Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7)

by Anthony M. Strong

  “You don’t look very well prepared for a hike,” Decker said, eying the men up. Neither wore a backpack nor carried water. They didn’t even have hats, which was fine for a short stroll, but not for prolonged exposure in the wilderness. “Where’s your gear?”

  “We don’t need much,” the smaller man said. “We’re pretty experienced at this.”

  “Is that so,” Barnes said, narrowing his eyes. “You have so much experience that you don’t need to hydrate?”

  “Huh?” The man looked confused.

  “It might be November, but it can still get up into the low eighties on a hot day. You’ll lose a good deal of moisture on a long hike if you don’t have any water on hand.”

  “Right. Thanks for the advice. We’ll keep that in mind next time.” The larger of the two men laughed nervously. He glanced toward the trail leading away from the mine. “I guess we’ll be on our way now.”

  His partner nodded and took a step toward the trail. “Sorry to have troubled you. We wouldn’t have hiked this way if we’d known it was private land.”

  “Not so fast.” Decker raised a hand. “I don’t suppose you’d mind telling us your names.”

  “What?” Now the man looked flustered. “Why?”

  “Because I’m asking,” Decker replied.

  “And what gives you the authority to do that?” The man replied, growing bold all of a sudden.

  “That would be the FBI.” Barnes stepped forward. Holding the gun steady with one hand, he pulled out his credentials wallet with the other and held it up. “Special Agent Barnes. The man accompanying me is John Decker, on temporary assignment with the Bureau, and entrusted with the same authorization as myself.” Barnes paused and drew a breath. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind answering his question?”

  “Very well,” the man didn’t look pleased. “My name’s Bob Eastwood.”

  “And your friend?” Barnes asked, pointing to the larger man.

  “My brother. Larry.” A sheen of sweat glinted on the forehead of the man who called himself Bob Eastwood. “We’re staying in Vegas. We drove here from Albuquerque yesterday.”

  “I thought you said you hiked around Vegas all the time,” Decker said. “You even mentioned another trail.”

  “You did, indeed,” Barnes added. “The Calico Basin Trail. Doesn’t seem like a pair of brothers from Albuquerque would be too familiar with the hiking trails hereabouts. That’s got to be what… a nine-hour drive?”

  “What can I say, we like to gamble. We drive up at least once a month. Are we free to go now?”

  “Go on, then.” Barnes lowered his weapon but didn’t holster it. “Get out of here. Make it quick before I change my mind and decide to dig deeper on the pair of you.”

  “Thank you, officer.” The man calling himself Bob Eastwood wasted no time in scuttling back toward the trail with his brother in tow.

  Decker watched them leave, climbing up through the canyon past the mine, until they crested a rise and dropped out of sight on the other side. He turned to Barnes. “You believe a word of what they said?”

  “Not hardly. Albuquerque, my ass. They were lying. Body language was all wrong. I’ll bet they didn’t even give us their real names.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Decker stepped toward the trail. “I want to see where they’re going.”

  “For sure. There’s no way they hiked out here.” Barnes followed Decker, and together they made their way up the trail, following the route taken by the two strangers.

  They picked their way along the trail in silence, leaving the mine behind, doing their best not to alert their quarry of the pursuit. When they reached the high point of the trail, they saw the men below them, descending toward a red pickup truck.

  Decker dropped to the ground so he wouldn’t be visible if either man looked back. Barnes did the same, flattening himself against the rocky earth.

  The men reached the truck. The shorter of the two glanced over his shoulder, as if he could sense Decker’s gaze, then climbed into the passenger side. His companion jumped in the driver’s side. Decker heard the engine start up. He reached into his pocket for his phone, bringing up the photo app and zooming in on the truck. As it peeled away, he took several pictures.

  Soon the truck was gone, leaving behind only a cloud of dust that caught on the breeze and dissipated in twirling wisps.

  Decker got to his feet and studied the photographs, finding one that showed the back of the vehicle, and the Nevada license plate it displayed. “Now we have proof. Everything they told us was bull.”

  “I thought as much.” Barnes stared down at the photo on the phone’s screen. “I would very much like to find out what their real names are.”

  “And what business they had up here at the mine,” Decker said.

  “I’ll run the plate when we get back to town. That should give us a name for one of those clowns, because I’m pretty sure it isn’t Eastwood.”

  “And I’ll bet you a hundred bucks they aren’t brothers either,” Decker added. “They don’t even look alike.”

  Barnes nodded. He brushed the dust from his trousers and turned to head back toward the mine. “And when we find out who they are, we’ll pay them a visit and ask those questions again.”

  “And this time, they had better tell the truth,” Decker said.

  “For damned sure.” Barnes started walking back down the trail.

  Decker turned and looked at the empty spot the truck had occupied before the two men climbed in and drove away. His cop’s sixth sense was jangling. Whatever their game was, they were up to no good. Still pondering this, he stepped back onto the trail, and hurried to catch up with Special Agent Barnes.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Harlan Biggs sat in the truck’s passenger seat and stared out through the windshield, watching the dusty landscape slip by. When they reached the paved road again, and turned back toward Las Vegas, he let out a sigh of relief. “That was a close one.”

  “Close?” Wagner glanced sideways. “Are you kidding me? We almost ended up under arrest back there.”

  “No, we didn’t. Not even close,” Harlan snorted. “As far as they knew, we were just a couple of lost hikers.”

  “Yeah, until you went and told them we drove here from Albuquerque. What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know. I got flustered and couldn’t think straight. I figured if they thought we were from out of town, they wouldn’t bother pressing the matter.”

  “Except that we’d already told them we hike around here all the time.” Wagner let out a disgruntled huff. “And what was with those names?”

  “What, you think I should have told them who we really are?”

  “I never said that, but you could at least have come up with some better names. I mean, Bob and Larry Eastwood. Really?”

  “What’s wrong with those names?”

  “Well, for a start, you told them we were brothers. We look nothing alike.”

  “For all they know, you’re adopted.”

  “That’s a hell of a back story. You’re overthinking this,” Wagner said. “One thing though, it puts an end to getting inside that mine.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “For a start, we’re on the radar of two federal agents.”

  “No big deal. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Yeah, except trespass on private land and then lie about who we are and what we were doing there. Sure, they might not be able to charge us with much of a crime just for that, but do you really want them looking into your business dealings?”

  “Fair point. We’ll just have to wait a few days before making the landowner an offer for the mine. Give those FBI guys time to clear out. In the meantime, I still want to confirm the gold is really there.”

  “And how are you going to do that? There’s no way we can break into the mine now.”

  “Easy. We find another point of access. Sure, those FBI guys will keep a closer watch on that mine entrance no
w, but if we get in some other way, they won’t even know we were there.”

  “Except we don’t know if there even is another way in.”

  “These old mines always had more than one entrance.”

  “Even if you’re right, how are we going to find it?”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard. There are hand-drawn maps of the mine system inside my great-great-grandfather’s journal. That’s how I know where to look for the gold once we get inside. I bet he marked other entrances on there, too.”

  “I don’t know, Harlan, it’s a long shot.”

  “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of getting us inside. I have another job for you.”

  “What?” Wagner sounded suspicious.

  “Find me a couple of men. Have them standing by later today.”

  “What do you need men for?”

  “You think I’m going into that mine myself? Not hardly. I read the Vegas PD report on what happened in those tunnels, and there’s no way I’m stepping foot inside. If there really is a curse, I don’t want to come face-to-face with it.”

  “And you think sending a couple of unsuspecting men in there is a better idea?”

  “Absolutely, I do. Pull some laborers off the casino floor renovation. If they come across anything, they should be able to take care of themselves, especially since they’ll be armed with pickaxes to chip the gold samples out of the seam.”

  “And if there really is some sort of creature down there? What if it kills them?”

  “Make sure that whoever you pick for the job won’t be missed. Half the guys on the work crew don’t have papers.”

  “You want me to find illegals?”

  “Absolutely. It shouldn’t be hard to figure out which ones arrived recently. Use them. Even if they go missing, their families will be too scared to report it.” They were back in Vegas now, inching their way through traffic on East Flamingo. Harlan felt better now they’d put some distance between themselves and the federal agents. “And tell them to keep their mouths shut. I don’t want any links to us if it all goes pear-shaped.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Wagner replied. He maneuvered through the snarl of vehicles, pushing the accelerator to the floor, and speeding through a yellow light. Moments later, he arrived at the hotel’s parking garage.

  “Drop me off there,” Harlan said, pointing to the hotel entrance at the ground level. “If you need me, I’ll be in the penthouse. When you find the men, tell them there’s an extra day’s pay in it if they get the job done and don’t blab. That should make it easier to convince them.”

  “Right,” Wagner replied. He came to a halt next to the hotel entrance and let his boss out, then continued on to the ramp leading to the second level, where he preferred to park the truck.

  Harlan watched him go, then made his way inside to the bank of elevators. He felt a surge of optimism. If all went well, he would be in possession of enough gold ore to convince Oscar Rossi by the end of the day, and after that, he hoped, his money troubles would be over.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Decker followed Special Agent Barnes back down the trail until they arrived back at the mine entrance. Here he stopped, contemplating the set of sturdy metal gates installed to stop curious looky-loos like the pair they had just chased off from sneaking inside and getting themselves hurt or lost.

  “It’s been a couple of days since those two geologists went missing in the mine,” Decker said. “If they were still alive and in a fit condition to do so, they probably would have found their way back out by now, don’t you agree?”

  “I’m thinking so.” Barnes nodded in agreement. “Pretty sure they’re dead, from the eyewitness account and available evidence.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page.” Decker strode toward the mine entrance and pulled the metal gates closed, then looped the dangling security chain around them and pulled it tight before slipping the padlock through the chain’s links and snapping it closed. He turned back to Barnes. “No one’s going to be mooching around in there now.”

  “And a good job too,” Barnes said. “Or they might end up filleted like Sasha Martin.”

  Decker nodded and stepped past the FBI agent back onto the trail and started down toward town. He wanted to run that plate as soon as possible and see just who was loitering around the mine entrance. His sense they were up to no good had only intensified, and he always trusted his hunches.

  Special Agent Barnes hurried to keep up. Halfway down they reached the battered remains of an old pickup truck that must’ve sat baking in the sun for decades, the harsh ultraviolet radiation doing as good a job of stripping the paint off as any sandblaster.

  “Hold up a moment,” Barnes gasped. “My leg’s giving me trouble. I’ve got a cramp.”

  “Surely you’re not that out of shape?” Decker said. “How old are you? You don’t look a day over thirty.”

  “Thirty-six, if you must know.” Barnes leaned against the truck. He glared at Decker. “And I’m just as fit as you, probably more so.”

  “Point taken. Didn’t mean to rankle you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Barnes said. “I’m a bit sensitive, that’s all. I’ve got pins in my leg from an injury I sustained in Afghanistan.”

  “You were in the military?”

  “Green Beret. Got too close to an IED. Took four of us out, I was the only one that survived.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Decker said.

  “Yeah. Me too. Pretty much ended my military career, so here I am.”

  “You joined the FBI.”

  Barnes nodded. “After I returned to the States. I wasn’t quite ready to give up the excitement, and the Bureau makes it easy for ex-military to join.”

  “Especially if they’re Special Forces, no doubt.”

  Barnes nodded again. “So, what’s your deal? How did you end up chasing monsters for a living?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know.” Decker walked to the edge of the trail and peered over. It fell away steeply toward the canyon floor, clogged by a tangle of thick bushes. He wondered if this was where they found the bones that now lay in a display case in the museum room at the Last Chance Hotel and Saloon. “People seem to make a habit of looking me up online whenever I go somewhere.”

  “I don’t need to look you up online. I’m an FBI agent. I could just run a background check and find out everything I need to know from your driver’s license number to what size shoes you wear.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.” Barnes reached down and rubbed his calf. “When DC says they’re sending a specialist like yourself, I find it’s better not to pry. Too much curiosity can be detrimental to career advancement.”

  “Ah. Don’t want to ruffle any feathers, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Barnes flexed his knee. “Cramps have gone off now. Let’s go back to town and run that plate.”

  “Sure thing. I’m curious to see what we find.”

  “Me too.” Barnes started back down the trail. “You still haven’t told me how you ended up in your particular line of work.”

  “I spent years in law enforcement. First as a homicide cop and then a sheriff in Louisiana. That’s where I ran across something I couldn’t explain,” Decker said. “A killer of supernatural origin. I took care of the situation but lost my job in the process. Then my current employer came calling. As the saying goes, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “So now you hunt monsters like whatever is lurking inside that mine for a living.”

  “Given the choice, I’d rather have my old life back, investigating run-of-the-mill cases involving good old-fashioned human bad guys.”

  “Life don’t work like that,” Barnes said, with a hint of regret in his voice. “I’d prefer to be traveling the world with the Green Berets. I loved that job. But here I am, anyway.”

  “FBI agent sounds like a pretty good gig to me,” Decker observed.

  “Yeah.
If you like paperwork. It’s not exactly like you see on the TV shows.”

  “You could say that about anything.” They were entering the town now. Decker led Barnes up the steps into the Last Chance.

  Tieg bounded around the corner from the direction of the kitchen and ran up to them, wagging his tail furiously. Barnes kneeled and rubbed the top of the dog’s head while the canine tried to lick him.

  “I think he likes you,” Decker said.

  “He can spot a dog lover when he sees one,” Barnes replied. “I used to have a mutt just like this when I was growing up.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Robyn said, appearing behind the dog. She carried a tea towel in her hand. “He’s not picky. He’ll take the attention of anyone who will give it.”

  “Don’t listen to her, boy,” Barnes cooed at the animal. “I know you like me, and that’s all that counts.”

  To reply, the dog let out a contented grunt.

  “Did you find what you were looking for at the mine?” Robyn asked.

  “And a whole lot more,” Barnes said, climbing to his feet.

  “We caught a couple of guys mooching around the entrance,” Decker said. “Sent them on their way.”

  “You did?” Robyn looked alarmed. “I wonder what they wanted?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know, too.” Decker took his phone out. “They claimed to be from Albuquerque. Told us they just came out here for the hiking trails.”

  “But we know that wasn’t true because they had Nevada plates on their truck.” Barnes glanced at the phone. “Can you forward me the pics of that truck?”

  “You have an email address I can send them to?”

  Barnes gave Decker his Bureau address.

  “Thanks.” Decker tapped away at the screen. “All done. They’ll be in your inbox.”

  “What about the mine?” Robyn asked. “Is it secure if they come back?”

  “I closed the gates and put the chain back on,” Decker replied. “They won’t be getting in.”