Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) by Anthony Strong (ebooks that read to you .TXT) 📕

so modest. It was your idea to reach the surface using the sub.” Hunt pressed the elevator’s call button and waited. “Without that, Barringer’s plan would have worked.”

“True,” Decker admitted.

“CUSP has a certain expectation of its field operatives,” Hunt said. “We recruit based on prior experience and don’t like to waste time on unnecessary training. We bring you on board, verify that our initial opinion was correct, and then throw you in the deep end. You either sink, or you swim.”

“What happens to those recruits who sink?”

“They get permanently silenced.” There was an ominous tone in Hunt’s voice.

Decker glanced toward his superior, alarmed. “You kill them?”

Hunt shrugged. “We have to maintain anonymity.”

Decker pushed his hands into his pockets and looked away, stunned.

Hunt milked the uncomfortable silence for a few moments longer, then a broad smile cracked his normally stoic face. “That was too easy.”

“You were winding me up.” Decker felt a rush of relief.

“Despite what people think, I do have a sense of humor.”

“Apparently,” Decker said dryly, as the elevator arrived.

When the doors opened, Hunt stepped inside and motioned for Decker to follow. “The ability to remain jovial is a necessity in this line of work. Without it you may end up in a very dark place, as our next destination will highlight.”

“Exactly where would that be?” Decker asked.

“Somewhere we take every operative once their probationary period is over.” Hunt leaned toward an optical scanner and waited while the elevator verified his identity, then turned his attention to a panel with five buttons, labeled D1 through D5. He pressed the button marked D1 before turning to Decker. “We’re going to The Zoo.”

Chapter Six

The black and white Ford Explorer with a nudge bar over the front grill and Las Vegas Metropolitan Police written along each side tore along the canyon road toward the ramshackle town of Haley with its light bar blazing.

Behind the wheel was Officer Charlie Walters. Next to him, Officer Glenn Barrow, on the job for less than a year and still learning the ropes, was busy telling dispatch they were only a minute away. After he finished, Barrow turned to his partner.

“Must be unusual to get a call this far out,” he said. “Isn’t this place nothing but a ghost town? Can’t be more than a handful of people living out here.”

“Try two,” Walters replied. “Carlton Miller, and his nephew’s kid, Robyn. She’s only been around for six months, but the old man has lived here for decades, letting people poke around for ten bucks a pop for years even though he didn’t have a business license. He’s called us out a few times to get rid of tourists he claimed were taking souvenirs from the ghost town.”

“Really?” Glenn peered through the windshield as they approached a ragtag cluster of buildings. He shook his head. “Why would anyone want to steal from a crap hole like this?”

“They wouldn’t. But Carlton’s a mean old buzzard. He’s spent so long living out in the desert that the sun’s fried his brain.” Charlie brought the police interceptor to a stop next to a dusty quad cab truck. “The woman is nice, though. She’s the majority landowner, despite Carlton calling us up here to have her escorted off the property for trespassing earlier this year. I was the responding officer. Once I found out who she really was, I almost charged him with wasting police time.”

“Why didn’t you?” Glenn asked. “Sounds like he’s a piece of work.”

“You want to do all that paperwork over something so trivial?”

“Good point.”

“I gave him a verbal warning and left it at that.” Charlie saw the young woman, Robyn, exit the newly renovated hotel and wave to them. He pulled on his door release. “I really hope this isn’t another of Carlton’s hijinks.”

“It doesn’t sound like it.” Glenn exited the car and followed the senior officer toward the building. “Dispatch said there were two men dead in the mine, some kind of accident.”

“We’ll see,” Charlie said, mounting the steps to the veranda. He introduced himself and followed Robyn into the building.

She led them through a lobby that smelled of sawed wood and fresh paint, and past a set of double doors with inset etched glass panels into a saloon that looked like something from a Western movie set. A bar spanned one end of the room, standing in front of a mirrored wall decked out in dark wood shelves. The walls were lined with old photos of the mining town’s heyday, housed in gold frames. There was no liquor on the shelves yet, but Charlie spied a solitary bottle of whiskey on the bar top next to a shot glass.

Carlton sat perched on a stool within arms-reach of the whiskey, a look of displeasure pasted across his face. The room’s other occupant was a younger man sitting at a round table. He was in his late forties with a shadow of graying stubble darkening his chin. He wore a yellow florescent jacket and tan hiking boots. A hard hat with a light attached sat on the table in front of him.

“This is the guy that reported the deaths in the mine?” Charlie asked, glancing toward Robyn.

“Yes.” Robyn nodded. “He’s one of three geologists that went up there. We hired them to inspect the stability of the mine entrance and passageways so that we can run walking tours in the mine.”

“And that’s what they were doing when the incident occurred?”

“Yes. They went into the mine together, but he’s the only one that came out. I tried talking to him but didn’t get far.” Robyn glanced toward the geologist. “Most of what he’s said so far sounds like gibberish to me. He keeps talking about monsters with glowing red eyes.”

“I told you nothing good would come of opening that mine,” Carlton said. “Now look at the mess we’re in.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Robyn asked, glaring at the old man.

“Not really.” Carlton reached for the whiskey and poured some into the shot glass. He pounded it