Cash and Colcord moved slowly down the long mine tunnel, their beams playing ahead into the darkness. Once again, Cash felt her throat tightening as she contemplated the dark passageway chiseled into the mountain, braced at intervals with massive timbers, splintering and warping with dry rot.
The smell of the mine assaulted her nostrils—mold, dust, and stone, overlaid with smoke. She didn’t want to think what that smoke came from.
As they turned the first bend, the light of the entrance winked out behind them. She felt a rising apprehension. It was purely psychological, she told herself—just her claustrophobia acting up.
They came to the first T, and Colcord paused at the corner and peered around. “Clear.”
Cash took the opportunity to slip her Baby Glock out of the keeper and to finally rack a round into the chamber. That gave her a feeling of reassurance.
“Glad to hear you do that,” said Colcord. “I always keep a round chambered. A holdover from Iraq. When shit happens, it happens fast.”
“I’m not sure I like this conversation,” said Romanski with a strained laugh. “You really think the killers might still be around?”
“No,” said Cash, “but better safe than sorry.”
They moved deliberately, pausing at every turn for Colcord to check the way ahead. They soon arrived at the first big open area with its abandoned equipment scattered about. Across the expanse, at the far side, the black timbered doorway stared at them. After pausing to scan the room, they moved quickly across and entered the low passageway. Here the air got even deader, more humid, and clammy.
Beyond, they came into the maze of passageways and dead-end tunnels marking the ore-bearing area. It struck Cash again what a perfect place this was for an ambush, with holes going off every which way, some so small it was hard to see how a human being could have squeezed through to remove ore. She felt a shudder of horror just thinking about it—what a way to die, wedged in a crawl space, unable to move. Despite their powerful flashlights, there were still plenty of dark holes from where someone could launch a spear. But as they moved along, they saw and heard nothing, no chanting or laughing
They reached the slanting tunnel, which narrowed until they had to move forward on their hands and knees, Romanski struggling with the acetylene torch, before they emerged into the larger cavity. They passed the cave-in, splashed through the stream, and came to the vertical shaft where the victim, Johnson, had been found. The evidence-gathering crews had laid aluminum gangplanks over the gap, and they quickly crossed, heading into the narrowing tunnel that caused Cash’s apprehension to rise again. And then, when she almost thought they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere, their flashlight beam gleamed back at them from the steel door.
Cash held up a hand for silence, then went up to the door and pressed her ear to it and listened. Nothing. The surface was cold, and there were no sounds or vibrations coming through from the other side.
“We need to document our entry,” she said, speaking in a low voice, turning to Reno. “That’s gonna be your job, to take photos and video as needed of everything we do, every step we take. Think of it sort of like having a lapel camera. We’re recording this is as much for our protection as for theirs—because what we do now is gonna be scrutinized.”
She looked at the little group. “Once we’re inside, Bart, you’ll be in charge of evidence gathering. I want you to keep your eye out—and grab whatever evidence you think is relevant. For stuff that’s too big to carry out now, point it out to Reno and make sure it’s recorded, and then tag it for later.”
“What are we looking for?” Romanski asked in a low voice.
“As the warrant says: evidence related to the homicide of Johnson. I know it sounds vague, and it is. Deliberately so. We wanted wording that pretty much allows us to go anywhere, see anything. I wish I could tell you what kind of evidence we’re looking for—anything that looks clandestine, hidden, or weird. Use your judgment.”
“Okay.”
“And what’s the protocol for when we encounter Erebus personnel?” Reno asked.
“It’s no different from entering a house with a warrant. We can enter unannounced, but as soon as we encounter anyone, we identify ourselves and show the warrant. We’ll have to state what we’re looking for and where we want to go. If anyone tries to stop us, that’s obstruction of a police officer, a felony. They have no right to impede us.”
“Got it.”
“Here’s what I want you to do first,” she said to Romanski. “Cut a little hole so we can see what’s on the other side of this door. It might be a storeroom full of ethanol or some flammable stuff, and we don’t want to set it on fire. Or there may be people on the other side and we don’t want to freak them out. There’s no reason to go in guns blazing. We’re gonna be polite, reasonable, and calm.”
“Gotcha.” Romanski set down his plastic pack with the two bottles and torch and, kneeling, began adjusting them. “People, you can’t look at the flame. Turn your backs.”
They turned their backs, and a moment later, the cavern was brilliantly lit, with a hissing, crackling sound coming from the door.
“Okay, we’re done.”
Cash turned around. Romanski had cut two little holes.
“One for the light, one for your eye. Careful, the edges still might be hot.”
Cash touched the surface of the steel, but it was only warm. She was surprised to see it was a good two inches thick. That was a hell of a steel door. And the holes were both dark—there was no light beyond. She put her ear to one of them. No sound.
She put the flashlight up to one hole and peered in the other.
What greeted her eye was disappointing in its ordinariness. It looked like the corridor of a school or industrial office, tiled in linoleum, with two-toned cinder block walls, darker green below, lighter above. There were light fixtures in the ceiling, but they were turned off. It went down about twenty-five feet and then made a turn, the corridor evidently still following the contour of the original mine tunnel, enlarged and squared off.
“May I?” Colcord asked.
“Of course.”
He peered in. “Looks like my old high school.”
Cash turned to Romanski. “Okay, Bart. Good work—now make us a door, but stop just before the final cut so I can say a few words.”
They all turned their backs again and waited while the brilliant flickering light illuminated the tunnel. After about ten minutes—which seemed like an eternity to Cash—the cutting stopped.
“You can turn around.”
They did. Romanski had cut a doorway, leaving just two little tabs, top and bottom. “I’ll cut through those and push the door in, and then we can enter.”
“Thanks,” said Cash. “Before we proceed, I just want to review a couple of things. Once we’re in, we communicate using hand signals only. We proceed slowly with our flashlights on low—five lumens. We want to surprise them, not give them time to stop or hide what they’re doing. If we encounter any personnel, I’ll announce our presence and serve the warrant.” She looked around. “Any questions?”
“What if we meet resistance?” Reno asked.
“We take it slow, de-escalate, and explain.”
“And if they’re armed?”
“It seems unlikely they’re gonna fire on us. Of course we have the right of self-defense.”
Reno nodded.
“Okay, Bart, finish cutting our door.”
“Look away.”
They did, and after a sustained flickering of light, they heard a loud clang as the door dropped in.
Cash and the rest stooped through the opening. A cool flow of clean, fresh air greeted them, far different from the stuffy, foul air of the mine. After a moment, Cash realized it was faintly scented with something—what was it? Flowers? Lilacs?
She held up her hand and pointed to the place where the corridor made a sharp turn. They moved down the hall in dim light, stopped at the corner, and Cash edged around it, peering, firearm at the ready.
What stretched ahead was another long, dull, institutional hallway. But then she noticed something sitting on the floor about twenty yards down. She squinted—it was hard to see in the reduced level of light. They cautiously approached.
It was an ordinary football, scuffed and worn.