The view from the notch was well worth the climb. Willow Grove was clearly visible in the narrow valley below, bounded by intermittent patches of white concrete where the state road climbed the lower flanks of Howell Mountain. A church steeple and the clock tower of the county courthouse in Graniteville were visible across an expanse of trees, and the scarred, rocky shoulder of the gravel quarry rose up into the mountain air on the other side of town. The view through the notch behind them was even more magnificent, extending for miles to the north, east, and northwest, presenting a veritable sea of rolling tree-covered hills and rocky crags, all draped in a smoky blue haze. There were even larger blue-green shapes crouching on the distant horizon. A warm wind blew through the notch.
“That’s the tailbone of the Appalachian Mountains directly to the north,” she said. “That’s Tennessee to the left, North Carolina to the right. The area directly in front of us is part of the Chatahoochee National Forest. It’s all federally protected wilderness area, which begins right about here. The Willow Grove property comes to the top of this notch.”
“Wow. This is some prime real estate. I take it that your family has been here awhile.”
“Yes, awhile,” she said, looking out over the panorama in front of them.
A solitary hawk soared soundlessly in lazy circles above them. The breeze stirred the mass of black hair on her head, revealing the smooth line of her neck. She patted her hair back into place. He felt a sudden strong desire to touch her, an urge he quickly banished. Get a hold of yourself, he thought. She is not coming on to you.
“Anyone live out there?” he asked, pointing north.
“Officially, no. That is all a federal wilderness area. Nothing can be taken in or out of there, not even firewood. You can walk through it, but don’t get hurt, because any rescue will have to be done on foot. No helicopters, ATVs, or any sort of motorized vehicles can go back in there.”
“So no one would be allowed to live out there.”
“Not officially, no. When the wilderness area was created, the government moved everyone out. But some of the families had been there for two, three hundred years, Mr. Stafford. It wouldn’t surprise us if some of them hadn’t slipped back to the old ways and the old places.”
He nodded, picking up on her use of the word us. In other words, we locals know some things that you, an outsider, will never be permitted to know. What had Ray said? Black hats, long black beards, and moonshine? Then he noticed something else that made him ask another question. “And would some of the children who end up here in Willow Grove possibly come from out there?”;
She turned to look at him, her eyes widening in surprise. “What prompted that question?” ‘ “The fact that the path keeps going,” he replied, pointing to the far side of the notch. The path indeed kept going, showing up again halfway down the opposite slope before disappearing into a stand of hardwoods halfway down the mountain.
She looked down the path for a long moment but did not reply. Then she got up and brushed past him, saying, “We should get back.” He again decided not to push it. He had to assume she was still making up her mind about him. The less he said, the better chance he had that she would come out with it.
As they came out into the clearing near the lower falls, he heard the sounds of hoofbeats coming up the path. Moments later, Jessamine appeared, mounted on a black horse. She saw them at once, reined in gently, and waited for them to approach. She was very slim, but surprisingly full-breasted for a teenager. She was wearing short boots, jeans, and a sleeveless white shirt. Her arms were tanned, and she had much darker eyes than Gwen had. Her face had the pinched look of someone struggling with a chronic illness. As Gwen drew near, the girl began to sign excitedly with her hands. Dave, not used to being around horses, remained a few steps back.
“She was getting worried when we didn’t come back,” Gwen said.
“Normally, I don’t take visitors beyond the lower falls.” The girl was looking over at Stafford, clearly expecting an explanation. Gwen introduced them. ‘ This is Mr. Stafford from Washington, Jess,” she said. “We saw him in the Atlanta airport, remember? When that man fainted?”
At the mention of the man fainting, the girl’s face froze for a moment.
Gwen immediately reassured her. “No, Jess, it’s all right. Mr. Stafford is a policeman. told you
I was going to invite him up here, remember?”
The girl gave him another frightened look, and then she began to shake her head slowly. She was clearly agitated now, and the horse was picking up on it and starting to dance around. With one hand on the reins, she managed another few seconds of signing, then pulled the horse around and trotted off, not giving Gwen a chance to reply.
“I assume that she’s not happy to see me?” Stafford said as horse and rider disappeared into the first of the willow trees below them.
“She’s scared,” Gwen said with a sigh. “Oh, this is so complicated. I don’t really know what to do.”
Stafford thought about that for a moment. “Is there someplace you and I can have dinner around here?” he asked. “Besides the Waffle House?”
“No, not really,” she replied, starting back down the path. “There’s a tourist lodge over in Galloway, but that’s a thirty-mile drive through the mountains — one way. Not good at night.” She paused. “Why don’t you stay here for dinner?” she said. “Mrs. Hadley is a competent cook, and what we have to talk about is going to take some time.” “I’d like that very much,” he said. “Let me get checked into the motel, and then I can come back, say, what, six-thirty, seven?”
“That’s fine. The house and kids should be settled down by then.” She looked in the direction the girl had gone. “Most of them, anyway.”
Carson received the first call from the Pentagon at four twenty in the afternoon. A Major Mason from something called the Security Working Group at Army headquarters was on the line, wanting to speak to the DRMO manager. His secretary patched the call to his office and then left for the day.
“This is Wendell Carson speaking.”
“This is Major Mason, Mr. Carson. I’m with the Security Working Group, HQDA. We’re a long-range study group trying to scope out better ways to apportion funds to secure logistical assets. I won’t bore you with our full terms of reference, but we came up with a question you might be able to help us with.”
“Sure, Major. Fire away.”
“Do you have a demilitarization facility at your DRMO?”
“Yes. We’re the only one with a full-scale demil facility in the Southeast.”
“And can that facility contain toxic by-products of the demil process?”
“Yes.”
“How toxic? And how completely are they contained?” Carson explained the thoroughness of the Monster’s digestive system.
Mason was silent for a moment as he made notes. “Okay,” he said. “Then if something went through your demil system, say a container with a CW residue, there would be no release of any by-products of that process?”
Oh shit, Carson thought immediately. They’re here.
“No. The system is completely contained. If something was radioactive, the residue would still be radioactive, but chemicals? No, chemicals are neutralized. Why? Do you think some CW has gotten into the DRMO system?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Mason replied quickly. “Better not be anything like that going on, right? No, I was just using that as an example of an extremely toxic substance.”
Carson thought he detected a whiff of anxiety in the major’s almost-too-quick reply, but he played along. “Damned right there had better not be anything like that getting into the DRMO pipeline. But the system is pretty safe. We have the EPA in three times a year to ensure we’re right and tight, and the by-product dealers, especially the bulk chemical feedstock companies, run tests on everything they buy from the derail process.”