Emerson and Riley took off running and scrambled to the top of the ridge, past the cameras, the motion detectors, and the brain liquefiers. Headlights from a distant truck swung in their direction and the truck sped toward them.
“Incoming!” Riley said, catching sight of the truck.
Emerson spun her around and pushed her toward the higher ground of Groom Mountain. “Run!”
Riley ran flat-out, reached the upward slope, and kept going. Rocks shifted under her feet, and she stumbled but pushed on. The goggles weighed her down so she ripped them off, tossed them aside, and kept moving, crawling up the hillside, judging the ground by the feel of it under her shoes and hands.
She lost all trace of Emerson in her mad rush. When a floodlight beam cast from a Cammo Dude’s truck swept up and across the mountainside, Riley pressed herself into the ground, wrapping her arms around the base of a juniper tree. She quieted her jackhammer heartbeat and willed herself inside the rough wood. I am the tree, she thought. Be one with the tree!
The beam of light passed over her, but she didn’t move. She saw the light sweep the mountainside again, the blood pounding in her ears. The light blinked off, and she strained to hear the sound of the engine. When all she heard was the whisper of wind in the juniper she lifted her head and looked around. The truck was gone. Or maybe it had just extinguished its lights. The landscape was barren. No sign of Emerson. She hadn’t heard shouting or gunshots. She told herself that was a good sign and that Emerson was most likely as safe as she was. As safe as anyone could be alone in a desert at night in a top-secret military installation.
She didn’t think going back was an option. They would be looking for her. From her vantage point she could see headlights crisscrossing the desert floor in the distance. The only way is up, she thought. Climb to the top of the ridge and look around. She supposed Emerson was doing the same. He was looking for his gold. She just wanted to find a way out. She climbed as carefully and as quietly as possible. She didn’t have the night vision goggles to help her find her way, and her hands were raw from grasping at bristlecone branches and pawing over rocks. Periodically she would stop and listen for the sound of someone else slipping on gravel or breathing heavy. No sound carried back to her.
A pulsing glow, like the vibration from a neon light, was coming over the top of the ridge in front of her. The diner had featured a satellite photo of Area 51 on the wall behind the counter. It had shown the salt flat and the airstrips and the various buildings. Riley thought the pulsing light most likely was coming from the airstrip.
She heard the drone of an approaching plane and saw its lights in the night sky. The lights drew closer, dipped below the hill, and disappeared.
Riley reached the rocky knob of the summit and lay there catching her breath, feeling the wind on her face. It was colder up here, but at least the earth was even and she didn’t have to worry about falling backward. And she could see what they didn’t want her to see.
She carefully walked to the edge of the ridge and looked over. Far out across the desert floor, there it was. Groom Lake. A salt flat of almost blinding whiteness, lit by a cascade of floodlights. It was illuminated like a football field, but there were no spectators, no players. No one at all. It was eerie, and Riley could see how the sight would give rise to thoughts of flying saucers and extraterrestrial vehicles. The plane that had just landed was parked at the end of the runway, close to a cluster of hangar-type buildings.
She pulled back from the edge and turned at the sound of a footfall. Something was moving toward her. Difficult to see in the dark. Her first thought was bear, but then she realized it was a man crouching down in an attempt to be less visible. Not Emerson. This man was unsteady.
She had her father’s gun tucked inside the waistband of her jeans, rammed into the small of her back, but she didn’t want to use it. She didn’t want to put a bullet into a body, human or otherwise. Even more, she didn’t want to give herself away with a gunshot.
“Stop where you are,” Riley said. “I have a gun.”
“You’ve come for me, haven’t you?” the man said. “I didn’t think it would be you.”
Riley squinted at the man. His hair and clothes were unkempt and he had a beard. “Günter?”
“You might as well shoot me,” he said. “I don’t want to face what lies ahead for me when you bring me in.”
“I didn’t come looking for you,” Riley said. “I’m here with Emerson. He’s looking for the stolen gold.”
Günter managed a humorless smile. “He’s come to the right place.”
“Why are you on the run?”
“To stay alive. There was a time when that seemed to matter, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Your brothers say you stole six hundred thousand dollars.”
Günter gave a snort of disgust. “They said that? They actually said that? The bastards!”
“So, it’s not true?” Riley asked.
“Of course it isn’t! I stole much more than that,” Günter said.
There was the sound of an object brushing against a piñon tree, and Riley and Günter turned toward the sound. Something or someone was creeping uphill following the route Riley had taken to get to the summit. Riley and Günter dropped to the ground, and Riley quietly drew her gun. A man appeared in the near total darkness. Riley recognized the silhouette. A tall, lean man wearing night vision goggles with a duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. She stood and tucked the gun back into her jeans.
“I was worried about you,” Riley said to Emerson. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“I was just below you when they swept the hillside with the spotlight. I had the benefit of the goggles, and I knew there were men left behind. I stayed hidden until the men were picked up and the truck drove off. Then I followed your trail of dislodged rocks and broken branches.”
“Did the Siddhar teach you tracking skills?” Riley asked.
“I didn’t need tracking skills. It was like a herd of buffalo had rushed uphill,” Emerson said. “Is that Günter Grunwald?”