Fatal Secrets

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

At Dean’s command, FBI SWAT team leader Brian Stone pulled together a team of tactically trained agents within fifteen minutes. Dean had Sam Callahan dragging the curator of the Calaveras County Museum out of bed to meet them at the sheriff’s department. Warren Shef field had the only known map of the closed mine. Dean wanted to consult the man because Callahan’s quick research told them the mine was severely unstable.

It was an hour before midnight when they gathered at the Calaveras Sheriff’s Department in San Andreas, twelve miles from the abandoned mine off Salamander Gulch Road. Unfortunately, the twisting road was narrow and treacherous in places, and the sheriff said it would take thirty minutes.

“Do you have a helicopter?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Agent Hooper, two. We use them primarily for search and rescue.”

“I need them.”

“One of our pilots lives quite a ways-”

Brian Stone said, “I can fly a chopper.”

The sheriff cleared it and called in the on-call deputy pilot. While they readied the equipment, Dean spoke to the curator.

Sheffield was skeptical. “The Grouch is dangerous. No one goes there.”

“Grouch? Don’t you mean the Gulch Mine?”

“Technically, it’s called the Second Quartz Mine. The primary mine is about five miles from there, and is open in the summer for tourists. The caverns are amazing, and you can-”

“I’m interested in this one,” Dean interrupted impatiently.

“The Grouch. The miners nicknamed it because it has a temper.”

“A mine with a temper,” Cammarata interjected, shaking his head.

Dean cringed. He hadn’t wanted to bring Charlie Cammarata with them, but Callahan said the man would be valuable since he was the only one who had recently seen Marchand. Dean relented. They needed every advantage they could get.

Sheffield nodded. “Fourteen miners lost their lives in the twenty-six months the Grouch was operational. It took nearly five years to build it, and it was open less than half that. Shafts collapsed spontaneously. It’s boarded up.”

“Are these blueprints accurate?” Dean asked.

“As accurate as they were since the last inspection, which was five years ago. During the inspection one of the geologists fell thirty feet and broke both legs. It took them six hours to get him out of the hole he’d fallen into because they had to shore up the sides, otherwise he would have been buried alive.”

“Sounds lovely,” Sonia said. “We need to get up there, Dean. If Marchand saw that broadcast-”

Dean and Sonia had tried to stop Richardson from broadcasting Marchand’s identity, but it was too late. It had been the smart thing to do … until they learned the location of the women. Now they feared they’d forced Noel Mar chand to act rashly.

“I’ll go with you and explain the blueprints.” Shef field said, pushing his glasses up on his nose for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“It’s dangerous.”

“So is the Grouch! I understand the risk, but you don’t.”

Dean didn’t want any civilians with him, especially this old nearsighted curator, but he didn’t see another way. They needed Sheffield to interpret the arcane blueprints, but they couldn’t sit around the sheriff’s station.

“You’re with me,” Dean said, “Sonia, Brian, Cammarata and three of the SWAT team. Brian, we’re going to have to send half your team on the road. Callahan will go with the other pilot and three SWAT. Trace, if you can lead the ground contingent and stay alert for any sentries. If Marchand is anywhere nearby, the longer he’s in the dark about us, the better.”

Brian pulled his team aside for orders.

Dean took out a highlighter and marked the map. “Sheriff, I need your men to put up roadblocks here … here … and here. That should effectively cut off all escape routes if someone is already up there, and prevent anyone else from showing up.”

“We can’t go there, that’s Rio Diablo land. They’re not the friendliest Indians around.”

“Get as close as you can.”

“That I can do.”

Dean glanced at his watch. “Brian, two minutes.”

“Roger that.”

Dean made a call to the Western Regional tribal counsel leader. He’d obtained his home phone from a local congressman who was friends with the chief.

“Chief Raintree?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Dean Hooper, assistant director of the FBI. I’m calling as a courtesy to tell you that we’re engaging in an operation adjacent to tribal lands that may cross over into your property.”

“Which property?”

“Rio Diablo Rancherita.”

“Ah.”

“Sir?”

“We have our own investigation into Rio Diablo, Director Hooper. I’m not at liberty to share our ongoing investigation, but I appreciate the call, and you won’t have any trouble from the Council if there’s a need to cross into our sacred lands.”

“Thank you, Chief. I appreciate your cooperation.”

Dean hung up. That was easier than he’d expected. He hoped the rest of the operation would run as smoothly.

Sonia listened to the curator explain that the Grouch Mine had produced over seven million dollars in gold-a large haul for a small mine-but the preponderance of accidents had left the owner bankrupt. When the bank seized his property, he fought the police who came to remove him, then fell hundreds of feet to his death in a condemned shaft.

“The geologists who sited the mine made a critical error in judgment related to groundwater. There are hot springs a few miles from here, and we now know that they run deep underground, and because of a unique combination of rock and soil on just this small acreage, they caused underground floods and the shifting earth collapsed shafts. Had the owner simply built the mine one mile down the road, still on his property, he would have tapped into the same vein of gold without the tragic problems.”

While Sonia appreciated the history lesson, she was more interested in what the marks on the yellowed blueprints meant. “What’s this?” she asked of a red X.

“Collapsed tunnel. Here … this is elevation. The entrance itself is stable, but you’ll want to watch your footing. Right … here”-he pointed to a double red line-“the ground gave way between five and twenty feet. There are markings and warnings all over the mine, but you’ll want to watch for neon orange marks. If you see them, stop. That’s the sign for danger, and any step you take other than retracing your exact steps could land you in deep trouble.”

Sonia pointed to what appeared to be a room. “What’s this? It looks like an office.”

“It used to be. The foreman worked from there, the men would break there. It’s three stories belowground, and probably the only safe place in the whole structure.”

“That’s where they are,” Sonia said. “It’s secure, they can’t get out, it’s dark.”

“What about air?” Dean asked.

“There’s plenty of ventilation on the upper levels, but after a hundred feet I wouldn’t guarantee it. I haven’t been to the Grouch in years, it could have changed dramatically since the last inspection.”

The night was clear and the mine seemed to come out of nowhere as they approached from above. The towering metal roof had rusted with time, a narrow and forbidding remnant of the past. The three-quarter waning moon backlit the peaks, casting a ghostly bluish light over the land.

Brian asked Dean over the headset, “How close do you want me to get?”

“As close as you can,” Dean said. “The noise will alert anyone near the mine, but we don’t have a choice. It’s nearly midnight. We can’t be running through the woods in unfamiliar territory searching for the mine.”

Sheffield said, “The road is right there. See? There’s a good-sized turnout just past the mine to the northeast.”

Brian inspected the map and instruments. “I can do that.”

He radioed the other pilot with the information, then said to Dean, “We can land, but there’s only room for one. The other chopper will land point-four miles west.”

“Roger.”

Sonia stared at the blueprints, searing them into her brain as best she could. “How do we get to that room?” she asked Sheffield.

“There’s only one way. The old elevator shaft. It’s a manual elevator.”

“Manual elevator.”

“Crank, pulleys, ropes, chains. You get in and turn the crank by hand to go up and down.”

“Ropes,” Sonia said. “They couldn’t possibly be in any condition to hold any weight.”

“If they were worn the inspectors would have marked them with a big orange X, and I don’t see anything here.”

Sonia swallowed heavily. The closer they got, the more nervous she became. She would not allow her claustrophobia to stop her.

Dean looked at her. He knew. She hated that she was so obvious about it. She closed her eyes as the helicopter descended.

It was cold up here on the mountain. They jumped out of the choppers. Brian ordered one of his team members to stand guard, leaving only seven of them to approach the mine.

“Hooper,” Brian said, “we should wait for the rest of the team before we go in.”

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Both Dean and Sonia shook their heads. “We don’t know where Marchand is,” Dean said. “Time is the one thing we don’t have.”

Guided only by flashlights and the waning moon, they walked briskly and cautiously down the road and around to the fenced entrance to the property. The lock looked new, and Sonia wondered if it had been put in place by Marchand’s people. The whirl-whirl of the second helicopter faded into the night. Sonia tried to breathe easier, but the pounding in her chest vibrated so loudly she couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing through her veins.

She had to save those girls. But the mere thought of going down a manual elevator shaft to a room more than a hundred feet below the surface of the earth had her hands coated with sweat.

Brian cut the lock off the fence and they reached the mine minutes later, staying among the trees. Dean motioned for everyone to turn off their lights and be silent.

Sonia heard nothing but her fear.

Dean whispered, “Okay, two of us need to stay here on lookout. Under no circumstances is anyone to go off alone. You all heard Dr. Sheffield’s instructions? You see neon orange, turn around. Cammarata, Knight, stay up top with Sheffield. The rest of you, with me.”

“You need me down there,” Sonia said. “You don’t speak Chinese. I speak enough to at least calm them when you find them.”

Dean shook his head. “I need you up top,” he said. “You’re the ranking agent. When the others arrive, you need to be here to give direction.”

He was letting her save face.

“I’ll go,” Charlie said.

“No. I don’t trust you, Cammarata. This isn’t a game.”

“I didn’t think it was, Hooper. I speak mandarin and some Xiang. I can work my way through some of the others. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. But I’ll bet it’s the first time you have.”

Sonia cringed. Why did Charlie have to be such an arrogant jerk? But he was right, he knew what he was doing; yet Dean had every reason in the book to mistrust him.

“You follow my orders, Cammarata, or I’ll have you taken out of here on a stretcher.”

Brian said, “Agent Lawson, you’re with me. Agent Clinch, you’re with Knight and Sheffield.”

As they turned to leave, Sonia touched Dean’s arm. “Be careful,” she mouthed.

He gave her a wink and a nod, then disappeared into the mine.

They’d parked in a clearing on the backside of the mine and Ignacio turned off the engine. They’d taken the dirt road, forced to tread slowly over rocks and potholes even in the four-wheel-drive SUV. If they hadn’t been forced into that awful cabin, they wouldn’t have had to cross the virtually inaccessible Rio Diablo land.

Noel listened a beat, then swore. Helicopters!

“They’re fucking early. I should have known. If they try to steal my merchandise, they’ll be sorry.”

He checked his guns, his knife-“Where’s my knife?”

“I don’t know, boss,” Ignacio said.

“Right. I know.” He’d had to kill Sun Ling and forgot to pull it out of his back. He’d get it on his way out of the country. He liked that knife, it was his favorite.

“Let’s go. If they spring the mousetrap, at least I have half their money in the bank. But I want the rest. We’re going to have to lay low for a while.” He looked around. “Where are Don and Simon? You did tell them about the change.” He reached for his gun.

“Yes, boss. I told them. They’ll be here at midnight.”

“It’s nearly midnight. They’d better be on time.”

Trace Anderson drove up the mountain with lights flashing and no siren, half a dozen deputies following. He urged the driver to go as fast as possible. They slowed a fraction to round a ninety-degree turn and saw taillights in the distance. He didn’t like the look of the black truck in front of them.

“Catch up with them,” he told the driver.

As they approached, the truck lurched forward as the driver pushed on the gas.

“It’s a suicide run to go up this mountain at that speed,” the deputy told Trace.

“Just keep up as best you can without driving off the edge.”

“O-kay.” The deputy pressed down on the accelerator again, then radioed in the license on the fleeing vehicle.

Trace sent Sonia a text message.

Suspicious black full-size truck plates 5EET608 refuses to pull over. In pursuit. Stand by.

Dean shined his light around the mine. Sheffield had provided them with hardhats and lights and Dean turned his on. The others followed suit. Cammarata approached the elevator cautiously.

“You know how to work that thing?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, but I want to check it out. Something feels … off.”

“What?”

“No guards for one. You don’t leave your prized possessions in the open.”

Lawson said, “I hardly call this the open.”

Dean agreed, but this was still an area he wasn’t an expert in. He’d worked the field enough, but in white-collar crimes it was pretty cut-and-dried. Some resisted arrest and Dean dealt with each situation as it arose. This mine reminded him of his military tour, and that was a long time ago.

He didn’t want to rely on Charlie Cammarata, but right now he didn’t have much choice.

While Cammarata inspected the elevator, Dean shined his light around the entrance. There were several dark holes cut into the mountainside. One had a bright neon X painted on the side. Underneath was written: 200+ ft drop.

The other tunnels didn’t have marks on them, but Dean wasn’t about to test them. He just wanted to go down, get the women-if they were, in fact, here-and leave. They’d stake out the place for a couple days, hoping Marchand would show up.

“God-fucking-dammit!” Cammarata exclaimed.

“What?”

“It’s rigged.”

“Meaning?”

“The bastard has another way in. This is a false bottom. If we step in it and start moving, the bottom would give way and wham! We smack down a hundred feet below. The actual elevator must be down in the room.”

“How do we get it up?”

“Find the other way down.”

“Sheffield didn’t say anything about another way.”

“There’s always another way.”

“We need to ask him.”

“We have the blueprints. We’re wasting time!”

“We’re being smart,” Dean said. “No rash moves. I’m not jeopardizing my team until I’m confident it’s as safe as possible.”

Cammarata glared at him. “I’ve worked in mines before. Undercover. There’s another way down.” He held out his hand and motioned toward the blueprints that Dean had folded and put inside his flak jacket.

If he was going to trust Cammarata about the elevator trap, then he would have to trust that he knew what he was doing in the mine. Dean handed him the blueprints.

Cammarata spread it out between them. He put his finger on the elevator, turned the map to face the same direction they were facing, and traced a line to one of the tunnels. He looked up.

Dean followed his gaze.

It was the tunnel with the two-hundred-foot drop.

“That’s a red herring,” Cammarata said.

“You’re not going down there.”

“Yes I am.”

“No.”

“It’s the only way. Look, the inspectors haven’t been out in years. These blueprints don’t have that marking. I’ll bet Christopoulis or Marchand himself painted it.”

“No,” Dean said. “I can’t risk my men on a hunch.”

“I’m not your man.”

Cammarata started for the tunnel.

Dean grabbed him and pushed him hard against the rock wall. Dirt crumbled onto their heads. “This is why you lost your job. You put people in jeopardy.”

Cammarata attempted to punch Dean. Dean countered, grabbed his fist, and spun him around, holding his arm high behind his back in a deadlock. He growled, “Don’t try it.”

“You’re in love with her,” Cammarata spat.

“Don’t talk about her. Don’t even think about her.”

“The elevator is in the room. The only way to get it up here is from the room. The crank up here is booby-trapped. Therefore, the staircase is safe. I’m willing to risk my life. I’m not asking you to risk yours. I go down, verify the women are there, and bring the elevator up, thereby disabling the trap.”

“Why not bring the women up the staircase?” One of the SWAT guys said.

“We may be able to, but we don’t know what condition they’re in until we get down there,” Dean said.

Cammarata nodded. “They’ve been through hell, Hooper. Let me do this.”

Dean let go of his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

“It’s not necessary-”

Dean interrupted. “The rule is, no one goes alone. Including a bastard like you.”

Dean told the others, “Be alert.” He turned to Cammarata. “Lead the way.”

Without hesitating, he turned and started down the marked path.

Dean followed.