Page 89 of Dead Mountain

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NORA SAT IN her car. It was now almost five, and the courthouse parking lot was empty, but somehow she felt paralyzed, unable to move.

Already, she had lightened her daily responsibilities as much as possible. She’d taken time off from the Institute, left her dog, Mitty, with a friend—even had a suitcase in the trunk, packed with a few things, in case she couldn’t bear the thought of returning home, with all its reminders of Skip. Despite all this, she nevertheless found herself just sitting in the driver’s seat as the minutes crawled by.

Her boyfriend, Lucas Tappan, was still in Massachusetts, trying to work the kinks out of his offshore windfarm project. They’d spoken regularly, but she hadn’t worked up the courage to bring up this problem with him. He had enough on his mind already . . . and knowing him, he’d probably drop everything and rush back. She longed for his company, but she knew that was selfish. Besides, Lucas with all his millions couldn’t solve this problem. The more high-priced lawyers they might throw at the case, the less impressed the local judge and jury would become.

Her mind kept running back to Skip. What if she married Lucas, and their kids were in junior high by the time they got to meet their uncle Skip, the jailbird? Or what if Skip fell into bad company—or got hurt in prison?

The phone suddenly danced on the passenger seat, startling her. It was Corrie calling. She answered it immediately. “Corrie?”

“Hey. I was just calling to see if you had any news about Skip.”

Corrie sounded strange somehow, not like herself at all. Nora quickly brought her up to speed on the trial: there was all too little to tell.

“Christ, Nora. That sucks. I’m sorry.”

Nora hesitated, then said, “Corrie, what’s wrong?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I know you well enough to ask. Has something happened?”

There was a brief, tense silence. Then, abruptly, Corrie said, “Fuck it. I hate to lay my own sob story on you at a time like this, but I have to tell somebody—and at this point, you’re the only one I can trust.” And then, to Nora’s amazement, Corrie quickly told an astonishing story: of a low-altitude bomber dropping a disarmed nuke near the site of the campers; of a mothballed presidential bunker with a back entrance; of the sudden quashing of the investigation by orders from on high. As Nora listened to the frustrated, angry voice, she was aware that she shouldn’t be hearing a lot of this—if it wasn’t already classified, it would be soon enough.

“So they ran because of the bomb explosion?”

A silence. “That’s what I thought at first. But now I’m not so sure. I keep returning to the original riddle. Why would they cut their way out of the tent, with an open door right there? Why did Tolland kill Wright, then himself?”

“So what really happened?”

“I don’t know. But I think if any answers are to be found, they’ll be with the ninth body—O’Connell. I feel sure he’s down in that bunker—perhaps with the missing camera and journal.”

Corrie sounded really stressed. “Honestly, Corrie, I think the bomb accident is probably the answer, even if it can’t be made public.”

“I just had to get that off my chest,” Corrie said, as if she hadn’t heard. “I wanted to tell you, at least, before I . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Before you what?”

“I’m going up there.”

“Where?”

“To the bunker. I’m going to find that ninth body.”

“Corrie, that’s crazy.”

“Crazy? I’m going crazy as we speak, sitting here on my hands. Do you realize what they told me to do? Cover it up. Lie. Tread water. Pretend to investigate while doing nothing! How can I keep working at the FBI, knowing what I know?”

“Well, there’s one thing I can tell you for sure. It’s mid-November. What do you know about winter mountaineering? You’re going to get your ass frozen, and then we’ll have ten victims instead of nine. On top of that, you don’t have any idea where to go.”

“That emergency bunker exit is supposed to emerge at a flat area used as a landing pad. It’s outside the base perimeter in an area called the Knot. And it has to be north of where the cave was. They were all headed there—but only O’Connell made it.”

“Or so you think. Is that all you have to go on?”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere. Nora, I just wanted to say good luck with Skip, and I’m really sorry I couldn’t have done more. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Corrie, wait!” Nora shouted before the agent could hang up. “Do you have any topo maps? Snowshoes? Compass?”

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