“What?”
“What you said to Grandpère last night . . .”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“For a kid with freckles and an attitude, you did all right.”
“Hey!” I said, thrown totally off-balance by the praise in his eyes. The only way to cope with that was to make light of it. “It’s only the middle of June. You think I’ve got freckles now, wait until August. And keep calling me freckle-face, and you’ll see what an attitude really is. And besides, who are you calling a kid? I’m sixteen now, and have a driver’s license, and—”
He cut in quickly. “Chill, Danni. I mean it. I thought what you said was real special. It was for me anyway.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just mumbled “Thanks, Rick. See ya tomorrow,” and stepped back.
He looked like he wanted to say something else, then changed his mind. He shut the door, started the engine, and waved as he pulled away.
It took us more than an hour to get everything loaded and another forty-five minutes to get back to the highway and turn north back toward town. The clock on the dashboard showed 10:27.
“Dad?” I spoke in a low voice because Grandpère was snoring softly in the backseat.
“Yes?”
“What are you going to do with all that money?”
He didn’t hesitate, which told me he’d been thinking about it already. “Actually, we’re going to sell the mine.”
“What? No, Dad.”
“We faxed the original assay results to a company that mines nickel up in Manitoba, Canada. They’ve made us an offer. They’re coming down this weekend to see it for themselves. Unless there’s some unforeseen hitch, we’ll close on the sale next week.”
“But why, Dad? If it’s worth this much?”
“In the first place, it takes a lot of money to get a mine producing, Danni, and they’ve got it. Besides, neither Grandpère nor I are interested in running a mine. We like finding them.”
“How much did you sell it for?” I was pretty hurt. Name a mine after me, then sell it off without even asking.
“The final, agreed-upon price, is . . .” A slow smile played around the corners of his mouth. “No, I think I’d better not say until it’s a done deal. Wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“So are we going to be rich?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “If Rick’s right, and we make a million dollars for every hundred pounds of ore, we’re going to be really rich. Right?”
A passing car illuminated his face for a moment. “Would you like that?”
“To be rich? Uh . . . I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“Will being rich change how we live?”
“Well, for one thing, you could buy your own car.”
“Wicked!”
“When you turn twenty-six.”
“Dad! I’m serious.”
“So am I. But you have to wait your turn. First thing I’m going to do is buy a bright red Ferrari F430.”
“Go on!” That was Dad’s dream car, but imagining him driving up to our little country store in a car worth a quarter of a million dollars seemed a bit out of touch.
“What if we built a new house out on that nob that overlooks the river?”
“Nuh-uh. Everyone in town would think we’re getting all snooty and stuff.”
“Good.” He reached over and took my hand. “We live pretty good, don’t you think? I mean, sure, we’d get Mom that new refrigerator she’s been wanting, and recarpet the family room where you and Cody spilled red punch. Maybe put in that sunporch Mom’s been talking about so she can have her own studio.”
“Do we still owe money on the ranch?”
“Yes, about sixty grand, so we’d pay that off. Maybe travel some, I expect. Take Mom and Grandpère and the rest of us to France again.”
“I would like that,” Grandpère said, sitting up behind us, surprising us both.
“Me too,” I said. “How about Rome while we’re over there? Italy has the most handsome men in the world.”
“I beg your pardon,” Grandpère said.
“Next to France,” I hastily added.
This was fun. I didn’t want to be super rich, like the people I saw on TV, but being a little rich sounded kinda nice.
“Or,” Dad said seriously, “what if we created a trust fund to help other kids, like we helped Rick?”
That thought set me back. “You mean give them money?”
“Not directly. I’m not sure that would be wise. But suppose we set up a foundation that could help find them jobs, teach them a trade or a skill, find scholarship money for them so they can go to college, make sure they graduate from high school.”
“That would be seriously cool, Dad. I mean, seriously!”
Grandpère leaned forward and nudged me. “Think about the second Remember: There is purpose to your life. Mack’s idea would give some real purpose to our lives.” He smiled. “I mean . . . umm . . . we’re like talking some real serious purpose here.”
It was a pretty good imitation of a ditzy teenager. Like me. Laughing, I reached back and took his hand. “You’re seriously cool yourself, Grandpère.”
Turning back to Dad I asked, “Could I be part of that too, Dad?”
“What do you think, Grandpère? Have we got a place for Danni?”
“Well, after this trip,” he said, his voice sober, “it’s obvious you and I need someone who can translate Teen Speak. You know, kind of help us old guys bridge the generation gap. You up for that?”
“What do you think?” I answered gleefully.
I woke with a start, clawing the air, trying to pull myself out of a blackness that seemed to have a thousand hands grasping at me and pulling me down. I guess I was yelling too because next thing I knew, Dad’s hand was on my shoulder, shaking me. “Danni! Wake up. It’s all right. You’re okay.”
My head was swinging back and forth, my breath was coming in rapid, shallow gasps, and I’m sure my eyes were bugged out like I was a crazy lady. All around me was darkness, and I wasn’t sure where I was. Then I saw a light coming toward us. Quickly it become two lights, and a car flashed by us in the night, and I remembered we were in Dad’s truck.
“Breathe deeply,” Dad said in a soothing voice. He gently rubbed the back of my neck as he spoke. I did, and immediately things started to settle down.
I felt Grandpère’s hands on my shoulders. “You all right, ma chérie?” he asked.
A deep sigh escaped my lips. “Yes . . . I . . . I think so.”
“Bad dream?”
“No, I . . . umm. . . . I’m not sure. I felt like I was drowning or something.” Instantly, the panic was back, surging up like a monstrous wave. My heart was pounding. My mouth was dry. My hands were trembling. And what was really, really weird was that I suddenly wanted more than anything in the world to hold the pouch in my hands. I slid away from Dad far enough to reach into the side pocket of the door. The minute my fingers closed on the fabric, I felt a huge relief. It was like the fear was being pushed back, letting the calm return.
“It’s okay now,” I said. “I’m all right.” I took another deep breath, releasing it slowly. I looked out into the night. “Where are we?”
Dad pointed out the windshield. “Those are the lights of Hanksville off in the distance. We’re about five miles from home.”
I looked at the clock: 11:57.
He patted my knee. “It’s been a long two days. I think you’re just very tired.”
“I am, but this trip has been so great, Dad. Thank you so much for—”
I stopped dead, my flesh crawling again. Chills raced up and down my spine, and for a moment I couldn’t speak. I began to shiver violently. “Dad, stop the truck! Something’s wrong.”
He gaped at me for a second, then immediately let off the gas and put his foot on the brake. We coasted to a stop on the side of the road. “What’s the matter, Danni? Are you sick?”
I was, but not in the way he
meant. I was sick with fear. I had a major case of the creepy-crawlies.
“What is it, Danni?” Grandpère said, gripping my shoulder. “What are you feeling?”
How could I describe it? It was awful. It was making me lightheaded and nauseated. “It’s like that day you said we were going to Robbers Roost. Like there’s something evil nearby.” I stopped, focusing inward. “No, that’s only part of it. It’s . . . It’s like something bad is going to happen.”
“Are you sure it’s not just the dream coming back?” Dad asked.
“No,” Grandpère said. “She’s right. I feel it too.”
That didn’t help. “What is it?” I cried. The feelings were coming so fast I could hardly define them. “I feel it has to do with the mine.” I grabbed Dad’s arm. “No, wait!” My heart hammered so loudly in my ears I could barely hear myself. My fingers dug into his arm. “Dad! Mom and Cody are in danger. We have to find them,” I blurted out. Where had those words come from?
Stunned, Dad gaped at me. He exchanged a look with Grandpère.
“Mack, is your pistol still in the glove compartment?” Grandpère asked. That was the last thing I expected to hear.
Dad nodded. “Get it for him, Danni.” He lifted his phone even as he spoke. “I’ll call Angelique. Make sure everything is okay.”
“No,” I cried, surprising myself.
“Why not?” Grandpère exclaimed.
“I . . . I don’t know. I just know that we shouldn’t call them.”
Dad and Grandpère exchanged another look, then Grandpère said, “Go, Mack. We’ve got to go now.”
Dad popped the truck in gear and roared off, peppering the trailer with gravel from beneath the back wheels.
Grandpère touched my shoulder. His voice was low and filled with urgency. “Danni, listen to me. No matter what happens, don’t let go of the pouch. Do you understand? Don’t let go of the pouch.”
Part Four: El Cobra
Chapter 19
“Yes, Grandpère,” I whispered. Then, turning to Dad, I said, “Hurry, Daddy. Hurry.”
As we turned off the highway into our lane, I grabbed Dad’s arm again. “Turn off your lights, Dad. And slow down.” He gave me a strange look, but did as I asked.
“What is it, Danni?” Grandpère asked.
“Someone’s there. At the house.” We were about a quarter of a mile away, but I could feel that uneasy feeling growing stronger.
“Who?” Dad demanded.
“I . . . I’m not sure. Someone. Mom and Cody are very frightened.” I blinked. How did I know all of that?
Dad slowed the truck to a crawl, but the tires of the pickup and trailer still crunched loudly on the gravel. He turned off the engine and let the truck roll to a stop near the barn. He punched the overhead switch so that the interior light wouldn’t come on when we opened the doors.
My fists were clenched as I held the pouch to my chest. Please, let them be all right.
The area around the house was quiet. Mom’s SUV was parked in the driveway, not in the garage, but it looked like every light in the house was on.
“They should be asleep by now,” Grandpère said in low voice. “Weren’t they supposed to be back from Denver by seven or eight?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “I told them we would be late and not to wait up.” Taking the pistol from me, he got out of the truck.
“Which duffel bag has the rifles?” Grandpère asked as Dad started strapping on his weapon.
“One of those on the bottom,” he said. “But there’s no time to look for them now. Danni, let Grandpère out. You stay here.”
“Dad, no. I—”
His look cut off any protest. In moments, both he and Grandpère were running in a low crouch, staying in the grass so as to not make any noise. When they reached the house, Dad tried to look in the windows, but all the blinds were closed. Motioning to Grandpère, they tiptoed onto the porch. Dad hesitated for a brief second, then he burst through the door, pistol drawn, Grandpère on his heels. A moment later, the door slammed behind them, and then there was silence.
I waited for a long time—maybe all of ten seconds—and then I was out of the truck, carefully shutting the door behind me. As I started for the house, the living room drapes pulled back enough to show the dark shape of someone’s head looking out. I almost shouted and waved, a rush of relief sweeping over me, but then the drapes closed again. I stopped, fully expecting Dad or Grandpère to open the door and call for me. But there was only silence.
Though I sorely wanted to find my rifle, I pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t easily accessible. And there was no time. I had to find out what was going on inside the house. I pulled out my cell phone, preparing to call 911, then I remembered I had taken so many pictures up at the mine, my battery had died. And in the rush to get ready, I had left the charger at home.
Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I angled toward the barn. The equipment shed kept me out of view of the house, and I headed around back. Clinging to the pouch like it was a life preserver, I made it to the corner of the house. I stopped and listened intently for a few moments, then peeked carefully around the corner to see if anyone was there. The back porch light was on, providing some visibility. I saw two large, boxy Hummers parked by the gazebo. Both were black and gleamed in the light from the yard lamp. I drew back. Not good. My mouth was dry, my heart was pounding, and my legs felt weak.
After a moment, I risked another look. There was no one in sight. If there were someone in those Hummers, there was no way to know it. Not from where I was, anyway. I would have to risk it. Keeping low, I started along the back of the house. Oh, please let there be a window I can see through.
No such luck. My anxiety was crackling like a Fourth of July fireworks show. With ten acres of alfalfa in front of the house, and the first of the barren hillsides rising behind it, no one was close enough to see into our house so usually we left the blinds up, even at night, but now they were all closed.
I heard a noise behind me and started to whirl. A pair of powerful arms grabbed me from behind and lifted me off my feet. I screamed. One hand wearing a surgical glove clamped over my mouth. A voice growled in my ear. It was harsh and raspy, almost like gravel being shaken in a can. He spoke in Spanish, but though I was in my second year of Spanish at school, the only word I caught was señorita.
That was all right. I didn’t need a translator to know I was in trouble. I immediately forced myself to go totally limp. It was a trick Dad taught me when he and I used to wrestle. My arms were already folded across my chest because I was holding the pouch. So instead of struggling, I surrendered, letting my body relax. In response, the man’s grip relaxed too. Then I thrust my arms outward, hard, breaking his grip, and I dropped like a rock.
It worked. I was free. I took off like a shot as he yelled at me. My legs were pumping like pistons, and I felt a thrill of exultation. A second figure stepped out from between the Hummers. He wore a ski mask, green doctor’s scrubs, and surgical gloves. The holster around his waist was empty, because he had the pistol and its silencer pointed directly at my head.
I slid to a stop, hands shooting skyward, one gripping the pouch. “Don’t shoot,” I cried.
The first man came pounding up and grabbed me from behind again. The one from the Hummer came right up into my face. “El Cobra said not to hurt you. Don’t tempt me,” he hissed in English with a hint of a Spanish accent.
He barked something in Spanish at my captor. The other man let go and came around to face me. To my surprise, he was only an inch or two taller than I was, and he had a lot of weight on him. Mom might have called him “pleasingly plump.” A better phrase from my Spanish class popped into my head: El Gordo. The fat one.
I saw he wore the same kind of scrubs, gloves, and ski mask as the second man. Only El Gordo also carried an assault rifle with a silencer slung over his shoulder. The combination was so bizarre, the scrubs and surgical gloves so totally out of context with the ski mask and the
rifle, that it turned my blood cold.
The guy from the Hummer took his place behind me. He was the opposite of Gordo. He was tall and muscular, built like a weight lifter. He wore a pair of heavy Doc Martens; the yellow stitching easily identifiable even in the dim light. He took the pouch from me, checked it quickly to ensure it was empty, then hung it over my shoulder. Then he grabbed my arms and yanked on them hard. I moment later, I felt the cold steel of handcuffs close around my wrists and heard a metallic click.
He leaned in. I could feel the hotness of his breath on my neck as whispered into my ear. “All right, señorita, let’s go.”
Chapter 20
“We found this one sneaking around the back, El Cobra,” the guy wearing the Doc Martens said in English as he and Gordo led me into the family room. My whole family was there. Dad and Mom were on the love seat. Mom was crying, and her eyes were puffy and red.
Directly in front of them, a man in green scrubs stood with a pistol pointing at them. He wasn’t as tall as Doc, but he clearly had been pumping a lot of iron too. His scrub top strained against the muscles of his chest and biceps. Aside from his powerful build, there was a commanding presence about him, and I noticed that everyone kept their eyes on him.
Grandpère and Cody were seated on the couch across from Mom and Dad. Grandpère was inscrutable—calm, unruffled, almost regal. He held Cody’s hand. Cody looked pale, but his head was up, and his eyes were defiant as he glared at our captors. He was mad, and suddenly I wanted to hug him and tell him how proud I was of him. Grandpère’s eyes never left me, and I had the feeling he was trying to tell me something.
The man they called El Cobra started talking to my captors in Spanish, so I looked around the room quickly. There were three other men, all dressed exactly the same. In the light, they looked like six aliens with their green-clad bodies, ghostly white hands, and black heads with hollow eyes. Each one had an assault rifle with a silencer too. One man stood guard at the front door. Another, noticeably shorter than the others, stood behind Grandpère and Cody. A third stood back near the window where he could see everyone.