The Coming Storm

Mitch stays on the radio for a minute or two, giving us an inventory of what she can see approaching. They are pretty far off, but she can make out four vehicles, one of them a large truck with a backhoe on a trailer.
"They mean to do some serious digging." I say in response to Mitch's report.
"Wouldn't you? It's over a million dollars. Worth the cost of the diesel and the time it is going to take them to find it." Lou talks while he shovels, tossing the damp earth in the pile.

I finish my calculation on the last big money hole and prepare to step it off on my own.
"You want the radio, or should I keep it with me?
Lou snatches it off the ground, "She doesn't want to talk to you, Nancy, when I am here to talk to."
"You're delusional."
"Nope... Scottish and French."
I pause, then shake my head slowly.
"Jesus, you are fucked up. I bet you have a bumper sticker that says `Will Surrender for Haggis', don't you."
He looks at me, "I'll bumper sticker your ass." He tosses the shovel and starts like he's going to climb out of the hole.
"Wouldn't that be Greek and French?"
"Go find the next damn hole fuckstick." He lunges at me and I jump back appropriately.

We both turn back to the task at hand.
I leave the radio with Lou and take the tape with me, pegging my starting point and running the tape out for the correct length. After three lengths I make sure I am lined up with the markers and scratch an "X" in the earth at my feet. This is the last big deposit. The other holes we may have to leave for them.

I hear the Gator start and see Lou coming toward me. It takes him thirty seconds or so and he pulls up beside me, looking down at my feet at the mark on the ground.
"X marks the spot?"
"Yep. How much time do we have?"
"Mitch just radioed back that she thinks we have about twenty minutes before they pass below her, and then maybe five to the ranch."
He looks at the mark on the ground and then hands me the other shovel. "How deep?"
"Shit... I forgot to do that part of the calculation." I pull the map from my pocket and decode the depth. I look at Lou with disbelief."
"Well?"
"Six feet?"
I hand him the map and he takes it for a moment, then hands it back.
"Double check it."
I do, but come up with the same figure.
"Mother fucker. Who buries something six feet down?"
"Just start digging, we don't have time."

Soil flies out of that hole like black rain. We alternate so there isn't a time where dirt isn't falling. Never the less, it takes forever to get down to the deposit. We are well beyond twenty minutes when my shovel bites into something.
"I think... " I scrape across the dark soil and reveal the black plastic, "I've got it."
Lou chips away around the package until we have the top uncovered.
"We have to open this one and just take the money out. We'll never get it all uncovered before they get here."
He motions up to the Gator, "Get up there and grab the duffle closest to the seat, that's the one that has the most room."

I lift myself out of the hole and grab the duffle. "You want it down there?"
"No, I will hand the money up."

We start transferring the money from the hole to the bag. There is a lot of it, and after ten minutes Lou is still handing money up to me. If you were to stack this much cash on your standard TV table, you wouldn't find a spot to put a salt shaker... and you would have to stand to see the person across from you. The last thing he hands me is a newspaper wrapped in clear plastic and taped up real good.

"What is the paper for?" I look at the date, Sept. 9th, 1986.
"I am sure it's your cousin's play on a time capsule. There is one at the bottom of every hole."
There is barely enough room in the second duffle for all of this cash. The other bag is stuffed full as well.
"We are going to need more bags."

The radio keys up, but nothing is said
I grab the radio off of the seat of the Gator, "Mitch?"
Nothing.
"Mitch? We have the last of the big deposits. How much time do we have?"
"Not enough, I'm afraid."
The voice was decidedly not Mitch's.
"I'm afraid Mitch is tied up right now... she can't come to the phone."
Lou is out of the hole and grabs the radio before I can take in a breath to issue a threat.
"Listen here, Grable... is it? You need to consider your options real careful like. If you hurt that woman, I will make your last thirty minutes on this planet the most painful and amazing you have ever known." Lou pauses for effect.
"Louis?"
Now Grable pauses for effect. Lou doesn't answer him.
"You listen to me. You will give me what you have found. And since you are doing such a fine job decoding this... map, I am going to let you dig up the other holes as well."
There is a long pause as Grable most likely calculates the time it will take.
"Oh hell... I'm in no hurry. Just know this; I have the other map, I have Mitch and her ranch hands, and I have you under surveillance."

Lou looks at me, a steely reverence in his eyes. I know enough by now that there is a plan of some sort brewing in there.
"What?" I ask him
He holds up a hand... then keys up the radio.
"We need to take go back to the barn and get a couple more duffles."
"Do what you must." Grable pauses... "Where are my men?"

Lou smiles, "Taking a little dirt nap. Don't worry, you will be with them shortly."
"Pity." The radio goes silent.
A moment later, the first of three gunshots come from the east. Our heads whip around and we can see Mitch's blue truck in the distance. Falling from the roof is one of the ranch hands. The next is dragged up and shot, most likely in the head. It is too far to see the details. When the last man is hauled up and shot, Grable comes back on the radio.
"Well, that evens the score." You can hear Mitch in the background cussing up a storm.

"Jesus... this guy means business."
"Well no shit. So do we." Lou motions me toward the Gator and we both hop on and head toward the growing barn. "At least we know where they are."

We motor back toward the barn, Mitch's captors at our backs. I have the urge to turn around, but I don't. We'll get our chance on the way back.
At the barn, we hear a hail from the radio. It is Grable... he is watching us. We are to leave the bags on the Gator.

"Son of a bitch." Lou mutters a we head into the barn. Not that taking the bags off the Gator was his plan, but I am sure that it might have been part of it.
"You gonna let me in on this plan?"
"Don't have one."
I pause... for effect. "You don't have one? Since when?"
"Look, they'll kill her just like they killed that foreman and the two ranch hands."
"Hell, Lou... they will kill all of us most likely. Why would he leave any witnesses to his murder of those men?"
"Quid Pro Quo."
"Yeah, okay... "
"We killed his men so he killed ours."
"And that helps us how?"
"Could be that he isn't worried about us telling anyone because he would have the same opportunity. You know, to tell authorities about us killing his men."
My hands rest on my hips and I hear myself sigh.
"Jesus, Lou, snap out of it."
He looks at me.
"What the fuck is wrong with you. This guy is more likely to shove a dozen cupcakes up his ass before he talks to any "authorities"... you know that."
Lou turns toward the cabinet where Mitch grabbed the duffles.
"Lou... "
"Yeah, I know. He is a fucking killer and we are all dead."
"Now you're talking. So let's get a plan together."

If they can see the barn, then they can see the ranch house. So heading back there to hunt down some more weapons or ammo isn't going to happen. We figure they haven't killed us yet because they want the hard work out of the way first. But it is coming.

Lou has a plan. He doesn't tell me, but when he starts shaking kerosene cans and grabbing twine, I know that something is afoot. I stay out of his way. He grabs several of the canvas duffles, pulls a couple inside out and fluffs them up a little, then has me hold my arms out straight. He piles the unfolded pile of duffle bags across my arms and then tucks a one gallon metal kerosene can on its side on each of my hands. They have to be at least half full.
"Hey... this is heavy."
"Pussy." He turns me and pushes me toward the door. I look back as he tucks another of the cans under his pile of duffle bags.

We set our load on the Gator and hop in the seats.
"What took you so long?" Grable seems quite impatient.
"I had to hunt for more of these bags. It is going to take more than we thought. That should make you happy."
"Get moving."

As we ride back out to the field, I can feel the butt of the Mauser banging into my lower back.
Lou senses my discomfort.
"Leave it. For whatever reason Grable hasn't seen it. When we get to the next hole, let me get off first. I will cover the rifle with a duffle."

The ride is short, but just long enough for Lou to let me in on his plan. It has to do with deception, with fire, and with choices. If push comes to shove, Mitch's life is worth more than a million dollars to us. We can cover that bet. But we aren't going to have to make that decision if we don't have to. First it will be Grable's turn. Lou has devised a way to put the shoe on the other foot. We have a hostage too, over a million dollars.

Holes

One of the blue nylon duffles and a hole that Lou has started. Off to the left is the trail to the pass where Mitch is on watch.

We regroup in the main house. Mitch stokes up the main woodstove and lights it off. Soon there is heat, hot water, and coffee brewing. Her men cleaned up and she attended to the severed fingers on the forman's and digger's hands.

"Sons of bitches." She mutters as the digger winces at her efforts. "He's going to need medical attention... more than I can give him here."

"Do they have a doctor in town?" I ask her, opening the refrigerator and taking a glance inside. Lots of fresh vegetables and fruit. I grab an apple and close the door.

"There is a clinic."

"Well let's go then."

"I'm not leaving." She says with a stern look. She walks outside and talks with the other digger who hasn't sustained any injuries. Within minutes he is in the old blue pick-up with the injured men and on his way into town. She sent them with a bag of ice to put the foreman's fingers in once they stop at the growing barn. It is possible that they may be saved and re-attached. The digger's fingers had been severed the night before. All we can hope for is that he is ambidextrous.

The three of us gather at the picture window and watch as the pick-up rolls out of sight.

"How much time do we have?" Lou asks, looking at my apple. "Where did you get that?"

I nod toward the fridge and he has a look himself.

"The man that you shot, he is not the head honcho." Mitch calls after Lou. "That was his foreman, his right hand man. No, the head of this little raiding party is a man they call Grable. He is the one that approached me for a purchase."

We take a seat around the table in the kitchen. Mitch cleans while she talks. I don't ever remember her being so neat and tidy, but then again I don't remember her having to clean up bloody pools and severed finger tips either.

She tells us about Grable and how he approached her with an offer to buy most of her crop for next season if what she had in the ground would meet his expectations. I was a very well presented offer, drawn up by lawyers that Grable had working for him. Even with the illegality of the crop itself, the deal would be as legal as you could get. With deposits of earnest money in several local banks, as many as it would take to not get above reporting requirements, the payments would never draw Federal scrutiny.

That is when Mitch told him that she never used banks. For whatever reason she called him on his idea, telling him the safest place her any deposit was here on the ranch. That even if she got busted by the Feds, they would never find a money trail.

"You bury your money... that is so cool." Lou snaps off a large bite of apple and chews with his mouth open for a moment or two.

"Yeah, well it isn't too cool in situations like this one. Grabel left last night with my crop and a dozen men. That is about a hundred and sixty thousand dollars worth of Modoc's finest."

She uses cleanser on the table top, working it hard. Her voice shakes as she furiously scrubs at the dried blood.

"He left those boys you killed here to soften us up a bit as to where the money is buried. He will be here any time now. It is only fifty or sixty miles up to his ranch at Goose Lake on the Oregon side."

Now at the sink she rinses the sponge and wash cloth for a moment under the hot water, then looks at them and throws them in the trash.

"This Grable, he will stop at nothing."

"How did you bury it, Mitch?"

Mitch looks at him for a moment, sizing him up. I can see the unwillingness to share any information.

"Mitch... " I take her arm and turn her toward me. "Lou here has saved my life a dozen times just last week. He is as trustworthy as I am."

She looks his way just for moment and gives him a quick smile, "Sorry... Lou, I just can't believe all this shit is happening."

She takes a moment and then she goes to the gun cabinet in the other room. She returns with the old rifle that I had seen when we arrived. In the stock is a place for a cleaning kit. She pops it open and out comes a small map of the property.

"Mauser?" Lou says, holding up the rifle and admiring the lines. "Eight millimeter?"

"Very good. Yep, that's the old rifle my grandfather brought back from overseas."

"Oh yeah, that's a beaut." He pulls the bolt open... "sticky." He shoots a glance down the barrel.

"When is the last time you fired this weapon?"

"Never. Hasn't been fired since my father passed away thiry four years ago. I just keep the map in there."

"Pity."

The map is a small representation of the ranch and bordering government lands. In at least ten spots there is a cluster of writing.

"So what do these entries mean here?" I point to one of the spots. If it is all meant to confuse someone that comes into possession of the map it is working. I can't tell a damn thing from those markings.

Lou looks at the first line of numbers, "Is this a Julian date?"

"He's sharp... yes that is the date we made the deposit."

I look closely, "Oh yeah... Julian dates. I remember those from my Navy days."

"Fucking squids." Lou says under his breath.

Mitch lays it all out for us, just in case something happens to her. The next number was between one and eight, one being North, two being North East, and so on going around the compass rose. After that there is a number that is one digit in some entries, two in all the rest... ranging from five to forty three. This is the number of times you count around the points of the compass rose from the starting point dictated by the number after the Julian date. Once you counted around and stopped, you have the direction. Then there is a letter and a number together, this is the numerical place in the alphabet and a multiplier for the distance. Then a dash and another number. This is a divisor from the distance and it is your depth.

My head hurts just looking at all of this cyphering.

"Jesus, isn't a bank easier?"

"I have over a million dollars buried here, Jake." She rolls the map up and puts it back in the cleaning kit. "I was going to retire next year."

Lou is off to the gun cabinet, looking for a cleaning kit so he can clean the old Mauser. Not the time or the place for this finicky behavior, but to Lou it is like a crooked picture hanging on the wall. He finds what he needs and then takes the rifle from Mitch and proceeds to clean it.

"Don't lose that rifle. That copy of the map is the only one here on the property. The other one is in a safety deposit box in town."

Lou pulls the action back and forth on the rifle, surgically placing gun oil as he does.

"Why don't you just get a huge deposit box and put your money in there? There is no bank reporting on things like that."

"What fun would that be? I like having it here, with me. And it is accessible... well sort of."

Minutes pass while I wait for Mitch to tell us what we are going to do. The old clock on the wall ticks away and I begin to realize that she doesn't have a plan.

"Hey Mitch... we need to get out of here, don't you think?"

"Not without my money."

"Those who fight and run away live to fight another day." I know it sounds stupid when it leaves my lips, but it is the truth.

"It is my life, Jake, out there in the dirt. I can't leave it for these assholes to take."

Lou draws the cleaning rod through the barrel of the rifle, "How are they going to find it if you have the map?"

"Well, they do have the map... well at least the key to the deposit box." She says with a whisper.

I am slightly stunned at that revelation. "Why did you give them the key?"

"I didn't give them shit. It was around my neck earlier this morning while they were beating the fuck out of me and cutting off Manny's fingers. It didn't take them but a second to realize what it was. The fact that there is only one bank in this fucking town made it even easier."

"So they have the map." Lou says with some finality.

"Even with the map they still have to figure out the code." I say with some hope.

"Grable has some whiz kid working for him, one of the lawyers he had write up the business proposition. I don't think it would take him long to figure out the key to the map. They may dig in the wrong place a few times, but once they find one, they find them all."

I look at the clock on the wall. Time is flying.

"So let's dig up some treasure."

We are back at the growing shed to grab some equipment. A couple of shovels, a pick, a large hand held property line tape that measures to five hundred feet, and a couple of large blue nylon duffles. Mitch goes to a large metal cabinet and retrieves a couple of hand held radios. She also starts the "Gator", a John Deere four wheeler with a small utility bed on the back. They use it to service their crop, to haul whatever, and to get from the ranch house to the growing area. We load the duffles and digging equipment.

"I will get you boys started on the location of your first hole, and then I am going to get up to the pass and watch for these assholes. I think we have the better part of a couple of hours, but I can't be sure."

She turns the radios on and keys one of the microphones. The other set squeels and she releases the button.

"Take this." She hands me the radio and I put it in my pocket.

"Where is the pass?"

"It's back up the road about three miles. You can see the whole approach to the ranch from there. Only one way in with trucks. There are a few good bike trails back there, but they won't be coming in on those." She nods at a dusty tarp covered shape in the corner.

Lou lifts the corner and looks, "Is that a two stroke?"

I look at Mitch.

"Two stroke Yamaha. It's old but it does the trick."

Lou flips the tarp all the way off to reveal another bike behind it.

"And a newer Honda... CR500?"

"You know your bikes, Lou."

He lets the tarp drop. "I did a little riding in my day."

I roll my eyes, "Is there any thing you haven't done?"

"Never fucked a fat woman."

Mitch laughs and turns toward the door.

"Come on you idiots. Let's find me something to drive."

With that we load onto the Gator and roll out toward the ranch house.

We check the Hummers then the bodies and don't come up with keys. I surmise that Grable doesn't trust his men with the treasure if they were to find it before he returned. I grab the keys from my pocket to the Rent-a-Jeep and give them to Mitch, telling her where we parked up on the hill.

She circles half of the spots on the map. We need to get these holes first... they represent the best crop years and the most money. Then we all hop on the Gator and head out to the first spot. It is the last one she buried and she remembers where it is without using the map. It isn't one of the ones she circled, but it is a sure thing. Lou offers to start digging while I take Mitch back to the Jeep.

We ride in silence as the Gator climbs the trail toward the ridge beyond the ranch house. I feel guilty that we didn't arrive sooner, spending time in Vegas, time on the beach on the Sea of Cortez. But we are here now, she is alive, and we can help.

I roll to a stop next to the Jeep and shut down the Gator. We both get out and Mitch takes a long drawn out stretch. She is still beautiful, after all these years. Not some made up beauty that has to be applied for two hours each morning and wiped off at night. She has an enduring beauty that is there when you open your eyes in the morning.

She reaches in and puts the keys in the ignition. With a twist the engine comes to life and warms up.

"Thank you for saving me."

She gives me a long hug. I close my eyes and the smell of her hair brings back memories from decades back, before the ranch, back when our families would spend summers together. Swimming pools, barbaques, camping, hiking, all with her leading us along. Eight kids, from twelve to seventeen, without a care in the world.

She releases me and then grabs both sides of my face with her hands.

"You be careful. These guys aren't screwing around."

"I know."

She kisses me and then gets in the Jeep.

"Oh shit... the radio."

I grab it from the Gator and she turns it on. "Lou... come in Lou."

"Gotcha honey."

"Just checking."

"Ten four."

She throws the Jeep in gear. Within seconds she is down the path we came up and through the compound... then out of sight as she drives off the property and toward the pass.

I head out to the growing field. Before long I pull the Gator up next to Lou, who is up to his knees in the hole he is digging. Before I even shut down he tosses the shovel and reaches down.

"Already?"

"Ground is soft and this one isn't buried too deep."

He pulls up a square package wrapped in black plastic. It is sealedwith tape and we leave it that way. It gets thrown in one of the duffles and then we consult the map.

"We need a compass."

"Ya think?" Lou pulls a compass from his pocket.

"Where did you get that?"

"Gun cabinet."

We pull out the map and get our bearings. It takes fifteen minutes for us to decide where to dig the next hole, running out the tape along the vector. When we start digging, Lou stops me and thinks it would be a better use of time for me to figure the next hole while he digs up the bundle.

This one is deep, and forty minutes later Lou is up to his chest by the time he finds it. He muscles the bundled up to the edge of the hole and I heave it onto the gator. It is twice the size of the last one.

"Jesus, I hope these ones she circled aren't all this deep."

"I bet they are. These represent the large deposits."

"You're digging the next one."

We move to the next hole, this time stringing the tape out three different times. Lou stops and back tracks to our starting point, sticking a branch in the ground to mark the spot and we start over to make sure we are getting a straight line. After the learning curve the holes are easier to find and we are already on the fourth one, buried at eight feet, when we hear a call from Mitch on the handheld.

"Hey boys... can you copy?"

I grab the hand set, "We copy, sounds nice and clear."

"Good. How's it going?"

"On number four."

"No shit. You boys are quick."

"How much time do we have?"

There is a pause, and then... "I don't see anything yet."

Lou motions for the radio and I hand it to him.

"How much lead time will we have once you spot them?"

Another pause. "I will see them twenty miles out if they are making dust."

"Mitch, I have an idea."

Lou tells her that we will dig up the next two, the last of the large deposits. We keep digging for real until we hear from her that they are coming. That will give us maybe thirty minutes. So we dig some dummy holes for the remaining spots to make them think we took the deposits from them. They may take the bait and not go searching.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, while I am figuring the next hole, I am thinking that this guy doesn't need to worry about the map. He can just wait for us to dig them up for him and take it from us. That is what I would do. Instill a little panic, allow enough time for the treasure to be removed from it's hiding place, and just take it after the hard work has been done.

It is about twenty minutes later that we hear a call from Mitch, on edge and hushed.

"They're coming."