“Red Falls? I suppose. For a price.” He took a knife from a countertop holder and began carving the meat. “Trust me, more than anyone—well, aside from you, Olivia—I want Dude and Shirley found to clear my name. But if I’m away from my mine, that means no tours. No tours, means none of this . . .” He gestured to the cozy grandeur surrounding them. “I’m a humanitarian but also a business man.”
Harding reached for his wallet to withdraw a wad of hundreds. Beneath the counter, he counted ten, then set them in front of him on the polished granite. “There you go. Your standard rate.” He peeled off more bills from his thick stack. “If your pile triples, could we leave tonight?”
9
Red Falls, Utah
“WE’RE ALIVE?”
“Of course, muffin.” Dude’s arms ached from holding Shirley through the endless dark night, but as long as he had breath in his body, he’d never let her go. He had no idea what time it was. In the slot canyon, only a sliver of sky showed, and it was cloud-covered. These canyons were notorious killers. God help them if it rained and their hideout flooded.
She’d been in and out of consciousness for hours.
He needed to hike up to the ledge from which they’d fallen, but not in the dark. He couldn’t risk another fall when he was Shirley’s sole means of survival.
Dude closed his eyes, praying for a few hours’ sleep before dawn.
For once during this ordeal, his prayers were answered, for when he next woke, he and Shirley were drenched in a sliver of sun. For a moment, he fought the urge to pinch himself. Was he dreaming? Not unless he was having a nightmare. The sunshine might be pretty, but it didn’t pack near as much warmth as he would like.
As soon as possible, he’d retrace their earlier steps. At the butte’s top were bottled waters and granola and that down sleeping bag his brilliant wife had thought to grab. He’d stockpile all of it, then return to her. He’d make a splint, stabilize her ankle, then let her use him as a crutch. It might be slow going, but if they rationed supplies, they could walk out of this valley, find a road, flag down a car and be saved.
“Muffin?” He nudged Shirley. “Sweetheart, wake up for me. I need to tell you our battle plan.” His heart kicked into overdrive upon realizing she was breathing regularly but was otherwise unresponsive. What was wrong? A sprained or broken ankle wouldn’t be this serious. Was she suffering from general exhaustion? “Wake up, Shirl . . . Please, wake up.” He was a strong man. A prideful man who wasn’t prone to tears, but in this case, he was physically unable to stop himself from sobbing. If he lost the most precious gift he’d ever been given, all because of this stupid treasure hunt, he might as well die himself.
Hell, there hadn’t even been a treasure in that box. He was an old fool.
“You take it easy,” he said, fighting a fresh round of panic over her condition. “I’m going to find our supplies. By the time I get back, you’ll be nice and rested and maybe your ankle will feel good enough for you to take a walk. Remember how far we could see from on top of this butte? I’ll find our way out, and then it will be no big deal to find help.”
What about the men who are no doubt searching for the nuke?
What if they find you first?
Dude refused to go to that dark place where bad things happened. If they were going to make it out of this purgatory together, he’d have to stay positive. He’d cover the nuke so they’d never find it. Plus, since he and Shirley literally fell into their current location, there would be no tracks leading them here.
Driftwood from a past flash flood had been swirled into a pile at the slot canyon’s rear wall. He sifted through the branches and twigs for a flat piece he could use as a shovel, then worked it into the soft sand cradling the nuke to completely cover it. He then smoothed out the sand before tossing flotsam atop it.
“Muffin, I’m going to go.” Shirley was still unresponsive, but her pulse seemed strong and breathing still regular. He’d take that as a good sign, but feared she may have a concussion.
To give her added warmth, he removed his hoodie, draping it over her, tucking it around her sides.
He knelt, kissing her forehead and lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Because it hurt too much not hearing her reply, Dude set off without looking back. It was better to imagine her waving like she did from their condo’s patio when he left with his buddies for a day of metal detecting.
Setting a blistering pace, he tried scrambling up and over the rock slide remains, but it was no good. The soil was so loose that he slipped right back to where he’d started. Which meant his only solution was following the canyon out, painstakingly covering his trail along the way. It took fifteen minutes to reach the narrow mouth. He had to turn sideways to squeeze through. Once free, he found himself on a wide-open plateau dotted with scrub brush and juniper. Holding his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from bright morning sun, Dude searched the butte behind him for easy access, but found none.
His choices were sheer cliffs or boulder fields.
In the end, as he feared, he had to trudge miles around the base until finding the relatively easy slope he and Shirley had previously taken. Knowing the end of his trek was now within reach spawned new hope deep within. He pumped his legs like he hadn’t since he’d been in his forties. He had to reach those supplies. He had to get back to Shirley with food and water. He refused to let her waste away.
Up, up, up he climbed and when he finally reached their supplies, he wept for the second time that day from relief. He drank a bottled water, ate a protein bar, then made a ten-foot long X in the sand using small stones. After getting Shirley medical attention, he needed a way for authorities to find the nuke.
From this vantage, he studied the valley below. Without light from their campfire, the bad guys’ camp wasn’t visible. Or maybe, they’d packed up and moved on? What he did see rising from a distant valley was one dust plume, then another. Squinting, he could just make out sun on glass. One caravan had three, maybe four, vehicles. The other, just one. Olivia would have no doubt filed missing persons’ reports on them by now, so one of those groups could be a rescue party. The other? His stomach knotted at the realization that it was most likely the men looking for the nuke.
What happened when the two parties converged? What if Olivia had launched her own search and this very minute was unwittingly poised to rendezvous with men who weren’t just prepared to take one or two innocent lives, but potentially millions?
10
Somewhere near Red Falls, Utah
“SOMETHING’S BOTHERING ME about this whole thing,” Olivia said from the backseat of their ride.
“Just one thing?” Harding asked with a sick half-laugh. They’d left Randy’s compound through a back gate hours ago. Their host had insisted on driving his own custom rig. Harding couldn’t say he was thrilled about the fact, but with his gun at the ready, at least it gave him the advantage of studying their surroundings. They had traveled through the night, and now crossed bone-rattling high country desert terrain without any road. All he smelled was dust. All he tasted was dust. Sure, the place was strikingly beautiful, with orange and red buttes and rock spires rising from the barren landscape like petrified monsters, but he was more concerned with current day beasts.
“Okay, more like twenty things, but think about it. Why was my grandparents’ condo ransacked? Someone was looking for something, but what? And who?” She unfastened her seatbelt, leaning forward to rest her arms on the backs of the front seats. “Harding, one of the first things you said was that a professional must have done it. Why? What made you think that when our only clue was complete chaos?”
“The thoroughness of that chaos made it logical. Whoever did the job searched everywhere from inside framed photos and prints on the wall to the stuffing inside furniture and any loose floorboards and vents. Plus, they let themselves in without force, or even alerting neighbors or security. My gut tells me they were looking for one of Dude’s maps, but which one?”
/> “Hold on.” Randy winced while tackling an especially rough dry riverbed.
“How much further?” Olivia asked.
“Maybe another hour? But please remember, the odds of us finding this cave are . . .”
“I know, I know,” Olivia snapped. “Slim to none. Maybe if Harding tosses more cash your way you’ll up your odds?”
He pressed his free hand to his chest. “It pains me to see such cynicism in a beautiful woman.”
Olivia snapped, “It pains me to . . .”
“What’s that?” Harding asked, pointing toward a rising dust cloud on the horizon.
“For once, there’s no wind,” Randy said. “Has to be another vehicle. Maybe more than one. There are binoculars in the glovebox. Dig them out and have a look.”
“Sure. But do me a favor and stop when you get to the next rise.”
Five minutes later, Randy crested a hill with his customized Suburban, then slowed, positioning Harding to be able to roll down his window for a better view.
“What do you see?” Olivia asked.
“Three—make that four—desert-camo Humvees. Grueber?”
“Nope,” Randy said. “He runs with his own pack and drives his patrol Dodge Charger or off-duty truck. But riddle me this. Olivia, did your grandparents have high desert expertise? Or much experience with backcountry 4 x 4?”
“None.”
“Then how did they get out here? Someone had to have brought them and I swear on my mother’s grave, it wasn’t me. What do you know about the time they spent in Goblin?”
Harding arched his head back and sighed. “They were there a couple days. Let me check my notes.” He took his cell from his jeans pockets and powered it up. There was no signal, but if he had juice, he could check previous downloads. “Stayed at Rex’s Motor Inn, topped their tanks at Norm’s, ate fairly regularly at . . .”
“Let me guess,” Randy interjected. “Spooks?”
“Yeah,” Harding turned off his cell to take a swig from his bottled water. “What can you tell me about it?”
“Other than legendary biscuits and sausage gravy, we might have found a possible connection. Did you by chance meet a waitress named Ginger at Ollie’s?”
“No,” Olivia said.
“Yes,” Harding twisted around on his seat to face her. “She waited on us the first night we were there. I remember because she had a garish green rhinestone necklace spelling out her name. At the time, I assumed it was fake, but real emeralds?”
Randy nodded. “Most likely.”
“What’s the connection?” Olivia asked.
“Ginger has three sons.” He reached into a compact cooler for a Coke and a foil-wrapped chunk of leftover roast. “The eldest is a line cook at Spook’s. The other two are opportunists, conning tourists into backcountry tours they never quite deliver on.”
“How so?” Harding finished his water.
“From what I’ve been told, they’ll sit in a corner booth, eavesdropping. If touristy-types mention hiking or camping, these two offer their services to take them to the most awesome local sights ever. The con is that they take their money, arrange a time to meet, then never show. Spook’s owner, Eddie, gets a cut. That way, if anyone complains, he assures the law that he didn’t see the transaction. Of course, it helps that Goblin’s lone officer also gets a cut. They pull the same stunt at Ollie’s.”
“Incredible.” Olivia shook her head. “But that still doesn’t explain how my grandparents got out here.”
“They did have an SUV,” Harding said. “Is it out of the question that your grandfather did the driving?”
“I guess not. But wouldn’t we have seen their tracks?”
“Not necessarily,” Randy eased the vehicle over the hill. “There’s a lot of country out here, and we came in a long way from Goblin. Assuming that’s where Dude and Shirley went off road, we wouldn’t see any sign of them until getting closer to Red Falls and the cave.”
Harding set aside his water bottle, then pointed toward the Hummers. “What do you make of them?”
“Could be nothing. Probably nothing.”
“Sharon mentioned a downed military jet. Could they be out here looking for that?”
“Makes as much sense as anything else. Rumor mill damn near spun off its supports about a month ago when there was supposedly a broken arrow.”
“Missing nuke?” Harding raised his brows.
“If the people up there are military,” Olivia asked, “do you think they could have seen my grandparents? Shouldn’t we at least ask?”
“It’s your call,” Randy said. “The cave is west of this butte.” He pointed straight ahead at an imposing rock tower. “If we’re going to make it before dark, we should keep on our current course.”
Harding’s mind was spinning.
None of this made sense.
Missing nukes. Human trafficking. Credit card fraud. Freaking zombies could fall from the sky, and at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.
“I want to talk to the military men,” Olivia said. “No telling how long they’ve been out here. They could have seen something.”
“Might as well.” Harding’s clenched stomach said it was a bad call, but at this point, what about this case wasn’t?
It took thirty minutes to reach the military convoy that, judging by the guys sitting around eating MREs, had stopped for lunch.
Upon seeing them approach, one of the men set his meal on a folding camp chair, then sauntered in their direction.
“Let me handle this,” Harding said.
“No way.” Olivia opened the rear door and hopped out.
“Shit,” Harding said under his breath, tucking his piece in his waistband at the small of his back.
“She’s a firecracker,” Randy noted, still behind the wheel.
“Tell me about it.” Harding chased after her.
“Hello?” She waved her arms. “Excuse me, but would you mind if we ask a few questions?”
“Depends.” The lone man stepped forward to meet them, holding out his hand for them to shake. In his other hand, he carried a Coors. “Colonel Tankard, US Air Force at your service.”
“Thank goodness,” Olivia gushed. “We need your help. My grandparents are lost somewhere out here. Please, if you’ve seen anyone or anything suspicious, I’d be forever grateful if you’d let us know.”
“Wish I could be of assistance, ma’am, but we’re out here on a special ops training mission. Haven’t seen a soul.”
Olivia’s shoulders sagged.
“In case we do find them, do you have any way we can get in touch with you? Satellite phone?”
“I don’t, but our friend does. Let me go ask him for the number.”
“Sounds good.”
While Olivia jogged back to the Suburban, Harding fished for information. “Where are you all based out of?”
“San Diego. We train with SEALs.”
“Cool.” Christ on a cupcake, were there any honest people in this entire state? He could count on one hand the number of times that as a SEAL he’d carried out joint missions with Air Force guys. They were top-notch. Not a single colonel he’d ever met had a habit of casually drinking a beer while on duty. “Love SEALs.”
“Used to be one,” the colonel said with a cocky grin. “Blew out my knee, so I filed for a transfer.”
“Tough break. Sorry to hear it.”
The guy shrugged. “It’s all good. Got nothing to complain about with my current gig.”
“Sweet.” Harding shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of training are you guys doing? I’ve always wanted to go this route.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just standard high desert stuff. Not very interesting.”
“Sure. I understand. Thanks, anyway.” He turned to the Suburban.
“You bet. We’ll keep an eye out. Nothing more upsetting than a couple of senior citizens exposed to the elements. It’s brutal out her
e at night.”
Harding gave the bastard a backhanded wave.
Olivia ran toward him, wagging a yellow Post-it.
Jogging to meet her, Harding grabbed her wrist, tugging down her arm. “Curb your enthusiasm. Those guys are total posers.”
“What do you mean? They’re all wearing camo.”
“I’m trying to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“What? They seem legit. You don’t know everything, Harding.”
“Get in.” He opened her door and practically vaulted her onto the backseat, before shutting her safely in.
“Ouch. What’s wrong with you? I need to give them Randy’s number.”
“No, you don’t.” Harding said from his seat after closing his door. “Those assholes have seen your grandparents.”
“How do you know?”
“As I was leaving, the colonel mentioned how upsetting it was, seeing senior citizens exposed to the elements. How would he know what state Dude and Shirley are in?”
Olivia opened her door and hopped back out.
Harding climbed out, too, only to pin her against the side of the car. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To talk to them. If they know something, they need to tell me.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin. “I have to know.”
“Trust me, babe. These guys are mercenaries. They’re up to no good. We need to pray I’m wrong, and they haven’t seen Dude and Shirley.”
“Excuse me,” Randy rounded the back bumper. “Hate to interrupt, but I just thought of something. May or may not be significant, but . . .”
“What?” Olivia and Harding said in unison.
Randy held up his hands. “Me and my brilliant idea will be in the car when you two lovebirds can stop bickering long enough to listen.”
“We’re not together,” Olivia said.
“True story,” Harding said.
“You’re impossible.” Olivia climbed back into the Suburban. “I can’t wait till this is over, and I never see you again.” She slammed her door.
Exiled (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 4) Page 7