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ONE OF OLSON’S MEN rode north to call in a medevac helicopter from Kimberley.

The EMT assured us that Sampson was stable for the moment and began to gather wood for a fire to warm him, so Bree and I agreed to lead Mahoney, Olson, Fagan, and the rest of the Mounties back up the butte so we could prevent anyone from leaving the mine.

“It’s the entry on the far side that we’ve got to worry about,” I said as we went to the sleds. “That’s the escape valve.”

Bree said, “Someone should still watch the mine building.”

Fagan nodded. “When rats abandon a ship, they go out any hole they can find.”

Captain Olson said, “We’ll surround that big entrance and hold it until dawn. After that, I can fly in as many officers as we need.”

We set off with Bree behind me on the sled. She was in constant communication with the Mounties as we found the trail that led through the thick woods that had foiled the tracking drone an hour before.

The snow stopped. The clouds broke. The moon shone down through a vent, again casting that strange blue color across the landscape glistening with fresh powder.

Since our descent on foot, at least seven sleds had come down the switchback trail, packing down the snow in the process.

There was one tricky spot where we had to negotiate what was left of the big drift on the upper switchback before we popped up on top near the northeast corner of the plateau.

Two inches of snow had fallen since we’d crossed the flat. We could clearly see the long, low line of the mining building five hundred yards away.

I stopped my sled, killed the engine, and pulled off my helmet; I wanted to speak directly to Olson. Bree and the Mountie captain and Officer Fagan did the same.

Gesturing at the mining building, I said, “Bree and Officer Fagan will stand watch there while I lead you to the road off the north side.”

“How far is that?”

“Less than a mile?”

“A kilometer, then,” Olson said.

One of the other officers flipped up his visor. “Captain, they stopped the jamming again,” he said. “I can talk to Randolph. He’s talking to Kimberley. There’s been a definite break in the weather and the medevac chopper is lifting off as we speak.”

I grinned and high-fived Bree just as we heard a low thumping noise followed by the roar of a heavy diesel engine.

“They’re bugging out!” I jumped back on my sled, Bree right behind me, and yanked on my helmet. I started the sled and was about to twist the throttle when the radio crackled.

“I hope you’re out there listening to my voice, Dr. Cross. I wanted to say goodbye. I have evaded you once again. Maestro’s mission goes on.”

I triggered my mic. “Malcomb, I—”

The helmet radio went to hissing again.

In that weird blue light thrown by the moon, we saw the silhouette of Malcomb’s helicopter rise over the far end of the butte, no running lights, and arc out of sight. Two seconds later, the snow-covered ground beneath our sleds and then the sleds themselves began to tremble.

Over the sound of our engines came a rumbling.

“Earthquake?” Bree yelled.

Before I could reply, the rumble became a full-throated roar.

From five hundred yards away, through the busted-out windows high on the side of the old mining building, we saw a flash of brilliant gold and red light; the flames gathered and blew the entire structure to smithereens.

The energy of the blast smashed into us.

Then a second explosion erupted out of the southwest flank of the butte, out of that huge door—a massive fountain of flame and red-hot debris gathered force, arched, and bent upward, lashing at the winter night like some dragon’s last, furious, blast-furnace breath.