Page 259 of Broken Oath

“Because it isn’t on the mountain,” Fathom said.

His fingers flew across the keyboard.

Satellite images appeared.

Current imagery.

Historical imagery.

Military maps.

Archived reconnaissance photographs.

Thermal scans.

Geological surveys.

Five years of records moved across the screens while Fathom compared shadows, snow accumulation, heat signatures, and changes in the terrain.

Then he stopped.

All the blood drained from his face.

“Oh my God.”

Every head turned.

“What?” I demanded.

Fathom enlarged an image taken during the brief summer thaw.

At first, all I saw was snow, exposed rock, and shadows cast by the surrounding peaks.

Then he overlaid it with a thermal scan.

Straight lines appeared beneath the earth.

Too precise to be natural.

Fathom adjusted the contrast.

More lines emerged.

Chambers.

Tunnels.

Ventilation shafts.

A road that disappeared beneath a shelf of rock.

Shark moved closer to the screen.

“No way.”

Fathom zoomed in on the valley floor.

A section of snow had collapsed near the western ridge, exposing the upper edge of a reinforced entrance before someone covered it again.