I was paying exquisite attention.
“Problem starts with Ryan when I tell him tonight’s the night.”
My attention focused on Ryan Beltzman. What’d the radwaste driver do? Can Walter and I avoid doing it? I spoke, asbestos-tongued. “He tried to back out?”
“He smoked too much damn dope.” Hap rested the weapon across his knees. “Too wasted to do his bit, so Roy gets incensed and then there’s the fight and the chase and the crash — y’all know that bit — and then Roy turns out damn near useless as Ryan. Sits in his pickup wringing his hands. Which leaves me no option but to take care of Ryan myself.”
So it was Hap, not Roy, who shot Ryan. Shit.
Walter said, “I see your point.”
“What’s my point?”
“Your partners botched it.”
“You got that right. But that’s not my point.” Hap fingered his ring. All that showed now was the gold band. “After the fiasco we’ve got problems. I tell Roy to go home and stay put. Knew we’d have the Feds on us soon enough — told him I’d play along, decide when it’s safe to make our move. Afraid I didn’t anticipate a couple geologists following talc and mud and whatnot.” Hap gave us a rueful smile.
I returned an icy look. “Who sent Chickie after us?”
“That’d be Roy. Seems he thought I mighta been thinking of selling him out. Boy starts going freelance on me. Still, he didn’t do half-bad — stealing your soil samples, that is. Don’t rightly approve of stranding you out there. You could’ve died. I wanted you dead, I’d have taken care of that myself.”
Walter said, brittle, “C4.”
“Whoa, that was Roy too. Overkill, if you ask me. Borax mine was set up for Milt — original plan was to send him in, let him find the cask. That irony thing, let him know where he stood. Of course, nothing went exactly as planned, what with y’all and Hector and Scotty getting into it.”
Walter said, “And the water tank at the Inn?”
“Pure Roy. Bragged about that one, on the way up here. Damn his eyes, I mighta gone for a swim last night.” Hap gave me a long look, then winked.
I sat dense as rock.
“Tried my best to rein him in. Chatted on the phone, now and then. But I was kinda pinned down, keeping watch on y’all. And it turns out being on the team was a real bonus. Got to volunteer tidbits, like the borongate story, to keep Hector’s focus on Roy. Tried to keep your focus on the radiation risks — tell me, did that work? Undermine your confidence, just a wee bit?”
Yeah that worked, but damned if I would tell him so.
“My concern was real, Buttercup. Hate to see good guys like you and Walter get crapped up.”
Walter grunted.
“Must admit, though, I mostly hated the idea of y’all finding this place before CTC agreed to pay.”
I sat up straight. “So it is about money?”
“Ain’t it always?” He nodded at the computer. “Streaming live to CTC.”
“The extortion email? That was you?”
“Was the both of us.” Hap sighed. “Thing is, Roy wanted to settle his grudge along with his payday and I guess that made him a mite unstable. Sure turned on me. Anyway, like I told you, I end up trussed like a turkey, he goes Rambo and collects himself the FBI shooter.” Hap unslung Dearing’s subgun. “Not the way I envisioned getting here but all’s well that ends well.”
I said, “Why didn’t he kill you?”
“Two hostages were better than one.”
“Where’s Milt?”
“Down some tunnel. Like I told you.”
“Why should we believe anything you tell us?”
He shrugged. “You can pick it apart afterward, for inconsistencies.”
My heart turned over. Afterward?
“Caught that future tense, did you?”
“Then you’re not going to…”
“Kill you? What if the cavalry comes?” He gave a slight smile. “Two hostages are better than none.” He raised the subgun. “Now get down and kiss the ground.”
I held onto the thought we’re of value as we floundered down. With my cheek to the rock, I watched as Hap put aside his weapons. He took the keyring out of his pocket. He moved to the hazmat crate and I watched, sick, as he began to dress out.
I said, “What about us?”
He put on booties and gloves and taped himself into the suit. He hunched into the SCBA harness and cinched the waist belt. He hooked a large pouch to the belt. He clipped a multi-tool knife to his keyring, and clipped the keyring to the belt with a big carabiner. He considered the two subguns. He selected Oliver’s, snapping on Dearing’s magazine to double his ammo supply. He used a carabiner to attach the subgun sling to his right shoulder strap. He gave himself a little shake; subgun and belt pouch and keyring held fast. He muttered “effing Christmas tree.” He picked up the last item of equipment — the facepiece. He put it on, adjusted the head straps, then pushed it up to rest on top of his head, electrifying his hair.
He looked nothing like a Christmas tree.
He swung his attention to me. “About you? Take care. Don’t end up getting zapped like Grandma.”
43
We stood at the lip of the winze.
Hap untied Walter. “Down you go, wait at the bottom. Keep in mind, one hostage’ll do.”
Walter said, “You’ll have two.”
When Walter was down, Hap untied me and we descended together. Hap first, then me, acutely aware of the marksman on the ladder below me. I recalled my first winze descent and the fear of rotting wood, a fear that now seemed quaint. I heard the thud of boots on the ground and then I, too, hit bottom.
We ran the re-tying drill, with true square knots. The tingling started up again in my hands. And then Hap set his facepiece and brought up his hood and connected the regulator hose, and I was no longer tingling, I was numb.
I moved numbly in the direction Hap pointed, following Walter, following a narrow tunnel which took a right turn and fed into the widest tunnel yet. The final tunnel, I figured, because this was clearly the main haulage level. Drop chutes stuck out from the walls at regular intervals, the rail tracks here were unbroken, and three rusting ore carts were parked downtunnel. Daylight beckoned at the end but my heart no longer lifted at that sight. When we exited, it was going to be Hap’s way.
The subgun nuzzled my ribs and I picked up my pace.
I oriented myself. I’d become a cave creature with underground senses and I judged this tunnel to be beneath the level-two tunnel with the gods-eye view. So I judged which drop chute ahead was cause for worry — the chute midway. Hap confirmed my judgement when he stopped us there, stood us against the far wall, and tapped a wired keypad that was mounted on the chute gate. The keypad lit up, glowing red.
I pressed into the rock, putting another inch between me and the exposed shaft.
A crude metal hopper was fitted inside the shaft, bolted to the walls, braced with two-by-fours, standing off the ground on metal legs. A black ribbed hose was attached at the bottom. Hap grabbed the hose and began to play it out. “You want to move now.”
That we did.
I glanced back once, to see fat coils springing free.
By the time we reached the ore carts I was thinking, just finish it. Set up your demonstration, if that’s what this is. Stream it live with your laptop cameras. Strike your bargain with Soliano or CTC or whoever in hell will pay your price and if Walter and I survive this to bear witness, then I’ll feel surprise.
Hap stopped us, disconnecting his regulator hose and pushing up his facepiece. That surprised me. That engendered a spasm of hope, that the health physicist was now willing to share our air.
“Walter,” Hap said, “I need your counsel.”