24 Declassified: Head Shot (2009) (18 page)

Frith said, “That must’ve been some purge.”

Jack nodded. “A real Night of the Long Knives.”

Armstrong said, “It sounds plausible but one aspect puzzles me. After taking such pains to hide the bus, why not leave the bodies inside?”

Jack said, “I picked up on that, too. It’s a key question. Why not leave the bodies inside? It suggests that discovery of the bus by the authorities is less important than the discovery of the bodies. For some reason, the bodies must not be found. Why not?

“One answer comes to mind. Whose bodies are they? What if Prewitt himself was one of the ones purged? Suppose the cult leader and his loyalists were eliminated by an upstart faction. That development would electrify the rest of his crowd, namely the hundreds of rank-and-file members outside the inner circle. Many of whom are known to reside in this state to be close to their guru.

“The usurpers could be the ones planning a strike against the Round Table. Prewitt and his loyalists opposed it so they had to go. But the plotters still require the assistance of Zealots outside the Red Notch cadre to carry out their plan. True believers who’d jump to obey the commands of their grand exalted leader Prewitt would balk if the orders came from someone else, some upstart who’s trying to take over the whole works.”

Armstrong frowned, stroking her chin. “Prewitt’s death—murder—would have the members scrambling like an overturned anthill if it were known.”

Jack went on, “Or it could work the other way. Maybe Prewitt’s in favor of a strike and liquidated all those who opposed him. That would split the cult, too, at a critical time when unity is required for a Sky Mount action.”

He smacked a fist against his palm. “All of which makes it vital that those bodies be found—and quick!”

Armstrong said, “Yes, but how?”

Jack said, “I think I’ve got a lead. A clue. If I’m right we won’t have to look very far.” He indicated a gaping hole in the ground about a hundred feet east of the shed. “See that ventilator shaft?”

The others turned to look at where he was pointing. He went on, “There’s something different about it from the other holes in the ground on top of the bluff. I noticed it when I was up on the roof of the shed. It stands out when you see it from above. What it is, is that the soil around the hole is a different color from the rest of the terrain. It’s darker. Like maybe somebody raked it up to cover their tracks.”

Armstrong said, “It’s worth a look.”

The group crossed toward the shaft. The sun was a bit past the zenith, and the team members cast blobs of shadow that slanted slightly east.

The mouth of the shaft was an unnaturally regular circle of blackness gaping in the middle of the ground. It was not boarded over or fenced in. It was about thirty feet in diameter and was ringed by a brown band of soil. Beyond the ring the ground was light brown streaked with tans and grays.

Sanchez said, “It is a different color.” Jack said, “There’s no tracks running through it, either.”

Holtz said, “That doesn’t mean anything. Nobody’s going to ride a dirt bike or off-road vehicle too close to the edge.”

Jack said, “Not many weeds or bushes, either. And no trash, bottles, beer cans, and the like.”

The group fanned out in an arc bordering a section of the dark band. There was a clear line of demarcation between it and the surrounding lighter-colored soil. Jack dug his heel into the light-colored soil, gouging out a patch several inches deep. The soil that he uncovered was the same dark color as the ring bordering the shaft. He said, “How close can you get to the edge here anyway?”

Anne Armstrong said, “I wouldn’t get too close.”

Jack stepped into the ring of dark soil and moved toward the rim of the shaft. He moved slowly, carefully, halting about four feet away from the edge. He could see the edge of the rim opposite him on the other side of the shaft. The shaft was a hole bored straight down through the ground.

He took off his baseball cap, folded it in two, and stuck it in his back pocket. He got down on his knees and lay flat on the ground, feeling the warmth of the earth beneath him. Frith and Sanchez crouched behind him, each holding one of Jack’s ankles— a safety precaution in case the ground at the rim should give way.

Jack stuck his head over the edge and looked down. The shaft plunged more than a hundred feet straight down. The sun was almost directly overhead, allowing him to see most of the bottom of the hole, except where a fingernail sliver of shadow edged the western rim. A mound of loose dirt and rubble lay at the bottom of the pit. He couldn’t tell what color it was.

He eased back from the edge and had Frith hand him the field glasses that the latter had been holding. Jack took another look, this time through the binoculars. He could see now that the bottom of the pit was a junction point with four tunnel mouths opening on it. The tunnels were set ninety degrees apart. The dirt mound covered most of the tunnels so that only their arched tops showed above it.

The binoculars brought the dirt mound into clearer focus but he was still unable to draw any conclusions from it. It looked the same color as its surroundings. Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe not.

Something sticking out of the dirt mound might have been a tree branch or it could have been a half-buried body part, an arm or a leg. Maybe it, too, was a trick of the light, maybe not. He couldn’t tell from up here.

Jack withdrew from the edge and once more felt the relief of having his feet planted on solid ground. He said, “I want to see what’s at the bottom of that pit.”

***

The maps that Anne Armstrong had printed out earlier indicated the location of the tunnel leading to the shaft in question. Guesswork and a degree of uncertainty were involved because the original maps were old and not definitive.
But the tunnel she and Jack selected seemed to fit the bill.

Silvertop’s north, east, and south faces had had so many tunnels drilled into them that they looked like Swiss cheese. The entrances had all been sealed up a long time ago. It would be necessary to break into the desired tunnel, but the team had come well prepared for such contingencies.

The tunnel mouth was located on the southern slope about a hundred and twenty-five feet below the summit and a hundred yards or so east of that face’s western edge where it met at right angles a ridge running north-south, a lower section of the same ridge that Jack and Frith had climbed earlier to survey the top of the bluff.

The pickup truck and SUV were moved close to the southern edge of the hilltop overlooking the tunnel. Hard hats, flashlights, pry bars, crowbars, a pair of bolt cutters, and other tools were unloaded from the rear of the Explorer and distributed among the team members, except for Holtz. Holtz would remain behind to guard the vehicles and keep watch on the canyon as Bailey had done earlier.

Frith and Holtz had the two M–16s, and Frith wanted someone armed with that weapon to stand sentry duty. The M–16 was better suited for long-distance shooting than the M–4s wielded by Bailey and Sanchez. The squad leader had not thought it necessary earlier for the posted sentry to be so armed, but that had been before the blue bus had been found. That finding upped the potential threat level. Frith was going down to the tunnel so Holtz would stay up top.

Armstrong radioed the news of the discovery to Central at Pike’s Ford. Central replied that it would be sending a forensics team out to the site. The lab crew had to come out from headquarters in Denver and would reach Silvertop in roughly two and a half hours. Armstrong informed Central that her team would now attempt to access the shaft through the tunnel. Central acknowledged and Armstrong signed off.

Jack, Armstrong, Frith, Sanchez, and Bailey climbed down the slope to the tunnel. The face’s low grade made for an easy descent.

The south face, like those of the east and north, was terraced.
The tunnel accessing the shaft was aproned by a fifteen-foot- wide ledge.
The entrance was a rounded arch ten feet high with a base of about the same width. It was boarded over. A metal sign nailed to the planks warned that trespassing was a Federal offense and that violators would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. It bore the seal of the U.S. Bureau of Mines.

Jack and Bailey went to work on the barrier with crowbar and pry bar. The boards were old and flimsy and came apart with little trouble. There was a squeal of rusty nails giving way and the splintering of planks. A few minutes’ hard work was all it took to open up a man-sized gap in the wooden wall. One of the last boards to give way had the sign on it; it hit the dirt with a thud.

Sanchez said, “Now you’ve done it. Wait till the Bureau of Mines hears of this.”

Bailey said, “I’ll never tell. It’s top secret.”

Frith said, “Let’s widen that hole for easier access and exits.” He and Sanchez took their turn with the tools and soon doubled the size of the gap.

Jack, Armstrong, and Bailey were going inside, Frith and Sanchez would remain behind at the entrance.
The three would- be tunnel probers donned hard hats and equipped themselves with flashlights.
Jack hefted a pry bar. It was five feet long with a pointed tip and a wedge at the opposite end. He said, “Might come in handy for poking into that mound at the bottom of the shaft.”

Bailey said, “So will this.” He picked up an entrenching tool. It had a three-foot-long shaft with a fold-out sharp-pointed spade at one end.

Frith said, “Leave your weapon here, you won’t be needing it underground.” Bailey handed him his M–4. “I hate to be without Baby.”

Frith said, “I’ll take good care of it.”

“Here’s the ammo pouch.” Bailey unslung an olive drab canvas pouch that he wore suspended over one shoulder by a strap. It bulged with loaded clips for the M–4. He gave that to Frith, too.

Sanchez said. “Hey, I hope none of you have claustrophobia.” Bailey said, “This’s a hell of a time to be asking but no, not me.”

Armstrong smiled and said, “I’m fine.”
Jack said, “I’m used to being in tight spots.”

Frith saluted them with a half wave. “Have a nice trip.” Jack stepped through the gap in the boards and into the tunnel, Armstrong and Bailey following. It felt noticeably cooler once he was out of direct sunlight. Light flooded through the hole in the barrier, shining about a dozen feet into the interior. Beyond that the tunnel got dark in a hurry.

The tunnel had been carved out of living rock and was shored up on the walls and roof at regular intervals by timbers and crossbeams that were thick with dust and dark with age. The floor was covered by a layer of dirt. No human footprints marred it but it was marked by tracks
made by small varmints, most likely marmots and field mice.
There was a flinty smell in the air underlaid with a trace of dampness and moisture; otherwise it seemed fresh and cool.

The hard hats had built-in flashlights above the center of their rounded brims. Jack reached up and switched his on, the others doing the same. He said, “The air seems pretty breathable.”

Anne Armstrong said, “That’s those air shafts working, providing natural ventilation. There’s a slight draft blowing from deeper in the tunnel.”

Jack said, “Yes, I can feel it.”

She said, “Silvertop has no history of methane pockets or other gases, so we won’t need respirators.”

She went a dozen paces into the tunnel, blackness engulfing her except for the beam from her hard hat’s built-in light. She took a spray can from one of her pockets, removed the cap, and turned to face the wall on her left. She thumbed down the nozzle, spraying an arrow on the rock at shoulder height. The arrow, pale green and glowing in the dark, pointed back toward the tunnel mouth. She said, “Luminous paint for trail markers. Just in case.”

Jack said, “Good idea.”

She sw
itched on her handheld baton fl
ashlight, sending a beam deep into the tunnel’s interior. Jack and Bailey did the same.

Bailey said, “Before we get started—I’m the most expendable so I should go first.” He looked Arm-strong in the face, then Jack. He grinned. “What, no arguments?”

Jack would have liked to take the point but what Bailey said made sense. Armstrong must have felt the same; she nodded in agreement.

Jack said to Bailey, “You take the pry bar, it’ll be useful if you need to probe any doubtful footing.” He swapped Bailey the bar for the entrenching tool. They fell into a file with Bailey at the head, Arm-strong in the middle, and Jack bringing up the rear. Bailey gripped the bar at mid-shaft with his right hand, holding it horizontally at his side. He said, “Here goes nothing,” and started off, the others following.

The tunnel drove north deep into the guts of Silver-top bluff. The trio came to the first branching at fifty yards in and halted. Mouths for side pocket excavations opened to the left and right of the main tunnel.

Jack looked back. The exit was a dot of brightness a long way off. Armstrong sprayed a green arrow on the main tunnel wall. Jack ran a comm check on his headset transceiver. Frith’s reply was mushy with interference but intelligible.

They continued onward along the main tunnel. It was much cooler here, sending a chill along Jack’s spine. He hoped it was from the coolness. There was something primal about venturing deep into the bowels of the earth, an instinctual aversion to having all those thousands of tons of solid rock between oneself and the open air. A nagging anxiety that poked up from somewhere deep in the psychic basement and sought to override logic and cool-nerved competency.