“Close behind him came five armed sec men carrying oil lanterns and heavy backpacks. The fat moon was directly overhead, flooding the box canyon with a cold silver glow. A stout wooden gate closed off the far end of the small canyon, the top frothy with coils of barbed wire.“Dark night, that was close!” a bearded sergeant wheezed, leaning against the rough rock wall of the canyon. “I thought that son of a bitch was going to ace us for sure, until you opened that panel in the torture room.”“That’...s why it was there,” Conway retorted, looking over the canyon to make sure everything was exactly where it should be. Nothing seemed to have been touched since his last visit. The fuel drums were still in place, as well as the distillation unit needed to turn silver into nitric acid for making guncotton, and off to the side were huge canvas bags sewn shut to protect his most valuable treasure. Five fully restored predark motorcycles. They were a gift from Broke-Neck Pete, an advance payment for chilling Roberto Eagleson.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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