“Looks like they were drawing in the dirt,” Fenton said.
“I don’t care if they were playing banjos and having a hoedown,” McDaniel said, stumbling backwards. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Wait,” Fenton replied. He raised the camera, waited for it to focus, and took several photographs in rapid succession. Then he backed up. “Good enough. Let’s get topside and call the authorities. This is definitely not my area of expertise.”
“No arguments there,” Carlos said, hurrying along behind his boss.
They arrived back at the chamber where the paths forked. Fenton turned right and took the tunnel leading back to the surface. He hadn’t gone far when he heard McDaniel speak.
“I hear something.” McDaniel had stopped with Carlos next to him. He was staring down the other tunnel, his face creased with fright. “We’re not alone down here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fenton said. But now he heard it too. A creaking, like groaning timbers, only higher pitched. This was followed by a shuffling noise, getting louder.
“There’s a figure in the tunnel,” Carlos said. “I can see them coming toward us.”
“That’s crazy. There’s no one else down here. It’s impossible.” Fenton took a step back toward his colleagues. “Would you hurry it up?”
But neither man replied. They stood transfixed, staring into the blackness, wide-eyed.
“Guys?” A shudder of fear worked its way down Fenton’s spine. He was about to go back and get his friends, snap them out of their fugue, but something made him hesitate. Instead, he backed up, his gaze still rooted upon the two transfixed men.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, there was a movement. His gaze drifted toward it, and what he saw made him turn and flee in terror, even as his colleague’s dying screams rang in his ears.
Chapter Four
When Robyn Miller returned from the mine, there was no sign of Carlton, much to her relief. She entered the hotel and crossed the lobby, then climbed to the second floor where the workers still labored. Most of the rooms on this level were already completed. Soon they would shift their attention to the top floor, which still waited in a sad state of dilapidation.
She stepped inside the closest room, which looked like something right out of an old Western movie. Sage green patterned wallpaper covered the walls. Silk curtains held with tiebacks adorned the window. A lighter inner curtain of lace covered the windowpane. An ornate mirror with a teak frame hung on the wall. The only items that didn’t look authentic were the modern electric lighting, the flatscreen TV sitting on the bureau opposite the bed, and the en suite created by sacrificing the room next door and cutting it in half to create a pair of bathrooms for the adjacent bedrooms.
It was an added expense that had pushed the cost of renovation much higher than she would have liked, but nobody wanted to stay in a hotel that forced them to share the facilities.
This was especially true of wedding parties who might book a stay to feel like they had stepped back in time but didn’t want the experience to be too real. With Las Vegas and its swanky hotels right down the road, she had a lot of competition, as Carlton had gleefully pointed out.
Robyn returned to the corridor and made her way to the far rooms where work was still going on. When the construction crew’s supervisor saw her, he stepped into the hallway, rubbing his hands on his shins. He was a big man named Hank, with a shock of ginger hair and a pale complexion that Robyn thought was unusual given the area of the country in which he lived. She wondered if he owned shares in a sun block manufacturer, or just had a naturally pale complexion.
“Come to make sure we’re working hard, have you, Miss Miller?” Hank asked with a grin.
“I just wanted to see how far along we are,” Robyn replied. “I love how the place is coming together. It’s exactly what I wanted.”
“Pleased that you like our work.” Hank hesitated, his expression becoming serious. “I know you want to get this done as quick as you can, but I got some bad news, I’m afraid.”
“What now?” Robyn’s heart sank. “You’re not going to tell me there’s another delay, are you?”
“That I am.” Hank dropped his gaze. “The plumber’s working a job at a new condo complex on the north end of the Strip. He should have been finished next week, but they’re behind schedule so he’s not going to make it back here anytime soon to run the piping for the bathrooms on the third floor.”
“Just great.” Robyn grimaced. “How long a delay are we looking at?”
“Three weeks. Maybe a month if they run into more issues.”
“What issues could they possibly have? Its new construction.”
“They’ve been having an argument with the building inspector. As expected, he won. They have to redo a bunch of the plumbing.”
“It can’t be helped, I guess.” Robyn felt a flicker of disappointment. Not that it mattered. She would not be open before the spring, anyway. “We can’t use another plumber?”
“With the amount of construction in these parts? Are you kidding me?” Hank let out a snort. “We’re lucky to have a plumber at all, given that we don’t have the deep pockets of the gaming industry. You know what it’s like. They’re building new casino hotels almost as quick as they can tear the old ones down. Labor’s at a premium.”
“I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Robyn said. “Just get him here as quickly as you can, okay?”
“Sure.” Hank glanced back into the half-finished bedroom, where the sound of construction had come to a halt. “What the hell?”
The three workers, who until now had been replacing the rotten plaster with modern drywall, were standing at the window, staring out.
Hank crossed the room to see what they were looking at, then turned to Robyn, brow furrowed. “I think you have a problem.”
Robyn hurried to join him. One of the workers stepped aside to let her through. A figure was stumbling down the trail from the old mine, waving his arms and screaming at the top of his voice. As he drew closer, she realized it was the lead geologist, Bill Fenton.
A chill ran through her. Had there been an accident? She turned and ran from the room, taking the stairs two at a time before hurrying across the hotel lobby and out onto the dusty street. She barely noticed Tieg, who had come bounding out from his bed at the sound of her footfalls, and now stood looking up at her with expectant eyes, his tongue lolling out excitedly.
But Robyn didn’t pay the dog any heed, because Fenton was drawing closer now and she could see the terror in his eyes. The man looked positively beside himself.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Robyn asked, afraid of what he might say. If there had been an accident inside the mine, like the roof had caved in on the geologists, or one of them had fallen into an open shaft, she would never get this place open for business.
“You’ve got to help me,” Fenton screeched as he reached her. He gripped Robyn’s shoulders with powerful hands and looked into her eyes. “They’re still up there. It got them.”
“Your men are still in the mine?” Robyn’s world crashed down around her. “What got them? Tell me.”
“The creature with the red eyes. It came out of the darkness and ripped them apart.” Fenton was hysterical, close to tears now. He looked over his shoulder toward the trail, then back to Robyn. “We have to get away from here. It will come for us next.”
Chapter Five
Two thousand eight hundred miles away across the other side of the country, John Decker stood on a wide balcony at CUSP’s facility on a rocky island off the coast of Maine, his coat pulled tight against the November chill. Behind him, the main building rose three floors. Below him, dropping away from the railing that Decker now leaned on, was a rocky cliff that ended eighty feet below in a horseshoe-shaped pebble beach upon which angry waves now crashed.
It was a remote spot, far from civilization. The only close habitation was a small town on the neighboring island, accessible
only at low tide by a narrow causeway. It was this remoteness, no doubt, that had inspired CUSP to build here, adding on to a nineteenth-century mansion constructed on the island by an eccentric railroad magnet. It was the mansion’s original owner that built the causeway, intending to run a rail line directly from a small train station a mile from the house, all the way across to the mainland. The idea was to use the specks of land in between in much the same way that Henry Flagler’s Overseas Railroad linked Key West to the Florida mainland with bridges running between the intermediate islands.
The railroad magnate abandoned the project when he determined that the frequent inclement weather off the Maine coast posed too much of a challenge. A prescient decision, given that a hurricane destroyed Henry Flagler’s railroad in a location far less prone to severe weather, less than twenty-five years after he built it.
The only part of the Maine railroad ever constructed was the causeway, originally intended as a platform upon which to run the rail bridge. Now it served as a road allowing CUSP personnel to escape the facility for a few hours.
“Decker, you made it.” Adam Hunt strode out onto the balcony. Walking next to him was a familiar figure.
“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” said Colum O’Shea, a broad smile upon his face. “I haven’t seen you since London.”
“That feels like a long time ago.” After he and Colum faced a resurrected Jack the Ripper in London, they had sent Decker south to French Guiana, where he barely escaped with his life during a harrowing mission on the ocean floor. That assignment had ended with a roller coaster ride up from the seabed in a preserved German U-boat. A submarine that was now moored out of sight in a sheltered inlet on the north side of the island. After that had come a well-deserved break, spending six weeks with Nancy at their rented house on the Gulf Coast. “What are you doing in these parts?”
“Same thing as you. Checking in with the boss and getting up to speed with the latest intelligence. I won’t be around long though. Flying back out first thing in the morning.”
“That’s a shame. It would be nice to catch up,” Decker said.
“There’s always tonight.” Colum looked at his watch. “But right now, I have to be at a briefing on the third floor. I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Hunt said. He watched Colum depart, then joined Decker at the railing. “What do you think of our little island fortress?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been here, you know,” Decker replied.
“The last visit was so brief,” Hunt said. “You barely had time to see anything other than the U-boat.”
“Speaking of which, how are the surviving crew getting along?”
“You know I can’t answer that.” Hunt stared out over the ocean.
“You don’t need to give me specifics, but I would like to know how they’re holding up. It must be quite a shock to set sail in the Second World War and not step back on dry land until almost three quarters of a century later.”
“They’re acclimatizing, slowly. I can tell you that much,” Hunt said. “It’s our hope that we can eventually provide them with new identities and set them up with a quiet life somewhere.”
“Under your constant supervision, of course.”
“That goes without saying. Our observation will be unobtrusive, naturally.”
“So, they’ll never be completely free.”
“Is anyone?” Hunt glanced sideways toward Decker and raised an eyebrow. “Freedom is a shared delusion made possible by a collective unspoken agreement not to scratch too far below the surface.”
“That’s dark.”
“It’s the truth.” Hunt’s gaze drifted back out over the water. “Have you finished your assignments for the day?”
“Yup. I’ve been up since six. Spent two hours at the range playing with all sorts of lethal toys, then they gave me a physical which was completely unnecessary.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. You’ve had more than your share of scrapes recently. Abraham Turner sliced up your shoulder pretty good in London. On your last mission, you were attacked, shot at, and hit over the head.”
Decker shrugged. “Goes with the territory.”
“Does Nancy share that sentiment?”
Decker remained silent.
“I thought so.” Hunt slapped Decker on the back, then turned and made his way toward the building. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Decker followed behind.
“I think it’s time you got the full tour.” Hunt stepped inside and held the door open for Decker. “Now that your probationary period is over.”
“My probation is over?” Decker furrowed his brow. “That was quick.”
“You think so?” Hunt replied as he led Decker through a central atrium filled with light thanks to a glass ceiling three floors above them. To their left rose the walls of the original mansion, the once exterior stone old and weathered. This was the accommodation block and more resembled a luxury hotel than staff quarters. There was even a hotel style lobby which housed a bar and buffet restaurant that served as the facility’s canteen. “You’ve completed three missions now, the last of which you handled solo.”
“That surprised me,” Decker said. “I was expecting you to send a more senior agent along with me.”
“You handled yourself fine.” Hunt led Decker toward a set of elevators near the atrium’s far wall.
“I almost got everyone killed. I should have recognized Thomas Barringer for what he was much earlier.”
“Don’t be so modest. It was your idea to reach the surface using the sub.” Hunt pressed the elevator’s call button and waited. “Without that, Barringer’s plan would have worked.”
“True,” Decker admitted.
“CUSP has a certain expectation of its field operatives,” Hunt said. “We recruit based on prior experience and don’t like to waste time on unnecessary training. We bring you on board, verify that our initial opinion was correct, and then throw you in the deep end. You either sink, or you swim.”
“What happens to those recruits who sink?”
“They get permanently silenced.” There was an ominous tone in Hunt’s voice.
Decker glanced toward his superior, alarmed. “You kill them?”
Hunt shrugged. “We have to maintain anonymity.”
Decker pushed his hands into his pockets and looked away, stunned.
Hunt milked the uncomfortable silence for a few moments longer, then a broad smile cracked his normally stoic face. “That was too easy.”
“You were winding me up.” Decker felt a rush of relief.
“Despite what people think, I do have a sense of humor.”
“Apparently,” Decker said dryly, as the elevator arrived.
When the doors opened, Hunt stepped inside and motioned for Decker to follow. “The ability to remain jovial is a necessity in this line of work. Without it you may end up in a very dark place, as our next destination will highlight.”
“Exactly where would that be?” Decker asked.
“Somewhere we take every operative once their probationary period is over.” Hunt leaned toward an optical scanner and waited while the elevator verified his identity, then turned his attention to a panel with five buttons, labeled D1 through D5. He pressed the button marked D1 before turning to Decker. “We’re going to The Zoo.”
Chapter Six
The black and white Ford Explorer with a nudge bar over the front grill and Las Vegas Metropolitan Police written along each side tore along the canyon road toward the ramshackle town of Haley with its light bar blazing.
Behind the wheel was Officer Charlie Walters. Next to him, Officer Glenn Barrow, on the job for less than a year and still learning the ropes, was busy telling dispatch they were only a minute away. After he finished, Barrow turned to his partner.
“Must be unusual to get a call this far out,” he said. “Isn’t this place nothing but a ghost town? Can’t be more than
a handful of people living out here.”
“Try two,” Walters replied. “Carlton Miller, and his nephew’s kid, Robyn. She’s only been around for six months, but the old man has lived here for decades, letting people poke around for ten bucks a pop for years even though he didn’t have a business license. He’s called us out a few times to get rid of tourists he claimed were taking souvenirs from the ghost town.”
“Really?” Glenn peered through the windshield as they approached a ragtag cluster of buildings. He shook his head. “Why would anyone want to steal from a crap hole like this?”
“They wouldn’t. But Carlton’s a mean old buzzard. He’s spent so long living out in the desert that the sun’s fried his brain.” Charlie brought the police interceptor to a stop next to a dusty quad cab truck. “The woman is nice, though. She’s the majority landowner, despite Carlton calling us up here to have her escorted off the property for trespassing earlier this year. I was the responding officer. Once I found out who she really was, I almost charged him with wasting police time.”
“Why didn’t you?” Glenn asked. “Sounds like he’s a piece of work.”
“You want to do all that paperwork over something so trivial?”
“Good point.”
“I gave him a verbal warning and left it at that.” Charlie saw the young woman, Robyn, exit the newly renovated hotel and wave to them. He pulled on his door release. “I really hope this isn’t another of Carlton’s hijinks.”
“It doesn’t sound like it.” Glenn exited the car and followed the senior officer toward the building. “Dispatch said there were two men dead in the mine, some kind of accident.”
“We’ll see,” Charlie said, mounting the steps to the veranda. He introduced himself and followed Robyn into the building.
She led them through a lobby that smelled of sawed wood and fresh paint, and past a set of double doors with inset etched glass panels into a saloon that looked like something from a Western movie set. A bar spanned one end of the room, standing in front of a mirrored wall decked out in dark wood shelves. The walls were lined with old photos of the mining town’s heyday, housed in gold frames. There was no liquor on the shelves yet, but Charlie spied a solitary bottle of whiskey on the bar top next to a shot glass.
Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Page 3
