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“Before making good my escape, I lay in my own waste for several days.”

“Your escape from what?”

“I think the pioneers quaintly referred to it as a root cellar. Actually it’s a hole in the ground—in this case, beneath the barn of your friend and mine, Gray Bondurant.” Spence sneered. “Can you believe it? That motherfucker shot me.”

David listened as Spence described the casual breakfast they’d shared. “He admitted Barrie Travis had been to see him, but apparently he was on to me from the beginning. He got off a shot before I could fire.” His lips narrowed to a thin, bitter line. “He’s going to regret not killing me when he had the chance. Being the Boy Scout he is, he didn’t aim to kill.”

“What happened then?”

“He packed my shoulder wound, stripped me naked, trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and placed me in the cellar. My hands were tied, but I could reach the food and water with my mouth. If I rationed it well, it was enough to last for several weeks. Just before he closed the door on me, he reminded me that I had aced survival training. ‘So survive, you son of a bitch,’ he said.

“The gunshot wound was painful, but I knew that if it didn’t get infected, it wasn’t life-threatening. It took me twenty-four hours—I’m guessing—to get my hands free. He knew I would eventually, but he also knew it would take me a while, if ever, to get out.

“The area was about eight feet square. The ceiling was about four inches above my head, and from the ceiling to the barn floor was a foot of hardpacked earth supported by lodgepoles. Of course, I didn’t know that until I got out.”

“What about the door?”

“Wood. But he’d placed two steel I-beams over it. I suppose they were leftovers from the construction of the house. He’d drilled three holes into the door for ventilation. The beams were placed parallel, about an inch and a half apart, just the diameter of the air holes, lengthwise along the door. Then he’d scattered hay over them. A casual observer would never have noticed.”

“I sent a man out there.”

“One of mine?” When David nodded, Spence said, “Then he’s dead meat. He should have gone over every square inch of that place.”

“How’d you get out?”

“I clawed my way. The food—dry pasta and bread mostly, some cereal—

didn’t provide me anything to work with.”

“What about the water containers?”

“Styrofoam. No lids, no straws. I had nothing but these,” he said, holding up his hands. “Eventually I was able to create a hole, outside the perimeter of the door and away from the beams, large enough for me to wiggle through. If the ceiling of the cellar had been any higher, I couldn’t have reached it. There was nothing to stand on except my bare feet.”

“Lucky for you the barn floor wasn’t concrete.”

“Gray built that place on the site of a pioneer home, and probably wanted to preserve some of its character.” Spence grinned, but it was a chilling expression. “He’s always been stupidly sentimental.”

“He’s here, you know.”

“I figured.”

David told Spence about his unannounced visit from Gray Bondurant, then filled him in on the events that had taken place during his absence. “It was damn rotten luck,” he said of Jayne Gaston’s death. “George was gradually increasing Vanessa’s dosage of lithium, but recording what it should have been. When he ordered a stronger sedative, the nurse staged a revolt. He tried to have her forcibly removed. She went into cardiac arrest and died. Then your favorite reporter, and mine—”

“I know,” Spence said. “I read the article in the Post and couldn’t believe she was still among the living. Nobody could have walked away from that explosion, David.”

“Her dog went into the townhouse ahead of her.”

“Talk about rotten luck.”

“After the incident in Shinlin, Clete is on her case. She’s been publicly humiliated and professionally trashed. Hopefully, she’s learned her lesson.”

“Hopefully, but she’s a slow learner.”

“You’re right.” David nodded solemnly. “What about Gray?”

“For now, I think my return should be kept our secret, don’t you?”

“But surely you were seen coming in tonight.”