Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

Dean and Sonia had tried to stop Richardson from broadcasting Marchand’s identity, but it was too late. It had been the smart thing to do … until they learned the location of the women. Now they feared they’d forced Noel Mar chand to act rashly.

“I’ll go with you and explain the blueprints.” Shef field said, pushing his glasses up on his nose for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“It’s dangerous.”

“So is the Grouch! I understand the risk, but you don’t.”

Dean didn’t want any civilians with him, especially this old nearsighted curator, but he didn’t see another way. They needed Sheffield to interpret the arcane blueprints, but they couldn’t sit around the sheriff’s station.

“You’re with me,” Dean said, “Sonia, Brian, Cammarata and three of the SWAT team. Brian, we’re going to have to send half your team on the road. Callahan will go with the other pilot and three SWAT. Trace, if you can lead the ground contingent and stay alert for any sentries. If Marchand is anywhere nearby, the longer he’s in the dark about us, the better.”

Brian pulled his team aside for orders.

Dean took out a highlighter and marked the map. “Sheriff, I need your men to put up roadblocks here … here … and here. That should effectively cut off all escape routes if someone is already up there, and prevent anyone else from showing up.”

“We can’t go there, that’s Rio Diablo land. They’re not the friendliest Indians around.”

“Get as close as you can.”

“That I can do.”

Dean glanced at his watch. “Brian, two minutes.”

“Roger that.”

Dean made a call to the Western Regional tribal counsel leader. He’d obtained his home phone from a local congressman who was friends with the chief.

“Chief Raintree?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Dean Hooper, assistant director of the FBI. I’m calling as a courtesy to tell you that we’re engaging in an operation adjacent to tribal lands that may cross over into your property.”

“Which property?”

“Rio Diablo Rancherita.”

“Ah.”

“Sir?”

“We have our own investigation into Rio Diablo, Director Hooper. I’m not at liberty to share our ongoing investigation, but I appreciate the call, and you won’t have any trouble from the Council if there’s a need to cross into our sacred lands.”

“Thank you, Chief. I appreciate your cooperation.”

Dean hung up. That was easier than he’d expected. He hoped the rest of the operation would run as smoothly.

Sonia listened to the curator explain that the Grouch Mine had produced over seven million dollars in gold-a large haul for a small mine-but the preponderance of accidents had left the owner bankrupt. When the bank seized his property, he fought the police who came to remove him, then fell hundreds of feet to his death in a condemned shaft.

“The geologists who sited the mine made a critical error in judgment related to groundwater. There are hot springs a few miles from here, and we now know that they run deep underground, and because of a unique combination of rock and soil on just this small acreage, they caused underground floods and the shifting earth collapsed shafts. Had the owner simply built the mine one mile down the road, still on his property, he would have tapped into the same vein of gold without the tragic problems.”

While Sonia appreciated the history lesson, she was more interested in what the marks on the yellowed blueprints meant. “What’s this?” she asked of a red X.

“Collapsed tunnel. Here … this is elevation. The entrance itself is stable, but you’ll want to watch your footing. Right … here”-he pointed to a double red line-“the ground gave way between five and twenty feet. There are markings and warnings all over the mine, but you’ll want to watch for neon orange marks. If you see them, stop. That’s the sign for danger, and any step you take other than retracing your exact steps could land you in deep trouble.”

Sonia pointed to what appeared to be a room. “What’s this? It looks like an office.”

“It used to be. The foreman worked from there, the men would break there. It’s three stories belowground, and probably the only safe place in the whole structure.”

“That’s where they are,” Sonia said. “It’s secure, they can’t get out, it’s dark.”

“What about air?” Dean asked.

“There’s plenty of ventilation on the upper levels, but after a hundred feet I wouldn’t guarantee it. I haven’t been to the Grouch in years, it could have changed dramatically since the last inspection.”

The night was clear and the mine seemed to come out of nowhere as they approached from above. The towering metal roof had rusted with time, a narrow and forbidding remnant of the past. The three-quarter waning moon backlit the peaks, casting a ghostly bluish light over the land.

Brian asked Dean over the headset, “How close do you want me to get?”

“As close as you can,” Dean said. “The noise will alert anyone near the mine, but we don’t have a choice. It’s nearly midnight. We can’t be running through the woods in unfamiliar territory searching for the mine.”

Sheffield said, “The road is right there. See? There’s a good-sized turnout just past the mine to the northeast.”

Brian inspected the map and instruments. “I can do that.”

He radioed the other pilot with the information, then said to Dean, “We can land, but there’s only room for one. The other chopper will land point-four miles west.”

“Roger.”

Sonia stared at the blueprints, searing them into her brain as best she could. “How do we get to that room?” she asked Sheffield.

“There’s only one way. The old elevator shaft. It’s a manual elevator.”

“Manual elevator.”

“Crank, pulleys, ropes, chains. You get in and turn the crank by hand to go up and down.”

“Ropes,” Sonia said. “They couldn’t possibly be in any condition to hold any weight.”

“If they were worn the inspectors would have marked them with a big orange X, and I don’t see anything here.”

Sonia swallowed heavily. The closer they got, the more nervous she became. She would not allow her claustrophobia to stop her.

Dean looked at her. He knew. She hated that she was so obvious about it. She closed her eyes as the helicopter descended.

It was cold up here on the mountain. They jumped out of the choppers. Brian ordered one of his team members to stand guard, leaving only seven of them to approach the mine.

“Hooper,” Brian said, “we should wait for the rest of the team before we go in.”

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Both Dean and Sonia shook their heads. “We don’t know where Marchand is,” Dean said. “Time is the one thing we don’t have.”

Guided only by flashlights and the waning moon, they walked briskly and cautiously down the road and around to the fenced entrance to the property. The lock looked new, and Sonia wondered if it had been put in place by Marchand’s people. The whirl-whirl of the second helicopter faded into the night. Sonia tried to breathe easier, but the pounding in her chest vibrated so loudly she couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing through her veins.

She had to save those girls. But the mere thought of going down a manual elevator shaft to a room more than a hundred feet below the surface of the earth had her hands coated with sweat.

Brian cut the lock off the fence and they reached the mine minutes later, staying among the trees. Dean motioned for everyone to turn off their lights and be silent.

Sonia heard nothing but her fear.

Dean whispered, “Okay, two of us need to stay here on lookout. Under no circumstances is anyone to go off alone. You all heard Dr. Sheffield’s instructions? You see neon orange, turn around. Cammarata, Knight, stay up top with Sheffield. The rest of you, with me.”