Patriot

by A S Bond

  “Claude! Let’s have a break!” Dex called out. Claude signaled that he understood and sat down where he was, to light a cigarette. Brooke retrieved a tin mug from a nearby pack and, scooping it in the river, drank deep. It was refreshingly cold and she barely noticed the slightly muddy taste. The river here was big and fast and there was nothing up-river other than melted ice and sodden tundra.

  “I don’t think it’s too far now,” she said, handing the half-filled mug to Dex, who finished it and shook out the remaining drops.

  Then he said, “When are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

  “I just want to take a look around,” she said, “see what this operation at Okak is all about. All I have is a lot of unanswered questions “

  “OK...” he said, rubbing his eyes. He clearly didn’t believe her, but he was too tired to argue. They were both tired. “I just need to find out what happened to my brother, is all.”

  “And we will,” Brooke said, firmly. She didn’t mention that it also meant she could get up close to Maynard without arousing suspicion.

  It was late afternoon when they found the first sign of the mine. A wide bend in the river gradually revealed a flattening of the land and the first of several signs:

  Mines. Private Property. Keep Out.

  “Friendly lot,” Brooke said. There wasn’t any noise, she noticed; not even the sound of an engine. The firs disappeared and the banks became choked with willows.

  “We stop here.” Claude, slowed to come level with them. The river here was slow and lazy, despite the proximity of the ocean - which Brooke could smell on a freshening breeze. She brought her canoe in under the trees and tied it up. Claude stayed in his canoe, but waved them over to the far left.

  “You go that way. The buildings are close by.”

  Brooke and Dex glanced at each other. There was nothing else they could do, so, leaving Claude in his canoe, puffing away on a cigarette, they pushed their way through the undergrowth on the bank until they stepped out onto a gravel trail. Brooke could feel her heart thumping with adrenaline. She’d never had a firm plan for how to approach the mine; should it be openly or covertly? Direct questions, or a bit of old fashioned snooping? She had thought she’d play it by ear. What she hadn’t planned on was turning up with a strange Indian hunter and a man who thought his brother lay murdered in the woods. Then Brooke thought of Jaime in Afghanistan, and she started walking towards the buildings.

  They followed the winding trail and Brooke saw that it seemed little used; a little too under-maintained, even for a remote Labrador mine. Dex, ahead of her, stopped short.

  “Is that it?”

  Brooke joined him and looked down on the mine, or what was left of it. She realized later that, although she had little reason to believe the mine was operational beyond perhaps simple test drilling, she had expected something of a modern operation, with earth movers and pre-fabricated huts, a helipad maybe, or at least a radio antenna.

  What lay in front of them was like a photograph from a museum. A cluster of single-story wooden buildings leaned drunkenly into each other, pushed sideways by the weight of decades of winter snows. A row of four tin chimneys stood proudly on the largest building, which, they soon realized as they approached, had only three walls left standing. Piles of logs lay around; abandoned pit props, Brooke realized, and a section of overgrown rail track led to the side of a cliff through wide metal doors that were firmly shut and padlocked. There was no sign of activity anywhere.

  “I thought Claude said there were people here!” Dex yelled, running from abandoned building to abandoned building, peering through glassless windows and kicking at rotten doors.

  “This place hasn’t been touched in a hundred years! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”

  “It’s Okay!” Brooke said, catching hold of Dex and holding his gaze. “This place isn’t fully operational - we knew that. There may be just one or two people here. Maybe there’s a modern building behind those trees, closer to the sea. Let’s just look around, okay?”

  They walked together down through the old buildings, now half devoured by the wilderness. Young trees sprang from damp corners and moss crept across sheltered walls.

  “Let’s try that way, down to the sea,” she suggested, turning to the right.

  They walked towards the opposite end of the site, to where a track led downhill for perhaps a quarter mile to a cove. For a moment, standing in the center of what remained of the mine complex, Brooke had felt her anxiety rise again. Part of her had been hoping that the mine would be busy and populated, not just for Dex’s sake, but also because finding it in this state confirmed her fears - and Scott’s - that Jean Maynard was involved in something that reached far beyond an old Labrador mine and a hi-tech patent.

  Just then, she saw someone ahead of them.

  “Dex!” She caught at his sleeve and pointed. The man was too far away to hear them and his back was turned.

  “Looks like he may be a guard or something.”

  “Let’s catch up and ask if there’s a phone we can use.”

  The concrete here was set with rusting metal rails leading out to the cove, where Brooke assumed there would be an old jetty of some kind. The man was way ahead of them and, as they hurried towards him, the track twisted down between two rocky outcrops into a shallow inlet. There was a sort of landing area as Brooke had anticipated, but most of it was out of sight behind the cliffs. As they walked though, Brooke gradually saw more and more, and what she saw astonished her.

  The jetty was clearly recently built, but it was what was docked there that surprised her the most. A large white yacht, perhaps seventy or eighty feet long - the sort of floating palace she knew corporate bigwigs use for entertaining - was tied up at the far end. It was large enough for a tender to be docked on a highly polished teak aft deck, and the entire ship could probably accommodate up to ten or twelve people. It looked new, but there was something wrong. Something other than the fact that it was tied up to a remote loading jetty for an abandoned mine in northern Labrador, and not in the Caribbean.

  Although clearly a leisure craft, the yacht was loaded like a commercial vessel; metal drums of what Brooke guessed might be fuel were tied down on deck. Dirty tarpaulins covered areas normally designed for sunbathing and cocktails, and the name on the shiny fiberglass hull had been painted out carelessly. So carelessly in fact, Brooke could just make out the ghosts of two words: Marie Louise. They meant nothing to her, but why paint them out?

  Both of them had slowed instinctively as the yacht came into view, which was fortunate, as the man they were following crossed the gangway and two others came up on deck to meet him. One was armed. Brooke saw with alarm a large handgun strapped on over his shirt. It looked to her like the kind of high-powered weapon oil workers in the Arctic carry to protect themselves from polar bears. What were they called? Magnums. Christ.

  In a single movement, Brooke and Dex threw themselves behind a large boulder. Edging carefully to the corner so she could see onto the yacht, Brooke watched the men on deck. One was tall and thin, maybe about fifty, she supposed. The other two, including the man they had followed, were younger, tougher-looking and clearly Middle Eastern.

  The men had a short conversation, and the taller, older man looked as though he was giving the others orders. Brooke drew back behind the boulder. Her heart was now pounding so hard, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her palms were slippery with sweat and she wiped them on her pants as she stared at the cliff in front of her. But she wasn’t looking at the rock, she was seeing, in her mind’s eye, the photo of Jean Maynard standing with his buddy, the president. It was the same man standing on the yacht.

  “Shit.” She looked at Dex. “Do you still want to go over and ask to use their phone?”

  “You know what?” Dex gave her a twisted smile. “I don’t think I do. We need to get out of here. Fast.”

  Brooke and Dex waited until the men on deck had their backs turned
to the trail, and they dashed out from behind the rock, crossing the few yards that were exposed, and then they were in the safety of the curve. Sprinting uphill, they didn’t slow until they reached the mine complex, which remained seemingly deserted.

  Then they heard voices, coming towards them from the opposite side of the site.

  “Quick! In here!” Dex caught Brooke by the arm and dragged her down into a clump of bushes, but it was too late. There was a shout of alarm, and Brooke had a split-second image of boots at eye level racing towards her, gravel spurting in every direction. Then, she was running. Up the side of the hill, away from the mine. Trees whipped across her face and scratched her arms, air tore at her lungs as the slope took its toll. They couldn’t get away like this. Only the denseness of the forest here gave them any cover, but she could tell their pursuers had split up and spread out. It was only a matter of time before they were found.

  Dex was several steps head of her and he paused to look behind him. At least two of the men were close by, probably no more than thirty feet away, although out of sight. Brooke could tell they were near by the expression on his face.

  Then he completely disappeared.

  The shock of it brought Brooke to a standstill, oblivious, for a moment, to the crashing sounds getting closer and closer. Then Dex’s head reappeared at ground level. An arm beckoned to her violently. Realizing he had found a hole big enough for them to hide in, she threw herself towards him, landing almost full length on the ground and tumbling, head-first, down into some sort of cave. Fern fronds sprang back into place behind her, making their hiding place almost invisible to anyone unless they were unless standing directly above.

  Brooke stayed as she had landed, face down in the dirt. Turning her head slightly to one side, she could see that a vaguely greenish light lit their hiding place, revealing it as less of a cave than a regular man-made space, although certainly unused for a long time. Dex crouched below the entrance where she had fallen in, moss and leaves in his hair. His eyes were just below ground level, and they hunted left and right as the sound of snapping twigs and heavy breathing came closer. She wasn’t the only one out of breath, then.

  Their pursuers went past, further up the hill, but quickly tired and, realising they had lost their quarry, came slowly back and stopped a few feet from where Brooke and Dex were frozen. Brooke’s arm was twisted underneath her, but she dared not move for fear of giving them away. Their pursuers talked briefly, and then the sound of footfalls faded. Brooke rolled over with a quiet groan of discomfort. Dex put a finger to his lips and silently moved over next to her as she sat up.

  “They may have left a look-out,” he murmured into her ear. “But we need to get out of here. I think they’re coming back.”

  “How - “ started Brooke, but for the second time in ten minutes, Dex disappeared. A moment later, a match struck, and Brooke could see he was standing in the far corner, which seemed darker than the rest of the cave. As quietly as she could, Brooke crept over to stand next to him. They were at the end of what seemed like a tunnel.

  “It must be part of the mine.” She whispered, looking at the walls of cut rock.

  “I think you’re right. It’s an old adit.” Dex peered up at the roof. “It seems stable; they must have blasted through solid rock to make this. See? There are no pit props here.”

  A distant sound of voices drifted towards them on the breeze, making both Brooke and Dex take another step into the tunnel.

  “They’re here,” Dex said. “We’ll have to find another way out. Let me go first with the matches so we don’t knock ourselves out on the roof.”

  Moving as quickly as she could, Brooke followed Dex as he led the way down the underground passage. It was natural rock underfoot and the tunnel turned and looped for several hundred feet, always going downhill. Then, as it levelled out, Brooke guessed they had passed by, or even under, the building complex. Was this a back way into the main mine, guarded by those padlocked metal doors?

  Then the gradient moved sharply upwards. After a few minutes of creeping along, Dex stopped, putting out a warning hand to stop Brooke crashing into him. Together, they listened in the blackness, Brooke’s eyes staring at things only her imagination could see. Yet no sound echoed through the old tunnels; it seemed they were alone.

  Out of the darkness came a muffled boom, followed by a rush of warm air, funnelled down the passageway from the direction they had come. The sound reverberated on and on, bouncing off the walls and rushing down unseen tunnels, until it seemed to be coming from all angles at once. Dust stung Brooke’s eyes and made her cough. There was a slight tremor under her feet and she gave a small, involuntary cry.

  Was the tunnel collapsing?

  “Dex!” Brooke’s legs suddenly felt very wobbly and she leaned against the wall, gradually slithering down it to crouch on her heels. The tremor stopped and the rumbling faded away. “I...I don’t think this mine is too safe.”

  Dex struck another match.

  “It wasn’t the mine. It was the cave where we entered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think they blew it up.”

  “What? Why do you think that? Isn’t a tunnel collapse more likely?”

  Eventually, Dex replied “Did you notice something odd about their voices?”

  “Yes.” Brooke nodded into the dark as the match went out with a hiss and a curse from Dex as his fingers were singed. “They weren’t speaking English.”

  “It was Arabic.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I spent three months on sabbatical at an observatory on the Arabian peninsula after I finished my Ph.D.”

  “So you could understand what they were saying?”

  “Partly, yes. Enough to realize they had figured out that the only way we could disappear like that was if we had found the mine entrance, so they came back with a few handy sticks of dynamite to make sure we didn’t get out again.”

  “And no one would ever find us.”

  “If they did, it wouldn’t look suspicious. After all, what could be more natural in an old mine than a rock fall?”

  Brooke shuddered into the darkness. They sat in silence for a moment and Dex lit another match.

  Brooke looked back the way they had come, then forwards, into the unexplored mine.

  “The main entrance in the mine buildings looked locked.”

  “There’s bound to be more than one way out of this place.”

  “Do you have more matches?”

  “Almost a full box.” Dex turned and went first, striking matches periodically. Other, similarly narrow passageways met and divided. Brooke suggested they consistently pick the same direction at a fork, so they could always re-trace their steps.

  As they stumbled on, the tunnel roof became lower and lower, until Brooke found herself almost crawling. But, just as she was thinking of suggesting they turn around , they entered a larger area, a cave with a roof high enough for them to stand up. Boxes and all kinds of equipment and supplies were stacked against the walls, and a small electric light hung from the ceiling.

  “Looks like some sort of storage area,” Brooke said, opening one of the boxes. Inside were three dozen cans of corned beef.

  “This is weird.” Dex pulling several cases open. “This stuff is...well...electrical cabling, spare parts for scientific instruments, computers, protective clothing...what on earth?”

  “Shhh” Brooke put a finger to her lips and pressed herself into the shadows next to a stack of silvery high-impact cases. “Voices.”

  Dex eased a rack of all-weather clothing away from the wall. Behind it, a small grill covered a hole about the size of a cocktail tray, almost certainly part of the original mine workings. He peered through the gap.

  “Oh, crap.” He beckoned to Brooke without moving his head. Brooke moved carefully over and pressed her face against the grill, next to his.

  At first, what she saw made no sense whatsoever. They were thirty or so feet above t
he floor of a much larger cavern. Four men - the ones that had chased them earlier, she guessed - stood around, while two others in white lab coats moved around. The light was much better down there and Brooke could see large tables covered in computers, sheaves of paper and empty coffee cups.

  Dex tensed and moved his head, the better to see what lay immediately below them. Brooke could make out some sort of metallic equipment; large technical instruments linked together with differently colored cabling. She could make out a robotic arm, some sort of sensing equipment and flexible illuminated displays. Several instruments lay behind a large, clear screen, which blocked off one side of the cavern. Somewhere, deep in the mine, a steady rumble suggested some kind of industrial-sized generator.

  “The test results were much better than expected.” The voice of one of the men in lab coats below floated up to Brooke over the sound of the generator.

  “What are the numbers?”

  “Effective range at 10 miles, 90%. At 100 miles, 70%.

  “And if we achieve air launch?”

  “Chance of blast success rises by 35%. Emergency ground detonation has a minus effect of 20% on the effective range.”

  “There we need no more adjustments. I’ll tell the men they can begin loading tonight.” The second man spoke to the four guards - Brooke had an uncomfortable feeling the word might be henchmen - and they disappeared into another tunnel.

  Brooke felt Dex pulling her away from the grille. She looked around and he jerked his thumb in the direction they had come. With a last glance down into the cavern, she stepped away and followed him into the tunnel. They hurried, but after a couple of turns, their tunnel continued straight on, while a second, previously unseen, larger tunnel twisted away to the left. Dex stopped and Brooke almost ran into him.

  “What’s that?” she could feel a draft on her face. Dex raised the match and in the moment before it flickered out, Brooke saw that the roof above them at that point disappeared into darkness. The cool air whispered over her face.