Page 113 of The House of Cross

“Here comes the real cavalry,” I said. I pulled out the kit.

Bree and Mahoney reached us as I opened Sampson’s parka and lifted his vest, sweaters, and blood-soaked long underwear. Bree and I shone our headlamps on John’s abdomen and saw a bullet wound oozing blood. It wasn’t gushing, but it smelled sour.

I reached around his back with the blood-clotting cloth, felt for the exit wound, and was surprised to find none. Then I felt a bump.

“You are one lucky son of a bitch,” I said, bringing the clotting agent around and pressing it into the entry wound. “Bullet’s still in you. I think it caught part of your small intestine, but there’s no huge exit wound. You’ll live.”

“If we get him out of here fast enough,” Mahoney said as the Mounties’ sleds arrived, their headlights making the scene as bright as a baseball field under sodium lights.

The EMT rushed to John’s side. I stood back to let her work on him. Officer Fagan and Captain Olson came over to us, their helmet visors pushed back.

Mahoney said, “We’re going to have to send someone out of their jamming range to call for a chopper and reinforcements.”

I said, “I heard over my radio that Malcomb was sending more men out here, but I’m questioning that now.”

Olson said, “Why?”

Bree said, “We heard someone tell Malcomb to bug out.”

“They’re a long way from nowhere to be bugging out,” Fagan said, smiling at me.

I smiled back at her. “I want to hear how you survived anothertime, Officer. Captain Olson, I think you should send men to cover the entrances to that mine.”

“I don’t know the entrances.”

Bree described the old mining building with the steel sliding door and pneumatic elevator, and I told him about the switchback road on the other side of the butte that led down to the camouflaged retractable-door system. “I saw at least twenty snowmobiles in the bay there,” I said. “And a big Sno-Cat, and a four-seater helicopter that’s loaded up on a dolly. My bet is he’s not sending in reinforcements. Malcomb and what’s left of Maestro will try to run.”

“And soon,” Bree said.

CHAPTER 89

ONE OF OLSON’S MENrode north to call in a medevac helicopter from Kimberley.

The EMT assured us that Sampson was stable for the moment and began to gather wood for a fire to warm him, so Bree and I agreed to lead Mahoney, Olson, Fagan, and the rest of the Mounties back up the butte so we could prevent anyone from leaving the mine.

“It’s the entry on the far side that we’ve got to worry about,” I said as we went to the sleds. “That’s the escape valve.”

Bree said, “Someone should still watch the mine building.”

Fagan nodded. “When rats abandon a ship, they go out any hole they can find.”

Captain Olson said, “We’ll surround that big entrance and hold it until dawn. After that, I can fly in as many officers as we need.”

We set off with Bree behind me on the sled. She was in constant communication with the Mounties as we found the trail that led through the thick woods that had foiled the tracking drone an hour before.

The snow stopped. The clouds broke. The moon shone down through a vent, again casting that strange blue color across the landscape glistening with fresh powder.

Since our descent on foot, at least seven sleds had come down the switchback trail, packing down the snow in the process.

There was one tricky spot where we had to negotiate what was left of the big drift on the upper switchback before we popped up on top near the northeast corner of the plateau.

Two inches of snow had fallen since we’d crossed the flat. We could clearly see the long, low line of the mining building five hundred yards away.

I stopped my sled, killed the engine, and pulled off my helmet; I wanted to speak directly to Olson. Bree and the Mountie captain and Officer Fagan did the same.

Gesturing at the mining building, I said, “Bree and Officer Fagan will stand watch there while I lead you to the road off the north side.”

“How far is that?”

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