The sound came again. It was muffled, as if someone was having a private conversation. The hairs on the back of my arm stood at attention, and goose bumps broke all over my body. Who else was down here? Or could it be that Dupree was trying to have a rational conversation with the congressman?
I listened for a few more minutes but couldn’t make out a single word in the conversation. It sounded like two voices, but then again that could be the echo of the cave too. I crawled onward. The ceiling dropped another three inches, which meant that I had to lie flat on my stomach and drag my body forward on my elbows.
Just as I was starting to think that I had hit a dead end and was going to have to inch my way backward, the tunnel broadened. I turned on my light again. The minute I scanned the area I knew this wasn’t the way that Dupree and I had come. The tunnel that I had squeezed through like a sausage had come to an end and dropped down to a large, open cavern ten feet below. It reminded me of a scene from The Goonies. Matt loved the campy eighties movie. I thought it was kind of dated, but I watched it through to the end for him. After all, he’d sat through more Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire movies than probably anyone else our age.
Ten feet might not sound like a huge drop to most people, but to me it looked like I was going to have to dive down into the Grand Canyon. The other issue was how to turn my body around. I didn’t want to go headfirst, but flipping around in the narrow space was going to take some serious maneuvering.
I yanked my knees up to my chest and curled into a tight ball. Anyone watching would have thought I was trying to do an impression of a snail. Then I carefully began turning my body counterclockwise until my feet were sticking out the edge of the tunnel. I scooted to the very edge and let my legs dangle down.
Next, I slid backward a millimeter at a time until my hands came to the ledge. I clutched it as tightly as I could. Pain seared through my cut hand.
You got this, Meg, I told myself as my feet made contact with the wall.
On the count of three.
One.
Two.
Three.
I jumped and landed—shockingly—on my feet with a painful thud. I hoped that sound stayed contained in the new cavern I’d ended up in and didn’t travel any farther. I waited for a second and then turned my light on again. There were three offshoots in this cavern.
Damn.
Might as well stick with the right. I headed for that tunnel. In the first positive stroke of luck in a while, it happened to be the biggest of the three tunnels. That made me happy.
I positioned my phone so that the light illuminated my path. At least as far as I could see, it appeared to be open and wide. Thank goodness.
Continuing on I listened for any more murmurs around me. The cave was still. I walked for another fifteen or twenty minutes before the cavern took a turn and opened into an even larger cavern. This one had five tunnels shooting off it in every direction.
No wonder people got lost down here. It felt as if I was in a carnival funhouse of mirrors. Tunnels kept popping up everywhere. How was Dupree so adept at navigating through them? It would take years to map each tunnel and cavern.
Before I even had time to think about which direction to head, there was another loud bang that sent me to the ground. Lights flashed in every direction. The sound of voices shouting spun around me. Which way was the sound coming from? Or was it coming from every direction? The next thing I knew, someone pulled me from the floor and tossed me into one of the tunnels.
A buzzing noise hummed in my head. It was hard to breathe. Was this the end? I sat up and tried to inhale through my nose. Where was I? The tunnel was wide, and the floor felt grainy with sand.
I blinked twice and noticed the shadow of a man blocking the tunnel. “Dupree?”
My eyes adjusted to the light. It wasn’t Dupree.
It was the homeless man who I had seen at the warehouse. He wore tattered, loose-fitting pants and a billowy shirt that fluttered in the glow of the light behind him, making him look like a ghost.
His eyes were so familiar.
He walked closer and whispered, “Maggie.”
His voice sounded like Pops. His eyes reminded me of Pops’ eyes. Pops was the only person I knew who called me Maggie. I must be losing it. Had I hit my head when he tossed me in the tunnel?
He had to be a ghost.
“Pops?” My voice sounded distant and fuzzy.
“Maggie, it’s me.”
Then I fainted.
Chapter 33
When I came to, everything was fuzzy. I had to be dreaming. The homeless guy was leaning over me and brushed a strand of hair from my eyes.
“Maggie, sweet, sweet, Maggie.” His voice was tender and timid.
“Pops?” I squinted. This couldn’t be happening. Had I really lost it?
A crash sounded, making him jump to his feet. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
He ran from the cave, leaving me whirling. Pops was dead. My mind must be playing some kind of cruel trick on me. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. I had heard that under times of intense stress people reacted in strange ways. Was I delusional? Or was I trying to soothe myself by conjuring up Pops? After all, I often heard his wise and calming voice in my head. Many times, when I’d been stressed or worried, I had heard him say, “Maggie, everything will be okay.”
But this felt different. This felt real.
This can’t be real, Meg. Pops is dead. He’s dead.
The day Mother called to tell me he had been killed was permanently etched in my memory. I’d been packing in preparation for an epic road trip that Jill and I were going to take after graduation. My adult life had been about to commence, and I couldn’t wait. I was looking forward to getting a real job and moving back to Portland. Everything lay in front me, and then the call came and turned my world upside down. Suddenly, I was a recent college graduate and fatherless. Pops’ death sent me into a dark spiral. Nothing mattered after I got the call that he was dead. I barely remember walking on the auditorium stage to receive my diploma or delivering his eulogy. It was as if my life were happening to someone else and I was merely standing there watching it go by in a blur.
Pops could not be here. It wasn’t possible. He was dead, and I was forever altered.
Outside the cavern someone shouted an order. “Team two, move into position. Team one at the ready.”
What was happening? That didn’t sound like the homeless guy, and what did he mean by teams?
I crept closer to the front of the cavern and peered out. To my surprise a half-dozen police officers (or maybe they were military, it was hard to tell) wearing black tactical gear flanked each tunnel. They had their weapons raised and ready to shoot.
What in the world was going on?
The officer directing the operation—or whatever it was—spoke again. “Hold your position.”
I noticed the homeless man who looked like Pops crouching by the farthest tunnel. It looked like he had a camera in his hand.
This must be some kind of stakeout, I decided as I watched the police stand guard, ready to spring into action.
“Subject is coming down tunnel two. Stand by.” The commander motioned the officers positioned at the far edges to move in. They reinforced the middle tunnel as the commander said, “On my command.”
He began counting down from three, and when he got to number one, Congressman Riley stumbled out of the tunnel and every officer pointed their gun at him.
“Freeze! Hands in the air. Get ’em up where we see them,” the commander ordered.
Congressman Riley flinched. For a minute I thought he might run back down the tunnel, but the overwhelming number of guns pointed at him must have made him reconsider. He threw his hands in the air and stepped forward. “I’m sure there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. Do you know who I am?”
“I assure you, we know exactly who you are, and you, sir, are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.” The commander read Congressman Rile
y his Miranda rights and handcuffed him. The homeless man snapped pictures while the team of officers surrounded the congressman.
My mind spun. This had to be planned. Did Dupree know? Where had he gone? It must have been at least an hour since he’d left me. Floodlights snapped on, illuminating the entire cavern as another team of officers ran in from the farthest tunnel.
“Did you find it?” the commander asked.
One of the team members shook his head and held up a small plastic bag. “No, just this, sir.”
Congressman Riley laughed. “Is that your evidence? Good luck with that, boys.”
The homeless man stood and addressed the lead officer. “I know where it’s stashed. Follow me.”
Congressman Riley’s face turned bright red.
“Team two, go with Charlie.”
Charlie. Had he said Charlie? That was Pops’ name. No, Meg, stop. This is crazy.
The homeless man gave me a fleeting look and then hurried off with the rest of the team. The lead officer turned to one of his crew. “What’s the status with Summer?”
“They’re in position, sir.”
“Tell them to move in.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer raced down the tunnel that Congressman Riley had come from.
Were they talking about Detective Summer, and what was his connection to all of this? I stepped out of the cave and tried to center my breathing. Nothing made sense and everything made sense all at the same time. Dupree must have been right. Congressman Riley was involved in drug trafficking and he must have smuggled them through the caves.
I focused more on the team’s gear. They were all wearing black from head to toe, and each black jacket had the letters DEA in bright white on the back. These weren’t police officers, they were DEA agents.
The lead agent caught my eye. “Who are you?” he barked.
“Meg Reed,” I said, taking a tentative step forward and extending my hand.
“Meg Reed.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his cheeks. “It’s about time.” He walked toward me and shook my hand. “Agent Hart.”
“Uh, I’m really confused.”
His radio crackled on his belt. He turned it off and patted my shoulder. “I’m sure you are. Let’s get you back up. I’ll have one of my guys get you out of here. I’m afraid we’re still in the middle of this operation.”
I had a thousand questions I wanted to ask, but he whistled to one of his agents, who proceeded to swoop me away.
Chapter 34
“What was that all about?” I asked the agent as he deftly led me through twists and turns of the long tube. In a matter of a few minutes we were already back to the exit. How had that happened? The lava tubes were mind-blowing.
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information, miss.”
“Was Congressman Riley smuggling drugs?” A cold sweat ran down my neck. The effects of adrenalin were wearing off, and the reality of the danger I’d been in was beginning to sink in.
“I’m really not at liberty to share any of that information with a civilian, miss.”
“Do you know the homeless guy down there?’
He pursed his lips. “My orders are to take you back up top here, miss.”
“But I don’t understand,” I protested.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and held out his flashlight. “You’ll have to talk to Agent Hart, miss. Right now, I need you to start climbing.”
I knew it was futile to keep pressing him. He obviously had been well trained to follow orders, but I couldn’t make sense of what I’d just seen. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. It all made sense in terms of Congressman Riley. The DEA must have been onto him, or maybe Dupree—or Kira—tipped them off. They set up a sting in the cave to try to catch him with a stash of drugs. Everything fell into line with that part of what I had witnessed. What I couldn’t wrap my brain around was Pops. Agent Hart had called him Charlie, but Pops was dead. Wasn’t he?
As I climbed the stairs, I thought back to the accident. I had never seen Pops’ body. But why would I have? I was still at college when he was killed. I packed up and came home immediately for the service. Pops had wanted to be cremated when he died and have his ashes spread around the family farmhouse. I remember seeing the urn on the podium when I gave his eulogy, and Mother sprinkling ashes on the long driveway leading up to the farm, but I had never asked for anything more.
Did Mother know? I felt sick and clutched the railing at my side.
“Miss, are you okay?” the DEA agent asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I kept climbing. No way. Mother couldn’t know, could she? I tried to remember everything I could from the time of the accident. Something struck me. Mother had said that his body had been so mangled that they identified him by the contents of his pockets. Maybe she mentioned something about his dental records too, but I distinctly recalled a conversation as we were assembling programs for the funeral service. Her normally polished exterior had shown a blemish. Her hands trembled as she folded the creamy brochures in half. “I didn’t get to say good-bye, you know.”
At the time, I had been so angry with her and consumed by my own grief that I blamed her for everything. I snapped back something like, “Neither did I.”
She frowned. “They wouldn’t let me see the body. They thought it would be worse for me to see him like that.”
I gulped and handed her a new stack of brochures. I couldn’t let myself go there. Pops had always been so alive and vibrant. I refused to picture him any other way. I made her stop. Now I kicked myself. What did that mean?
We ascended into the bright morning light. The DEA agent directed me to a bench. “Wait here. The rest of the team will be up soon. Agent Hart is going to want to talk to you.”
I nodded and walked to the bench. The agent went back into the cave while I reached for my phone. My hand dripped with blood from the cut I had reopened. I wiped it on my pants. It stung a bit, and tiny pieces of lava rock were stuck in it, but otherwise it didn’t look like I had done any permanent damage. And I had bigger issues to face, like Mother. I punched in her number.
She answered on the second ring.
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Margaret? You’re breaking up. I think we have a bad connection.”
I stood and walked closer to the shack, hoping the signal might be stronger there.
“Mom, can you hear me?”
“That’s better.”
“Mom, listen, I need you to tell me exactly what the police told you when Pops died.” I bit my lip and paced back in forth in front of the bench. The overwhelming scent of pine needles made me dizzy, or maybe it was the reality that Pops was alive.
“What do you mean?” Her tone was unsure.
“Listen, Mom. Did you ever see his body?” I could hear the desperation in my voice. Sweat dripped from my brow.
She hesitated for a minute before answering. “No. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. They said he was in bad shape.”
I could hear her pain as she relieved the memory.
“So you never saw him. You’re sure? Did they ever show you pictures or anything?” My voice sounded rushed, as if it were coming from outside of me.
“No. What’s this about, Margaret?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“Are you okay?” I could hear the concern in her voice. “You sound almost manic.” If she saw me now she probably would have rushed me to the hospital. I was covered in red rock. Pieces of lava were lodged in my knee, and my pants were splotched with blood and mud. I’m sure my hair was sticking out in all of the wrong places.
I felt manic, but I didn’t say that to her. “Do you remember anything else from the accident? What about his bike?’
“What about it?”
“Did they show you his bike?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke. “It looked like it had been flattened by a semi.”
“And his things, wha
t did they do with his things?”
“I had to go collect his personal effects.” She paused. “Mary Margaret Reed, what is this nonsense? Why are you asking all these questions about the accident?”
“I wish I knew, Mom. I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”
“Wait, wait!”
“Really, I have to go. I promise I’ll call you once I figure this all out.”
“Figure what out?”
“Gotta go.” I clicked off my phone. I felt bad for cutting her off, but now my wheels were really spinning. What if Pops wasn’t dead? I couldn’t believe I was even thinking that, but sometimes the most unlikely possibility turns out to be the most likely possibility.
Pops had gone deep undercover in the past. Could he have done that again? But to fake his own death was an entirely different level of undercover work. He would have needed help and lots of it from the authorities or someone in power to pull off a stunt like that. And why? I knew that he was immersed in the Meth Madness case, and I knew that when he was working on a story he had a tendency to become completely involved in it. But faking his death? He wouldn’t have done something like that to me? Would he?
Chapter 35
Right after I hung up with Mother my cell phone buzzed again. It was Greg.
“Meg, where are you?” His voice sounded strained.
“The lava cave. You’re not going to believe what just happened.”
“You’re not going to believe what’s happening right now.”
I sat up. “What?”
“Listen, I’m at the warehouse. The DEA and police have the building surrounded. They’re going in.”
“How are you there?”
“I called my FBI friend, and he asked me to meet him this morning. He got the call that things were going down while we were at coffee, so here I am.”
“And Sheriff Daniels—is there any sign of him?”
“Not sure. I’m too far away to see much. They made me wait in the car.”
I heard the sound of shouting in the background.
“Are you safe?”
“I’m fine, but Meg, this is huge. I’ve never seen this many law enforcement officers in one place in my entire life. There are guys staked out on the rooftop of the other warehouses, undercover vans, and a tank.”
In Cave Danger Page 20