“Yes, yes, people know where you are.” Vale drummed his fingers on the table. “And I’m sure they’ll come looking for you. They’ll probably search for months. And it’ll be a big story for a while—they’ll have your picture on all the networks. They may even find your abandoned car on a remote highway somewhere in a neighboring state. But in the end they won’t find you. Not even a trace.” He shook his head. “They never do.”
Chapter 18
Elina felt Carson’s hand clench like a vise around her upper arm. He hauled her out of the room at Vale’s command, then shoved her down the hallway until they came to a security door that opened on a flight of stairs into the basement of the mansion.
Seeing the stairs, Elina tried to twist loose of his grip, but he jerked her back. Then he snapped her around to face him and she felt the jarring sting of the back of his hand across her jaw.
“Try that again and I’ll break your neck!”
Elina teetered on the brink of consciousness, but she could see Carson was looking paler than he had earlier and the skin under his eyes had darkened.
She could taste blood in her mouth but grimaced at him, refusing to let her fear show. “You don’t look so good. What’s the matter? Not feeling very well?”
Carson only spun her around and forced her down the wooden steps into the basement.
Elina’s mind was spinning out of control. All her worst fears when she first decided to follow the mysterious van from LA to Wyoming were apparently coming true. She tried to remain rational. And she tried to reason with Carson to let her go.
At the bottom of the stairs he led her down a narrow corridor to a large supply closet at the far end. Inside were shelves of cleaning supplies and chemicals with mops hanging from a row of hooks on the far wall. He twisted one of the hooks to the side and Elina heard something click. Then he pushed against the wall and a small section of it swung out into darkness beyond.
Elina felt cool, damp air brush against her face. “Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t reply but pushed her through the door and closed the panel behind them.
Elina could see they were in some sort of tunnel dug right into the mountainside. Crude lighting fixtures had been mounted into the rock overhead and cast a dim, pale-green glow. They climbed down a set of rough, uneven stairs carved into the rock, which went on for what seemed like more than a hundred yards deeper underground.
“Where are we going?” Elina whimpered again.
Still Carson didn’t say anything, only forced her forward, down the steps. She could hear his breathing in the darkness, growing more labored as they walked. He didn’t appear to be bleeding, but Elina guessed the gunshot had hurt him more than she had initially thought.
After several minutes they arrived at yet another door, only this one was made of solid wood. Thick, rough timbers that were fastened together with rusted iron bands and bolts. It looked like a door to some kind of dungeon.
Carson pushed the door open and ushered her into another tunnel. More dim light fixtures illuminated patches of the tunnel in the same green hue.
Now Elina could hear sounds ahead. Voices, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She quickly discovered that they weren’t speaking so much as moaning. It was as if she had descended right into hell itself.
Carson steered her into a secondary tunnel, far narrower than the first. Darkness fell around her as though someone had put a blanket over her head. After several paces he pulled her to a stop. She tried to tear away from his grasp once more, but despite his wheezing, his grip felt almost like claws digging into her flesh.
She heard a rusty metallic clank followed by the dull creaking of another door. Then came a soft snapping sound, and Elina felt the plastic ties fall away from her wrists right before she was shoved forward. She tumbled blindly onto the cold stone ground as the door creaked and slammed shut behind her, followed again by the metallic clank like some kind of lock sliding into place.
Elina flailed around in the darkness as terror welled up inside her. She felt along the floor until her palms slapped against the rough, wooden surface of the door. She balled her fists and pounded against the door, shrieking in anger at Carson. But her cries were met with silence. She screamed and raged until her voice was gone and she collapsed again on the ground, weeping softly.
Then from somewhere out in the darkness a voice called,
Elina caught her breath. It was a young male voice, maybe no older than a teenager. She felt her way up the surface of the door until her fingers came across a small opening with metal bars, like the window in a prison-cell door. Outside, she could see the soft-green glow of the lights in the main corridor.
He replied in Spanish with trembling in his voice, “I think I’m in the cell right across from you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Miguel,” came the reply.
Elina pressed her face to the bars. As her eyes grew accustomed to the low light, she saw wooden doors across the passage from her, built right into the rock wall. Each had a small window opening with bars just like hers. There were three doors on the other side of the tunnel, and she assumed there were additional cells on either side of hers. She couldn’t tell which door Miguel was behind.
He spoke again. “Where are we? What’s happening to us?”
“We’re in Wyoming,” Elina said. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“Wyoming? They told us they had work in Las Vegas. Good-paying work. They picked us up in a van, and then… then I don’t remember anything else. I woke up here… inside this dungeon.”
“You don’t remember anything about the trip?” Elina said.
“No… only that the van smelled funny when we got in it.”
“How many others were with you?”
“Four others, I think. There were five of us altogether.”
Elina pressed her face to the window and called out, “Javier? Javier Sanchez? Has anyone seen Javier Sanchez?”
Then another voice called out—a gravelly, hollow voice. “Elina? Elina, is that you?”
“Javier!” Elina’s heart surged with emotion. Despite the darkness she suddenly felt a spark of hope.
“Elina, what… what are you doing here?”
“I came looking for you,” Elina said. “Carmelita told me you had disappeared. She was worried sick. She said you had gotten in a van with Nevada plates.”
“They said they needed five workers. They lied to us. I think they sprayed something inside the van to make us fall asleep.”
“Carmelita said the van had been coming by every four weeks or so.” She related how Javier’s sister had called her in a panic after he had disappeared. Elina had not seen either of her cousins since they were all children. When she was a child, Elina’s family would spend Christmas in Mexico every year. But after her father’s death the tradition had stopped.
Then a few weeks ago she had gotten Carmelita’s frantic phone call with the story of Javier’s disappearance and the mysterious white van with Nevada plates. Carmelita said her family had come looking for work. Elina could guess that they had not come legally, but regardless of the circumstances, she knew she couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. She had to at least find out what had happened to her cousin. And since she had been on leave from the LAPD, she had nothing but time on her hands.
Elina explained how she had been watching for the van to return for a new group of victims and how she had followed it here to Wyoming. It had arrived late the day before, and she snuck into the woods to spy on the house, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone inside. She had spent the night in the cold, watching intently, and had seen fleeting images of Vale and a couple of others. But no Hispanics. And now she had gotten captured herself.
“How long has it been? How long have I been here?” Javier asked.
