Chapter 28
The forest swallowed him within twenty yards.
Joe moved through the pines with deliberate care, each step placed with intention.
The snow was six inches deep here, maybe more in the drifts, and it muffled sound but left tracks.
Nothing he could do about that. He kept to the shadows where the canopy was thickest, where the snow was thinner and the ground harder.
The terrain climbed. Steep hillside, rocky and uneven beneath the snow. He used the trees for handholds when he needed them, pulling himself up the grade. His boots found purchase on exposed roots and stone.
Through the trees ahead, maybe two hundred yards upslope, he saw light.
Not much. Just a faint glow filtering through the darkness, diffused by distance and falling snow.
He slowed.
His movements became more deliberate and he tested each step before committing his weight. He used the tree trunks for cover, pausing behind each one to scan ahead before moving to the next. His right hand stayed near the Glock under his jacket.
The lights grew brighter as he climbed.
The slope began to level out. He was nearing the ridgeline. He moved even more slowly now, crouched low, using the terrain and vegetation for concealment.
He found his vantage point thirty yards from the top of the ridge.
A rocky outcrop jutted from the hillside, partially screened by a dense stand of spruce. The trees grew right up to the rocks, their branches creating a natural blind. Joe worked his way into the position, settling onto the cold stone behind the screen of branches.
His ribs protested. He ignored them.
He looked down at the compound below.
The old mine and logging camp spread out across a natural shelf in the hillside, maybe three acres of relatively level ground carved out of the forest decades ago.
The mine entrance itself was on the upslope side, built into the rock face—a dark opening framed by weathered timber supports and the skeletal remains of a headframe.
The wooden tower rose forty feet, its crossbeams and pulleys still intact but rusted and sagging.
Below the mine, on the flatter ground, the logging camp sprawled in a rough semicircle.
Most of it looked dead.
The sawmill sat dark and silent in the center—a long, low building with a corrugated metal roof that had oxidized to a mottled brown. No lights in the windows. No smoke from the stovepipe. The structure was maybe eighty feet long and forty wide, built from heavy timber and sheet metal.
To the left of the sawmill stood three smaller buildings.
Two looked like bunkhouses, simple rectangular structures with peaked roofs and small windows.
Both were dark. The third building, maybe an old mess hall or office, had a single light burning in one window.
Faint. Could have been a security light left on, or someone inside.
On the right side sat equipment sheds. They were open-sided structures sheltering the rusted hulks of old machinery. Tractors that hadn't moved in years. A skidder with flat tires and a seized engine.
Farther right, partially hidden by trees, he spotted what looked like an old stable or barn. The roof had partially collapsed on one end.
A few shipping containers were scattered around the compound. Most were old, but a couple of them looked new.
Three vehicles were parked near the building with the light. Two pickups and an SUV.
The fence enclosed the entire compound.
Joe studied the compound for several minutes, building the picture.
The surface operation was minimal. Deliberately so. A few guards. A few vehicles. One building with lights. Everything else dark and quiet. To anyone passing by this would look like exactly what the sign said: an abandoned mine with maybe a caretaker or security guard checking on it occasionally.
But Joe's eyes went to the mine entrance.
Even from two hundred yards away, even in the darkness and falling snow, he could see the difference.
The path leading from the compound to the mine entrance was clear. Not overgrown. Not drifted with old snow. It had been used. Recently. The snow on the path was packed down, trampled, disturbed. Multiple people had been walking that route multiple times.
And there was light.
Not at the entrance itself, which was dark, a black mouth in the hillside. But deeper. Maybe fifty yards in. A faint glow was barely visible, like light bleeding around a corner or through a doorway far back in the tunnel.
Movement caught his eye.
A guard walked out of the building with the light. He carried a rifle and wore heavy winter gear. He stood on the small porch for a moment, looking around, then walked toward the mine entrance.
Joe watched him reach the mine entrance, pause there, look inside. The guard stood silhouetted against that faint interior glow for a moment. Then he turned and walked back toward the bunkhouse.
Joe looked at the roof of the sawmill. He almost missed what he was looking at. It was an odd angle to the roof, partially concealed by the angle of the roof and a ventilation stack.
Joe studied it. It was elevated with clear sightlines to the access road, the main gate, and most of the compound. If the small space was heated, it would be a good place to cover the primary approaches and provide overwatch for anyone trying to reach the mine entrance.
But if someone got past the deterrence and somehow made it to the mine entrance, they'd find the real security waiting below.
Because that's where the operation was. Underground. In the tunnels. Where you could work without being seen, where you could control access absolutely, where you could hide anything you wanted hidden.
How many men total?
Joe did the math. Two guards here at least, maybe more. Enough to maintain security and run shifts. Not enough to look like a military operation.
But below? In the mine? That's where the real numbers would be. That's where Kinsman would have his core team. That's where Volkov would be, if he was here. That's where the weapons would be, if they existed.
Joe studied the fence line, looking for his entry point.
The section near the collapsed barn was still the weakest. The fence sagged there, the posts leaning, the chain-link rusted and compromised.
It was on the far side of the compound from the main gate, partially screened by trees and the barn structure itself.
The sniper's sightline from the sawmill roof probably didn't cover it well.
That was his way in.
He would need to time it right, moving when the roving guard was on the opposite side of his patrol route. Cross the open ground between the tree line and the fence. Slip through or under the compromised section. Then move through the compound to the mine entrance.
The surface guards were the first problem.
The mine itself was the second problem. The real problem.
Going into those tunnels meant going into Kinsman's stronghold. It would be a controlled space with limited exits, an unknown layout and unknown numbers.
Not ideal.
Joe watched the roving guard complete another circuit and waited for the right moment.
And when it came, there would be no hesitation.