Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Anthony Strong (popular romance novels .TXT) 📖

“How would I know that?” Carlton studied the image, scratching his fingers across the gray stubble lining his chin. “First I heard of it was when that geologist ran back here screaming blue murder.”

“You’d never been inside the mine?”

“Never. The entrance was blasted back around the time the town was originally abandoned. Local legend claims they did it because they thought the mine was haunted, but the truth is, it was tapped out and dangerous.”

“What about this?” Decker brought up another photo. An enlargement of the strange symbol scratched in the earth near the dead men. “You ever see this symbol before? Do you know what it means?”

“Nope. Can’t say that I do.” Carlton shook his head. “Looks kinda Native American to me.”

“Is there anyone around these parts who would know what it means?”

“I thought you people did everything on the internet these days. Why don’t you try that?”

“I did.” Decker returned the phone to his pocket. “Came up with some similar symbols, but not this exact one, and without knowing what it’s called I have no idea where to search.”

“Shame.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Carlton replied.

“Do you know of anyone I can talk to?”

Carlton shrugged. “Maybe. There’s a Paiute reservation a drive away up near the top end of Red Rock Canyon. You could try there. Don’t know how much help they’ll be.”

“Thanks.” Decker heard a noise behind him. He glanced around to see Special Agent Barnes standing there.

“Hey. I got a name for that plate.”

“Let me guess, not from Albuquerque.”

“You must be psychic.” Barnes licked his lips. “The registered owner of that pickup is one Wagner Mitchell. Single. Forty-four years old.”

“You have an address?”

“Sure do. He owns a condo off the Strip. Figure it might be worth knocking on his door. You up for a field trip?”

“Hell, yes. Lead the way.” Decker turned back to Carlton. “And you, take it easy on that hooch.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I can think of several,” Decker said. “But the fact that it’s not even two in the afternoon seems like a fine one.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

For the second time that day, Harlan sat in the passenger seat of Wagner Mitchell’s truck as they drove out of town and through Boulder City, toward Haley. This time, though, they were not alone. Behind them, in the truck's rear cab, were a pair of Mexican laborers pulled off their job installing new floors inside the casino.

The two workers, introduced to Harlan as Hector Ramirez and Emmanuel Garcia, sat in silence, occasionally exchanging glances, but otherwise making no attempt to talk. They spoke little English, and Harlan wasn’t sure if they fully understood why he and Wagner were driving them out into the desert, or if they even cared. They knew enough to comprehend there was extra money in the unusual task they were being asked to perform, and that appeared to satisfy them. Had they realized the danger that awaited them, they would have reacted differently.

Wagner initially followed the same route as before, but then he took a different road into the canyon and bypassed the ghost town altogether. He followed his dash–mounted GPS, into which he had already fed the coordinates of the second entrance Harlan had found on his ancestor’s old map by matching it with topographical features and roads on its modern digital counterpart online. The coordinates would not be completely accurate, because there was no way to pinpoint the exact location of the mine entrance, but it would get them close enough.

“You sure you want to go through with this?” Wagner asked as they left the paved road behind and bounced up a rocky trail toward their destination. “If there really is some sort of creature in that mine, those men will be walking into a pretty dangerous situation.”

“Quiet, you fool,” Harlan said. “They can hear everything we’re saying.”

“And they can’t understand a word of it.” Wagner brought the truck to a halt.

“Why are you stopping?”

“To prove we can talk freely.” Wagner twisted to look at the two Mexicans in the back seat. “Hey guys, how’s it going?”

The two men grinned but said nothing.

“We’re giving you extra pay for this job. You understand?”

The men grinned again, and this time they nodded.

“And then were going to set you free in the desert and hunt you for sport. Understand?”

This elicited the same response as before.

“See?” Wagner said. “What did I tell you?”

“All right, you proved your point.” Harlan was eager to get to the mine entrance. It was already mid-afternoon, and they only had a few hours of daylight left.

“Damn right, I did.” Wagner started moving again, gripping the steering wheel tight to control the truck as the terrain deteriorated. A few minutes later, the GPS announced they had arrived at their destination.

Harlan unclipped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering through the windshield at the desolate desert landscape. After a while he let out a frustrated grunt. “I see nothing that looks like a mine entrance. Are you sure this is the place?”

“I’m sure. I verified the landmarks on the hand-drawn map against Google Earth. Maybe your great-great-grandfather marked the entrance wrong.”

“If he did, we’re screwed.”

“Or maybe it got covered up over the years.” Wagner opened the truck door and jumped out. “Why don’t we look around?”

“Good idea.” Harlan exited the truck and shielded his eyes against the sun, scanning the rocky outcrops and steep slopes surrounding them.

Wagner was cutting across the patch of flat ground upon which they parked toward a narrow crevice clogged with sagebrush. He pulled the bushes aside and stepped through, then shouted for Harlan. “I think I found it.”

Harlan rushed over to the spot where his general manager had disappeared. He edged his way past large boulders and pushed the sagebrush aside.

Wagner stood ten feet away in a cleft between the rocks, pointing at a square entrance in the rock face, locked by white planks nailed into thick support beams at the opening’s edges. A faded sign attached to the planks read, DANGER-MINE SHAFT-KEEP OUT.

“Good job,” Harlan said,