6

Red Falls, Utah

NIGHT’S DARK BLANKET brought much needed hope, as did the low voices arguing somewhere within their captors’ camp.

Dude had been dumped alongside Shirley in the center of an at least 12 x 20 military-style, open-floored tent. Wind snapped the canvas. A campfire danced shadows across the far wall, lending just enough light for him to assess the situation. The trek out of the cave had been arduous, but nothing compared to the death march leading to this place. Miles spent trudging over rust-colored boulders and through slot canyons narrow enough that they’d had to turn sideways to squeeze through. There’d been no food and precious little water. His own stamina didn’t concern him, but his wife wasn’t accustomed to that level of exertion.

“Muffin?” he whispered.

No response. Shirley’s back was to him.

Thank God for her breathing’s steady rise and fall. Like his, her arms had been zip-tied behind her back. The thin, hard, plastic bit into his wrists. He’d been a Seabee in Nam and was beyond proud to have retired as a SEAL. What he wouldn’t now give for his K-Bar—his Navy issued knife. But he didn’t really need it. He might have finished out his career performing team admin duties, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned a thing or two by sitting in on the occasional tadpole training during BUD/S.

Grunting onto his knees, he raised his arms as high as possible, then rammed his wrists against his tailbone. It took five tries, but finally the tie snapped. Ignoring the blood and stinging pain from where the plastic sliced his skin, Dude scrambled to his wife.

Her breathing was slow and steady, so he left her to rest while scouring the tent for a tool to clip her restraint. Four cots lined the walls. Beside each were backpacks and other personal items. He picked the nearest to dump in the sand, landing a major score with granola bars and a mess kit. A second win came in the form of toenail clippers.

After snapping Shirley’s zip-tie, he rubbed her arms, hoping to restore circulation. He gave her a light shake. “Muffin? Sweetie, you’ve gotta wake up.”

She groaned.

“That’s it, hon. Open your eyes for me.”

“Dude? Where are we?”

“In a camp. I don’t know how much time we have before our roomies return, so you need to get on your feet.”

“I don’t think I can . . .” She groaned while attempting to roll onto her back.

“I’ll help. But we have to go.” With his hand behind her shoulders, he lifted her into an upright position, then unwrapped a granola bar, placing it into her right hand. “Eat this. I’m going to rummage for more supplies.”

He found a case of bottled water in the far corner, grabbed the backpack he’d emptied, then refilled it with the precious fluid. He scoured the other packs for food but didn’t find much beyond candy bars and jerky. A couple black hoodies might also come in handy with falling temps. A penlight flashlight got tucked into his jeans front pocket.

“How can I help?”

Dude darned near jumped out of his skin to find Shirley standing behind him.

“Sorry to give you a fright.”

He kissed her full on her gorgeous lips. “No worries, muffin. I’m just glad you’re all right. Put this on.” He helped shimmy the hoodie over her head and worked her arms through. It was way too big, but would keep her warm and also serve as camo.

From outside, the argument grew heated. “I’m telling you it’s not here. And that old man and his crazy wife? They don’t know shit. They’re a liability. Off ’em and let’s move into the next grid.”

“How am I the crazy one?” Shirley whispered, eyebrows raised. She snatched a rolled down sleeping bag, bowie knife and cigarette lighter he hadn’t seen.

“Guess muscle-head didn’t like your foul language lecture. Let’s go.”

She nodded, trailing him outside.

Inside the tent, the wind hadn’t been a big deal, but out here, it whipped up sand, blasting his cheeks. He turned to Shirley, ensuring her hood was secured. After putting his index finger to his lips, he pointed toward a winding slot canyon entrance that was a good twenty yards from the camp. If they made it before being found missing, they stood a great chance of escape. If not? He refused to think what might happen.

Dude gestured for Shirley to lead, motioning for her to run. She thankfully had enough juice in her to haul ass—not that he’d ever say as much to her, considering how much she hated cursing. But maybe this once she wouldn’t mind? He waited before making his own dash to ensure she’d made it. If she’d fallen or worse, he could have provided a diversion, giving at least one of them a chance to find help.

At the canyon entrance, barely visible by high, thin moonlight, she waved him toward her.

Heart galloping so loud it hurt his ears, he forced deep breaths, then went for it. Dude ran and ran. The heavy pack rammed his lower spine. Adrenaline gave his already aching legs a much needed kick.

Finally, he was there, drawing his wife into the shadows for a quick, reassuring hug. “You did good, muffin. Real good.”

She nodded, but silent tears glinted in the moonlight. “I’m scared.”

“Me too. But we’ve got this, okay? As long as we keep moving, we’ll outwit those dirty sons of bitches.”

“Amen.”

“You’re not going to yell at me for cursing?”

She kissed him and faintly smiled. “Not tonight.”

They made it through the slot canyon without incident, but given the terrain, it would be all too easy for the bad guys to track their progress. That meant now that they’d gained at least a half-mile, they needed to leave the relatively easy to cover sandy soil in favor of finding rockier, higher terrain. They walked hours into the black night, tripping over small brush and stones.

“Let’s get to the top of that butte,” Dude said, pointing north. “Then we’ll rest. Sound good?”

A glance back found Shirley merely nodding. Was she too tired to speak?

For the next hour, guilt crushed his already aching chest. If it hadn’t been for his treasure hunt, they never would have left their Florida condo. How much of their marriage had she sacrificed for him? Countless tours of duty when she’d been home alone with their daughter and then Olivia. More time alone after he retired and he went off on his treasure hunts. He’d never found a damned thing beyond pocket change and old pop can tabs. He meant what he’d said back in that cavern—she was his true treasure.

“Muffin,” he said, calves burning while climbing higher, “as soon as we get home, I want you to book us a cruise. The fanciest boat you can find, with dancing. Lots and lots of dancing.”

“You hate dancing,” she managed.

“Doesn’t matter. I love you, and if that’s what it takes to—whoa . . .” They reached the top. The whole valley spread before them. Even better, judging by the faint glow of a far-off campfire, those thugs they’d escaped from had to be miles away.

“I-is that them?” she asked, gulping for air.

“I would assume so. But something bugs me. Those men who had us tonight? They weren’t the same ones who initially jumped us in the cave. I think we’re dealing with two different sets of bad guys.”

“I suppose anything’s possible.” Now that she’d caught her breath, her gaze narrowed. “But come to think of it, you may be right. In the cave, there were three young men and a woman. I didn’t see a woman in that last crew, did you?”

“No. Or slick equipment like their night vision goggles. What in the Sam Hill is going on?” He shimmied free of the pack to get her a water, unscrewing the lid before handing it to her. “Drink up.”

She shook her head. “I’m too tired.”

“Muffin, you have to drink.”

“I will. Give me a minute to catch my breath.”

Not liking her defeated expression, he took a step closer, planning to hold the bottle to her lips. Instead, he tripped over a rock outcropping, and then they were both caught in a rockslide, going down, down, down into the black canyon below, tumbling and churning as if in a rock polisher. Rising dust made it hard—at times, impossible—to breathe. On and on the rock and sand terror flowed until they finally lay sprawled on the canyon floor, coughing, desperate for clean air.

“Are you hurt?” Dude asked.

“I-I’m not sure. Everything hurts.”

He tried sitting up, but then fell back. “I’m too old for this.”

“Ditto. And something pointy is stabbing me.”

After much grunting, he managed to get himself upright, then hold out his hand to help her. “Think you can stand?”

She shook her head.

It was much darker here than it had been atop the butte. They’d fallen into the shadows of a slot canyon time had forgotten.

“Dude, please help me. Whatever I’m sitting on really hurts.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Easing over to her, he slipped his hands under her arms, rocking her forward. He almost had her on her feet when she cried out. He at least got her settled into a more comfortable position. “What hurts? Your ankle?”

She nodded. “It’s probably a sprain. It’ll be better after a rest.”

What if it’s not better? How was he going to help her hike out of here if she couldn’t walk? Worse, their backpack and the sleeping bag were still at the top of the butte. To retrieve their water, he’d have to retrace their earlier trip. Doable, but not in his current condition. He also needed rest, not that he’d admit it to Shirley.

She depended on him to be strong.

Forcing a chipper tone, he withdrew the halogen penlight he’d earlier tucked in his pocket. “Let me take a look at your ankle. Hopefully, it’s not too bad.”

Crouching beside her, he rolled the hem of her khaki’s left leg. Her hiking boot needed to come off. After unlacing it as gently as possible, he tugged on the heel, slipping it down and then forward over her toes, trying not to move her ankle.

Regardless, she cried out. “It hurts worse than I thought. My side, too.”

“Sorry. Guess you might need a bit of R & R before dancing on our cruise.”

Keeping his movements ginger, he slid off her thick white sock, then shone the light on her injury. Her ankle was already purple and red. Swollen to twice its normal size.

“How’s it look?” she asked.

“Good, hon. Come sunrise, you’ll be ready to roll.” He hated lying, but before she could see for herself, he shifted the penlight to where she’d earlier been sitting. “Let’s see what was poking your . . .” Oh. My. Lord.

Dude sucked in a deep breath.

Two metal fins stuck out of the fresh dirt and rock fall. Holding the penlight between his teeth, he brushed and swept until revealing the body of his worst nightmare.

In a blinding instant, it all made sense. The reason why a heavily armed militia group would be not only searching the desert, but taking hostages. What had the ringleader said?

What I’m seeking isn’t a few historic trinkets but something far more valuable.

Dude now understood.

The madman sought treasure of the kind that if leveraged in the right way, by the wrong people, could net billions.

Shirley hadn’t fallen onto a sharp rock, but the tail fins of a B61-12 thermonuclear weapon.