Ignoring the fiery arrows shooting through my brain, I twisted my neck and looked around.

I was in the back of a golf cart.

Moving gingerly, I finger-wrapped the safety bar on one side and slowly raised my head.

Ten feet ahead and to the left, a beam cut the darkness. Behind it, I could make out a form wearing some sort of helmet. Vapor swirled in the tight cylinder of light shooting from above its brim.

For a few feet to either side of the beam, the scene was visible through a milky-white haze. The contours of a tunnel. Snaking pipes. Yellow and orange numbers and letters hand-painted on rock. Beyond that, a black void.

My eyes traced the beam to a row of yellow barrels. Painted on each was a single red word: Arsenic.

My mind registered. Analyzed.

Subterranean shaft. Miner’s helmet. Arsenic. Horace Tyne.

My blood chilled to ice.

I knew where I was.

The Giant gold mine.

Sweet Jesus. How far underground?

Tyne had brought me here to kill me. To hide my body.

As he’d done with Annaliese Ruben.

I had to get out. Or get help.

Please!

Moving with stealth, I fumbled for my pocket.

Yes!

I pulled out my iPhone and cupped the screen.

No signal. Too far underground.

Think!

An e-mail would go out automatically as soon as the device reconnected with a tower. It was the best I could do.

I opened mail. Dispatched my location to Ryan.

Noticed a text from Pete. Why not? Whichever medium worked first.

Pete’s message was short: Fast Moving general partner Philippe Fast.

I sent a reply: Giant Gold Mine. Call Ryan.

Was I insane? Reading e-mail and texts? I had to get out.

Pulse gunning, I repocketed the phone, drew in one knee, and braced my foot on the floor of the cart.

Waited.

Breath frozen, I drew in the other foot.

Braced.

Waited.

A deep breath, then I flexed to spring.

One sneaker skidded.

Gravel ground between rubber and metal.

The sound was like a screech in the stillness.

The helmet beam whipped my way.

I caught a glimpse of the face below.

Disparate facts toggled.

A text message.

A photo.

Pieces. Players. Moves. Strategies.

Suddenly, I saw the whole board.

Chapter 39

IT CLICKED. THE DETAIL THAT DIDN’T FIT WITH THE REST OF THE photo. The parkas, the vests, three truckers squinting into the sun.

A fourth trucker, face turned, white streaking the hair below a fur-lined hat.

Phil looks like a skunk.

A flyer showing Ralph Trees’s brother-in-law behind the wheel of a truck.

Got it here? Want it there? We move fast!

Fast Moving.

Farley McLeod had allowed some of his mineral claims to lapse. An entity called Fast Moving had acquired those claims.

Philippe Fast was the general partner in that entity.

It wasn’t Tyne bearing down on me with a gun in his hand.

It was Philippe Fast.