The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3

by Christopher Cartwright

  One shot probably would have sufficed.

  Sam waited for the sound of more attackers, but none came.

  Tom scanned the rest of the train. It looked empty. “That can’t possibly be it?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”

  Sam drove up onto the third carriage, parking the Humvee neatly on the flat-bed railway car directly behind the forklift.

  He waited for another response, but none appeared. He placed the gear in park and switched off the engine and pulled the handbrake. A moment later he turned the headlights off. Their now very dark world remained silent. Up ahead, he could easily make out the faint glow of the passenger carriage. In front of that, he spotted the flicker of firelight coming from the fire chamber.

  Tom handed Sam the second shotgun. “Shall we?”

  Sam took it. The weapon was loaded with a fresh 28 round magazine. “Let’s.”

  They slowly made their way to the front of the train. Using only the light of the first carriage and keeping their own flashlights switched off, they cleared each carriage.

  Inside the first carriage, it felt like they were stepping into a time-machine and being transported to a late nineteenth century carriage for Russian royalty.

  The carriage was split into two rooms. Inside the first one, seating was sparse, with three leather embroidered couches and a single matching footstool. Exquisite interior woodwork of rich teak was interwoven with ivory carvings to match the elegant high windows and ornamental candles throughout. At the end of the first room a heavy oak desk stood fixed to the side of the railway carriage, with an old leather chair pulled in close. On the desk was a series of pens and paper, a single Fabergé egg encrusted with rubies. Next to it, an opening of intricate gold had been formed in the desk, and an internet and laptop power cable protruded, in direct contrast to their nineteenth century surroundings.

  Sam’s eyes widened as he examined the desk. But he left everything where it was, and completed his search of the room, and then continued farther down the carriage. The next one was an open dining room, for no more than five persons.

  At the end of the carriage, Sam and Tom split up. One went around the left side of the coal tender to approach the engine cab, while the other went around the right side.

  Sam stepped into the cab first, with his shotgun aiming level. Light and heat radiated from the boiler’s fire box, through an open stoking door. It struck him as strange that someone would leave it as such. He stepped another foot forward, and felt someone press the barrel of a gun into his back.

  “Put the gun down,” the stranger said.

  The man had been waiting outside the train, while the light of the open flame had lured him inside. Sam swallowed hard and cursed himself for not checking the dark space outside the train first. He then slowly lowered his shotgun.

  “Good, now step into the light where I can see you better.”

  Sam followed his directions, stepping into the middle of the engine cab. “Now what?”

  “Now you can tell me how many of you there are,” the train driver snarled.

  “Just two.” It was Tom’s voice that answered. “But I’ve got the barrel of a shotgun fixed on your head.”

  “All right.” The stranger said, lowering the handgun. “Now what?”

  Sam turned to face him.

  “Now you show us how to operate this train.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Inside the Sipapu

  The stranger’s accent pegged his origins as south of the border, but his English was impeccable. Not what Jenn would have expected from a cartel member. She, Brody, and Ben had all reacted differently when he spoke. Brody gave a strangled yelp, Ben had whirled to face the man, his hand snaking toward his shoulder holster, and she herself had frozen, the idea that their deaths were imminent flashing into her mind before the stranger’s second sentence was finished.

  “Don’t make me shoot you,” the stranger added. He held his hand out, and Ben reluctantly handed over the pistol he’d only half drawn.

  “Easy, man. We can work this out,” Ben ventured.

  “Of course, we can, esse.”

  Jenn was jarred again by the slang term for friend. She glanced at Ben, shaking her head slightly. She didn’t know what he had in mind, but she was certain that challenging this man in any way would be even more dangerous, if that were possible.

  “What do you want?” Ben asked.

  “You have something that belongs to us, esse. We want it back is all. Of course, we’d prefer you not speak to the FBI about our transaction.”

  The stranger grinned, his teeth flashing white in the light of their flashlights. “We will need assurances, you understand.”

  Ben nodded. He looked at Jenn. “It will be all right.”

  She wanted to tell him not to trust the man, not to give him the drugs. But she couldn’t stop shaking, and she didn’t want her voice to betray her fear. She stayed silent as Ben and the stranger negotiated their fate.

  “I think we will keep the girl here. If you give us back our goods, you may take her with you when you go.”

  “And what about my man? This is one of my best cowboys. I need him, too.”

  “In due time, esse. You can have him back after we relocate. If your government does not bother us in the meantime. A month, maybe.”

  “No!” Jenn cried, involuntarily.

  The stranger smiled broadly again. “What’s this, esse? Your woman has another man? Maybe we will kill him for you, if our partnership is pleasant.”

  “He’s my brother,” Jenn choked out.

  “In that case, we will let your boyfriend decide. Hey, esse, why are you still here?”

  “I’m not your buddy,” Ben snarled.

  “Ben, please!” Jenn pleaded.

  “You want it back here?” Ben asked, ignoring her.

  “Better not. You have hay for your animals?”

  “Of course,” Ben spat.

  “Conceal it within a load of hay and take it to Durango. Write your cell phone number here. We’ll tell you where to deliver it.” The man handed Ben a slip of paper and a stub of a pencil from his pocket. Ben wrote something on the paper and handed it back.

  “It’ll take a few hours to get back to the ranch from here, and another to get the load in the truck.”

  Ben still hadn’t looked at Jenn again, and she willed him to with every bit of mental focus she could bring to bear.

  “Better hurry. I may get bored.” The man’s leer sent a chill to Jenn’s bones.

  She didn’t want to be left alone with him, but she didn’t want to leave Brody with him either. Her mind scrambled furiously for something to say, anything to allow them all to leave together. But she knew nothing would work. The man exuded pure evil, despite his mild tone and cultured speech patterns.

  He stepped aside to allow Ben to pass, and then moved back to block the passage.

  “Don’t bother. I’m not leaving my brother,” she said. Ice had replaced the blood in her veins. Only her wits stood between her and whatever disgusting plans the man had for her. She could only hope they’d save her brother, too. A part of her mind began the ancient chants her grandmother had taught her, and her hand went to the medicine pouch hanging around her neck.

  The man’s hand came up, his evil-looking pistol pointing at her. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, letting her hand fall away. “A token of protection my people wear.”

  He snorted. Looked down at Brody, still tethered on the ground despite Ben’s earlier efforts. “Do you believe in that superstitious crap, too?”

  Brody shook his head.

  “Just as well. Your spirits won’t save you. You’d better hope your boss likes you as much as he does your sister.”

  Jenn made an involuntary sound. Brody and the other man both stared at her. She wanted to explain to Brody that she and Ben no longer had a relationship, that it had been short-lived, and that he needn’t be hurt that she
hadn’t confided in him. But she couldn’t dash his hopes that Ben would do as the man asked, nor was it safe to let the man know she had her own doubts. What would Ben do? She wished she knew.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Ben lost no time in retrieving his radio from his shirt pocket once out of the cave. But inside the kiva, he had no reception, and it took another half hour to climb out of the kiva and then get to the center of the canyon below the pueblo to try again. Still nothing. Maybe the pilot had left.

  He steadfastly kept his mind off what might be happening to Jenn or Brody. There was nothing he could do for her except get to the ranch as quickly as possible. Without the chopper, he’d have to take the route the others had taken in and out of the canyon. Fortunately, there had been no rain recently, and their tracks were easy to follow.

  He set out at an easy jog, meant to move him quickly without expending the energy he’d need for a long run. If he missed the men who were on their way with horses for Jenn and Brody by even half a mile, it would be a long run back to the ranch. He could only hope they were following the tracks from the other end.

  Far to the northeast, the crack of thunder preceded an afternoon storm. Monsoon was early this year, and the parched land would have been grateful had it been sentient. Certainly, the Utes who subsisted on high-desert farming to feed their cattle and horses were grateful. And they all knew to stay out of canyons at this time of year. The sudden downpour would have sent everyone near Ignacio scrambling for shelter, but Ben knew nothing of it.

  Overhead in the canyon where Ben ran, the sky was blue, the sun shining hotly on his bare head. He thought about the hat that had started this entire disaster and wished he’d thought to bring one when he’d entered the helicopter hours before. He kept his eyes on the ground and followed the tracks. A little heat wouldn’t kill him, at least not inside the canyon. On the mesa was a different story, but he had to believe he’d meet up with the others. They’d have water.

  On the heels of that thought came a step that brought him under the willows lining the canyon. The damp sand he’d been travelling over coalesced into a shallow pool of water, left from the trickle that sometimes found the surface in the bottom of the canyon. He bent and dropped to a knee to take a sip.

  As he did, he noticed something he hadn’t felt before. The ground was vibrating. He stood up, puzzled, and then heard the far-off rumble that told him what was happening. Behind him, and probably traveling far faster than he could, he knew a wall of water choked with fallen tree trunks, mud, and probably animals caught in the flash flood would be coming. He had to get out of the narrow canyon and climb to safety immediately!

  Ben ran for his life. As soon as he broke through the copse of willows, he glanced from his feet, where he still followed the tracks left by his employees, to the side of the canyon wall. It didn’t matter now whether he found where the others had climbed down and back up. As soon as he spotted anywhere he could get up the wall, he’d go for it. The flood could reach 20 or 30 feet up the walls, he thought. He had to find a spot that wouldn’t trap him below that level.

  The distant rumble was now a roar, as loud as a freight train. Don’t look back. Looking back could prove fatal, if he stumbled. And it would slow him down. He was desperate to know how close the water was, while at the same time understanding that if it was close enough to see, he was already dead.

  Just as he thought there was no escape, a rockfall appeared as he passed a stand of brush. He veered toward it and scrambled for the top, heedless of the potential for a twisted ankle in the rubble. It led to a crack in the sandstone that climbers would call a chimney, and he climbed that as fast as he could by wedging the toe of his boot on one side and pushing with his hands on the other, his back to the rock.

  Below him, a rush of water appeared. The noise was indescribable. He gained the next ledge as the wall he’d anticipated rounded the last bend before his position. Without hearing it, Ben knew he was yelling. He’d never known fear like this, not even when the cartel guy had startled them in the cave that morning. It was going to be a close call, and if he didn’t get above the flood, Jenn and Brody were likely to die as well. Desperately, he reached for a gnarled juniper and clung on for his life as he swung his legs up.

  His left foot caught a low branch and allowed him to swing himself to a sitting position. Inches below him, a gnarled old cottonwood tumbled in the flood and passed by. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had, and his throat was sore from bellowing out his fear and horror. Behind the filthy wall of mud and debris, the waters were calmer, though still swift and deep. How would Jenn get home, even if the drug runner kept his word and released her?

  But he couldn’t think of that now. He had a mission, and unless he completed it, she wouldn’t be coming home anyway. He looked from side to side. The juniper that was his throne for the moment grew out of a narrow ledge that wouldn’t even allow him to stand upright, and there was no way up. Maddeningly, the top of the wall was another hundred feet or more above him. He was trapped until the waters receded.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  On-board the Maria Helena

  Elise picked up her cell phone on the first ring. “Madam Secretary.”

  She’d left a message with the Secretary of Defense’s personal assistant for her to return the call to the ship as soon as she became reachable. That was over two hours ago, and time was short.

  “Elise. I’ve seen the surveillance footage.” The Secretary of Defense said, her voice calm and professional. “Was anyone still in the tunnel when it imploded?”

  “Sam and Tom, along with about a dozen of the construction crew.”

  “What were they still doing down there?”

  “They were in the process of developing a plan to retrieve Big Bertha from where she’d become lost a few miles down a lava tube.” Elise intentionally left out any news of finding the Death Stone.

  “Does anyone have a timeframe for removing the rubble and gaining access to the lava tube?” It was reassuring to hear the Secretary’s methodical approach to the problem, without a hint of concern over the most likely deaths of Sam and Tom, as well as at least a dozen construction workers.

  “Veyron’s surveyed the site using ground-penetrating radar. He says he’s no expert on what can be achieved, but given the location, and the fact all mining equipment would still need to be brought in and assembled on site, he can’t see us opening the tunnel inside of three months.”

  “So, even if Sam and Tom survived the cave in, they’ll starve or more likely die of thirst well before we can get them out. Is that where we’re at?”

  “Yes.”

  The Secretary of Defense spoke with the certainty of a person in charge of the world’s most powerful militaries. “These people were experts. They rode into the tunnel and disappeared inside before the explosion. They didn’t destroy the entrance to that tunnel just so they could die. So let’s find out where the other end of that tunnel leads.”

  Elise took a breath. “You know it’s the middle of the Bering Strait, right? The entire tunnel’s underwater.”

  “So? Go find out where it comes out!”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Washington D.C.

  The Secretary of Defense’s displeasure had been felt – and heard – throughout the offices. Her deputy caught wind of the nature of the disaster via the office grapevine, and made haste to leave before she could descend on him with directives.

  From his car, he called the contact he’d met before. This time, he chose an out-of-the-way location closer to his own office. This debacle was squarely on the other agency’s shoulders, and he wanted his counterpart to know he wouldn’t cover for them this time.

  He sat on a park bench, near the street taco vendor whose wares were warming his hands. A few moments after he’d taken his seat, the bench flexed, letting him know his contact had joined him.

  “Slumming?” the other man asked.

  “I am now,” the Deputy Se
cretary answered. “What the hell went wrong over there?”

  “Over there?” The innocuous question, asked with an air of innocent ignorance, infuriated the Deputy Secretary.

  “Don’t act the fool,” he snarled. “You know very well what I’m talking about, or you wouldn’t be here. What the hell went wrong?”

  “A slight hiccup, that’s all,” the man answered. His intense blue eyes fixed on him, behind thick glasses. “I assure you, the stone is safe.”

  “Don’t ever say that word to me again. Here.” The Deputy Secretary thrust the warm, wrapped tacos into the hands of his contact and dug in his suit coat pocket for his flask. He tipped it up quickly and took a healthy swallow. He risked a glance at his companion.

  The man was regarding the tacos with a bemused expression.

  The Deputy Secretary lowered his voice to a sinister hiss. “He was supposed to make it look like an accident, a natural cave-in. Now I have an entire island filled with dead bodies riddled with bullet holes and a tunnel that looks like someone’s tested one of our newest bunker busters on it. Not a cave-in. Not an accident.”

  “It couldn’t be helped. There was a Humvee…”

  “I don’t care what there was. Four well-respected friends of the Secretary are swearing a team of elite mercenaries on motorcycles came through and killed everyone on the ground, before blowing up the tunnel! Just what did your idiot expect, that no one would question the deaths by machine gun fire?” He snatched the tacos back and ripped back the wrappings on one, furiously tearing into it with his teeth.

  “Look, it’s the middle of the Bering Strait. Even the news media haven’t caught on yet. No one will, if you keep your principal calm. No one knows what happened out there. Make sure it doesn’t become a news item.” The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his greasy fingers, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “And how am I supposed to do that? Everyone in our office heard the Secretary’s reaction. She’s not happy, I tell you.”