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  “I think so. Once we knew it was Maryland, the next clue was ‘serpentine wilderness.’ ”

  “As in related to a serpent?” Cara asked.

  “No, in this case, ‘serpentine’ refers to the type of soil.” He was reading and paraphrasing from his laptop. “It’s soil that came from serpentinite rock and has a very high concentration of nickel and chromium and very low nutrient concentrations. So only the hardiest plants live there. This isn’t land where you grow wheat or corn.”

  “And this serpentine wilderness exists in Maryland?” Meg settled back on the couch.

  “In the serpentine barrens at Soldiers Delight Natural Environment Area.”

  “Named because of its involvement in the Civil War?” Cara asked.

  “Actually, no. It was named that in the late sixteen hundreds by King George’s men. No Civil War action took place there.”

  Disappointment flooded Meg. “Then how could it be involved if the Civil War is the key?”

  “Because there’s a mine there called the Choate Mine. Remember I said the soil was rich in chromium? The Choate Mine was a chromium mine, and chromium was crucial during the Civil War for tanning leather for all those saddles, boots, belts, and ammunition cases.” He looked up. “I could research more, but I think this is our best shot. Clock’s ticking.”

  “It is. Okay, Hawk and I are heading out there now. And . . . what are you doing?”

  McCord was packing his laptop back into his bag. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You are not.”

  “I am. I can either drive with you or follow you, but you’re being targeted here and you currently have no backup. Two sets of eyes looking for a crackpot are better than one.” When Meg opened her mouth to speak, he just kept right on talking. “Now we can waste precious seconds arguing, or we can move now. Either way, I’m going with you. It’s a public space—you can’t stop me from picking today to visit. Cara?”

  “Works for me,” Cara agreed without missing a step. “You need someone at your back. Right now, you don’t have one of the other team members, so Clay will do in a pinch.”

  McCord sent her a squinted look. “Thanks . . . I think.” “Hey, I’m on your side. Now stop arguing and go.” She met her sister’s eyes. “Get out of the city, then call me from the car.”

  “You can be sure of it.” Meg grabbed her SAR go bag and called her dog. She went out the door with both Hawk and McCord on her heels.

  Wednesday, May 24, 11:52 AM

  I-95 North

  West Laurel, Maryland

  Using the Bluetooth voice recognition system in her SUV, Meg called her sister as soon as they’d cleared the worst of the capital traffic.

  “Okay, spill,” Meg said, the moment her sister picked up. “What couldn’t you tell me before?”

  “It’s about the cipher itself and how I solved it,” Cara said.

  “That’s why it didn’t matter anymore for this victim. You’d already solved it.”

  “Right.”

  “So what’s the issue?”

  “You’re sure you’re okay to do this while driving?”

  “Cara . . .” It came out more growl than spoken word.

  “Okay, okay. In a nutshell, the Vigenère cipher substitutes letters in the original message for other letters based on a key, which is a series of numbers of indeterminate length, of which each is a number from one to twenty-five. That key tells you how far from the actual number you have to count back to decipher the code. For example, if the first letter you have is D, and if the first number in the key is three, then you count backward three letters to get A. Make sense?”

  “So far,” McCord answered for both of them from the passenger seat.

  “Counting forward is how you build the code into ciphertext, counting backward is how you decode the ciphertext into plaintext. Last night, I went through both the encoded and the decoded messages. I worked out backward that the key for the first message was four, five, twenty-one, three, five. The key was applied to each letter of the message in order. Of course, with only five numbers in the key, when you got to the sixth number, you circled back to the first number in the sequence and kept going until you finished decoding the entire message. If you are not given the key to decipher the code, then you have to figure it out. I won’t get into that process in detail, but there are longhand ways and ways for a computer to brute force it, based on coincidence occurrences in the ciphertext and the frequency of certain letters in the English language. The computer will always be faster because the human brain can process at only a fraction of the speed.”

  “Which is how the cryptanalysts are doing it, but there’s been no call yet. So how did you figure it out before them?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Because I know something they don’t. Sure, they’re faster than me at the computer work, but I have you and our family history.”

  Meg’s mouth went as dry as the Sahara. “Why do you need that?”

  “Because while the cryptanalysts are going on their merry way, simply dealing with algorithms and numbers, I noticed something special about the first key, the one for Sandy Holmes. The numbers are, in order, four, five, twenty-one, three, and five.”

  “So you said before.”

  “Meg, when you translate those numbers back into letters, the key spells ‘Deuce.’ ”

  Silence reigned for several seconds. McCord, taking in Meg’s wide, shocked eyes, must have sensed he’d missed something crucial. “What? What does that mean?”

  “Deuce was my K-9 partner when I was with the Richmond PD. He died in the line of duty.” Meg’s face was as colorless as her voice. “He used ‘Deuce’ as the key?”

  “Yes. So I worked the second code, the one that was actually intended to be the first, for Michelle Wilson, to determine the keyword. This one had a four-digit pattern.” She paused, as if unwilling to speak before pressing on. “The keyword spelled out ‘Hawk.’ ”

  McCord swore quietly. “I didn’t think ‘Deuce’ was a coincidence, but now it’s absolutely clear it’s not.”

  “I agree. So for this newest code, where you would normally then go through the alphabet frequency to figure this out, I skipped that step. I ran the eighty-four-letter message through a Vigenère cracker online. Once I knew it was another five-number key, I didn’t try to figure out the random numbers. I tried to figure out a five-letter word that applied to you personally and then translated that backward into numbers and tested each word out separately. I hit pay dirt with ‘Haven.’ ”

  Meg clutched the steering wheel until her knuckles shone white and struggled to speak through the panic clawing at her throat. “Mom and Dad—”

  “Already done.” Cara’s voice was calm and pitched loud enough to cut through some of Meg’s panic. “I talked to Dad, told him I couldn’t be specific, but there might be a threat to them or the animals because of your work. A serious threat. He will take all precautions needed and will make sure the volunteers do too. They won’t let it stop their work, but no one will get the jump on them. They did, however, ask for a better explanation when you could manage it.”

  “I have to go see them, as soon as I can swing it.”

  “It’s all taken care of. You know Dad—he’s as steady as a rock, and as pragmatic as they come. And he’s got guns on hand. The guns are loaded, he and Mom know how to use them, and they won’t hesitate to shoot if they need to. We’ll go together to see them as soon as we can and we’ll lay it all out for them then—”

  “I’m lost again,” McCord interrupted. “What is ‘haven,’ and how does it apply?”

  “It refers to the animal rescue our parents run outside of Charlottesville, Virginia,” Meg answered. “The full name is Cold Spring Haven. He’s not only addressing the messages to me, but he’s basing the keyword on my personal information. This isn’t just someone who’s read a newspaper article or two—this is someone who has a personal connection to me.”

  “Or thinks he ha
s one,” McCord clarified. “The name of your current and late dogs. The name of your parents’ rescue. All of that is public information in one way or another. When he comes out with the name of your preteen crush that only your sister and your diary knew about, then you really worry it’s someone you know. Cara, anything else?”

  “No, that’s it. I just needed you to know. You’re trying to get inside this guy’s head, but it appears he’s already in yours.”

  “He can get the hell out.” Meg’s tone was rock hard. “Thanks, Cara. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got something.” She disconnected the call.

  McCord glanced at her as the silence in the vehicle became stifling. “You okay?”

  “I will be, once we find Cat. I just wish we had the rest of the team. Only one pair searching lowers our chances.”

  “If you call them, they’ll know you have an inside track.”

  “I know. That’s why I can’t. They’re right behind us, so we’ll get started. It’s still getting the job done faster than if I’d never brought you in.”

  “What about the information about the keywords? Do you need to pass that on to the CRRU analysts?”

  Meg took one hand off the wheel to rub her pounding temple. “Should I? Yes. But if I do, the cat is out of the bag and I’ll lose all access to the case. Which means none of us will be able to help any future victims. Does it slow the teams down, putting the victim in greater danger? Honestly, it might. But if it comes down to the life of the victim versus my keeping quiet on the keywords, I’ll speak up. Because the life of the victim is the only thing that matters.”

  Keeping her gazed fixed unblinkingly on the road, Meg wound up the combination of fury and fear churning inside and focused it into a deadly calm determination. She was not going to let this bastard get to her.

  She would not let him win.

  CHAPTER 8

  Tunnel Warfare : The use of mining and tunnels as a battlefield tactic dates back to at least the Romans. During the Siege of Vicksburg, Union troops dug a tunnel beneath Confederate lines and packed it with gunpowder. The resulting explosion killed about three hundred Confederate soldiers, but the tactic was ultimately unsuccessful because Union soldiers rushed into the resulting crater, were unable to climb the steep sides, and were killed by gunfire from above.

  Wednesday, May 24, 12:41 PM

  Soldiers Delight Natural Environment Area

  Owings Mills, Maryland

  “Wait! That was it. Pull in there.” McCord pointed out through the windshield to a shallow parking lot on the far side of the road overlooking a scenic vista. Then he clutched at the door handle as Meg hit the brakes and swung across the deserted road to pull in next to the only other car in the small gravel lot. Opposite them, a valley tumbled between rising green hills, a narrow path meandering from the parking lot down into gently waving grasses. A sign beside it proclaimed: THE SERPENTINE TRAIL.

  Meg rolled down her window and craned her head through the gap, squinting back across the road and at a similar sign with blocky white letters emblazoned on the brown placard. “I can’t see what it says.”

  “According to this map, that’s the Choate Mine Trail. Let’s go.”

  As McCord climbed out, Meg followed suit and pulled open the back door to let Hawk out of the SUV. She shouldered her pack, grabbed her hard hat, and attached his leash to his vest. She glanced down the road, but there was no sign of any other vehicle. The CRRU team had come to the same conclusion as Cara and McCord, and Brian and Lauren were on the way to Soldiers Delight as well, but she wasn’t sure how far out they were. “We can’t afford to wait for Brian and Lauren and the dogs. They’ll find us, or if we find her before they get here, we’ll let them know. Let’s move.”

  They jogged across the road, down a short service access, and around the yellow gate barring the way to vehicular traffic. As she ran past, Meg glanced at the sign emblazoned with the symbol of the Maryland Park Service and the designation CHOATE MINE TRAIL.

  Bingo.

  “Are you going to let him off the leash?” McCord puffed a bit as they jogged.

  Meg checked Hawk as he ran easily beside her, the leash swinging loose as he stayed at heel. “Once we get to the mine, but here there could be too many conflicting scents with various hikers and park rangers about, and nothing to give him anything specific to look for. It will be a test of your theory, once we get there. How much farther is it?”

  “Not far according to the map.” He waggled his cell phone at her, showing a picture of a stark white map with black lines highlighted by different colored trails.

  The dirt path led them beneath overhanging trees, shading them from the midday sun. Meg scanned each clearing they passed, searching for the mine. She’d seen pictures, and knew it wasn’t a big, imposing structure, but rather a rocky tear in the earth. She wasn’t sure how it was marked and didn’t want to miss it. The dirt path they traveled was cleared and smooth, but around them was thick underbrush, fallen trees, lichen-covered boulders pushing free of the earth, and even a small pond from which dead trees sprang from the center of the stagnant water, mirrored eerily on the surface.

  “There, that cleared section.” McCord pointed ahead and to the right, picking up his pace. “I think that’s it.”

  The forest opened up onto a grassy meadow with sparse trees. Bare, craggy rock was exposed between uneven patches of grasses and small, scrubby bushes fought for ground with short, scraggly pines. A wood and mesh fence enclosed what appeared to be an open grassy space, in front of which was a sign placed by the Baltimore Historical Society, signifying this as the site of the Choate Mine.

  It was only once they got closer that Meg recognized the mouth of the mine as she’d seen it in pictures—a narrow slit set low into the rocky earth, disappearing into darkness.

  Could he have gotten her in there?

  Only one way to find out.

  Meg eyed the wood fence. It was locked, but that wasn’t going to stop them. With a good run, Hawk could likely leap over it, and she and McCord could climb over, but—

  The sound of wood splintering had her spinning toward one side of the fenced area. A short gate, previously in line with the fence, now stood open, its latch and lock dangling drunkenly.

  “Clock is ticking,” McCord stated. “Kicking it in seemed like the fastest option.”

  “Sure does. We’ll deal with the park rangers later.” They crossed into the enclosed area. Untrimmed grasses grew tall here, springing up around metal tracks that ran from the mine entrance, no doubt for ore carts. The long-disused path ran down into the slanted shaft of the abandoned chromite mine. Small rocks poked from the earth’s surface like half-buried bones, and small bits of rotted timber from the old mine railroad bed lay scattered among the rocks.

  As they made their way down the path, the ragged rock walls rose above them and they went from sunlight into shade at the gaping dark mouth of the mine. Half-height timber posts supported the roof, but only feet into the mine, the supports disappeared into an engulfing darkness.

  They each pulled flashlights from their pockets and Meg bent to remove Hawk’s leash before putting on her hard hat. She ran a hand down his exercise-warmed fur. “Hawk, find Catriona.” Hawk put his nose into the air, sniffed the new smells, and stepped into the gloom. Meg and McCord switched on their flashlights and ducked to clear the low ceiling. The air suddenly stilled and the temperature dropped, causing a chill to skitter up Meg’s spine. The beam from her flashlight bounced over rocky walls and ancient tree trunks placed every six feet or so to shore up the ceiling. Farther into the gloom, a single carved rocky pillar, shaped like an hourglass and banded in the middle with a dark layer of minerals, added to the roof support.

  “I don’t know about this.”

  Meg turned to find McCord staring suspiciously at the ceiling only inches over his hunched form.

  “You’ll go to Iraq, get shot at and nearly bombed, but a mine scares you?”

  “I’m fee
ling less safe in here than I did over there sometimes.” He shone his flashlight farther into the dim recesses, but the light was swallowed by the darkness less than fifteen feet out. “But that’s beside the point. We’re doing it anyway.”

  “Yes, we are. Just keep your head down. I don’t have a spare hard hat in my gear for you.” Meg stepped over debris and rubble littering the floor of the mine, her eyes and flashlight locked on her dog. The main shaft immediately tipped downward at a significant angle. “Slowly, Hawk. We have to stay with you, and you’re as black as this mine, so don’t lose us.”

  Hawk picked his way carefully over the uneven rocky floor, but his direction clearly had purpose.

  “Has he got something already?” McCord asked.

  “I think so. Keep in mind, the scent is trapped down here, so it’s not diffusing far. On the other hand, it might be wafting down corridors that will lead us nowhere. Whatever happens, don’t lose your sense of direction.”

  Hawk followed the downward shaft toward a cloying organic odor that even the humans could detect. Up ahead, the shaft forked, going north and south. The southerly fork angled steeply downward, disappearing into murky flooded depths.

  “Flooded out.” Keeping his head out of the range of jutting rocks from the ceiling, McCord moved to the edge of the water, shining his light down into it, but the light simply bounced off the surface, revealing nothing. “Spring rains maybe. Any chance she’s under there?”

  Meg watched Hawk who barely glanced at the water, but instead took the north shaft. “Hawk doesn’t think so. And he’s in charge.”

  They made their way around crumbling rock and rotting timbers, between rough walls still bearing the marks of the chisels and pickaxes that created their shape centuries earlier. A loose rock shifted under Meg’s foot and she went down on one knee, strangling the cry rising to her lips, which would be explosive in such a small, resonant space. She pushed back to her feet, one hand over her head to avoid banging her hard hat on the low ceiling.