Dan knew nothing about mines, nor did he understand the use of toxic suits. For that reason his next thought pushed bile up his throat. He had to explore inside to learn what concerned the people who owned it. He had to see what lay at the end of the plastic pipe.
Fear is just a state of mind, he told himself as he began to put on one of the larger-looking suits, leaving seven suits on the wall and one empty peg. Even a casual glance would reveal that an intruder was down the shaft.
On the suit's headpiece was a light that could be turned on by twisting the portion that housed the lens and the bulb. A mask fitted with the air supply sealed off his face. He checked the regulator and verified that the tank was nearly full. It was similar to the scuba regulators he had used when diving off Hawaii. With everything on, including gloves, no portion of his body was exposed. He removed the mask and let it hang around his neck, thinking that he would wait until the air turned bad. As he walked, he remembered stories about miners and canaries. The need for such a bird would imply that bad air might not be easily sensed. Doubt filled him as he stopped to put on the mask and turn on the regulator.
As he continued deep into the mine, there was an unsettling sense of aloneness. Beyond the beam of his light, darkness housed the lurking unknown. Other than the sounds of his footsteps and his deep breaths, there was silence. Without the breeze there was an uncommon stillness.
Down the center of the mine ran an old set of rails, miniature by train standards but sufficient to handle a half ton of ore in a tiny car that could be pushed by men or pulled by cable. In many places the rails were loosened from the dilapidated ties. The mine could be a century or more old, he realized.
The rock sidewalls and ceiling of the shaft were blue-gray in color and the floor relatively smooth but overlaid with fine gray-white dust, except along the walls, where shards of rock had been pushed to make walking easier. There were old rotten timbers overlaid with new. In many places only the original timbers remained in place. It looked like a reasonably serious but temporary patch job.
After hundreds of yards he came to a Y and followed the plastic pipe down the left fork. Going a little farther, he came to a vertical shaft. The horizontal shaft ended about twenty yards beyond the downturn. Above the vertical shaft were beams, one of which held a large rusted metal pulley. Next to it, affixed to a new timber, was a smaller and shiny stainless-steel pulley that held a Vi-inch cable that ran onto a power drum. Affixed to the cable were stirrups that would enable a person to ride the cable down the shaft.
Over the edge he could see only darkness at the end of the headlamp's reach. Cracking open his air mask, he noticed a noxious odor, like gasoline. It wasn't suffocating, but it was clearly noticeable, and it was coming up the shaft.
Dan walked over to the power winch and examined it. Two buttons on a handheld box controlled the winch motor. It had to be operated from where he stood, which meant that for one man to go down on the cable, another had to run the controls.
Hunting around the machinery, he found a toolbox with a screwdriver. By jamming the screwdriver in alongside the power button, he discovered it would stay in the on position. This way he could at least ride the cable down. To come up, he planned to climb, although he wondered what he would do if it were hundreds of feet down. He studied the drum. The way it looked, there couldn't be over a couple of hundred feet of cable. That was reassuring. Looking down the shaft once again, he studied the walls and noted with satisfaction that they were irregular. At least near the top there were outcroppings large enough to stand on, which meant he could rest and climb. No way could a man climb a 1/2-inch cable without footholds.
Still, it was a serious risk. He knew that if he never came out Maria would find a way to get the police into the compound and maybe with luck she would guess where to look. But it was a slim chance that she could find him if something went wrong. He hesitated. He had his son to think about. His mother would give it a valiant try, but she was getting along in years. It would be hard for her to raise a nine-year-old boy to manhood all by herself. Dan's father was dead and his brother was single and running the ranch. Katie would try but how would she deal with Nate and a panic attack at the same time?
Nate was a good reason not to go down. He found himself sweating and breathing deeply.
Then he heard voices.
23
He ran toward the voices as quietly as he could, hoping to determine something about whoever it was before they became aware of him. Maybe nobody had thought to count suits or maybe they would think he was just another Amada worker.
Voice sounds carried extremely well in the otherwise quiet rock chambers. Either that or they were very close.
'Get your damn gun up, dildo,' he heard.
'Why, he wouldn't know what to do with it.'
'Shut up and do your jobs-all of you,' a serious voice cut in. 'I don't want any shots fired until I say so.'
Dan reversed course and ran until he came back to the vertical shaft. Now staying up could be just as dangerous as going down. Jamming the screwdriver alongside the down button, he hopped in a stirrup and began the descent. He told himself, all the way down, that large mines normally had more than one entrance.
As he descended, he studied the rock walls, trying to reassure himself that they could be climbed. Soon his headlamp wouldn't reach the stainless-steel pulley and estimating vertical distance became difficult. It might be too far to climb even with rests and outcroppings. He couldn't hear the voices anymore. Not knowing whether he was armed, they were probably coming slowly, looking in every crevice and dead-end side tunnel.
When next he looked down, he saw a pool. He looked around for something to stand on and was relieved to see a lateral tunnel just above the pool. Jumping off into it, he pulled the cable after him and began coiling it at his feet. What if the cable wasn't anchored to the drum? He knew the answer; the end would drop uselessly at his feet.
He watched the cable, knowing that at any moment he would have his answer.
Just as he was near panic, the cable began retrieving. It had been anchored to the drum and now was being reeled in even though the drum continued to turn in a clockwise direction. There were seven dust-coated stirrups on the ground, and the first of the seven was going back up. Damn! Frantically he looked around for something to hold the cable and stop the drum. The sixth stirrup was rising.
He saw some timber and wrapped the cable, then waited anxiously to see if the winch would move the timber and start a cave-in. When the cable snapped taut, it stopped.
The moment of relief was broken when he noticed the cable line relaxing. A few seconds later, the winch started and the cable snapped taut again. Once more, it loosened and pulled. Over and over, somebody loosened and pulled. The timber gave an eerie creak. The next time, it moved an inch and groaned terribly.
'Stop, you dumb shit.' He heard the words from above clearly. The winch stopped. 'Hey, you down there. Come on up. You're trespassing.'
He remained silent.
As the last stirrup lifted off the ground, he had to make a choice. In a split second he decided not to go. If he arrived at the top and found armed men, the men who had thrown the stun grenade, the men who had hurt Maria and killed Lynette, they might just give him a shove and end his investigation forever.
After the stirrup had risen well into the vertical shaft, it stopped. A large light shone down and hit the pool. He could only imagine the muzzles of the guns aimed down the shaft. Rescuers would have kept the cable rising.
'Where are you?' the voice asked.
'Enjoy your stay, dumb shit,' another voice said, and the cable motor turned on once again. It didn't come down.
They turned off the light and above there was only blackness. He was trapped.
It took a moment before he fully realized his predicament. He had about one liter of water, some trail mix, and that was all. Loosening his mask, he verified that the fumes were coming from the pool. Even a small whiff
