Gauntlet (33 page)

“Yes, Yousseff, I think that’s a good name. The
Haramosh Star
it is.”

“And we need a name for the shipping line, now that we have become international. A line that Omar is going to run. What about the Karachi Star Line?” Yousseff continued.

“Sounds good,” said Vince, as he directed the little boat through Vancouver’s inner harbor. “Karachi Star Line it shall be.”

Finally, the runabout approached the old container carrier. The crew had seen them coming and had the hoist assembly ready.
“Haramosh Star
it is,” said Yousseff, almost to himself, as they climbed out of the runabout.
Haramosh Star.
Haramosh. Haramosh...

W
AKE UP, YOUSS,” said Mustafa, shaking him. “Wake up, we’re in California. We’ll be landing in 20 minutes. Put on a seat belt.” Yousseff tried to wipe the remnants of the dream out of his brain. He blinked and looked at Mustafa. “Here already?” he asked.

“Yes Yousseff. You slept the entire flight. I spoke to Kumar. He will be at the hangar to greet you in person,” Mustafa answered.

The landing was almost perfect, with the wheels of the Gulfstream coming down gently on the runway. The plane came to a roaring stop at a dull gray-colored hangar. Customs clearance had, of course, been prearranged.

The door of the plane opened, and Yousseff found a beaming Kumar on the runway to greet him. “Yousseff!” he said. “It’s so good to see you again. It has been too long.”

“It’s good to see you too, my friend. How is our mission coming along?”

Kumar sighed. He knew that Yousseff was referring not only to the engineering plans he had sent but also to the two teenagers Kumar had been instructed to collect. The boys had been living in Los Angeles for some time, sent there by the Emir to carry out his
jihad
. Kumar had received orders to pick them up and take them under his wing, teaching them what they needed to know about the equipment they would be operating and the mission for which they’d been chosen. In the process, he’d come to know them well, and was growing more and more unhappy about his involvement in the scheme.

“They’ve got it sorted out, Yousseff. They are ready. But I’m bothered by it. They’re good kids.”

“Yes,” replied Yousseff, turning his face away. “But they are here of their own volition. What about the submersible? Have you made all the modifications we discussed?”

“Yes, we’re done. Everything is in working order.”

“What about the device? Has it been built?” continued Yousseff.

“Yes, it’s done,” said Kumar.

“Good,” said Yousseff, grimly. “Then it is time to put the final pieces together.”

I
NDY WAS STANDING ONCE AGAIN in the small clearing adjacent to Leon Lestage’s trailer. It had been six days since Leon Lestage had held a gun to his head at this very spot. Catherine Gray had confirmed that RCMP members had identified Leon passing through Fernie a few days earlier, westward bound, heading toward Vancouver. He hadn’t come back, which meant that the coast was clear for Indy’s plan. The night before, he had contacted Catherine from his small highway hotel room in Fernie. They’d had dinner, and arranged to meet at 7AM the next morning to head toward the Akamina-Kishinina.

This time, Indy and Catherine had made sure that no one was home. They’d left the Chevy near the park gates and walked a mile to the Lestage trailer, then watched the small home for 15 minutes before venturing onto the property. They had come fully equipped. Their backpacks contained climbing equipment, should that become necessary, flashlights, extra batteries, cigarette lighters, GPS units, and compasses. They had their RCMP utility belts and service revolvers, and Indy even had 20 feet of rope hooked over one shoulder. They might not need everything they’d brought, but there was no telling what would happen once they entered the mine. In addition to the equipment, Indy had a set of the engineering and development plans from the Ministry of Mines. Before they’d left their respective stations, they’d both made sure that at least one of their coworkers knew where they were going.

“Come on, Cath,” Indy said, excited to finally be moving. “Time to fish or cut bait.”

“Yeah, it’s time. We’ve already been on the dock too long,” she responded.

They stole past Leon’s trailer and headed south, past the faded Devil’s Anvil sign. The trail curved a bit and widened, heading toward the rocky rampart of Sawtooth Ridge several hundred feet ahead. While the trail was overgrown, it showed evidence of recent usage. The tire tracks that Catherine and Indy passed were fresh.

“According to the plans, the mine starts with a horizontal shaft carved directly into that bluff up ahead,” Indy said.

“Well the trail is leading directly to it. Must be something there,” Catherine responded.

The trail rounded a bend, and directly before them was a low wooden structure with a peaked roof, built directly into the mountainside. There were two large, barn-like doors at the front of the structure. These were locked with a large metal padlock.

“No problem,” said Indy. With the new information produced by the other accounts, he’d had no difficulty obtaining a warrant to search the property and premises of Leon Lestage. This particular structure was, according to his maps, on Leon’s property. That meant it was fair game. Without further ado, he produced a set of tools from his backpack and started to pick the padlock. Eventually the lock sprang open.

“Bastard,” cursed Indy as he removed the opened lock from the door. Both he and Catherine peered into the gloom ahead of them. There were overhead lights, and Indy found a switch, but nothing happened when he flicked it.

“They must have generator power,” Indy said. “We’ll have to use our flashlights from here on in. Good thing we brought lots of batteries, Cath.”

They squinted into the darkness, trying to see what lay ahead of them. There were two tracks of standard railway gauge, receding into the blackness. The air had a musty, coal-like smell to it. Cobwebs hung from the tunnel ceiling, and large wooden posts and beams appeared at regular intervals. A small rail car was sitting on the tracks just inside the barn doors. Indy felt his heart rate start to rise as he stepped inside the doors. He hated enclosed spaces.

“I’ll bet this rail car is used for transporting narcotics. Especially the bulky stuff, like marijuana. They could just load it up and push it down the tracks. With how close we are to the American border, this must be how they ship their contraband across,” said Catherine.

“Yes. This has got to be the hole. The leak in the dyke, so to speak. The Yankees will go nuts over this,” responded Indy.

“So will Ottawa,” said Catherine. “This could be huge.”

They stood for a moment, gazing at the dim, narrow tunnel. “Shall we?” Indy asked finally.

“After you,” motioned Catherine. “Let’s see what James Leon Hallett built for himself.”

“Let’s take the bus,” said Indy, pointing to the rail car. “Hop on. Turn on your flashlight. I’ll get us started.”

Catherine stepped into the rail car, and Indy started pushing. Initially the progress was slow, but he was able to push the car forward at a slow jog. Then he hopped on, and slowly started to push the large upright lever back and forth, keeping up the pace. They proceeded forward for about 15 minutes before the tunnel ended in a large central space, about 30 feet across. The coal smell was much stronger here; Grandpa Hallett had indeed found a rich vein. Both Indy and Catherine shone their flashlights around the room; in the flickering shadows they could see four other tunnels splitting off from the central excavation. There was a vertical shaft with what appeared to be a simple elevator system descending down the wall. Unlike the posts and beams supporting the tunnel, the elevator assembly seemed to be new and fairly modern.

“Hang on a sec, Cath,” said Indy, as he fumbled through his backpack. “Here it is.” He pulled out a copy of the original development plan, and they both shone their flashlights on the large sheet of paper. Indy’s flashlight shook a bit — the walls and ceiling were starting to weigh heavier and heavier on him. He could feel the panic gradually taking hold of his mind. He gritted his teeth and attempted to regain his self-discipline.

“According to this, there’s a lower level. One of the tunnels in that level appears to head due south. It looks like there’s a maze of interconnected rooms and walkways in that direction. I say we take the elevator down. It looks new to me.”

“After you, Indy,” said Catherine again, quietly noting Indy’s increasingly obvious anxiety. She could see little beads of sweat on his forehead, and noted his fidgeting fingers. From the signs, she thought he must be claustrophobic, though he hadn’t mentioned it. Privately she was surprised that he’d suggested they go down any farther, and wondered how much longer he’d be able to handle the strain.

The rail line they were already riding led them along a narrow path adjacent to the wall, and then connected with two sections of rail on the lift platform itself. Indy gently nosed the cart onto the platform. He found an electrical panel on a vertical wooden post beside the elevator shaft.

“Let’s see what happens,” he said, pressing a green button. Nothing. He pressed it again, and then pressed all the other buttons on the panel. Still nothing.

“Dumbo,” said Catherine. “We don’t have electrical power. The lift is obviously operated electrically, and the generator, wherever it is, is off.”

“Well let’s go back and find the generator and turn it on. It must be outside,” said Indy. “I’ll go see if I can find it.”

Abruptly, and without warning, the lift began to slowly descend on its own. Indy paused mid-step.

“What’s it doing?” asked Catherine nervously.

“It’s descending,” said Indy, attempting to ignore the claustrophobic fears that were rising within him. He was starting to feel as though his throat was closing up, and trying desperately to pretend it wasn’t. Suddenly a switch in his brain turned on, and he started to panic. He knew he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Let’s get off while we can,” he said suddenly, moving to step off the rail car and lift.

“No,” Catherine said, grabbing his hand. “We need to follow this through. It can’t possibly be a deep tunnel. Let’s see where it goes. If we need to, we can use these cables to climb back up.” She pointed to what were probably the brake and electrical cables, strung along the wall.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, trying to calm himself. “You’re the local authority, I guess. I’m just an inspector out of Vancouver. But I want danger pay for this job.”

Catherine shone her flashlight upward and saw the shaft opening recede in the pale light. “How come it suddenly went down?” she asked.

“This elevator is probably hydraulically operated, and calibrated to a certain weight. Once that weight is exceeded, down we go. It’s actually pretty clever.”

As they were talking, the elevator descended into another large chamber and then jerked to a stop. As suddenly as the ride had started, it ended. “See that?” said Catherine, trying to reassure Indy. “We’re only 20 or 30 feet down.” They played their flashlights around the chamber, which was slightly smaller than the upper room, and had three tunnel openings connecting to it. All three of the openings had rail tracks leading to them.

“Which one?” asked Catherine.

Indy fumbled around in his packsack, and found a compass. “That one,” he said, pointing to his right. “That one heads due south. If I’m calculating right, we’re probably directly underneath the American border already. In fact, we could be in the States now. Hope you brought a passport.”

“Why don’t you use your GPS locator?” asked Catherine.

“Can’t. We’re in a mine. Underground, now. Signals can’t get through,” responded Indy.

Catherine pulled her GPS transmitter out of her pocket and looked at it accusingly. “So then why’d we bring them, genius?”

“To figure out where we are when we get to the other side,” he said, irritation and anxiety creeping into his voice.

He hopped off the platform and rotated it so that the cart was oriented with the southbound set of rails. Then he reached for Catherine’s hand and helped her off the platform assembly. Together they pushed the rail car into the southern tunnel. They were a few feet into the southbound tunnel, and getting ready to jump back into the car, when they heard a purring noise behind them. The lift was slowly starting to rise again.

“Oh God. We need to get back on,” said Indy, his fear increasing. He darted back toward the lift. “We can’t get trapped down here. Let’s go back and get reinforcements. Let’s come back with a dozen men.”

Catherine grabbed Indy’s hand again. “Relax. Your office knows we’re here. So does the Fernie detachment. If we’re trapped it won’t be for more than a day. We’re hot on the track of this, Indy. Let’s keep going.”

“Yes. OK. Let’s.” But Indy’s heart clearly wasn’t in it anymore.

“Look at the fancy hydraulics,” she continued, not fully appreciating his increasing anxiety, but thinking that anything to keep his mind off of it would help. “The Hallett and Lestage boys have certainly spent some money on this system. That platform definitely doesn’t date back to the ’20s. Those hydraulics are new. Someone very clever engineered this.”

“OK,” Indy responded, watching the lift disappear into the vertical shaft above the lower opening. He wasn’t even listening to his partner anymore.

“Indy, stop being a wuss. This is the biggest case I’ve ever seen. We can’t turn back now.” Catherine grabbed the lever of the small rail car and started pumping it back and forth, building up to a speed of about five miles an hour.

Another five minutes went by. Indy had started helping with the lever, and was sweating profusely. His claustrophobia wasn’t making the situation any easier. He did his best to hide the fear from Catherine, though; he wasn’t proud of this weakness.

“Let me handle the lever, Indy,” said Catherine, pushing him gently away. “I may be a woman, but I’m 20 years younger.”

“And in shape,” said Indy, noting her slender, athletic frame. She had a reputation in the Force for running five or six marathons a year. He also knew that she’d worn out the instructors at basic training in Regina. He gladly turned the lever over to her, and she worked it for a few minutes. The tunnel widened out, and they reached another large opening, with four large metal doors set into its silent, stony walls.

“Let’s have a look, Cath,” said Indy. “I think we’re near the mother lode.” He stepped off the rail car and walked to each door. They were all secured with heavy padlocks.

“No worries,” Indy said, fingering the first of the locks. “You don’t get to be a cop with a quarter century of experience without learning how to bust or pick a lock. Of course you’ve already seen me do it.” He started to rummage through the many flaps and pockets of his packsack, trying to relocate his lock-picking equipment.

“Good thing you have a warrant,” Catherine quipped. Then she paused. “Actually, are you sure you’ve got one?”

“Yes, Catherine, I told you that. Got it early yesterday morning from one of the old goats at 222 Main.” He was referring to the address of the provincial court in Vancouver.

She snorted. “No way it’s valid.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” responded Catherine. “If your calculations are correct, we’ve now entered the United States of America. And if you think those old goats in your provincial courts have jurisdiction in the US of A, you’re nuttier than I thought you were.”

“Them old goats probably think they have jurisdiction in Beijing,” Indy answered, doing his best impression of the strong redneck accent that tended to dominate such courts. “You know how wacky some of their judgments are. In fact, most of the guys I work with believe that 20 percent of all judges are just flat out crazy,” he added. “And even if they don’t have jurisdiction, I’ll just call my buddy, Stan Hagen, with the FBI’s Seattle field office. He can get a warrant based on what I tell him, and he can nail the bastards. American courts are one hell of a lot tougher on these dope dealers than BC courts are. It would probably be better all around if the FBI did the bust. We can get one or two of them on the Canadian side of the border anyway.”

He started fidgeting with the padlock on one of the doors. Soon he was muttering to himself in a foreign language; Catherine thought it must be Punjabi. Just when she thought the lock was going to snap from his aggression, she heard the tumblers click.

“There,” said Indy, as the door swung open. “Got it.”

They shone their flashlights into the room. “Oh my God!” exclaimed Catherine. “Oh my God! Look at that.”

Indy was likewise impressed. The room was full of American money. “There’s got to be millions and millions of dollars here. This is incredible,” he breathed.