U sing binoculars, Michelle and King watched safely from the truck as a Suburban with a half dozen of Parks's men inside rolled down the dirt road toward the house, or more aptly, the cabin. Looking around, King thought that the area could not be any more remote. They were on the spine of a ridge of the Great Smoky Mountains, and the tricky topography had pushed the truck's four-wheel-drive power to its limits. Pine, ash and oak rose on all sides around them, forming a wall that would bring darkness here about two hours earlier than normal. Even now, at eleven o'clock in the morning, dusk seemed to be gathering, and there was a damp cold in the air that seemed to eat right through them, even inside the truck.

King and Michelle watched as the Suburban stopped in front of the cabin and the driver got out. There were no other vehicles visible; no smoke curled from the cabin's chimney, and not even a dog, cat or chicken graced the dirt front yard. Inside the truck the heavily armed federal agents were invisible behind the tinted glass. Well, King thought, the Trojan horse tactic had worked for thousands of years, and he hoped it continued its win streak here. As he sat there visualizing the agents lying in wait, another thought dimly took shape in his head: Trojan horse ? He pushed it away for now and refocused on the coming siege.

The cabin was surrounded by the other agents, who lay in thedirt and grass and behind rock outcropping on all sides, their rifles pointed at precise locations along the target: the doors, windows and other prime kill zones. King thought whoever was in the cabin would need to be a magician to escape this net. And yet the underground bunker was problematic. He and Parks had discussed this. The blueprints the marshal had been able to obtain were missing one critical element: the location of the bunker's exterior doors and/or air vents, which it had to have. To guard against escape through these exits, Parks had posted men at points where it seemed logical the bunker would have outside access.

One of the agents walked up to the front door as another emerged from the truck and pulled out a surveyor's tripod. County public works insignia had been hung on the sides of the door. Underneath the men's bulky jackets was body armor, and their pistols rode on belt clips, ready to be pulled. The other men in the truck had enough firepower to take on an army regiment.

King and Michelle held their breaths as the agent knocked on the door. Thirty seconds went by and then a minute. He knocked again, called out. Another minute went by. He walked around the side of the cabin and reappeared on the other end about a minute later. As he walked back to the truck, he seemed to be talking to himself. He was, King knew, getting authority from Parks to hit the target. That authority must have been granted, because the doors to the Suburban burst open and the men piled out and flew toward the door that was blown open by a shotgun blast wielded by the point man. Seven men burst through this opening and disappeared inside. King and Michelle watched as men emerged from the woods on all sides of the cabin and moved toward it, rifles pointed and ready to fire.

All were waiting tensely for gunfire to signal that the enemy was there and prepared to go down in glorious flames. Yet all they heard was the breeze rustling the leaves and the occasional bird chirping. Thirty minutes later the all-clear was sounded, and Michelle and King drove down and joined Parks and the other hunters.

The cabin was small and contained only a few pieces of rusticfurniture, an empty fireplace, stale food in the cabinets and a mostly empty fridge. They had found the entrance to the bunker through a door in the basement.

The bunker was many times the size of the cabin. It was well lighted and clean and had been used very recently. There were storage rooms with shelves that were empty, but the dust patterns showed that things had been stacked there not long ago. There was a shooting range that, from the smell, had also seen activity. When they came to the prison cells, Parks nodded at King and Michelle, and they followed him down the corridor to one of the cells where the door was ajar. Parks used his foot to shove it fully open.

It was empty.

"They're all empty," grumbled Parks. "This was one big strikeout. But the placewas occupied recently, and we'll go over it with a fine-tooth comb."

He stalked off to arrange for tech teams to scour the place. King stared at the inside of the cell and then shone his light into each crevice, flinching when something glinted back at him. He went inside, looked under the small cot and then said to Michelle, "Do you have a handkerchief?"

She handed him one, and he used it to pull the shiny object out. It was an earring.

Michelle examined it. "It's one of Joan's."

King looked at her skeptically. "How do you know that? It looks like any earring."

"To a man, yes. Women notice clothes, hair, jewelry, nails and shoes, just about anything another woman has on her body. Men only notice boobs and butts, usually in that order, and sometimes hair color. It's Joan's; she had it on the last time I saw her."

"So she was here."

"But she's not now, which means the odds are good she's still alive," commented Michelle.

"She might have dropped it on purpose," said King.

"Right. To let us know she was here."

While Michelle went to give the earring to Parks, King went into the next cell and shone his light around. He went grid by grid but saw nothing of any relevance. He checked under the bed and bumped his head as he was sliding back out. He stood, rubbed his noggin and noticed that he'd dislodged the small mattress. He bent over to set it straight before he was slapped on the hand for disturbing a crime scene.

That's when he saw it. The inscription was right at the edge of the wall where the mattress had covered it. He stooped and directed his light there. It must have been tough going, etching this into the concrete, probably using a fingernail.

As he read it, something clicked in his head, and he cast his mind back to the truck rolling down toward the cabin. Something Kate had told them was finally beginning to make sense. If it was true, how wrong they'd all been.

"What are you doing?"

He whirled around and saw Michelle standing there staring at him.

"Pretending I'm Sherlock Holmes and failing," he said with a sheepish look. He glanced over her shoulder. "How's it going out there?"

"The tech teams are gearing up to come in. I don't think they'll appreciate our presence."

"I hear you. Why don't you go tell Parks we're going to drive back to Wrightsburg? He can meet us back at my house."

Michelle looked around. "I was really hoping that today would answer all our questions. Now we just have more."

After Michelle left, King turned back to the wall and again read over what was there, memorizing it. He debated whether to tell the others, but decided to let them find it on their own, if they did. If he was right, this changed everything.