Page 75 of The House of Cross

Sampson gave up and stomped toward her. “Let’s go, then.”

He got ahead of her and broke trail down the path through the firs. It was dimmer in the trees, but there was more light when they got out of the woods. Sampson stopped, shaking his head. Bree stepped around him and gasped, not at the intensity of the frigid wind but at the scene before them.

They stood near the edge of a high cliff overlooking a stunning alpine valley with towering, jagged peaks on two sides and a broad, frozen river running through it. The last of the sun was playing on storm clouds that quickly swallowed the crags and blew toward them on a wind building up to a gale.

Bree tried to see if she could spot some kind of building down in the valley. But how would they get down there if they could see it?

“There it is,” Sampson said, nodding to their right.

She saw it then—a low building with a metal roof about two hundred yards from them and back from the rim of the bluff. Sampson broke trail through the snow again and within minutes they were at the door.

The knob turned. He pushed the door open, and they stepped inside.

There were windows below the eaves of the building that caught the last good light of the day and cast bluish beams and deep shadows across the space. They shut the door, which cut the wind, but they could still see their breath as they walked deeper into the structure, saw pieces of steel cable, several massive rusty gears on the concrete floor, and multiple iron things that looked like the seats of strollers mounted on railroad wheels.

“What is this place and where are we supposed to go?” Bree asked.

“Looks like part of an abandoned mine to me,” Sampson said, going to one of the gears and rubbing the plastic wrist restraints against the edge. “Those have to be ore cars.”

“How did they get into the mine?” Bree said, scanning the cavernous space that was getting darker by the minute.

Before John could respond, they heard a loud creaking noise near the far end of the structure. A light appeared from the floor itself, and an octagonal glass cylinder rose up out of the concrete.

“The weather report has just been updated,” said a man in a reasonable voice. “With the windchill, it will soon be sixty-two below zero. Even out of the wind as you are, you don’t stand a chance of lasting through the night. Get in, Bree Stone and John Sampson. Or die and we’ll cremate you both in the morning.”

CHAPTER 55

WE REACHED MILE MARKEReleven on the road to Huckleberry Hollow, Idaho, and spotted the flashing blue lights of a Lemhi County sheriff’s patrol rig, a beefy Dodge Ram 3500 lifted to allow for a set of huge, studded tires. It was parked in a turnoff by a bear-proof trash bin. Beside the pickup was an SUV covered in five inches of snow.

Mahoney pulled up alongside the sheriff’s truck, rolled his window down, and held up his FBI credentials. The pickup window lowered, revealing a jowly man with a flat face and a big neck that made him look like a bulldog. In his late sixties, he was wearing a heavy parka and a black wool hat.

“Sheriff David Tucker,” he said.

We identified ourselves.

“I haven’t touched it, haven’t been near it. Just eating my supper, waiting on you.”

“We appreciate that, Sheriff Tucker,” Ned said.

“I can put my rack lights on it if you think it will help.”

“I do. Thanks.”

Tucker put his rig in gear and turned it around. He put his overhead lights on the Jeep, and it was as bright as day as Mahoney and I swept off the snow so we could try the doors.

The sheriff got out, stood to one side, and watched.

Both front doors opened. The keys were in the ignition.

I got a sick feeling when I saw Bree’s purse on the floor of the passenger seat and Sampson’s day pack in the rear. Their luggage was still in the hatch.

“That’s it,” I said, trying to fight my growing panic. “They’ve been taken. Maestro has them. They probably got too close to the truth.”

“Who is Maestro?” Tucker asked.

“Vigilante group,” Ned said. “That’s who they were here hunting. Maestro and its leader, someone who calls himself M.”

While Mahoney told Tucker in more detail why Bree and Sampson had come to the area and what they’d found out at the country store in North Fork, I went through Bree’s purse with latex gloves on. I found her driver’s license, cash, and all her credit cards, but her cell phone was missing. I searched Sampson’s pack and found his wallet, laptop, car keys, a sealed envelope addressed to Rebecca Cantrell, and a carefully folded crayon drawing of flowers from Willow with the wordsYou are the best daddy!But no phone.

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