Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7)

by Anthony M. Strong

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out Hunt was not pleased about sending one of his operatives on a goodwill mission, but he knew future cooperation between their agencies rested upon CUSP fulfilling their part of the bargain when called to do so. He also admitted that the situation in Nevada matched Decker’s unique set of skills. The killer was a skeletal being with glowing red eyes. It was rare that law enforcement agencies took such claims seriously. If that were the case, Decker would do nothing but fly all over the country at the request of every sheriff’s office and police department whenever anyone thought they’d seen a UFO or arrested a perp who claimed voices told them to do it.

  But in this case, there was corroborating evidence, not the least of which were eyewitness accounts by members of a trained search and rescue team and an experienced Las Vegas police officer who was wearing a body cam. Since the attacks took place in a mine, the resulting footage was blurry and dark. There was one brief sequence, however, which captured the killer on film. Once the Special Agent-in-Charge of the Las Vegas field office realized what they were dealing with, he contacted his superiors in DC, who called in a favor with Decker’s employer.

  So here he was, jetting out to Sin City.

  Even better, he had the entire jet to himself, except for the two pilots and a company flight attendant who wasted no time in approaching him as soon as they were at cruising altitude. He requested a bottle of water and then settled in for the five-hour flight.

  He spent the first couple of hours going over the eyewitness statements the FBI had forwarded to Hunt. He also watched the police officer’s body cam footage several times.

  One piece of information that intrigued him was the statement given by a man named William Fenton. He was one of three geologists who entered the mine to conduct a survey. He was also the only one who made it out alive. His two companions were still missing. But this wasn’t what caught Decker’s attention. It was a section of his statement that mentioned three mummified bodies huddled at the end of the tunnel next to a seam of gold, as if they had just sat down to die.

  The three long-dead prospectors and the current attacks were related. Decker was sure of it. Especially since there was a strange symbol drawn in the gravel in front of them, although Decker had no clue what it was. Fenton had possessed the good sense to take photos, and Decker studied these with interest. The killings in the present had their origins in the heady days of Nevada’s Gold Rush.

  Finally, having studied the information to the best of his ability, Decker closed his laptop and settled back for the duration of the flight. He felt a tingle of anticipation, mixed with a large dose of unease. Something had gone horribly wrong in the small ghost town south of Las Vegas. Three people were dead, and a creature of possibly supernatural origin was to blame. His thoughts drifted back to the frigid town of Shackleton, Alaska. He had traveled there to solve a series of gruesome killings by an unknown creature, much like his current assignment. It was also the first time anyone called him a monster hunter. He smiled at this, remembering his first encounter with Mina. Then the smile faded when he remembered she might be a monster of sorts now herself, thanks to him. With this thought weighing heavily on his mind, Decker reclined his seat and closed his eyes, hoping to get some shuteye and arrive refreshed and ready to go. But instead, he found the monsters of his past creeping from the corners of his mind and consuming his thoughts, just like they so often did. Frustrated, he returned his chair to the upright position and opened the laptop again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oscar Rossi waited for Harlan’s reply, as if it might change the outcome of his visit to the Prospectors Paradise that morning.

  It would not, and Harlan knew this. He should never have borrowed money from Rossi in the first place, but he was desperate. Now he would, most likely, pay the price. “The hotel renovation is costing more than I planned. I’ve had to put extra money in from my pocket. It’s left me short.”

  “And why is that my problem?” Rossi asked.

  “It’s not. I understand that.” Harlan was starting to sweat. “I just need another week, maybe two, that’s all.”

  “A week?” Rossi drew in a long breath and shook his head. “You’re already three days late. I think I’ve been more than generous. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “You have, yes. Goes without saying.” Harlan was being backed into a corner and he knew it. He would need to tread carefully, or Rossi might bring the goons in, and then he wouldn’t be able to tread at all. “I’m transferring money from an offshore account. It’s enough to cover the next two interest payments. By then the hotel should be open again.”

  “We had a deal, you and I.” Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Did we not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you agree would happen if you didn’t abide by the terms of that deal?”

  “I’d forfeit the hotel.” Harlan licked his lips. They felt dry. “Look, Oscar, we go way back, our families. You know that. Surely we can work something out.”

  “It is true that your father provided me with many years of faithful service. He was always there when I needed him.” Rossi glanced around. “If only these walls could talk… But it was a different time, and your father’s gone now, God rest his soul.”

  “And he was faithful to the last,” Harlan said, pressing his advantage. “He could have rolled when the DA came calling, gave you up. But he didn’t. He kept his mouth shut even when they tried to take away his casino license. He let you funnel money through here for years at no small risk to himself.”

  “All of which is correct.” Rossi nodded thoughtfully.

  “He knew things that could have sent you down for a long time, but he kept them to himself. Just like I have.”

  “Are you trying to threaten me?” Rossi asked, a flash of anger glinting in his eyes.

  “No. That’s not what I’m doing.” Harlan realized he might’ve overplayed his hand. “I was just pointing out that my family has always been loyal to you, is all.”

  “Good. That’s what I thought. But just in case the idea enters your head to use the small amount of knowledge you possess as leverage, don’t. If you so much as whisper one word in the wrong direction, I will hear about it, and then interest payments will be the least of your problems. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Like spring water.”

  “Excellent. I liked your father. I like you. It would be a shame for our relationship to end on a sour note.”

  “On this, I think we can agree.”

  “Wonderful.” Rossi removed his hands from his pockets and clapped them together. “I’ll tell you what. Take the extra time. I’ll give you two full weeks. Your father’s dedication and years of service have earned you some leeway. But don’t mistake my generosity for weakness. I shall expect your payment two weeks from today.”

  “Thank you.” Harlan felt a rush of relief. He didn’t know what would happen in two weeks, but at least Rossi’s enforcers waiting in the corridor wouldn’t get to have any fun today.

  “For a ten percent late fee, naturally.”

  “What? Ten percent on top? You can’t be serious. That’s another sixteen thousand.”

  “If you don’t like my terms, we can keep negotiating.” Rossi shrugged. He glanced toward the closed door, then back to Harlan.

  “No need for that,” Harlan said quickly. He’d witnessed Rossi’s negotiating style before, and it involved a lot more screaming than it did talking. “Those terms are fine.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Rossi took a step toward the door, then glanced back over his shoulder. “And since you offered, you might as well include next month’s payment too. Then you’ll be ahead of the game.”

  This last demand left Harlan temporarily speechless. By the time he mustered up the courage to reply, it was too late. Rossi was already out the door and halfway down the corridor with his burly sidekicks in tow.

  Harlan stood and watched him leave, then he turned and sat on a bench. H
e cursed his own stupidity. Why had he told Rossi he was transferring two months’ worth of payments? He was transferring squat. There was no offshore account. It was a spur-of-the-moment lie to buy more time. And it worked, to a degree. He had another fourteen days. But at that point he would need to pony up two full payments plus ten percent on top. It made him want to cry. He cursed ever going to Oscar Rossi for a loan. But there was no one else. He had tried the banks and credit unions and approached a slew of legitimate investors. With the way the casino’s profits had declined over the last few years, and his family’s reputation, no one would touch him. Which left Rossi, who jumped on the opportunity like fleas on a dog.

  It was a terrible deal. A three-million-dollar loan at an eye-popping rate of interest. Sixty-five percent. Which was surely illegal, assuming any financial regulators ever got to inspect the paperwork, which they would not. But Harlan knew he had no choice. Either he renovated, or his business would keep sinking until he lost the hotel. With no recourse, Harlan agreed to the terms, figuring he would only need the loan for a few months, and then he could repay it in full once the hotel was operating again. With fully booked rooms, and a bustling casino, he could recoup the money in no time. Except Rossi neglected to include the early settlement clause, and instead strong-armed him into a loan for thirty years, which meant paying nothing but interest for two-thirds of that time. He had, in effect, unwittingly gone into business with Oscar Rossi. But worst of all, if he didn’t pay, Rossi’s enforcers would get to dance on his skull, just enough so he wouldn’t care about the hotel anymore. Then Rossi would swoop in and steal it out from under him. Between the two alternatives, Harlan would rather keep his hotel and avoid getting beaten to within an inch of his life, which meant coming up with the monthly payments. The only problem was, he didn’t have them. This was, Harlan thought, shaping up to be one crappy day, and he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Robyn spent the morning working in the saloon bar and listening to the hammering of the workers as they finished up the last rooms on the second floor.

  She unpacked glasses of various sizes from boxes and stacked them on the shelves under the bar and then turned her attention to the newly restored bar back. It was ornate with shelves to hold liquor bottles and a mirrored glass backing etched with intricate designs. Original to the building, it had deteriorated badly over the decades. At first, Robyn thought it would need to be torn out, but then she changed her mind and decided to keep it, despite the high cost of restoration. In the end it had taken a team of three carpenters almost four weeks. It was worth it, though. She wanted to save this magnificent piece of history, not only because it added authenticity to the hotel but also because of its history. On a normal day, she would’ve looked at this rescued piece of the Old West and marveled at the things it had witnessed. Bar fights settled by lead, drunkenness and debauchery, and decades of prospectors quenching their thirst.

  But not today.

  Robyn tried her best not to think about what had happened in the mine, but the three deaths weighed heavily upon her and so by early afternoon she packed it in for the day. She went to the kitchen and made lunch. While she was there, the two FBI special agents wandered in, so she made them a meal too. Ham and cheese sandwiches with plenty of mustard. The three of them ate at the kitchen table with Tieg watching hopefully, his brown eyes flitting from person to person, beseeching one of them to offer him a morsel.

  “Will your specialist be arriving today?” Robyn asked between bites.

  Agent Fowler nodded. “He’s on the way as we speak. He’ll be here by dinnertime.”

  “And then we can get to work,” Agent Barnes added. “I don’t like all this sitting around. It’s a waste of time.”

  “We had no choice.” Fowler bit into his sandwich and glanced toward his partner. “You heard the eyewitnesses. You saw the body cam footage. We have protocols for this kind of situation.”

  “What footage?” Robyn asked. “If there’s video of whatever is in my goldmine, I want to see it.”

  “Classified, I’m afraid,” Barnes said. He had finished his own sandwich in record time and was now sucking remnants of mustard from his fingers. He picked up a napkin and wiped his hands.

  “Maybe she should see it,” Agent Fowler said. He looked at Robyn. “You’ve been living out here for a while, correct?”

  “About six months, but Carlton has lived here for decades.”

  “Yeah. We spoke to him a little while ago.” Fowler grimaced. “He wasn’t terribly helpful. Told us we should buzz off and leave him in peace.”

  “That isn’t exactly how he put it,” Barnes said. “It was a mite more colorful.”

  “It was, indeed,” Fowler agreed. “But since there’s a lady present, we don’t need to repeat his exact choice of words.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Robyn said. “I’ve heard just about every cuss word there is come out of that man’s mouth. If swearing were an Olympic sport, he’d have a pile of gold medals.”

  “Regardless, he wasn’t terribly helpful, and I don’t expect him to become any more so.”

  “He doesn’t appear to like authority figures,” Barnes observed.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Robyn replied. “Now, what about this video?”

  “I’ll fetch my iPad.” Fowler stood up. He took his plate and placed it in the sink on the way out the door.

  Robyn heard heavy footsteps on the stairs leading to the second floor. She looked to Agent Barnes, but he had removed his cell phone, and appeared to be checking his mail. Tieg, who was growing impatient, took the luling conversation as an opportunity to make his case for tidbits. He nudged Robyn’s leg then sat looking up at her. Robyn couldn’t help grinning, and pulled a piece of ham from her sandwich, which she had yet to finish. The dog wolfed it down and then chuffed with pleasure. At that moment, Agent Fowler returned with the iPad in his hand.

  “The video is pretty blurry and dark,” he said, retaking his seat. He placed the iPad on the table and pushed it over to her. “I’ve forwarded to the relevant section. There’s some pretty gruesome stuff there, when they first come across the missing search team member. I skipped past most of it, but even so, you should be prepared.”

  “You don’t need to watch if you don’t want to,” Barnes said.

  “It’s fine.” Robyn looked down at the iPad, and the frozen video image displayed on the screen. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to view the footage. She hadn’t slept well last night as it was. Seeing the events in the mine firsthand would not make sleeping tonight any easier. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the play button, and then, deciding she had to know what was roaming her property, she clicked play.

  Agent Fowler was right. The video was grainy and at first, she couldn’t make out what she was looking at. Then the video came into focus and she saw a flashlight beam bobbing off craggy tunnel walls. It swung left, then right in wild arcs, and Robyn wondered if there was anything on the video worth seeing, but soon it picked out a figure standing astride a body that Robyn realized was Sasha, the search team member who had lost her life. But it was the strangely wraith-like figure that made her gasp. It was like nothing she could ever have imagined. A walking corpse with skin stretched tight over its bones. It resembled a monster from a Hollywood movie, something conjured up to scare teenagers at sleepovers. But she knew it wasn’t. This was very real. And those awful eyes…

  “Well?” Agent Fowler studied her with a deadpan stare. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Robyn paused the video and pushed the iPad back toward the FBI agent. “If I saw something like that coming toward me, I wouldn’t stop running until I reached Canada. Why would you think I could be of any help identifying whatever the hell is on that video?”

  “Because you live here. You’re the one who opened up the mine. I was hoping there might be a local legend to s
hed light on this creature. There’s a buttload of folklore in these parts. It wasn’t unreasonable to think you might know some of it.”

  “I moved here from Chicago. Besides, since when does the FBI rely on folklore to solve murders?”

  “When we encounter a situation that conventional science can’t explain. This isn’t the first time we’ve come across a scenario like this.”

  “You’ve seen one of these creatures before?” Robyn asked, incredulous.

  “No.” Fowler shook his head. “Not this. But the agency has encountered other unexplainable situations, and we’ve learned the hard way to take them seriously. There are certain individuals in every field office around the country tasked with identifying and handling such things.”

  “Unexplainable?” Robyn wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. The surreal nature of the situation was not lost upon her. She was sitting at a table with a pair of government agents discussing what could only be described as a monster. “The FBI really has agents who deal with spooky shit, just like in that TV show?”

  “We’re nothing like the TV show.” Fowler sounded offended. He’d obviously heard this before. “But yes, there are specially trained agents around the country.”

  “And when we feel the situation requires it, we call in help,” said Barnes.

  “Which reminds me,” Fowler said, glancing at his watch. He picked up the iPad and closed the cover. “We must leave for a couple of hours. The specialist’s flight will be landing soon, and we should be there to meet him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Darwin Andoe finished loading the camping gear into the back of his Jeep Cherokee and leaned against it, waiting for his girlfriend, Tiffany Kent, to make an appearance. He was looking forward to the three-night camping expedition into the wilderness south of Las Vegas. He’d been planning it for a month, despite Tiffany’s objections. If it were up to her, they would head out to Boulder City or even Reno and spend their time gambling, downing free drinks, eating too much shrimp at the buffet, and enjoying a high-priced hotel room. But this trip was a delayed birthday present for Darwin, who turned twenty-six a couple of weeks previously, and he wanted to sleep under the stars and watch the Milky Way spiral above them. As far as Darwin was concerned, there was nothing better than a dose of solitude and a roaring campfire.