David Dun - At The Edge

He walked what he guessed was a hundred yards before he came to a small clearing. At the edge of the clearing, but back under the tree canopy and nearly out of sight from the air, he found the man-made reservoir, some forty feet in diameter. It looked to be about five feet deep. Like an aboveground backyard pool, it appeared to have a liner, but its sides were made of concrete. Leading in two directions from the reservoir was a four-inch-diameter plastic hose. One hose went in the direction Dan had come; the other went nowhere and was coiled near the edge of the clearing.

Vehicles obviously frequented the area; this reservoir must be a center of activity. Looking to the far side of the clearing, he saw a portable toilet. In front of the plastic structure, a heavy man sat in a chair not far from what looked like a boarded-up mine shaft. The man was reading a book with a bloodred cover. Although still in the bushes and virtually invisible, Dan nearly stepped into the clearing. The thought was unnerving. Stooping down, he removed a pair of field glasses from his pack.

Dan saw that the man was armed with a prominently displayed semiautomatic pistol. With the binoculars he saw what looked to be an underground tunnel entry that was not seriously boarded up; someone had merely leaned the lumber against the rock face and over the opening. Somehow, he guessed, the reservoir and the mine were connected. In fact, the coiled-up line could have led from the reservoir to the mine. He had to look in that mine shaft. Removing his camera from the pack, he took several photos at slow-shutter speed from a tiny collapsible tripod.

As he studied the guard, it became apparent that he was not watching the area. In the movies someone would knock him out, but the whole notion of attacking a potentially innocent man and giving him a concussion was out of the question. He would just have to hope the guy didn't look around.

If they were operating in secret, it made sense that they would close everything down for an inspection. He wondered if Maria's group would observe this area or if they would be led around it.

Within about forty feet of the mine entrance, there was heavy forest. Moving as quickly as he could, he walked around the perimeter of the clearing, careful to remain far enough back in the trees to stay hidden.

When he arrived at the forest edge nearest the mine entrance, he quickly put on his socks and boots. It made him feel less vulnerable. The guard turned a page and didn't pause to look up. A heavy black holster with cuffs and pepper spray on his belt completed the police-officer look that private-security people often affect. The man could, Dan realized, be an off-duty cop.

It would only take one glance for the guard to see a man running in the open to the mine. Even peripheral vision might do it. Maybe he shouldn't try. To psych himself for the sprint, he made himself think of all the reasons the man wouldn't risk shooting him on sight.

He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly, took a last look around, and ran on his toes, as quietly as he was able, all the way to the mine entrance. In seconds he moved. three boards to the side, then slipped in. In a few more seconds he had the boards back in place. Not a sound came from the guard. Dan waited a moment for his heart to slow. Light shone through the wooden slats, creating a halo near the entrance. Behind him it was black and cool. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a penlight and played it around the confined space. On the rock wall were pegs; on the pegs hung eight yellow suits smeared with gray, dustlike particles of soil.

Those outfits, he was certain, served as a barrier against some kind of toxin. Next to the suits there were bottles of compressed air. Of course, if it were an old sulphur mine, it could be that the earth had acted as a retort and created acid. He had read about that. But if that were true, why would these people want to go down inside?

Dan knew nothing about mines, nor did he understand the use of toxic suits. For that reason his next thought pushed bile up his throat. He had to explore inside to learn what concerned the people who owned it. He had to see what lay at the end of the plastic pipe.

Fear is just a state of mind, he told himself as he began to put on one of the larger-looking suits, leaving seven suits on the wall and one empty peg. Even a casual glance would reveal that an intruder was down the shaft.

On the suit's headpiece was a light that could be turned on by twisting the portion that housed the lens and the bulb. A mask fitted with the air supply sealed off his face. He checked the regulator and verified that the tank was nearly full. It was similar to the scuba regulators he had used when diving off Hawaii. With everything on, including gloves, no portion of his body was exposed. He removed the mask and let it hang around his neck, thinking that he would wait until the air turned bad. As he walked, he remembered stories about miners and canaries. The need for such a bird would imply that bad air might not be easily sensed. Doubt filled him as he stopped to put on the mask and turn on the regulator.

As he continued deep into the mine, there was an unsettling sense of aloneness. Beyond the beam of his light, darkness housed the lurking unknown. Other than the sounds of his footsteps and his deep breaths, there was silence. Without the breeze there was an uncommon stillness.

Down the center of the mine ran an old set of rails, miniature by train standards but sufficient to handle a half ton of ore in a tiny car that could be pushed by men or pulled by cable. In many places the rails were loosened from the dilapidated ties. The mine could be a century or more old, he realized.

The rock sidewalls and ceiling of the shaft were blue-gray in color and the floor relatively smooth but overlaid with fine gray-white dust, except along the walls, where shards of rock had been pushed to make walking easier. There were old rotten timbers overlaid with new. In many places only the original timbers remained in place. It looked like a reasonably serious but temporary patch job.

After hundreds of yards he came to a Y and followed the plastic pipe down the left fork. Going a little farther, he came to a vertical shaft. The horizontal shaft ended about twenty yards beyond the downturn. Above the vertical shaft were beams, one of which held a large rusted metal pulley. Next to it, affixed to a new timber, was a smaller and shiny stainless-steel pulley that held a Vi-inch cable that ran onto a power drum. Affixed to the cable were stirrups that would enable a person to ride the cable down the shaft.

Over the edge he could see only darkness at the end of the headlamp's reach. Cracking open his air mask, he noticed a noxious odor, like gasoline. It wasn't suffocating, but it was clearly noticeable, and it was coming up the shaft.

Dan walked over to the power winch and examined it. Two buttons on a handheld box controlled the winch motor. It had to be operated from where he stood, which meant that for one man to go down on the cable, another had to run the controls.

Hunting around the machinery, he found a toolbox with a screwdriver. By jamming the screwdriver in alongside the power button, he discovered it would stay in the on position. This way he could at least ride the cable down. To come up, he planned to climb, although he wondered what he would do if it were hundreds of feet down. He studied the drum. The way it looked, there couldn't be over a couple of hundred feet of cable. That was reassuring. Looking down the shaft once again, he studied the walls and noted with satisfaction that they were irregular. At least near the top there were outcroppings large enough to stand on, which meant he could rest and climb. No way could a man climb a 1/2-inch cable without footholds.