Page 74 of When the Silence Breaks

Ryder hiked toward the wing, and as he neared, he slowed, carefully planting his boot on the fresh powder. He could feel the crusted snow beneath. He tested each step before shifting his weight forward. If that mound ahead was the plane, it sat on a steep slope that seeped into a shadowed basin below. Drifts, hardened by wind, packed the top of the slope. And above him—that heavy-laden cornice threatened, the snow and ice fiercely clinging, as if they would lose their grip any moment and he should run for his life.

One wrong sound.

One wrong vibration.

Could bury Ryder.

So he kept his movements slow and even as he focused on making it to what he believed—and hoped—was the plane in question. A few yards ahead, the jagged edge of that wing drawn on the map pierced the snow and obviously had remained that way for decades.

The silence and stillness of the mountain summit snowfall had finally given way to the expected brutal winds. A strong arctic blast gusted, sending snow sideways, icy prickles flaking against his cheeks. He tugged his snow mask up over his mouth and nose as he slowly approached the visible portion of the plane—the wing. A portion of metal—the aluminum skin—had buckled, twisting toward the sky. Patches of ice had sheared off to expose a dull-green paint beneath.

His heart rate ticked up.

And Ryder closed in. With gloved hands, he brushed the loose snow off the wing, scattering the icy powder. He glanced over to where he’d left Sarah. Gun out, field glasses gripped, she remained waiting and watching, and she caught his look. He didn’t miss the anticipation reflected in her face and eyes.

On the upper surface of the wing, just in front of a corroded access panel, he spotted the faint outline of stenciled numbers—nearly lost beneath layers of grime and time. Serial No. 41-31867.

The same first two numbers, at least—because he hadn’t been able to read the rest—had been etched into the scrap of aluminum he’d found weeks ago.

Proof.

The wreckage was real—and this was it.

His breath caught. It wasn’t like a lot of military planes from the World WarII era had crashed here.

Sentinel One.

How could anyone get inside to see if the bioweapon remained intact in vials—to either collect it, confirm it, or destroy it? Beyond that risk, this area was completely unstable. He was surprised the plane hadn’t already slipped down the ridge, especially with the frequent tremors. Or ... maybe it had slipped from above and settled here, waiting for them to discover it.

Somehow, Sarah’s grandfather had made it out. The only way he could have found the cave was if someone had helped him get there—Ryder’s own grandfather. From here, the cave was closer than the cabin. Ryder couldn’t know the circumstances under which the two men met, or his grandfather assisted, but he knew they’d been in that cave together. What he wouldn’t give to hear that full story.

But both men were long gone now, and all he could do was speculate.

His grandfather had been on the mountain and seen the crash, then come to rescue those he could, finding Sarah’s grandfather. Ryder assumed the others had died. If her grandfather had made it out holding an intact vial, which Ryder still carried with him—and maybe he needed to reconsider that—it could mean that the bioweapon packed in heavy protective secure boxes, remained intact.

Help me, Lord. Help meknow what to do here. Sarah’s son is in danger. And possibly many others if the wrong people gettheir hands on whatever lies buried here.

Even beneath his coat, the cold penetrated, and his limbs ached as he slowly stood. Glancing up at the slope above, he took in the white snow-packed cornice growing heavier by the minute. Thick flakes clung to his lashes. An eerie sensation crawled over his skin. Time to get out of here and leave the long-buried plane holding a deadly payload.

He turned to hike back to Sarah. Two men flanked her. One held a gun aimed at her head.

Thirty-One

Cold fear wrapped around Sarah, and she didn’t dare move. Her breath clouded the air as she held Ryder’s dread-filled gaze. Beyond the curve of the buried fuselage, he stood rigid, his eyes locking with hers. His expression was plain. Unmistakable. As if he was willing her to understand.

Don’t move. Don’t try anything.

How had she let them sneak up on her? She was supposed to watch their backs while he looked at the plane. She’d been riveted to his examination of theSentinel One—and had watched the moment he’d brushed off the wing, just enough that he’d confirmed what they sought.

Of course ...of course... it would have to be Reid Maddox who’d gotten the upper hand.No. No, no.

Her former CIA colleague held the gun trained on her head, standing back, though, so she couldn’t disarm him. She’d always had the sense about him that he was hiding something, or at the very least, he was willing to cross the line between right and wrong. And here he was, crossing that line—the CIA didn’t operate on American soil against US citizens. She and Ryder were not foreign targets—which CIA could pursue anywhere. Reid could be embedded in somejoint counterterrorism or national security task force, but his actions said otherwise, so what was he doing, besides holding a gun to her head? She couldn’t tell if he was acting under orders or had gone completely rogue, but this didn’t have the markings of a sanctioned operation. Malcolm showing up at the outfitter’s only made things worse. Suddenly, everything felt like a setup.

Reid kept his distance. He had the same training and skills she had—except she doubted he was out of practice.

“What. Are. You. Doing here?” She forced the words through clenched teeth.

Reid stepped forward to stand in front of her so she could see his face and his cold, dark eyes. He aimed his handgun at her while gesturing for Ryder to come closer from where he’d remained at the plane. He trudged his way toward Sarah, and she wished he had just stayed on the other side of the crashed plane so he could find a way out for them. Then again, he wouldn’t do anything to cause Sarah harm, and she would fully expect him to hike forward and even put his life before hers. That’s just who Ryder Goodwin was.