Page 40 of Dead Mountain

“Two: Avalanche. The tent was covered by a small avalanche; they were frightened and cut their way out the side, then took refuge in the trees. They tried to warm themselves at an improvised fire, but the cold and wind was too intense. Some froze to death, the rest cut off the clothes of the dead and went north, dying along the way. But there was no evidence of an avalanche at the scene.”

“Why did they go north?” O’Hara asked. This was the same question Corrie had asked Watts.

“We were never able to answer that. There’s nothing to the north except a strip of Indian land and Kirtland, itself surrounded by double chain-link fences.

“Moving on. Three: Drugs. The nine hikers all ingested some powerful hallucinogenic substance that drove them crazy. But their systems were tested for all manner of drugs and toxins, with negative results.

“Four: Murder. Perhaps they intruded on sacred land and were attacked, chased, and killed as retribution. Or perhaps Russian KGB agents spying on Kirtland or the nuclear arsenal came across their tent, then chased and killed them.

“Five: Katabatic wind. This is a rare kind of abrupt, extremely cold hurricane-like wind that can occur in the mountains. It could have struck the tent, forcing them to flee.

“Six: Infrasound. High winds, swirling around the peak above them, may have created what’s known as a Kármán vortex street, producing terrifying, low-frequency sound that drove them out into the storm to escape it.”

“Kármán vortex street?” Bellamy asked. “What the hell is that?”

“If you don’t like the name, take it up with the meteorologists. Seven: Gravity fluctuation. A sudden violent local fluctuation in gravity disturbed the group, possibly dragging them upward or even out of the tent.

“Eight: Carbon monoxide poisoning. The backpacking stove they were cooking on produced carbon monoxide, which could have filled the tent, driven them out, and poisoned their nervous systems to the point of irrationality. Result: madmen in the storm.

“From there, the theories grow more outlandish. A time vortex, a teleportation experiment, Arctic hysteria, folie à neuf, a fight among the group, methanol poisoning—plus fifty-nine other scenarios, all summarized in this binder.”

“There were two women in the group,” Corrie said. “Were either of them dating any of the men?”

“Interesting question. There was no evidence of romantic interest or attachment among the members of the group. No evidence of prior conflict or problems, either. By all accounts, they got along well and had gone camping together before. And they weren’t amateurs: they were all highly experienced winter mountaineers, hikers, and skiers. They knew the weather in those mountains was dangerous in November, and they’d come prepared with all the necessary clothes. But most of those were left back in the tent.”

“That’s one crazy story,” murmured Agent Bellamy.

Sharp raised one eyebrow as if to say, A perspicacious observation indeed. Instead, he merely cleared his throat and went on. “Now, this new discovery—two bodies, with evidence of a knife fight—hasn’t cleared up anything; on the contrary, it’s only deepened the mystery. If we could find the body of Rodney O’Connell, the ninth and last, we might gain some insight into what caused them to bolt. We know from old interviews that he’d been appointed the expedition’s chronicler, and since neither the camera nor the expedition’s journal have been located, it seems possible that, if they still exist at all, they may be with his body. And insight is what we desperately need, because that’s the central problem here, at least as I see it: something appeared in the door of the tent—something so terrifying that, rather than face it, they cut their way out and fled in panic to certain death.”

He paused. “So, ladies and gentlemen, let’s outline a plan of action—and get to work.”

22

NORA SAT FUMING in the parking lot outside the Torrance County Sheriff’s Office. She and Stan had driven from the mountains straight to Estancia, the county seat, to find out what was going on with her brother. She’d never been to the town before—it lay eastward of the mountains, where the Staked Plains of New Mexico began, flat grasslands dotted with dry lakebeds and covered with white alkali deposits. The town unnerved her: a windswept grid of prefab homes, surrounded by chain-link fences with snarling dogs. Many houses were abandoned and in ruins. It was 6 PM and the sun was setting in a dirty gray sky, the wind picking up. She watched a greasy McDonald’s wrapper skitter and tumble across the lot.

She had tried to enter the sheriff’s office and been brusquely turned away. They would tell her nothing, beyond confirming that Skip’s arraignment and bail hearing in magistrate court would be the next morning. Stan, saying goodbye to her, hitched a ride back to Santa Fe with an electrician. Skip, it seemed, was going to spend the night in jail—and there was nothing she could do about it.

She sat in her car for a long time, looked at her phone, before she dialed Corrie’s number.

“Hi, Nora,” Corrie answered. “What’s up?”

“I’m calling because I’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

Nora could hear the immediate concern in Corrie’s voice. She felt a twinge of apprehension; she didn’t know how Corrie was going to react to this complicated bit of news. They’d become friends after a fashion, but at times still found themselves in opposition to each other—at least professionally.

“I had a meeting with the Isleta Tribal Council yesterday,” Nora said. “They asked me to help them repatriate the remains from the cave.”

“Right,” said Corrie.

“So I did.”

“You did what?”

“I went up to the cave this afternoon with a Tribal Council member, excavated the remains, and he took them away.”

There was a long silence. “And this was authorized by . . . who?”

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