After Tuwa slid the discs out from inside her bra and entrusted them back to Michael, she left him and Blake at the hotel, as before.

"You don't want to join us for a bite to eat?" Michael asked the professor.

"Are you kidding, guys? This was one of the most stressful days in my life. I'm just going to drive home, shower, eat a cold spinach salad I left in the frig . . . and try to sleep . . . though I know that will be difficult. I'll phone you tomorrow, Michael."

"Keep your door locked!" he shouted as Tuwa sped away.

Back in the hotel, Blake realized his college classes at the university would be starting in one more day. But strangely, he had little guilt or interest in returning to Santa Cruz as he previously had. Was he being so affected by these revelations, he wondered? It was as if his focus on what was truly essential now in his life had morphed into something else. And that something centered around the incredible incidents, occurring like a dream, but mainly round his father. Still troubling him was the mystery of William's, and his apparent secret life work, so meticulous and unrecognized there in the southwestern desert.

"Now that we've got our room back for the night," Michael said, yawning, "I think we owe a few things to ourselves. Not just a good night's rest . . . but a damn good meal, Blake. What do you think? Are you as hungry as I am?"

"Yeah. I could use some food. But definitely sleep."

"Listen, it's my treat," Michael said. "I know a great Texas steakhouse in this town. Let's go there, have some T-bones, potato skins, and shake off those Feds with a couple of tall beers. Sound good, California?"

Blake smiled. "Yeah, it does. But I don't think I'll be shaking off those guys for a while, Michael. Can't say I've ever really seen the "men in black" before now. But that's definitely who they were, huh?"

"Most def, Blake. And pretty bad actors."

"Right. And for sure I've also never been buzzed by a combat helicopter. Yesterday was just as intense as today."

Michael laughed. "Well you might have to get used to that, my friend. You're in pretty deep now with all this."

Blake was temporarily speechless and deep in thought. He just watched as Michele took the discs out of his back pack and craftily hid them between the mattress and the support boards of the bed in their room.

"Of course, your father must have been pretty far into this too," Michael added.

Blake finally broke his silence, thinking about his father's collection of 'evidence.'

"Michael . . . you say you never knew my father, right?"

"That's right."

"So, you were just as surprised as I was with that storage shed full of . . ."

"Yeah. Pretty much. It was nothing I really hadn't seen before or have known about. But it's quite a compelling collection if he was planning on making a case."

"I see."

"But I have to tell you, Blake. Dan and Jasper told me they had known of someone . . . for years. An older guy. Non-Indian, who was constantly on a single-handed search out there. They knew he was interested in Native American culture. He was well-liked and respected. Even came to them for locations of rock paintings and legends about the Kachinas."

"Who?

"The dolls we found in the shed."

"Oh yeah. The messengers."

"That's right. They represent our star messengers, teachers, gods . . . all of it. Your father was obviously that man the two spoke of. They even let him stay on the reservation, which was pretty rare. I'm very sorry to learn he was your father, man. And then you show up with what you found of his . . . and Jasper calls me in to check it all out."

"I just want to know what part he had in this, Michael?"

"As I understand it, Japer and Dan were never really sure themselves. Just thought he had this fascination with their tribe, the land and all. They certainly were surprised at his death. And all of us, when the contents of his storage shed came to light. You were brilliant, Blake, for bring that us."

"So, is it possible . . . I have to ask you, Michael."

"If your father was working for the government?"

Blake was surprised he even posed the question. "Yes. Do you think . . ."

"Unlikely. Though possible."

"Why unlikely?"

"Because he could have shared that lightening spot with the military or Feds at any time before. And it seems he hadn't. Was he going to at some point? This is something Jasper, Dan, including you and me . . . just don't know."

"Jesus. How frustrating!"

"So, what's your guess, Blake? What was he planning on doing with all that information? All that proof?"

"Wish I knew. All my life he was a mystery to me. Now even in death he is."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I like to think he was genuinely taking the Native American side to all of this and maybe just waiting for the right time to share it with the world . . . in spite of what the US Government would have done."

"Yeah. Let's hope that was his aim."

"We may never know, Blake. But the fight goes on."

"Yeah, I get that."

"Come on. I can practically smell those grilled steaks from here."

"Yeah, I guess we could use a few of those beers too."

As the two walked out onto the street and got onto Michael's Harley, they no sooner took off and traveled down the main boulevard of the town to the steakhouse, when a white van came up alongside of them.

The vehicle came up close and the man in the passenger seat pointed to the curb, signaling he wanted Michael to pull over.

Michael kept driving forward, past the restaurant, refusing to comply. As they passed under the boulevard streetlight, the man in the van made more urgent gestures for Michael to pull over and stop.

"Don't do it Michael!" Blake shouted. "It looks bad."

Michael kept up his steady speed and did not move to the right as being directed. Suddenly the van came very close to the two, and the man pushed the center passenger's head toward the window for them to see. It was clearly Tuwa. She looked to be abducted with her mouth covered by tape!

"Jesus, Michael! It's . . ."

"Yeah. Hold on."

He maneuvered the bike to the shoulder of the road and eventually to a stop.

The van was closer to them now and they could see Tuwa's face more clearly. Her eyes looked desperate and frightened.

"I think we need to discuss some things . . ." the man said over the engines of the bike and the car. "Follow us!"

As the van carrying Tuwa sped away, Michael complied and followed closely behind. The van led to the outskirts of the town where they soon were behind a large storage facility. It was poorly lit, and the surrounding parking area was vacant.

The van driver tuned off his engine and Michael did the same with his bike.

Both the van's doors opened and two men, looking to be in their late twenties—the first with a shaved head, got out and stepped up to Michael and Blake. They were still sitting on the bike.

"What's up, guys?" The other man said, wearing a heavy metal T-shirt and baggy shorts. When he turned to the other, Blake could see he sported a ponytail.

"Your friend there in the van tells us . . . you might be willing to talk to someone we know," he said. "You guys agree that would be alright?"

"Let her out of the car," Michael bravely demanded. "I want to see if she's OK."

"No problem, boss. Don't worry, she's just fine . . . Jaime, go let the lady out."

The other young man, with a strong Hispanic accent and tattooed arms, opened the side door of the van. He reached in and helped Tuwa out where she stood on the parking lot. Both could see her hands were tied behind her.

"Tuwa, are you OK? Michael asked, climbing off his bike. He started toward her, but the first man held up his hand in a menacing motion that made it clear he should not proceed. Instead, Tuwa's captor stepped over and carefully removed the tape from her mouth.

"There now," he directed her. "Tell your friend you're OK . . . See, she's just fine, boss."

"That right, Tuwa? . . .You OK?"

She just nodded in compliance.

"So listen, people," the first man said. "We're gonna just chill here a few minutes until the guys I work for come by to chat with you. See . . .we don't get paid if you guys leave or Miss Pocahontas here escapes. You guys copy that?"

"Yeah we copy," Michael said. "But if anything happens to my friend, I'm going to cut off your head with a dull knife and nail it to the wall by your ears . . . You copy that, Junior?"

The man laughed with bravado. "Hey, Jaime . . . this guy wants to play it hard with us. Think we outa . . ."

Just then two black, late model sedans came around the corner and approached the parked van and Michael's motorcycle." The young man answering to Michael's threat was quickly silent and just waited.

As the two cars rolled up closer and shut off their engines, Blake could hear someone inside one of the cars speaking on the phone.

Out of one car an agile male stepped out, wearing what appeared in the semi-darkness to be a light-blue or gray hoodie. His face was indistinguishable in the low lighting and shadow of the hood. He walked up closer to Blake and Michael and in a strong foreign accent spoke.

"You have twenty-four hours," he said softly. "Anything you have . . . from out there in the desert . . . which would be of interest to your authorities . . . you must give to us."

Michael's eyes met Tuwa's. "What makes you think we have anything like that?" Michael asked, equally as softly.

"Because of your business out here. We know you might have taken something that is . . . clearly not yours. We would just like to have it, that's all."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Michael answered in a restrained voice. "My friend's an archaeologist. She works out here frequently."

"That does not say much for you two, my friends."

"Look. We just spent the day with her. That's all!"

"Search them!"  the hooded man demanded of the men from the van.

It was now obvious to Blake that the accent was probably Russian.

"I was informed earlier by telephone that your friend here, has already been searched." He turned his hooded head toward Tuwa. "And I hope that was not uncomfortable for you. But both of you will now do the same for us." he demanded. "Put your arms out!"

Both Michael and Blake complied, knowing they did not at that point possess anything the men might be looking for.

The two subservient men from the van frisked Michael and Blake harshly, ripping open their shirts and patting down their jeans, socks and shoes

"Alright,|" the hooded man said in a resigned manner. "I told you. In just twenty-four hours your life could be become more complicated. And just to make sure it doesn't . . .let me suggest you meet us back here. At this precise hour and place . . . and have what you know we are looking for. Follow my plan, and you each will be rewarded."

He signaled to the other car and another man wearing a hood emerged from his vehicle. He carried a briefcase, and after approaching them, opened it to reveal its contents. There before them was what appeared to be stacks of neatly wrapped bundles of 100-dollar bills.

There are three-hundred thousand dollars there," the first hooded man said. "One-hundred for each of you. If you bring us what you found . . . its yours. Tax free."

The three stared at the money.

"If you don't . . . we'll, let's just say . . . I am very good at what I do."

All remained silent.

"My employees will now take your beautiful friend back to where she left her Jeep. You can follow if you wish.

Both Blake and Michael looked at each other, and then at Tuwa.

The hooded man spoke for the last time. "We hope our little meeting tonight will bring you good fortune, my friends . . . and good health tomorrow. For it would be extremely bad fortune for all of you . . . if you chose not to."

The briefcase was closed and taken to one of the black vehicles. Tuwa was led back inside the van. As it left the parking area, Michael and Blake were close behind.

* * *