“Stories go around every so often, but nothing’s come of them yet,” Bill said. “All depends on whether they can make a profit.”
Scott weighed his next question and decided to take the risk. “Did your grandfather ever mention the Mob?”
Bill’s smile dimmed. “Not in front of me. People didn’t talk about things like that in the open. Certainly not in front of kids. But there were times when he was talking with people and didn’t realize I was nearby. I got an earful.”
“They believed the Mob was really involved in the mines?” Scott asked.
Bill barked a humorless laugh. “Oh, it was real. And they were scared of it. Like you hear people talk about the Mafia in cities like New York and Newark. The kind of thing everyone knows about, but somehow no one can prove.”
“The Mob took a cut of the workers’ pay and skimmed profits off the mine’s revenues. Probably cooked the books, too, and had some of their people in management. Things weren’t as safe as they could have been, and I got the impression Great-grandpa and his friends thought it was because the mine cut corners to keep more of the profits,” Bill added.
“I’m surprised they let it close down,” Scott said.
Bill shrugged. “I guess the Mob wasn’t as much in charge as they thought they were. Or else the margins got too slim to be worth it.”
The conversation shifted to other topics, covering movies, good fishing spots, and favorite places to eat. Scott remained pleased and surprised that the weather was unseasonably clear, glad they had managed to beat the incoming storms.
Most of the time, they flew cross-country, but when roads stretched beneath them, Scott couldn’t help looking for out-of-place cars like the ones Justin and Liam said they saw. The angle wasn’t right for him to be sure, but he thought he spotted a couple.
We’re up here. They’re down there. We can be in and out before anyone notices.
Once they reached the target area, Bill flew in wide circles so Mike could snap shots of the area around the ski resorts. Scott told them what he needed for the articles, and Bill did his best to give Mike a variety of angles for the shots.
The cold, crisp day had a clear sky and bright sun, perfect for photos, but dark clouds on the horizon warned of a change in the weather. Scott figured Mike had taken hundreds of photos. He couldn’t wait to see them when they got back to Albany.
On the first circle around the Platt Mine, Scott spotted dark sedans parked near the mine opening as well as a few trucks. It looked like more new equipment had been delivered, and Scott spotted buildings that hadn’t been present in older photos.
“Looks like whoever bought the mine is actually going to do something with it,” Bill said.
Scott felt an overwhelming sense of danger. “Let’s do the mine photos another day. We don’t want to freak out the visitors.”
“Yeah.” Bill sounded like he had gotten the same bad vibes. “I agree.”
Bill started to turn back. Suddenly, a loud bang erupted from the front of the plane, the engine sputtered, and smoke poured from the casing.
“Shit. We’ve been hit,” Bill said as he fought with the controls.
“Did we just get shot at?” Mike asked, eyes wide, pale with sudden fear.
“Don’t know for sure, but we’re going down,” Bill said between gritted teeth. “Hold on and pray.”
Scott reached for his phone and pulled up Justin’s number.
Scott:We’re going to crash—near the mines. Look for us. I love you.
He hoped the message went through.
“There’s a clearing, I’m going for it,” Bill said, as Scott and Mike braced for impact. Scott didn’t ask why they weren’t heading for the old airstrips, guessing that Bill shared his suspicion that the people in the black sedans near the mine might have been behind their “engine trouble.”
“The emergency beacon is transmitting,” Bill added as he gripped the controls white-knuckled. “Here goes nothing.”
The plane plummeted toward the ground, fast enough to push Scott back against his seat. At this speed, he couldn’t imagine there would be anything left of them.
Bill struggled with the steering, and the engine whined as he tried to slow their descent. The trees that had been so farbeneath them were suddenly closer as the plane skimmed along their tips.
Scott wasn’t religious, but he found himself silently pleading with any entity that might be listening for them to survive the landing. The ground rushed up to meet them, and dirt flew everywhere as the landing gear ripped loose and the fuselage plowed into the earth. Scott felt the crash rattle every bone in his body as he slammed hard against the side of the plane. Someone screamed. Everything went black.
When Scott woke up, he smelled blood and airplane fuel. The light had changed, telling him he had been out for a while and that the weather was shifting.
