“Wipe the frown off your face. You’re doing great,” she whispered, her breath cold on his cheek. “Don’t worry, Captain America. We’re going to make it to the cave on time. I’m thinking they’ll come running into our arms.”

“Right into your Kevlar? Got it on tight?”

“Sure, and you?”

“I’m good to go. I figure since we didn’t bite the big one last night when they blew up our cars, we’re sprinkled with magic dust. It only looks like snow.”

She couldn’t help saying it. “I want you to promise me you won’t hot-dog. I’m the team leader here, all right?”

He gave her a blazing smile.

Claus raised his hand, and everyone stopped. He pointed across a small clearing.

About twenty yards in front of them was Winkel’s Cave. It was set into a hillside, surrounded by weeds and undergrowth, and offered a tall, narrow opening covered with an iron-barred gate. A large sign was nailed next to the opening: NO TRESPASSING. It looked deserted, no footprints in the snow, nothing. They listened, heard more nothing.

Anna went to stand by Claus, and pointed at each of them in turn, assigning them to either side of the cave entrance. She and Claus walked slowly to the barred gate along the side of the hill, the agents covering them. They would be blind for a moment if there was anyone inside the cave watching them from the darkness. She turned on her flashlight and peered through the bars. There was no one there. It was time. She whispered, “Claus, get the gate opened.” She stepped back.

The hydraulic cutter snapped the thick chain holding the gate, and it clunked to the ground, hitting a pile of rocks. It sounded like a cannon shot in the silence.

Anna checked to see everyone had turned on his headlamp. She met each agent’s eyes, nodded. She looked at her watch, raised her hand. “Let’s go. Talk in whispers, and only if you need to,” and motioned to Claus to lead them in.

Anna held up her hand again when they were all inside. There was no sound except their quiet breathing. The ceiling was high enough so they could walk upright, even Rodney Bengal, who was six foot four. They went around a corner, walked down a couple of steps, avoiding scattered rocks. Claus stopped, and everyone closed in behind him. The darkness was absolute beyond their headlamps. And quiet, Griffin thought. It was the quiet inside the cave that surprised him the most. He clearly heard Anna’s breathing.

Around them was an incredible sweep of spectacular draperies, towering stalagmites. Claus whispered, “Don’t touch them, they’re fragile, and loud if they fall.” He realized then that if any shooting started, there’d be destruction all around them. “Stay close.”

As they moved down a twisty passage with a low ceiling, Claus whispered, “We’re going to have to bend down ahead for maybe ten feet or so, then the ceiling will rise up again. It’s narrow there, too, but don’t worry, it’ll soon widen out.”

The cave walls closed in, and soon most of them were bent double. Griffin gritted his teeth and bent. To his surprise, his leg didn’t have much to say.

Claus said, “We’re going to have to crawl here, but it’s not a long passage, no more than twenty feet.”

He could do twenty feet, not a problem, Griffin thought, and crawled.

Claus stopped, and everyone stilled. “This is the passage that caved in last year,” he whispered. “You see the debris along the sides? It was completely blocked, but they’ve cleared it. We’ll get through now.”

Anna said quietly, “Wait up. I hear something.”

Winkel’s Cave, front entrance

Team Two

Dix turned his Range Rover right off onto a single-lane road gouged with deep ruts and piles of rocks and fallen branches. There was no banter among his passengers, no conversation at all. The only sound was the rhythmic click of the windshield wipers brushing away the light snowfall.

They passed a couple of old wooden houses set in hollows of land a good way back from the road, surrounded by trees, snow piled high around them and over the old cars parked in the driveways. The whole valley was pristine white and silent as the snow fell lazily from a gray sky.

Ruth pointed. “That last house belonged to Walt McGuffey. He died last year. His heir showed up, looked at the house, closed it up, and left. It’s not far now.”

The road dead-ended fifty yards later.

Dix said, “We can’t go off-road in the snow. So pile out, people. We got us a ways to walk now.”

The snow drifted so deep here it was inside their boots within fifteen steps of the road. Dix paused. “Upslope to your left is Lone Tree Hill. See the single oak tree standing on top of the rise? It’s been there since before I had feet on the ground. On the far side of the hill, about a hundred yards away, is where Highway 70 runs. There’s a dogleg on a country road exit off the highway there, so you can’t see beyond it from the highway. They’ve got to be parking their vehicles under the trees there when they bring in their supplies, drugs, food, whatever they need, right over Lone Tree Hill.