She squeezed his hand and rose, pushing past the weeds until she was standing not thirty yards from the entrance to the mirror maze.
She turned, looking at Pope.
“Besides, if this all goes south and he comes out of there instead of me, I want you to take that thing and blow the shit out of him.”
4 6
She approached the building from the side, pressing her back against the wall as she inched toward the entrance. The padlocks were gone in two easy snips; then she dropped the bolt cutter to the ground and unholstered her Glock.
Trying to keep the noise to a minimum, she gingerly pulled the doors open just wide enough to slip through, then peeked inside.
Darkness.
Not surprised, she brought out her Mini-Mag and hesitated. He could be waiting for her, right here, ready to pounce.
Sucking in a breath, she flicked it on and shone it inside.
No bogeymen in sight. Just a wide hallway, littered with broken glass. Shattered lightbulbs from the fixtures in the ceiling above.
Releasing the breath, she turned sideways, slipping in through the opening, skirting the glass as she moved into the hallway, each step making her cringe, certain he’d hear her and strike at any moment.
Sweeping the beam around, she saw the frayed remnants of a rope line and a few overturned stanchions, and realized she was in a lobby. A nearby set of double doors led to the maze itself, a faded sign above them reading: ENTER IF YOU DARE. But the doors were closed, guarded by another padlock.
Cursing herself for leaving the bolt cutter outside, she reached forward and jiggled the lock, surprised when it fell open in her hand.
Intentional?
Slipping the lock free, she pushed the doors open, expecting to see a maze of cracked and shattered mirrors, more glass on the floor. But a single sweep of her flashlight told her she was wrong.
Every mirror was intact, mounted between broad pillars that formed what looked like arched doorways, a dozen of her reflections staring back at her. Her flashlight beam was doubled and tripled and quadrupled, giving the illusion that there was more light in the room.
The sight was breathtaking. Someone-and she had no doubt who-had spent hours maintaining this place, keeping it pristine.
The angle of the mirrors made it seem as if there were several long corridors leading deeper into darkness, but she knew this was deceptive, designed to confuse. There would be only one true passageway, and finding it in near darkness would be difficult, if not impossible.
Steeling herself, she moved forward, stepping through one of the archways. She was only able to go a few feet, however, before she hit a dead end.
Turning, she doubled back, tried another archway, and got luckier this time, moving several yards down the corridor before hitting another dead end. But when she turned to look behind her, ready to again double back, all she saw were more reflections, and she couldn’t determine exactly what path she’d taken.
A feeling of panic rose-a mild claustrophobia-but she tamped it down, telling herself to remain calm. The pathway was near. It had to be.
Pressing her back against the mirror to her left, she moved along it, using it as a guide, shifting from pane to pane, her progress slow but steady.
Then she turned, passing through another archway, moving deeper into the maze.
And that’s when she heard it.
A shuffling sound.
Very faint, but unmistakable.
Anna clicked her flashlight off, knowing, without a doubt, that she wasn’t alone.
Pope could barely contain himself.
Still crouched in the weeds, he gripped and regripped the 590, chastising himself fifty different ways for letting McBride go in there alone.
He was no hero-he’d proven that more than once in his life-but he knew he shouldn’t have listened to her. Shouldn’t have let her have her way.
He waited there, staring blankly at the building, wondering what was going on inside.
When he couldn’t take it any longer, he stood up and headed for the entrance.
The Maze was silent again.
Anna heard only the sound of her own breathing, and tried desperately to keep it under control. Leaving her flashlight off, she once again flattened against a mirror and moved slowly along it, shifting to the next and the next until she found the continuation of the passageway.
Turning, she passed under an archway — and another sound filled the room. A quick fluttering. The shuffle of feet.
She whipped around, peering into the darkness; then the sound came again and she caught movement in the mirrors. Something passing behind her.
Something red?
She turned — but he was gone. The room silent.
Backing against a mirror, she brought the Glock up and waited, heart thumping. Even in the darkness she felt exposed.
Suddenly thinking this had all been a colossally bad idea, Anna forced herself to move, inching along the corridor until she found another open archway.
Passing through it, she saw light ahead-at least she thought it was ahead-and moved toward it.
A moment later, she found herself standing in the center of the maze, a tiny skylight overhead, letting in a narrow swath of sunlight.
And here, in the middle of room, was a set of wooden steps that led downward, into a hole in the ground.
A wooden sign next to it read: MINER’S MAGIC MINE-ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Keeping her Glock up, Anna carefully approached the hole, peering into it. Candlelight flickered below, and there was just enough sunlight for her to see that the walls on either side of the steps had been decorated with spray paint.
She was immediately reminded of Susan’s notebook.
They were covered with gypsy wheels.
Pope was about to slip through the gap between the doors when his cell phone rang, startling him.
Stepping back, he quickly dug for it, saw the caller’s name. Ronnie.
He clicked it on, keeping his voice low. “Hey, Ron, this isn’t exactly a good time.”
“Oh, god. Thank god.” Her voice sounded shaky. On the edge of panic. “I’ve been trying to call you all day, but I didn’t have your number-Jake’s got it on his cell. Where are you?”
“Up near Salcedo. Why?”
“Is he with you?”
“No, what’s going on?”
“Christ,” she said. “I haven’t heard from him since last night. He isn’t home, he doesn’t answer his phone, and nobody at the station house has seen or heard from him.”
“You know Jake. He probably turned his phone off to get some peace and quiet.”
