Page 86 of Dead Mountain

“True. But . . . well, here: please take a look at these photos of the slashes, one from the inside and one from out.”

She pushed the two additional prints over. “You see how they had to cut through two layers, the inner tent and the fly? And there are multiple slashes, some not long enough, and some not hard enough. They had to slash that ripstop nylon multiple times to make an opening big enough to get through. You see? It wasn’t easy to cut their way out. On top of that, the disorganized and scattershot way it’s slashed seems to indicate real panic.”

He remained silent. His eyes rose from the photo to meet hers.

“Think about it, sir. They’re in the tent. They’re boiling water for dinner, with the flap open. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there’s an explosion to the south. The sky lights up. But nothing happens directly to them, because the explosion is a good distance away. These hikers are experienced mountaineers—they know the storm outside is deadly. They know going out in bare feet, or unclothed, would be suicide. How long does it take to pull on a pair of boots and grab a coat and hat? Look at this photo of the inside. You can see the coats and hats and boots all there, carefully lined up, ready to be put on. Do you really think they’d rush out to certain death without bothering to pull on a coat or boots? And why waste time slashing their way out when it would have been much faster to just go out the front?”

She paused, but he remained still.

“Sir, all along our investigators have assumed that something appeared in the doorway, blocking their exit—and terrifying them beyond the power of reasoning. Bomb or no bomb, there’s no reason to revise that assumption.”

Pausing, she was disconcerted when Sharp chose to remain silent.

“And then, what about the murder-suicide in the cave? We’ve uncovered no evidence of tension between Wright and Tolland. Why would Tolland stab Wright to death and then kill himself in such a bizarre way? How can the explosion and fire explain that?”

Sharp now began shaking his head, slowly, back and forth.

Corrie began to hurry, afraid he would cut her off. “Look, here’s the list of articles that Tolland and Wright carried. They both had lighters. Why didn’t they light a fire in the cave, like the drunken frat kids did? And why didn’t number nine, O’Connell, stay in the cave with Tolland and Wright? Why did he—as far as we can tell—keep going in the storm? None of this is rational behavior . . . and the more I think about it, the less I believe the bomb accident explains it all.”

She halted, breathing hard.

Sharp unfolded and refolded his hands. “Are you done?”

“Yes, sir.”

He spoke in a tight voice. “What do you think was going on?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“And what do you propose to do about this?”

“Two critical pieces of evidence are still missing—the camera and the journal that the group had been jointly keeping. They weren’t in the tent, and they weren’t found with any of the bodies, or anywhere along the path they took. O’Connell, as the official chronicler of the expedition, would likely have had both of those with him. And since his body was never found, I think it could be in that bunker his girlfriend mentioned. Think about it: O’Connell knew the code to the emergency exit. And he knew where it was. North of the tent—precisely the direction all the hikers were headed.”

Sharp was silent for a long, awkward moment. Then he said, “Agent Swanson?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What just happened this morning?”

“They told us to quash the case. But how can we do that when there are all these new leads? Take Cheape, for example. We know he was one of the searchers. He did something that triggered a commendation—but the reason for it was omitted from the files. And then when the case was revived, he suddenly came into big money . . . and was murdered. Doesn’t that sound fishy to you?”

“And your solution to all these new leads is . . . what?”

“Go to Kirtland and get them to authorize a search of the bunker.”

Sharp grimaced. It looked almost as if he were in pain. “Let me ask you again: What just happened this morning?”

This time, Corrie said nothing.

“Agent Swanson, I’m deeply impressed at your tenacity. You care. But you have to let this go. I could rebut much of what you just told me: for example, we don’t know O’Connell is in the bunker; we don’t know he has the camera; we don’t know if the film is still viable; and in particular it seems unlikely it contains anything useful, especially if you’re right that they were too busy running to even get dressed. But I’m not going to go in that direction, because the situation is really much, much simpler than that. If you continue to pursue this case, you’ll destroy your career at the FBI. You understand me? You’re going to make a fine agent if you can just suck it up, keep your mouth shut, and accept the commendation they’re going to give you.”

“I don’t think I can do that, sir.”

He stood up. “You’ll have to. I’ll have to. I already explained this. People far more powerful than us have determined that national security is involved. Neither of us has a choice in the matter. We’re done. Done.”

“Did Gold have a choice in the matter?” It was out of her mouth before she could reconsider.

Sharp leaned toward her. “I’m going to take a day or two off to digest this. You need to do the same.”

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