Even the soil itself had to be loaded out, bucket by bucket, for transport to the Bureau’s forensics lab.

Ned, Sampson, and I split up. John helped haul equipment at first, and then dirt, as the digging got under way. Mahoney ran interference on Rodney Glass, who was sleeping off the last of his scopolamine in the back of a Bureau car. As for what Glass would say, or even remember, when he woke up, I couldn’t be bothered right now. I had other things on my mind.

I spent my time with two of the Bureau’s witness-victim specialists, Agents Wardrip and Daya. Both of them had extensive backgrounds in child and trauma psychology and knew a great deal about the impact that something like this could have on a kid. Survival was just the beginning.

I told them everything I knew about the case, but it was a tough conversation. We needed to be ready for the best and worst possible outcomes at the same time. The longer this went on, the harder it was to stay optimistic.

But then around seven thirty, everything changed.

I was outside with Wardrip and Daya when word started circulating that the crew had found something. We dropped everything and ran inside.

As I came to the edge of the stall, I saw one of the three soldiers, up to his waist in the hole. He was conferring with the special agent in charge from DC, while the other two were crouched down under the floorboards, furiously pulling dirt away from one side with their hands.

So far, the digging had exposed only an old stone and mortar wall under the barn. But now they’d come to a wooden frame of some kind, and beneath that, the beginnings of a steel panel. Or maybe a door.

I could hear the first soldier talking with the SAC now. He was excited, and his voice carried above all the other chatter around me.

“Sir, I don’t think we’ve been digging out the root cellar all this time,” he said. “I think we just found it!”

EVERYTHING INTENSIFIED AS our focus narrowed. Nobody said much while the crew cleared material out of that hole faster than ever. A bucket brigade went up, passing the dirt out of the barn, hand to hand.

Several times, the digging stopped and the soldiers pounded on the door with a shovel.

“Anyone there? Ethan? Zoe?”

So far, there was no answer.

As soon as they’d cleared enough space to cut a hole, two of the crew scrambled out and another soldier climbed down with a reciprocating saw.

A couple of seconds later, the barn filled up with a grinding, squealing sound as he drilled straight in. Then he changed direction and started slicing right through the steel.

It didn’t take long. Once most of the panel was cut, the soldiers used a pry bar to pull it back into the hole, rather than letting it fall through.