Kurtz consulted the mine diagram again.
“The main shaft goes straight in. There are four tunnels off to the right. We want the third one. Saddle up.”
He strode into the mine with Krause, then came Sutherland and Sergeant Paine, followed by the militiamen. The tunnel sloped down at a gradual angle. The blockade had protected the interior of the mine from moisture and destructive forest creatures and the timbers supporting the walls and ceiling were mostly intact.
They trudged in silence between the narrow tracks and encountered the first side tunnel about an eighth of a mile in. They kept moving, passed another opening after a few hundred yards, and after a slightly longer walk came to the third. A few yards beyond the opening, the main shaft ended in a blank wall.
“Something’s not right,” Kurtz growled.
He studied his diagram, and then wheeled about and with his entourage following, slowly retraced his steps, playing the beam of his flashlight on the walls. He stopped and studied a section of wall that seemed to be slightly indented. He borrowed a crowbar and pried away a slab of rock that was no thicker than a flagstone. Wood could be seen through the hole where the rock had been.
He stepped back and handed the crowbar to a militia man, who pried away more of the flat rocks. Behind the façade was a wooden plank blockade similar to the barrier at the mine entrance.
Kurtz led the way. The tunnel was smaller than the main passage, and went in for a couple of hundred feet before it ended in a wall of steel plates. Painted on the wall in red paint was a primitive drawing of a skull.
“What the hell is that?” Krause said.
“Indian hex sign,” Kurtz said. “Figures. They say Grand pop Hiram hired a bunch of Utes to keep an eye on the more valuable mines. They weren’t interested in gold or silver and could keep their mouths shut.” He stepped back. “That hoodoo won’t bite you. Take ‘er down.”
The men took turns working the crowbars through gaps in the plates. Once one section was pried off, the others came down easily. After about ten minutes a gap around three feet wide, reaching from ceiling to floor, was opened in the barrier.
As soon as the gap was opened Kurtz pushed through. There was silence, then something that sounded like a choking cry.
“You all right, general?” Krause said.
A mad cackle of laughter issued through the opening.
“I’m more than all right.”
The voice had a ghostly echo, as if it were coming from the inhabitant of a sepulcher. The militia men exchanged puzzled glances and nervously clutched their weapons.
Krause said, “You want us to come in, general?”
Kurtz answered simply. “No. I’m coming out.”
He squeezed through the opening, an object wrapped in shreds of cloth clutched close to his chest. He removed the cloth and cradled in his arms was a cross around three feet long that seemed to glow with a green and yellow fire.
The horizontal arms were shorter than the main shaft, and the entire surface was covered with swirling filigrees of gold. The beams from the flashlights reflected off the finely-cut facets of dozens of emeralds inlaid into the gold. At the top of the cross was an emerald as large as an egg.
Kurtz slowly raised the scepter high above his head like a medieval warrior clutching a broadsword. The militiamen stared at the object as if hypnotized by its unearthly glow.
Clearly visible where the arms crossed, inlaid in smaller diamonds, was the letter J.
Sutherland had been brought up in a religious family, but her army experiences had left her cynical and her world had become one of technology rather than superstition. But even she could feel the magical power that radiated from the scepter and seemed to flow down through Kurtz’s upraised arms and into his body. The light from the precious stones reflected in the general’s eyes, which burned with a supernatural glitter.
The subterranean surroundings with the shadowed walls, the vacant stares of the armed militiamen, and most of all, the cross in the hands of a fanatical madman, all seemed part of an unholy ceremony that mocked good and celebrated evil.
Sutherland’s literal mind could not comprehend the totality of what was going on. But she knew from the shivers dancing along her spine that she had every reason to be very afraid.
Hawkins swooped down and emerged below the wooly layer of clouds. He was going too fast so he brought the glider’s nose up, precipitating a string of beeps from the variometer warning him of a stall. He pushed the control bar forward and stabilized his flight. He was still having trouble keeping the wing level when Calvin dropped out of the clouds seconds later.
Hawkins pressed the finger switch on his radio. “How do I look?”
“Like a drunken condor. But you’re headed in the right direction. Down.”
Hawkins glanced at the forest below, then at the GPS screen. “Our LZ is directly ahead. Check out the lights at eleven o’clock.”
“I count two vehicles moving up the mountain,” Calvin said. “What do you want to do?”
Hawkins had to make a quick choice. They had targeted a clearing near the camp as a landing zone. But if Sutherland were with the vehicles advancing up the side of the mountain, it could take hours to climb to her.
“Scrub the original plan. We’ll land on the mountain.”
Hawkins scanned the slope for an opening in the trees.
“Off to the left,” Calvin said.
Hawkins saw a knob of gray rock that protruded from the forest in the shape of a human shoulder. The promontory was shrouded by misty threads and looked about the size of a dime. Hawkins hoped that it just seemed small from a distance.
“Good for a sparrow perch, maybe, but I’ll give it a try.”
“Just wheel around in a gradual curve, approach the target, ease out of the hammock, keep it slow, and push your bar up at the last second as you get your feet under you. Pieceofcake.”
Hawkins shifted his body weight to put the glider into a turn that pointed the front of the wing directly at the rock. He started moving too fast again, brought the nose up, and then down, making sure the wings were steady. It was a smooth save, and Hawkins began to feel more confident. His cockiness ended as he made the approach and saw the deep fissures in the promontory. Rather than being smooth and flat on top, the rock was lumpy and uneven.
It was too late to veer away.
He had already slipped his legs out of the cocoon, and had them under him, knees bent slightly. A few feet from the ledge he brought the wing up and slowed almost to a stop. His feet hit the hard ground. The shock on his bad leg was greater than he expected, and the impact, and the weight of the gear he was carrying, threw his center of gravity off.
He wobbled dangerously, but by using every ounce of strength in his arms and shoulders, he managed to keep his footing on the uneven surface and immobilize the wing.
He unsnapped the harness and lifted the wing over the side. The glider landed in the trees about a hundred feet below the knob. Then Calvin came in and landed lightly beside him, took a few steps in, and brought the wing down. Hawkins helped him out of the harness and they pushed the wing over the side to join the other hang-glider.
Hawkins and Calvin turned toward the mountain and pushed their way through the brush into the woods. They headed in the direction of the last headlight sighting. After trekking through a murky forest, they stepped out onto a road. Fresh tread marks could be seen in the dirt in the light from the rising sun.
They started hiking up the steep-angled road, but after ten minutes of walking, Hawkins put his hand up to signal a halt. As if on cue, a series of angry shouts shattered the morning stillness.