He came over and stood beside me. Then he extended his hand to Rick. “Danni’s right, Rick. You’re the best ever.”
“And so are you, Code,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “I mean that.” Then he laughed. “Us guys with only sisters—we have to stick together.”
They bumped fists. “Amen to that,” Cody said happily.
Mom took him by the hand. Then she looked at me. “Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll come get you.”
“You don’t have a car.”
“I know. But the motel’s only a couple of blocks from here.”
“Okay, I would like that.”
Suddenly her eyes were glistening, and she had to wipe at them with the back of her hand. Then she bent down and gave Rick a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Ricardo Ramirez. We are forever in your debt.”
She and Cody hurried out.
“I won’t be long,” I called after her. “Rick needs some rest. Before all those girls show up tomorrow.”
After everyone was gone, I pulled up a chair alongside his bed. As I sat down, he reached out and took my hand. I smiled at him, interlocking my fingers with his. For the next several minutes, neither of us said anything. We were content just to be safe together after what seemed like months of tension and danger.
“You tired?” I finally asked.
“Getting there,” he admitted, his eyes drooping a little. “The pain pills are kicking in.”
“I’ll get out of here and let you sleep.”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll be back in the morning, I promise.” I nudged his arm.
“Before the hordes arrive.”
I squeezed his hand, then stood up.
His eyes popped wide open. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. “Danni, I . . .”
I raised my other hand and shook a finger in his face. “No, Rick,” I said fiercely. “No apologies. Not now. Not ever.”
“I . . . What makes you think I was going to apologize?”
“Because I know you,” I managed to say through a choked voice.
“Okay, on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“No more beating yourself up for mistakes made. Not now. Not ever. Deal?”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
He laughed. “You’re a hard person to bargain with.”
“How did we ever get to be friends?” I asked softly.
His eyes filled with wonder. “I’ve asked myself that same question a dozen times this last week. I’ve come to one conclusion. It’s not possible.”
“A week? It’s only been a week?”
“Yeah, can you believe that? Seems like a month.”
“Or a decade.” I withdrew my hand from his. “You sleep now. I’ll be here first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he murmured.
I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, like Mom had done. As I pulled away, he smiled up at me. “You missed,” he said.
“I know.” I touched his cheek for a moment, then turned and walked out. “See you tomorrow.”
I am so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ll write more tomorrow, but I have to say this much tonight.
There is purpose to my life.
I am unique.
I am free to choose.
I am not alone.
Carruthers (Danni) Monique McAllister
Sunday, June 19, 2011. Page, Arizona.
Acknowledgements
When I was a young boy growing up, television had just been invented, and no one I knew owned one. We had radios and phonographs, but not CDs, DVDs, iPhones, iPads, iTouches, MP3 players, Droids, laptops, desktops, flash drives, or any of the other miraculous technological marvels of today.