Wierenski brought the madman back to town, where Sheriff Tate took over. Tate locked Jessup in the jail and mounted a posse to head out to the mine. Tate returned this morning, telling a grim tale of murder and insanity.
"There were no monsters, only dead men,” Tate told me when he arrived. “Jessup must have killed them. We found two bodies. They'd been hacked up a bit before they ran out into the desert, where they died."
Tate was unable to locate Jessup's mining camp, and now speculates that Jessup lied on his official claim registry to protect the location of his mine. Tate said he found nothing at the official campsite, and no evidence a camp ever existed there. Wierenski refuses to travel to the mountain ever again, due to fears of an Indian curse.
This reporter has rendered pictures of the strange curved knife below. The knife is a solid piece of metal. Its maker is unknown.
The sketch showed the curious murder weapon. There were two crescents, joined back-to-back and off-set a little, so that the knife made a loose, pointy “S” shape. An open circle sat in the middle of that S, where the two crescents merged into one piece of metal. Sonny had never seen anything like it.
"Looks like homeboy went a little off his rocker,” Cho said, reading the article over Sonny's shoulder. The story shocked Sonny, and not because of the murders. Tales of murder in the golden age of mining were so common that many killings barely merited a paragraph in the local paper. In some towns things grew so out of control that there was at least one murder a week. Men often killed in the hills, either to protect a mine or because they just went crazy. Months in the desert, feverishly digging through the rocks, running out of food and water, fending off attacks by Indians and, more often, by claim jumpers — all of these things often drove men over the edge.
The thing that bothered Sonny was the feeling he'd had while on that cursed mountain, when he'd found the spring. Something felt wrong there, something felt… evil. He wondered if Jessup had felt the same thing, so many years ago.
Sonny rubbed his eyes. He had to pass this information on to Connell, and he had to get out soon and find the actual location of the Jessup mine.
Connell opened up a browser window and typed in “earthcore.biz/intranet.” He typed in his logon and password, then started calling up information on one of EarthCore's key employees. Now that Connell had the location of Sonny's “Silver Spring,” the real work could begin. The entire area surrounding Sonny's discovery needed to be examined with a fine-toothed scientific comb in order to find the platinum dust's source. Connell trusted only one man to properly execute the vital task.
While EarthCore had no less than five certified geniuses on the payroll, Angus Kool sat atop the heap. Connell had hired Kool sight unseen three years ago, right after the scientist procured his third Ph.D. at the age of twenty. Within a year, Kool was named EarthCore's top scientist and placed in charge of the company's research division.
Connell hadn't set foot in any of EarthCore's labs in over four years, since before Cori died. It wasn't as if his presence was needed. Under Angus's control, the department clicked like a finely tuned machine — though perhaps a well-disciplined Nazi SS squad was a more fitting analogy. Kool ran the lab with dictatorial hand and demanded perfection from his underlings, some of whom were more than twice his age.
McGuiness's find required immediate analysis, which meant Kool needed to be in the lab ASAP. Connell called up EarthCore's master personnel schedule, only to find Kool on vacation — yet again — this time caving in Montana. The man didn't just study geology, he lived it, traveling to all corners of the world spelunking. Wild blood pumped through Kool's veins. He was an adrenaline junkie who arrogantly demanded over three months of vacation each year for daredevil stunts like mountain climbing, skydiving, base-jumping and jungle canoe excursions — but mostly for spelunking. Connell wasn't surprised to hear Kool was out, but he needed the man in Detroit. Now.
The itinerary showed that Kool was on vacation with Randy Wright, another of EarthCore's big-brained scientists. Randy was Angus's little adrenaline-addicted sidekick. Wright had been at EarthCore a good ten years. Maybe he could share some wisdom with Angus. Connell didn't really care what it took, as long as they were both back to the office tomorrow morning.
When Angus Kool and Randy Wright emerged from the Dunston Caves in Montana, mud covered them from head to toe in a thick brown slime. That mud dried on the drive back to the hotel, and by the time Angus walked into the lobby, chunks were flaking off him with every step. He could have wiped himself off like Randy had, but he enjoyed seeing the look of disgust on the hotel manager's fat face.
Plebeian, Angus thought. If all his mind can focus on is a little dirt on his carpet, then he deserves some aggravation.
Angus walked to the front desk and banged his hard hat on the counter, sending chunks of dried mud scattering across the countertop. The manager's face swelled with barely repressed anger as Angus wiped the filth from the side of his white plastic helmet, revealing a plethora of Peanuts stickers, mostly Snoopy and Schroeder.
"Any messages?” Angus asked with an innocent smile. The manager's name tag read Moe, something Angus found ever so fitting.
"Yes sir,” Moe said through a failed attempt at a smile. “A Mr. Connell Kirkland called for you, said to call this number immediately.” The manager held out a scrap of paper, which Angus ignored.
"Hold all outside calls,” Angus said with an arrogant wave of his hand as he walked away, leaving a trail of mud crumbs in his wake.
As Angus walked to the elevator, Moe stared hatefully at his back.
Randy brushed the countertop mud into a neat pile, then swept it into his upturned helmet.
"Sorry,” Randy said, an apologetic smile on his face. Black-framed glassed highlighted laugh-lined eyes. He was so skinny the coveralls hung on him like the clothes of a prisoner of war. Sweat matted his thinning black hair.
Moe looked down at the now semi-clean counter, then up at Randy's face. Randy was a short man, and still a good two inches taller than that red-haired pain in the ass that went by the name of “Dr. Angus Kool."
"Thanks,” Moe said dryly.
Randy shrugged and walked to the elevator, holding the helmet upside down so as not to spill any more dirt on the lobby carpet.
Moe watched Randy enter the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Moe unfurled the scrap of paper and dialed
Yeah, I'll hold all your calls, you pompous little piece of shit. He waited for the call to ring through.
"Hello? Yes, connect me to Connell Kirkland please. He'll want to speak with me immediately. Tell him it concerns Angus Kool."
Angus entered his room and immediately stripped out of his coveralls, leaving him clothed in only sweaty underwear and a grimy T-shirt decorated with a big picture of a dancing Snoopy. The coveralls sat on the floor, a crusty pile of fabric and dirt.
A shower would be the thing. A long, hot shower, clean all this dirt off and then find someplace with a big greasy burger and greasier fries. He and Randy could plan out the next three days. They'd discovered a new branch of the Dunston Caves. The branch was tiny, barely enough room to crawl through, but it was new. Never before seen by man. They'd slithered through three hundred yards of thin mud to find it, then explored a good fifty feet of the coffin-sized passage before turning back. There was no hurry; after all, they had another three days to explore. And if that wasn't enough, Angus would just call in and demand more vacation time.