Harlan read the address from his phone and entered it into the navigation system, then sat back. “It will take about forty minutes to get there.”
“Great, now maybe you can tell me why we’re rushing out there in such a hurry.”
“Because my great-great-grandfather, Travis Biggs, used to own a share of that mine. He went missing a few years after the mine dried up, but he’d already found a good amount of gold by then, which got passed down to his illegitimate son, sired with a town prostitute.”
“I know all this, Harlan. Your grandfather built the casino using what remained of the modest wealth Travis Biggs accumulated as a prospector. I don’t see what that has to do with paying off Rossi.”
“It has everything to do with it,” Harlan said. “It wasn’t just the money that was passed down through the generations. Travis Biggs kept a journal. The Ghost Canyon Mine was an obsession. He claimed there was a huge seam of gold that no one else knew about.”
“I still don’t see how that helps us.” Wagner steered the truck onto the interstate and joined the flow of traffic. “Even if there was gold in that mine, it’s probably long gone.”
“That’s just it, Travis wrote in his journal that he had cursed the mine using the bones of a disgraced Paiute warrior, who’s undead spirit protected the seam from other prospectors until he could extract the precious metals. When the mines stopped producing, the town’s population left for richer pickings, like the Comstock Lode. Not Travis. He stayed behind, convinced he could still get gold out of the Ghost Canyon Mine. But he never did because he couldn’t remove the curse.”
“Harlan, listen to yourself. I know you’re worried about this Oscar Rossi business, but you sound crazy. This is a fool’s errand.”
“I get it. It sounds nuts. I thought the journal was nothing more than a liquor induced fantasy. A tall tale written by a crazy old man. But it’s not. The curse is real. Something supernatural killed those three people—”
“Harlan, come on—”
“And if the curse is real, then so is the gold.” Harlan folded his arms and watched the desert landscape slip by.
“Even if it is, how are you going to get it?” Wagner asked. “You said it yourself, there’s a curse on the mine.”
“We don’t have to get the gold out. All I need is enough gold in hand to convince Oscar Rossi that the seam is real. Then I can negotiate. He rips up the note on my casino, and I’ll tell him where he can get enough gold to make us both rich. And the best of it is, he’ll be the one who has to deal with any curse.”
“And the fact that you don’t own the mine?”
“I might not have the money to pay Oscar Rossi almost four hundred grand in interest payments, but I’m not completely broke. I’m sure I can pull enough cash together to make the current owners an offer. After what happened, I can’t imagine they want to keep it.”
“So that’s what we’re doing?” Wagner asked. “Buying that mine?”
“Not until I see the gold for myself. First things first, I want to look around up there and get the lay of the land. Check out the mine entrance. Then we’ll come back when no one’s around and actually go in, find the seam, and make sure the gold is really there. Maybe even snag a sample or two.”
“And then?”
“Then we get ahold of that mine, cut a deal with Rossi, and save the casino.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The bright Nevada sunshine streamed in through Decker’s window. It was a little after eight in the morning and he could hear hammering and sawing coming from further down the corridor. He rose and got dressed, then headed downstairs and made his way to the kitchen.
When he entered, Decker found the Feds, Barnes and Fowler, sitting at the table, eating bacon and eggs. A shaggy yellow-haired dog sprawled at their feet, looking up hopefully.
Robyn was fussing over the stove. She turned at Decker’s arrival and smiled. “Sleep well?”
“I did, thank you.” Decker took a seat. The dog dragged itself up and padded over to him, sniffing curiously.
“That’s Tieg,” Robyn said. “He’s the official food taster.”
“He’s going to have to wait awhile to taste mine,” Decker replied. “I’m famished.”
“Good.” Robyn turned with a plate of food and placed it in front of him. “Eat up.”
“Thanks,” Decker said. He glanced around the table. “Did anyone else hear gunshots last night?”
Fowler shook his head. “I slept like a log.”
“Me too,” Barnes said. “Although I did wake up around two, but I don’t know why. What time did you hear the shots?”
“Around that time.”
“It was probably yahoos out in the desert,” Robyn said. “It’s happened before. They drive up into the mountains to camp, party, and get shitfaced. I wouldn’t worry yourself about it.”
“Seems reasonable.” Decker shrugged and turned his attention to the food. He ate quickly, digging into the hearty breakfast with gusto. When his hunger was sated, he glanced toward the two FBI agents. “I’m planning to look around this morning, maybe go up to the mine, just to get the lay of the land. Is that going to be a problem?”
“I don’t see why it would be,” Fowler said. “You’re the specialist here. We’ve been told to assist you in any way possible.”
“Are you planning to go inside?” Barnes asked.
“Not yet.” Decker shook his head. “I’d like to get a better idea what we’re dealing with before that happens.”
“Makes sense.” Barnes nodded.
“Do you have the medical examiner’s report on the search team member that was killed, Sasha Martin?”
“Not yet in,” Fowler replied. “It’s only been forty-eight hours. I can call the Clark County ME’s office and see where we stand if you like. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
“Not sure,” Decker replied. “But I would like to get their opinion on cause of death. If they think a human or an animal inflicted the wounds.”
“I watched the body cam footage,” Barnes chimed in. “That was no human, at least not a normal one.”
“Didn’t look much like an animal either,” Fowler said. “Looked more like a walking skeleton.”
“Which is precisely why I want a professional opinion. The ME hasn’t seen that footage, therefore won’t be swayed by presumption. Regardless of what the officer’s camera filmed, we cannot jump to conclusions. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
“Sometimes they are,” Fowler said, grimly. “Pretty hard to mistake Sasha Martin’s killer for a bobcat, at least if you’ve watched the footage. Regardless, I’ll see what I can do. I can’t imagine they’ll have a full report typed up yet, but they should be able to tell us something.”
“Perfect. I’d like to go there in person and speak with the medical examiner directly,” Decker replied. “It might be helpful to see the body too.”
“I’m sure I can arrange that.”
“I’ll leave it in your competent hands, then.” Decker pushed his empty plate away and stood up.
Under the table, Tieg emitted a disgruntled snort when he realized there would be no table scraps forthcoming.
“I’m going to take that walk now,” Decker said.
“You want some company?” Barnes asked.
“Sure.” Decker turned to Special Agent Fowler. “How about you?”
“I don’t think so,” Fowler replied. “I’ll stay here and call the ME.”
Decker nodded. He glanced toward Robyn. “Thank you for the delicious meal.”
“You’re welcome,” Robyn replied, smiling. “If you can figure out what’s running around in that mine and take care of it, I’ll make all the bacon and eggs you want for the rest of your life.”
“It’s a deal,” Decker replied, grinning. He motioned to Barnes. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” Barnes pushed his chair back and stood up. “Just give me one minute to go upstairs. I wa
nt to get my gun. I don’t feel like heading up there unarmed.”
“A wise precaution.” Decker started toward the kitchen door. “I’ll meet you out front.”
Decker made his way through the lobby. Behind him, he heard Barnes climbing the stairs. He stepped out onto the veranda and leaned on the railing, taking in the ghost town during daylight for the first time. It was a town in name only. In reality, Haley was nothing more than a cluster of dilapidated buildings gathered next to a dusty road. The structures themselves were in various states of disrepair, and many of them looked like they would blow down at the first strong gust of wind. One building leaned at a precarious angle, part of the roof gone, Windows nothing more than black oblongs devoid of glass. Thick support beams stood at forty-five degrees against the side wall, to prevent the building from collapsing completely. The skeletal frames of rusting cars and trucks sat baking in the sun. Some of them looked decades older than Decker. He wondered how much they would be worth, if restored. Then he decided they were too far gone to bother.
He glanced to his left, where a meandering trail followed the steeply rising land. Two A-frame barricades stood across the entrance, even though there was nobody to keep out except the ghost town’s owners, Decker, and the FBI agents. Plus Tieg, of course, although Decker didn’t think the dog cared one way or the other about the barricades.
He stepped down onto the dusty street. The sun was scorching on his head and shoulders. It was the exact opposite of the cold and rainy weather he’d left behind in Maine. Decker wondered if he should go back inside for a baseball cap. He didn’t want to get sunburned. But then Special Agent Barnes appeared, his service weapon pushed into a holster worn over his polo shirt.
“Ready to explore?” Barnes asked, drawing level with Decker.
“Lead the way,” Decker replied, deciding he couldn’t be bothered to find a cap. “Show me that goldmine.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Harlan Biggs told his general manager, and the man currently driving the truck they were both riding in, to pull over onto the side of the road at the outskirts of the ghost town of Haley, Nevada.
While they were en route, he’d checked out the town’s geography and discovered that the mine lay about half a mile distant, up a narrow trail that wound into the mountains. This tallied with the information gleaned earlier that morning from an old and fading map hand-drawn inside his great-great-grandfather’s journal. It appeared that nothing much had changed over the intervening hundred and thirty years other than a steady decline in the condition of the town’s buildings, and of course, it’s population.
“Why are we stopping here?” Wagner asked as he maneuvered the truck off the road and onto the dusty shoulder.
“Look at that place,” Harlan replied. “There’s barely anyone around. We go driving in there, we’ll draw all sorts of attention. I’d like to keep this little trip on the lowdown, at least for now.”
“So how are we supposed to get to the mine?”
“Not this way, that’s for sure.” Harlan peered through the windshield at the A-frame barricades blocking off the trail. He also noted the unmarked Crown Victoria parked outside of the one building-the sign out front proclaimed it to be the Last Chance Saloon and Hotel-that didn’t look like it was going to collapse at any moment. “That car must belong to the feds. My contact in the Vegas Police Department said there were a couple of FBI agents staying up here. Showed up and took charge within hours of the accident in the mine. Sent the local boys packing. I’d prefer to avoid a confrontation with the feds.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Wagner agreed. “Still doesn’t help us reach that mine.”
“Turn around.” Harlan nodded back in the direction from which they had come. “There was a trail about a half mile back. Looks like it cuts around the back of the property, at least according to Google Earth. If we drive in that way, no one will see us.”
“You want me to go off roading up that damned mountain?”
“It’s not that far,” Harlan replied. “A mile at most.”
“It’s not the distance that worries me, it’s the damage to my tires. I didn’t buy this truck so I could go driving all over the desert.”
“Then why did you buy it?” Harlan asked. “Isn’t that what a truck is for?”
“Whatever,” Wagner replied, grumpily. He spun the wheel and steered the truck back in the other direction. The rear wheels kicked up gravel as he sped up away from the shoulder. “I get a flat, you’re paying to replace the tire.”
“We find that gold and get Oscar Rossi off our backs, I’ll buy you a whole new truck.”
“Your back, not mine,” Wagner said. “I told you at the time not to do business with him.”
“What choice did I have?” Harlan glanced down at the map on his phone, then back to the road. A moment later he slapped the dashboard with the palm of his hand. “There it is. The trail. Turn left here.”
Wagner slowed and made the turn, then picked his way carefully up the trail. The truck had good suspension, but even so, they were jostled and bumped as the powerful vehicle clawed its way forward on the uneven surface. Soon they reached a flat, wide area crisscrossed with what looked like dirt bike tracks. An old fire pit was visible to their left, along with several crushed beer cans.
“Someone had fun up here,” Wagner said, slowing the truck to a crawl.
“As long as they aren’t here now.” Harlan glanced toward the GM. “Why are you slowing down?”
“It looks pretty rough ahead,” Wagner said, pointing toward the trail, which petered out to a narrow walking path strewn with boulders. “There’s no way I’m taking the truck up that.”
“Fine.” Harlan didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. “We’ll hoof it from here. Probably best to keep the truck out of sight, anyway. The mine shouldn’t be far now. Just over the next ridge.”
“Great. Then maybe we can get back to civilization.” Wagner pulled his door open and jumped out. He slammed it and rounded the front of the vehicle, a scowl on his face. “And FYI, you definitely owe me that car wash. The truck’s filthy.”
“Quit moaning.” Harlan stepped past him and started up the trail on foot. “Your truck got a bit dirty, who cares? If we don’t pull this off, I’ll be part of the foundation for one of Rossi’s building projects, and you’ll be doing his dirty work for the rest of your life.”
“I’m not complaining,” Wagner said. “I just don’t like the desert.”
“And yet you live in Las Vegas.” Harlan shook his head in bewilderment.
“Exactly. If I actually wanted to live in the desert surrounded by lizards and coyotes, I wouldn’t have bought a condo on the eighth floor of a tower overlooking the Strip.”
“Fair point.”
They were approaching the end of the trail now, as it curved back down and ended at the entrance to the Ghost Canyon Mine. Harlan quickened his step, eager to see what awaited them.
“That looks like the mine entrance,” Wagner said, pointing to a dark hole in the mountainside up ahead.
Harlan nodded and approached the entrance where a pair of security gates were standing ajar. “Not even padlocked. We can get inside.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to go in yet,” Wagner said.
“I don’t,” Harlan replied. “But this might be our only chance. Once they lock it again we won’t be able to get in.”
“We’ll still get in. I’ll just use a pair of bolt cutters.”
“And then the owners of this place will know someone was up here, genius.” Harlan sighed. “They might decide to see what we wanted and find the gold, then we’re screwed.”
“Or they might not.” Wagner glanced over his shoulder. “You saw those dirt bike trails. I’ll bet teenagers come out here all the time to party. They’ll probably just think it was random vandalism. Besides, they might leave it unlocked.”
Harlan nodded. Wagner had a point, and he would have admitted as much, if it weren’t
for the unfamiliar voice that broke the silence behind them.
“Hey, you two. What are you doing up here?”
Harlan turned, surprised, and saw a pair of strangers striding toward them. The shorter man was armed with a Glock service pistol, which he was already pulling from its holster.
Harlan cursed under his breath. After taking the trouble to avoid going through town and making their presence obvious, they had been discovered anyway. Now the only question was how to handle it, especially since they had a gun pointed at them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Decker saw the two strangers as soon as they crested the trail. Special Agent Barnes had seen them too, standing near the entrance to the Ghost Canyon Mine, and was already pulling his gun, ready for trouble.
The pair of interlopers, on the other hand, didn’t notice Decker and Barnes until the FBI agent shouted a challenge to them. They spun around, surprised, the look on their faces telling Decker that they hadn’t expected anyone to discover them in such a remote location.
“Answer the question,” Decker barked, employing the same authoritative voice that he’d used back in his days as a cop in New York. “This is private land. What are you doing?”
For a moment, neither man spoke. They just stared in mute shock as Decker and Barnes closed the distance between them. Then the smaller of the two men, who looked more like a weaselly accountant than a hearty outdoor type, appeared to pull himself together.
“Private land?” His face creased into a picture of innocence. “Are you sure about that? We thought this was a hiking trail.”
“Well, it’s not,” Barnes said, keeping his gun leveled. “You have no business being here.”
“Sorry, we didn’t realize. We came across this here mine opening and thought we’d take a look. We were curious.”
“You’re out hiking, huh?” Decker asked.
“Sure.” The man laughed nervously. “It’s good exercise, don’t you think?”
“We normally hike the Calico Basin Trail.” The other man, who looked a lot more suited to the outdoors than his partner, spoke for the first time. “We decided to try something different today. I guess we messed up.”
Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Page 13
