Chapter Seventeen #2
“I thought the plan was for fireworks on Martin Luther King Day,” Anthony said. “While everyone is at the rally in town.”
“Maybe that was the original plan and something led him to change his mind,” she said. “Or maybe that was only a distraction.”
“You saw all the partying going on at the ranch tonight,” George said. “Shane provided all the booze and urged everyone to have a good time at his expense.”
“I think it was so people would be slower to react tomorrow,” Stacy said. “A lot of them will probably still be sleeping off the night’s excess when the bombs explode.”
“We don’t know that Greer was headed to the resort,” Anthony said.
“We will if we go to the resort and check,” Stacy said.
“As agent in charge, I could overrule you,” he said.
“You could.” Connor was driving and couldn’t see Stacy’s face, but he heard the steel in her voice. “But do you really want to risk hundreds of lives just so you can throw your weight around?”
Anthony said nothing, which was an answer in itself.
Stacy faced forward again.
Connor rested one hand on her thigh. “Where should we head first?” he asked.
“The plan I saw had Lifts One and Four marked.”
“Both are four-passenger lifts that take people from the base area up the mountain,” Connor said. “Lifts that are almost always busy. Lift Four is where the lift tech found the fake bomb yesterday.”
“The resort is private property,” Anthony said. “We should have a warrant. And a team assembled. It doesn’t make sense for the four of us to rush in to confront these people. Especially since two of you are civilians and one of you is injured.”
“I know how to handle myself,” George said. “And Connor was an Army Ranger.”
“And I know the resort better than any of you,” Connor added.
“You’re welcome to get a warrant and assemble a team,” Stacy said. “But we can’t afford to wait around.”
“We could go in after Shane leaves,” Anthony said. “Bring in a crew to disarm the bombs.”
“We may have to do that,” she said. “But what if we’re wrong about the bombs being on a time delay? What if Shane decided to aim for maximum property destruction instead of killing a lot of people? He blows up everything tonight.”
“I don’t think Greer is a career criminal,” George said. “He’s a rancher who wants his family property back and thinks this is the way to get it.”
“I was told you were sent here to track down terrorists associated with the Freedom Fighters,” Anthony said.
“I thought so, too,” Stacy said. “But I haven’t been able to find any connection.
None of the people we’ve met match any of the Freedom Fighters we’ve been able to identify.
Shane Greer seems to be in charge of everything, and like Dad says, it’s not a professional organization.
It’s more…more what someone thinks this kind of operation should be like—holding a big campout for a bunch of strangers and holding bomb practice in a gravel pit.
He even put ads in area papers to recruit people.
A real terrorist organization would do a better job of covering its tracks. ”
“If the Freedom Fighters aren’t responsible for this, the FBI should never have been involved,” Anthony said.
“What about the stolen cast boosters?” Connor asked. “They were stolen from Forest Service property leased by the resort. Doesn’t that warrant federal law enforcement involvement?”
“Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms could have handled it,” Anthony said. “We don’t need to be out here freezing to death.”
“I don’t care about jurisdiction,” Stacy said. “We’re aware of a crime, and we need to stop the criminals.”
Connor turned in to the resort’s main entrance.
The sign of SkyCrest Resort still glowed with garlands of white twinkle lights, but the parking lots and roads were empty and silent.
“We’re here now,” Connor said. “The rest of you can do what you want, but I’m going to try to stop Shane and his buddies.
” Bypassing the main parking lot, he drove onto the cobbles of the plaza, ordinarily closed to traffic.
“Where are you going?” Anthony asked.
“Lift One. And we’re not the first. There are tire tracks in the snow ahead of us.” His headlights swept across the tread pattern. This vehicle, too, was headed for the ski lift.
Stacy scooted forward to peer out the windshield as they approached the silent ski lift. “I don’t see Shane’s truck.”
Connor parked in front of ski patrol headquarters. “Tire tracks lead around back, where the snowmobiles are parked,” he said.
Stacy drew her gun. “Then let’s see if we can find them.”
Connor put out one hand. “I want to check something first.”
The cold hit him like a slap as he exited the warm truck. Farley piled out after him and ran in a circle. Connor walked out to the lift. The dog quickly caught up with him, while Stacy and Anthony trailed behind. George remained with the truck.
“Are you looking for a bomb?” Stacy asked.
Connor stood under the lift and shone a light into the machinery above. “The fake at Lift Four was in a shoebox, shoved up above one of the chairs,” he said.
“There!” She pointed into the shadows, where a pale shape was stuck.
“That’s it,” Connor said. He moved quickly to an iron ladder that led into the recesses of the machinery.
He was already reaching for the box when she cried, “Wait!”
He froze and looked down at her, her face pale in the glow of her flashlight.
“It might be rigged to explode if anyone touches it,” she said.
“I doubt Shane and his bunch are that sophisticated,” he said.
“But we don’t know. The important thing is, we know it’s here. Leave it and let’s find Shane.”
“She’s right,” Anthony said. “Leave it for the experts to disarm.”
Connor climbed down the ladder. “Come on.”
Anthony and Stacy followed Connor and Farley back to the truck. George climbed out to join them as Connor continued around the building to the small lot where a dozen snowmobiles were parked. Shane’s white pickup sat at the far end, dark and seemingly empty.
“They took two snowmobiles.” Connor indicated two empty spaces in the row of machines, tracks leading toward the slopes.
“How did they get the keys?” Anthony asked.
“You don’t have to have a key to start these things,” Connor said.
He lifted the hood of the nearest machine and shone a flashlight inside.
“Just disconnect the electric starter.” He yanked a plug loose, lowered the hood again, then walked around to the control panel, grabbed the handle of the pull start and yanked hard. The engine roared to life.
“They’ve got an hour’s head start,” Stacy said and raised the hood of a second machine. “We need to get going.”
She fumbled a little but managed to start the snowmobile and took off after Connor, her father riding behind her. They left Anthony to either follow on his own or await the arrival of the sheriff, provided he could get hold of him.
“I didn’t know you could drive a snowmobile,” her father shouted into her ear as they zoomed up the slope.
“I didn’t, either,” she said. “But it’s not that hard.” She revved the throttle and shot forward. “Where are we going?” she shouted to Connor over the roar of the engines.
“Lift Four!”
They climbed higher on the slopes, past silent lifts like sleeping creatures crouched in the shadows. The mountains glowed silver above them, bathed in moonlight. She glanced to the side and watched, awed, as a fox tiptoed through the snow at the edge of the darkness.
At Lift Four, Connor drove right up under the lift.
He shone a light up into the machinery above the chairs and spotlighted a shoebox.
The box was black and would have been difficult to spot if Connor hadn’t already known what to look for.
“I think they set the charges on the lifts first,” he said.
“Before they attempted the more difficult-to-place charges.”
“Where do we head next?” George asked.
“The map I found had X’s on every ridge that overlooks ski runs,” Stacy said.
“Let’s hit the likeliest locations, then,” Connor said.
They had only a short ride before Connor stopped at the base of a cliff and the others pulled in alongside him. Silence wrapped around them like a muffling blanket as they shut off the snowmobile engines. “Look over there,” Connor said and pointed.
At first, she recognized nothing but shadows. Then she realized she was staring at the shape of two snowmobiles, parked in the lee of a snowbank.
“Was this ridge marked on the map you found?” Connor asked.
“There were several ridges marked,” she said. “I don’t have a good enough feel for the layout of the resort to know if this was one.”
“There’s a cornice up there that releases a lot of snow on these runs,” he said. “It would be a good place to plant a bomb. We should take a look.” He dismounted. “We have to hike from here. I think there’s enough moonlight to see. I’d rather not use a light and make ourselves a target.”
“Dad, maybe you should wait here,” Stacy said. She hadn’t missed his grunt of pain as he dismounted the snowmobile.
“I’m not waiting anywhere,” he said and set out after Connor and Farley on the narrow trail at the base of the cliff, which seemed to lead straight up. Stacy pushed past him to get behind Connor.
They climbed for long minutes, the only sound the crunch of boots on ice and their labored breathing. Then Connor stopped abruptly. Stacy almost plowed into him but stopped herself with a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Lights up there on the ridge.”
She looked up and saw two circles of light moving steadily along the ridge. “Where’s the third person who was in the truck?” she whispered.
Connor shook his head.
“If they detonate a bomb up there now, we’re toast,” George said.
“The ones by the lifts were unexploded,” Connor said. “So maybe Stacy is right about timers. They’ll make the biggest impact if they trigger the bombs while people are present.”
“Would that be hard to do?” she asked. “Rig a timer on the detonator?”
“I could do it,” he said. “These days there’s probably a video online to show you how.”
She stared at the lights moving slowly along the ridge. “Could we sneak up behind them?”
“Better yet, come in from both sides and trap them,” George said.
“There’s only one way up there,” Connor said. “Better to wait here and ambush them on the way down.”
“After they plant the explosives,” Stacy said.
“If we try to climb up after them, they’re sure to hear us coming,” Connor said.
They fell silent, waiting. Aching cold seeped through layers of clothing. Stacy’s feet and hands were numb, but even shifting her feet made a noise that seemed magnified in the night stillness.
Muffled voices drifted to them from overhead. Stacy searched the surrounding snow for any sign of the third man. And where was Anthony? They could have used him below for backup and to alert them if anyone else was approaching.
Her father breathed heavily. How badly was he hurt? Standing out here in the cold couldn’t be good for him.
Shuffling noises from above sounded louder, the lights bobbing erratically.
“They just tossed a cast booster,” Connor whispered.
“Did you see where it landed?”
“No.”
More movement from above. “They launched a second one.” He sucked in a breath. “Depending on where they landed, they could bring down half the mountain.”
“They’re starting back down,” Stacy said. She eased the Glock from her pocket.
George was already moving away. “I’ll post up farther down the trail,” he said.
“Let them move past us, and I’ll come in behind,” Connor said.
She looked and saw that he, too, was armed, moonlight glinting off the handgun. “All right,” she said.
The scrape of boots on snow grew louder as the men approached.
Stacy took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.
She recognized them now—the bearded man, Bruce and the shorter figure of Shane, a black buff pulled up over his nose.
She turned her head away as the men neared, not wanting light reflected from her pale face to alert them to her presence.
Shane and Bruce were almost even with Stacy and Connor when an engine’s roar shattered the night’s silence.
“Who is that?” Bruce asked.
“Probably just Nate,” Shane said.
“Is he finished already?”
“He’s younger than us,” Shane said. “And more reckless.”
Bruce’s answer was a grunt.
Stacy’s gaze met Connor’s. The arrival of a third man complicated things. She turned to follow the approaching snowmobile and saw her father moving down toward it. Good. He could keep an eye on Nate while she and Connor handled Shane and Bruce.
She stepped down off the trail, feeling for firm footing. Connor climbed up, intending to come in behind the two men. Another foot, and Shane and Bruce would be on them. She raised her weapon. “Stop!” she shouted. “This is the FBI. You’re under arrest.”
Shane reached into his coat.
“Don’t move,” Connor said. “I’m right behind you.”
“Put your hands up where I can see them,” Stacy said.
“This is just a misunderstanding,” Shane said. “I can explain.”
“You can explain later,” Stacy said. “For now, you’re under arrest.”
“You don’t understand what I’m trying to do here,” Shane insisted. “I promised my father on his deathbed that I’d do everything in my power to rebuild the legacy our family lost. I’m only trying to regain what should have been mine all along.”
“Shut up,” Bruce said. “They don’t want to hear it.”
“But if you’ll just listen…” Shane began.
Bruce let out a roar and charged toward Stacy. She fired, but as she braced herself, her foot slipped, and she fell, sliding down the hill, then rolling too fast to stop.
A scream tore from Stacy’s throat, silenced only when she landed, hard, at the bottom of the cliff. She fought for breath, a sharp pain in her chest. Her vision blurred, and she was unable to move.
Then someone grabbed her. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you now,” a man’s voice said close to her ear and shoved the barrel of a gun hard into her side.