Part 18 (1/2)

The crack of gunfire mingled with the sound of thunder as the two men moved toward the cliff, bulls locked in combat, stumbling over Ali's crumpled legs, nearly falling onto Eddie. Then they were grappling backward, propelled by the momentum and the force of their grunts and shouts.

Thunder came again; the sky was white with lightning. The men stopped struggling. Suspended on the edge: two figures outlined against the sky. Father John realized they were falling.

He dove toward them, grabbing at fistfuls of the plastic slicker, the red baseball jacket, his fingers digging for skin and bone-something to hold on to. Everything was blurred. The rain beat on his head and shoulders. Pain exploded inside him. He felt the slicker slide through one hand. Wentworth was falling over the edge, clawing at Delaney as he fell, grabbing on to the other man's legs.

Father John held on to Delaney's arm as hard as he could. He dug his boots into the sandstone trying to counter the force pulling the man down.

He could feel Delaney start to go.

A shadow moved at his side, and Eddie reached out and grabbed Delaney's other arm as the man dropped over the edge.

Suddenly Father John felt the pressure release, and Delaney was free. Wentworth had let go. A high-pitched scream rent the air for a terrible moment, then was lost in the sounds of the rain.

”Hold on!” he shouted. Eddie was still gripping the man's other arm, but Delaney was like deadweight dangling in s.p.a.ce. Father John could feel the red jacket start to slip through his hands. Like a jolt, it came to him that Eddie had let go and that he and Delaney were going to fall together into the darkness.

And then: a tightness around his waist, arms squeezing his rib cage. The pain made him retch, but he was steady now. He had a good hold on Delaney.

”Grab onto the edge!” he shouted.

Slowly Delaney's free hand came up and grasped for a purchase. Finally the fingers wrapped around a jagged piece of sandstone.

”Get ready!” Father John shouted again. ”We're going to pull you up!”

He was already pulling, praying Eddie would hold on. Delaney's body started to rise over the edge: the light matted hair, the red jacket scrunched under his arms. And then the man was on his belly, legs extended into the darkness. Father John managed another hard yank, then another, until Delaney was sprawled motionless across the ledge.

He dropped down on one knee. The pain hit him like a bolt of lightning. There was no air. Seconds pa.s.sed. Finally his breath started again, hard and fast, each breath like an inhalation of fire. He could hear his heart pounding. The thunder boomed overhead, a cacophony of sound that shook the ledge. ”Wentworth's dead,” he heard himself say.

”Thunder killed him,” Eddie said. He was standing at the edge looking down. ”Thunder came and destroyed the evil.”

Below, a light was moving through the darkness. There was no question now: the light was coming up the path. Father John felt a surge of relief. Slinger had gotten the message.

Delaney was sobbing beside him, a low, guttural noise. Father John laid a hand on the man's shoulders. ”You're gonna be okay,” he said. Then he crawled over to the girl. The ledge was wet and cold beneath his hands. He picked up the thin wrist and probed once more for a pulse.

”They hit her pretty hard,” Eddie said behind him. ”I thought they killed her.”

Delaney's sobs rose into a long-sustained howl, like that of a wounded animal.

The pulse was there, faint but regular. ”She's alive,” Father John said.

”O'Malley. You up there?” Slinger's voice sounded fuzzy in the rain.

”We need help!” he shouted down at the light wavering below.

There were the sounds of boots scratching over wet rock, someone gasping for breath. A minute pa.s.sed before Slinger hauled himself over the boulders and onto the ledge, s.h.i.+ning a flashlight about. The light stopped on the girl. ”Medic!” the detective shouted.

A couple of uniformed officers were coming up behind him. One of them bounded forward and went straight to the girl. He checked her throat and wrist, then shone a flashlight onto her face. She looked like a sleeping child, eyelids flickering a moment before she awoke.

”No!” she screamed. The small body began to shake, pulling back toward the cliff, as if she could disappear into the sandstone with the spirits.

Father John leaned closer. ”It's okay, Ali. It's over.” She stared up at him out of eyes wild with disbelief.

”Eddie?” she said finally.

”I'm here.” The Indian moved between Father John and the medic and took the girl's hand.

”You want to tell me what the h.e.l.l happened up here?” Slinger said.

”I need a phone, Slinger,” Father John said.

The overhead light flickered inside the detective's cruiser. Outside was only the darkness and the rain pounding on the roof.

Slinger lifted his head from the notebook balanced on the steering wheel. He'd been scribbling for the last five minutes.

It had taken almost an hour to walk down the path. An officer leading the way, s.h.i.+ning the flashlight ahead, then Eddie and Delaney and two officers carrying Ali in a tarp.

Father John had followed the tarp, every step sending shock waves through him. Slinger was beside him, grabbing his arm from time to time to steady him. He must've been stumbling, he realized. He felt weak and dizzy with pain.

On the way down he'd managed to tell the detective about the diamond deposit in the valley, about the boss in Denver-Baider-ordering Buck Wentworth and Jimmie Delaney to kill anyone who found out about the deposit, about the fight on the ledge and Wentworth's body somewhere below on the cliffs.

After the two officers had gotten Ali into the back of a van, the medic insisted on taking a closer look at him. He'd crawled into the van beside the girl. The soaked jacket came off, then the s.h.i.+rt that clung to his skin. Fingers probed at him. ”Got a broken rib, maybe two,” the medic announced. Finally the tape, tightening around him. Father John had groaned with the pain.

”You'll want to get an X-ray at the hospital . . .”

He had no intention of going to the hospital. He'd managed to get out of the van and stumble through the rain, past the sedan with Eddie and Delaney in the backseat, to another sedan where Slinger was bent over the notebook.

He'd crawled into the backseat. ”I've got to warn Vicky Holden before-”

”Before what?”

”Before Baider kills her.”

”Look, Father, we've got a team coming up to try and retrieve whatever's left of Wentworth's body. Soon's we wrap this up, we'll send an official report to the Denver police.”

That's when he'd said he had to use the phone now.

The detective looked across the seat at him. ”Take it easy, Father.” He reached inside his raincoat and handed him a black cell phone.

Father John dialed Vicky's number at home. He could make out the numbers on the dashboard clock: eight-oh-five. She should be home. He concentrated on the electronic buzz of a phone ringing somewhere in Denver, barely aware of the tape digging into his skin. His own pain receded in the distance.

”Pick up,” he said into the receiver. ”For G.o.d's sake, pick up.”

31.

The sound of the phone startled her, erupting as it did out of the silence that enveloped the house. Vicky stood in the entry a moment, gripping the doork.n.o.b, staring into the shadows. No one was there, and yet something was different. She tried to make out what it might be. An unfamiliar odor. Aftershave? Perspiration?

The phone continued ringing.