This time, Indy and Catherine had made sure that no one was home. They’d left the Chevy near the park gates and walked a mile to the Lestage trailer, then watched the small home for 15 minutes before venturing onto the property. They had come fully equipped. Their backpacks contained climbing equipment, should that become necessary, flashlights, extra batteries, cigarette lighters, GPS units, and compasses. They had their RCMP utility belts and service revolvers, and Indy even had 20 feet of rope hooked over one shoulder. They might not need everything they’d brought, but there was no telling what would happen once they entered the mine. In addition to the equipment, Indy had a set of the engineering and development plans from the Ministry of Mines. Before they’d left their respective stations, they’d both made sure that at least one of their coworkers knew where they were going.
“Come on, Cath,” Indy said, excited to finally be moving. “Time to fish or cut bait.”
“Yeah, it’s time. We’ve already been on the dock too long,” she responded.
They stole past Leon’s trailer and headed south, past the faded Devil’s Anvil sign. The trail curved a bit and widened, heading toward the rocky rampart of Sawtooth Ridge several hundred feet ahead. While the trail was overgrown, it showed evidence of recent usage. The tire tracks that Catherine and Indy passed were fresh.
“According to the plans, the mine starts with a horizontal shaft carved directly into that bluff up ahead,” Indy said.
“Well the trail is leading directly to it. Must be something there,” Catherine responded.
The trail rounded a bend, and directly before them was a low wooden structure with a peaked roof, built directly into the mountainside. There were two large, barn-like doors at the front of the structure. These were locked with a large metal padlock.
“No problem,” said Indy. With the new information produced by the other accounts, he’d had no difficulty obtaining a warrant to search the property and premises of Leon Lestage. This particular structure was, according to his maps, on Leon’s property. That meant it was fair game. Without further ado, he produced a set of tools from his backpack and started to pick the padlock. Eventually the lock sprang open.
“Bastard,” cursed Indy as he removed the opened lock from the door. Both he and Catherine peered into the gloom ahead of them. There were overhead lights, and Indy found a switch, but nothing happened when he flicked it.
“They must have generator power,” Indy said. “We’ll have to use our flashlights from here on in. Good thing we brought lots of batteries, Cath.”
They squinted into the darkness, trying to see what lay ahead of them. There were two tracks of standard railway gauge, receding into the blackness. The air had a musty, coal-like smell to it. Cobwebs hung from the tunnel ceiling, and large wooden posts and beams appeared at regular intervals. A small rail car was sitting on the tracks just inside the barn doors. Indy felt his heart rate start to rise as he stepped inside the doors. He hated enclosed spaces.
“I’ll bet this rail car is used for transporting narcotics. Especially the bulky stuff, like marijuana. They could just load it up and push it down the tracks. With how close we are to the American border, this must be how they ship their contraband across,” said Catherine.
“Yes. This has got to be the hole. The leak in the dyke, so to speak. The Yankees will go nuts over this,” responded Indy.
“So will Ottawa,” said Catherine. “This could be huge.”
They stood for a moment, gazing at the dim, narrow tunnel. “Shall we?” Indy asked finally.
“After you,” motioned Catherine. “Let’s see what James Leon Hallett built for himself.”
“Let’s take the bus,” said Indy, pointing to the rail car. “Hop on. Turn on your flashlight. I’ll get us started.”
Catherine stepped into the rail car, and Indy started pushing. Initially the progress was slow, but he was able to push the car forward at a slow jog. Then he hopped on, and slowly started to push the large upright lever back and forth, keeping up the pace. They proceeded forward for about 15 minutes before the tunnel ended in a large central space, about 30 feet across. The coal smell was much stronger here; Grandpa Hallett had indeed found a rich vein. Both Indy and Catherine shone their flashlights around the room; in the flickering shadows they could see four other tunnels splitting off from the central excavation. There was a vertical shaft with what appeared to be a simple elevator system descending down the wall. Unlike the posts and beams supporting the tunnel, the elevator assembly seemed to be new and fairly modern.
“Hang on a sec, Cath,” said Indy, as he fumbled through his backpack. “Here it is.” He pulled out a copy of the original development plan, and they both shone their flashlights on the large sheet of paper. Indy’s flashlight shook a bit — the walls and ceiling were starting to weigh heavier and heavier on him. He could feel the panic gradually taking hold of his mind. He gritted his teeth and attempted to regain his self-discipline.
“According to this, there’s a lower level. One of the tunnels in that level appears to head due south. It looks like there’s a maze of interconnected rooms and walkways in that direction. I say we take the elevator down. It looks new to me.”
“After you, Indy,” said Catherine again, quietly noting Indy’s increasingly obvious anxiety. She could see little beads of sweat on his forehead, and noted his fidgeting fingers. From the signs, she thought he must be claustrophobic, though he hadn’t mentioned it. Privately she was surprised that he’d suggested they go down any farther, and wondered how much longer he’d be able to handle the strain.
The rail line they were already riding led them along a narrow path adjacent to the wall, and then connected with two sections of rail on the lift platform itself. Indy gently nosed the cart onto the platform. He found an electrical panel on a vertical wooden post beside the elevator shaft.
“Let’s see what happens,” he said, pressing a green button. Nothing. He pressed it again, and then pressed all the other buttons on the panel. Still nothing.
“Dumbo,” said Catherine. “We don’t have electrical power. The lift is obviously operated electrically, and the generator, wherever it is, is off.”
“Well let’s go back and find the generator and turn it on. It must be outside,” said Indy. “I’ll go see if I can find it.”
Abruptly, and without warning, the lift began to slowly descend on its own. Indy paused mid-step.
“What’s it doing?” asked Catherine nervously.
“It’s descending,” said Indy, attempting to ignore the claustrophobic fears that were rising within him. He was starting to feel as though his throat was closing up, and trying desperately to pretend it wasn’t. Suddenly a switch in his brain turned on, and he started to panic. He knew he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Let’s get off while we can,” he said suddenly, moving to step off the rail car and lift.
“No,” Catherine said, grabbing his hand. “We need to follow this through. It can’t possibly be a deep tunnel. Let’s see where it goes. If we need to, we can use these cables to climb back up.” She pointed to what were probably the brake and electrical cables, strung along the wall.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, trying to calm himself. “You’re the local authority, I guess. I’m just an inspector out of Vancouver. But I want danger pay for this job.”
Catherine shone her flashlight upward and saw the shaft opening recede in the pale light. “How come it suddenly went down?” she asked.