Perry Mast steps into the sphere of light from the bulb. He’s holding a shovel in one hand, a rifle in the other, and the full gravity of my predicament hits home with all the stunning force of the blow.

“I don’t think I will just yet.” The words come out on a groan. I shift, make a show of wincing, use the opportunity to look around, take stock of my injuries. Broken ribs, probably. But in some small corner of my brain, I know that those injuries are the least of my worries. My .38 is nowhere in sight. I must have dropped it, and he picked it up. My chest hurts, but at least I can breathe. If I can keep him talking until the deputy finds us . . .

“You shouldn’t be down here,” he says. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Mr. Mast,” I begin, “what are you doing?”

“I know you found the young people,” he tells me. “I know you spoke to them. You should not have done that.”

How does he know? Has he been watching me since I arrived? Was he lurking outside the room, listening? Or maybe he’s installed cameras or listening devices. What ever the case, I decide, the less I profess to know, the better off I’ll be. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m afraid you’ve placed yourself in a tight spot.”

“This doesn’t have to end badly. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. We can end this now.” I try to rise, but he sets the shovel against my shoulder and pushes me down.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I stare at him, my mind racing. “We can walk out of here right now and get this straightened out.”

“I do not wish to leave this place.” Leaning the shovel against the wall, he moves closer and looks down at me. “I will not abandon the work God has assigned me.”

For the first time, I get a good look at his face. His expression is serene. I see the wheels turning in his mind as he works through the predicament of my having discovered his underground secret. In that moment, I realize that cold, hard sanity is infinitely more frightening than madness.

“I’m a police officer,” I tell him. “You can’t get away with this. Stop now and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

He’s holding the rifle in his right hand. It’s a .22 hunting rifle, a deadly weapon to be sure. But a long rifle can be unwieldy in tight quarters—like this tunnel. If this turns into a physical confrontation, that could work to my advantage.

“I will not stop my work here, Chief Burkholder. It is God’s will and it will be done. Nothing you say or do can change that.”