To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Cover your mouths,” Dad yelled.

  I looked up. Like a wall of muddy water, a cloud of thick dust was rolling toward us. It had reached the meadow and was flattening out. Just before it enveloped the ATVs I saw that the machine Cody and I had come on was on its side and gasoline was trickling from the gas cap. Before I could even process that, the machine disappeared. Moments later the roiling cloud was on us and we instantly began to choke.

  We waited almost for a minute, huddled over with our eyes closed and our mouths clamped shut. Gradually the dust cloud passed and began to dissipate. I opened my eyes and slowly straightened, looking around.

  “Danni, are you all right?”

  It was Dad. He stepped out from behind his tree and started toward me. “I’m okay,” I sang out. “I’m okay.”

  He turned the other way, but Grandpère and Cody were already coming toward us. Huge relief flooded over me. We looked like ghosts coming out of some haunted mist. I began to brush the dust off my shirt and arms. And then I realized how lucky it was that we had stepped behind the trees for protection.

  Dad joined me. He looked down at my hand. I did too and saw that it was bleeding. “It’s all right,” I said. “Just a cut from a flying rock.” Then I pointed at our ATV. “It’s leaking gas.” I started forward.

  “No, Danni. Not yet.”

  That brought me up short. Was someone out there? I didn’t think so, but I sure didn’t want to be wrong. But at the same time, I knew we couldn’t end up with an empty gas tank. We still had a long way to go to get back to our truck. I took Le Gardien in my hands and held it tightly for several seconds, half closing my eyes. “No,” I finally said. “It’s okay. We’re alone.”

  CHAPTER 7

  When we came wheeling in on our vehicles to Mom’s little painting spot, her surprise quickly turned to annoyance. “I thought you said I had another hour or two.”

  “Um ... yeah. Something came up.”

  What an understatement. The amazing thing was that Mom had heard the explosion but decided it was a sonic boom and thought nothing more about it.

  I wondered how much Dad would tell her. I shouldn’t have. Holding something back from her would have suggested that she wasn’t strong enough to handle it. So, after asking Grandpère to call Clay and give him a report, he sat her down and told her all of it.

  I watched the blood drain out of her face, but she remained calm. “Help me pack up my things,” she said when he was through. “I think we need to go home.”

  Just then, Grandpère finished with Clay. “Hang on,” he said. “Clay’s got a team of four agents down at the dive site at Lake Powell. He’s sending two of them to us. He wants them to go up to the mine and treat it as a crime scene. I told him we’d wait for them at the campground where we left our truck. They won’t have ATVs, so we’ll leave two of ours with them.”

  “That’s good,” Dad said. “Where’s Clay?”

  “Actually,” Grandpère said, “he’s almost to Price at the moment. He was already bringing a man down to be with us at Lake Powell. So they’re about two hours out. He’ll meet us at home.”

  “Very good.” Dad turned to me and Cody. “All right. You two help your Mom pack up her things. I’m going to take a look around.” He got his rifle out and started back toward the main road, moving quietly, on full alert.

  Mom watched him go, her face somber. “If that’s meant to make me feel better, it isn’t working.”

  Clay’s team still hadn’t arrived by the time we had the two ATVs refueled and the other two loaded on the trailer. So Dad suggested we break out our lunch—totally forgotten until then—while we waited. There were a few people in the campground and occasional traffic going back and forth on the road, so we didn’t feel like we were in any danger. Mom agreed, and we got the coolers down from the trailer.

  While we ate quietly, we avoided talking about what had happened for a time, but inevitably our conversation turned back to it. “So the mine is gone?” Mom asked.

  Grandpère nodded, face grim. “And half the mountainside with it. There may still be a lot of rhodium up there, but the Danny Boy Mine has, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist.”

  Dad spoke softly. “Judging from the hole, they must have planted the explosives farther into the tunnel than we went. I assume they left a trip wire or some other triggering device. We were very lucky that we didn’t go in any farther.”

  When Mom shuddered, he instantly saw his mistake. “I’m sorry, Angelique. Let’s not talk about it.”

  “No!” she said firmly. “I want to talk about it. I want to try to make some kind of sense out of all of it. Why would they blow up the mine?”

  I thought that was obvious. “To hide the theft of the ore.”

  But Grandpère shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  We all turned in surprise. “Why do you say that, Jean-Henri?” Dad asked.

  “Think about it. I agree that’s the most obvious reason for destroying the mine, but if that’s the case, why not blow it up immediately when they finished? And why carve ‘Phase Two’ into the wall? No, they wanted us to know the rhodium was gone.”

  “Say that again,” Mom said. “Phase Two?”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention that.” So Dad told her quickly about the strange words we had found carved in the rock face.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. What does it mean?”

  Grandpère shrugged. “It only makes sense if we assume they wanted us to see it.”

  Dad drew in a sharp breath. “But ... hold on. If there was no trip wire inside, then the detonation had to be controlled from outside or by some kind of timer.”

  Grandpère’s head came up slowly. “Or by cell phone. That would be simple enough. Bury the detonator just inside the shaft where it could still receive a signal, then run a wire from there to the explosives.”

  “Which meant they had to be watching the site. They had to have seen us come out of the mine. Maybe they were up on a ridge.”

  “No, I would have felt that,” I said. I wasn’t positive of that, but I was pretty certain.

  “They didn’t have to be close,” Cody said. “Not if they had binoculars.”

  “Which means ...” Grandpère was shaking his head in wonder again. “They wanted us to actually see it blow.”

  “Maybe they were trying to kill us.”

  “Oh, Danni,” Mom cried. “Please don’t say that.”

  But I was already correcting myself. “No, if it was that, why not do it while we were inside the mine? But think about it. I had this terrible feeling of danger and shouted at you guys to run. But ...” I couldn’t believe where my mind was taking me with this.

  “But they didn’t set off the blast until we were safely into the trees,” Dad finished for me.

  I was feeling sick to my stomach. I glanced sideways at Mom and saw she was feeling the same. Dad went over and pulled her close. She buried her face against his shoulder. “Who are these people?” she whispered.

  None of us had an answer to that.

  We were still a few minutes out of Hanksville when Dad’s phone rang. It was Clay. Dad mostly listened and said “Yes” or “Okay.” Finally, he broke in and asked a question. “What does this mean about our trip down to Powell?” He listened for another moment, then, “Right. I totally agree. See you in a while.”

  He hung up and turned to us. “Clay just passed us. He’s left his guy at the house to check things out. But he’s meeting one of his dive team members down at the junction that leads to Lake Powell. Says there’s something he needs to get from him. He’ll be back to us in about an hour.”

  “What did he say about Lake Powell?”

  “He thinks it’s a great idea for us to get away. Now more than ever. But he’s sending a man with us, just to be sure. He has a tent and sleeping ba
g and will rent a boat of his own. For all intents and purposes, he won’t appear to be with us, but he’ll be close enough to keep watch.”

  I saw Mom visibly relax. “Good. Very good.” Then her shoulders straightened. “We’re going to need supper for all of us tonight, as well as a lot of groceries for tomorrow. Since we have some time now, let’s stop at the store.”

  That made me smile. Who but Mom? Always the perfect hostess. And at that moment, I loved her all the more for what she was and for her courage.

  But when we came into town, we went right on through at my request. I remembered our experience at the Chevron station the day before and wasn’t too keen on seeing anyone right then. When I told Mom and Dad that, they agreed, saying they would take us home, then come back for groceries. I ducked down as we passed. Good thing. We had three cars honk and wave, and other people called out to us as we passed.

  I straightened as we cleared the last houses. “Dad? Can I call Rick and tell him what happened?”

  He seemed surprised that I would ask. “Of course,” he said. “He’s a member of our consulting firm. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “In fact,” Mom said, “why don’t you see if he wants to come over to the house? We can pick him up after we finish our shopping. That way he can be there and hear what Clay has to say. And tell him Lake Powell is still on.” She looked at Dad. “I’m really glad they’re going, Lucas. They need to get away from here too.”

  Good point. I was thinking about them coming because it would be fun to have them. Now I realized that there might be danger for Rick’s family too. “Great. I’ll call him as soon as we’re home.”

  When we arrived home, Dad pulled up behind the barn and turned off the engine. Clay’s agent was sitting on the porch in the shade. He waved, then came over and introduced himself.

  Cody was, as usual, the first one out of the truck. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” he called. He headed for the keypad on the garage door.

  “Remember to turn off the alarm,” Dad called.

  I was sliding across the seat to follow him, feeling the need for a potty stop myself by now, when I remembered something. I jumped out of the truck. “Hey, Code. You can go through the garage, but don’t open any of the outside doors yet.”

  He slowed, then called back. “Got it. The doors, right?”

  Grandpère got out beside me. “Doors? What about the doors, Danni?”

  Mom was instantly beside me. “What is it, Carruthers?”

  “I ...” As Dad came over too, suddenly I was feeling pretty stupid. “It’s nothing.”

  He took me by both shoulders. “What?”

  I could feel my face getting warm. “Well ... um ... you see, I had this kind of dumb idea. I guess I’ve been watching too many spy movies. But anyway, you know how it is when the good guys leave their hotel room or wherever they are, they ... um ... put a little thread or something across the door.”

  “So they can tell if someone has been inside while they were gone?” the agent asked.

  Mom sighed, clearly exasperated. “And you did that? My word, Carruthers, you scared the heck out of me.” She whirled and started after Cody.

  Dad was still eyeing me with this funny look. “Stupid, eh?” I said.

  He shrugged. “So let’s go check out your handiwork. See if your instincts were correct or not.”

  A couple of minutes later, as that familiar prickly feeling started crawling up and down my back, I changed my mind about being a dingbat. The front door thread—even harder to see because the porch was in shade now—was still there and intact, as was the one on the French doors that led into the family room. But as we came around to the back door that opened into our laundry room, I pulled up short. The thread was dangling in two pieces, blowing softly in the light breeze.

  Dad, Grandpère and the agent, whose name was Donald Rasmussen, searched the house for five minutes. They didn’t go in with guns drawn, but they moved pretty cautiously as they checked things out. What they were mostly looking for was any sign that something was missing, or that someone had gone through our stuff. But there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. They called us in, and Mom, Cody, and I went up to check the upstairs.

  We gathered in the living room a few minutes later. Grandpère turned to me. “Did you check the duplicate pouch?” I had, of course, taken the real pouch with me.

  “Yes. It’s right where I left it. Bottom drawer of my chest of drawers.”

  “What about your new journal?” Mom asked.

  “Under my pillow, right where I put it this morning.”

  Dad looked at Cody. “And your piggy bank?”

  “On the top shelf of my closet.” Which was also right where he always left it.

  There was silence for a moment. We were all perplexed, but I could see that Grandpère was the most bothered by this. He looked at Dad. “What about the safe?”

  “Perfectly normal. I opened it up. Danni’s journal is still there. Nothing else was touched either.”

  “I’ll check the outbuildings just to be sure,” Donald said, “but those threads are pretty flimsy. A gust of wind rattling the door would be enough to snap it.”

  “Keep talking,” I said sheepishly. “I like your explanation.”

  He smiled. “It was a wise thing to do, Danni. Good thinking on your part.”

  Instantly, I knew Donald Rasmussen and I were going to get along just great.

  Clay drained the last of his glass, then waved Mom off as she lifted the pitcher of lemonade to refill it. “Thank you, Angelique, but no. You’ve already got me ready to bust. I haven’t had anything since a fast-food burrito somewhere around noon, so this was much appreciated.”

  “Yes,” Donald said. “It was great. Thank you, Mrs. McAllister.”

  “It’s Angelique, and you both are welcome. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “I’ll be outside,” Donald said. “I’ll call if anyone is coming.”

  When he shut the door behind him, Clay turned back to Mom. “I’m sorry I didn’t see this one coming. That’s got to be a terrible blow to the family, especially coming on the heels of the cancellation of the mine sale.”

  “We’ve had better weeks,” Dad admitted.

  “Can you ever reopen the mine, do you think?”

  “Sure.” He started ticking off on his fingers. “If we had several million dollars in capital. If we could get heavy equipment up there. If the Forest Service would give us a permit to take heavy equipment up there. If—” He shrugged. “Well, you get the picture.”

  Clay looked genuinely anguished. “Hopefully, we can find the perpetrators and get some of the money back for you.” He drew in another deep breath. “By the way, thanks for loaning my two guys the ATVs so they could get up to the mine.”

  “No problem,” Dad said.

  Clay set his glass down and pushed back from the table. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m really puzzled by all of this. The first thought that comes to mind is that this was done by our three escapees.”

  “I wondered about that too,” I said.

  “But ... I don’t know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Aside from the fact that they’re on the run, there are all kinds of logistical questions. If you’re right in thinking they got away with forty or fifty bags of ore, then—”

  “Weighing sixty, maybe seventy-five pounds each,” Dad jumped in. “We’re talking more than a ton of ore.”

  “Which they had to take out on four-wheelers, right? You can’t get a truck in there?”

  “No, not for that last mile or so. It’s heavy timber. That means they had to have either a truck or a trailer waiting for them out at the road. They could only take two or three bags at a time on the ATVs. ”

  “Could they have done all this in one day?�
�

  I was watching Clay closely. It was interesting to see how his mind worked. He was very sharp. One more evidence of how lucky we had been to get him as our agent for this whole mess.

  “If they had a portable pneumatic drill. They couldn’t have done it with picks and shovels in less than three days.”

  “Didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “They’re a chunk to lug around, but they do make them.”

  “Which means,” Clay concluded, “that either it wasn’t our three guys—my first conclusion—or, if it was, they had someone helping them.”

  “Definitely.”

  Mom raised her hand. “Has there been any word about them?”

  “Actually, yes. This morning we got ‘positive confirmation’”—he made quotation marks with his fingers in the air—“that they made it to Mexico. Three men matching the description of our three fugitives were seen getting into a single-engine plane just before dawn Tuesday morning. This was at a dirt airstrip near a small rural village in northern Mexico. Probably one of the drug cartel’s landing strips.”

  “You don’t sound convinced,” Mom said.

  “After two false tips, no, I have some doubts. But it is promising. Several villagers confirmed the sighting and gave the authorities the plane’s registration number. About an hour later, that same plane landed at the Benito Juárez International Airport in Mexico City. We’re pretty sure they’re on their way to Europe by now.”