Free A Treasure Deep by Alton Gansky

equipment.
    “He’s not here, Ms . . . ,” the big black man
said.
    “Fitzgerald. Anne Fitzgerald. I’m the mayor
of the City of Tejon. You passed through it on your way here.” She
introduced Bob.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mayor. I’m Jack
Dyson, assistant project manager.” He motioned to the others. “This
is Gleason Lane, one of our engineers, and this is Brent Hapgood, a
college intern with Sachs Engineering. How can I help you?”
    “I would like to know what you’re doing
here,” Anne asked. She directed the comment to the man who
identified himself as Jack Dyson.
    “Why?” Jack asked.
    “What do you mean, why?”
    “It’s a simple interrogative,” Jack said. “I
don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m not obligated to answer a
question simply because it’s been asked.”
    Interrogative? Anne thought. Boy, did I
underestimate this guy. “I think I have a right to know what you’re
doing.”
    “Why?”
    “As I said, I’m mayor of Tejon, and I’m
interested in everything that may impact my city.”
    “This will have no impact on your city,
ma’am,” Jack said. “I don’t believe we’re in city limits.”
    “Events outside of our borders can affect the
city,” Anne protested. She felt her ire heating up. This man was
being evasive. She told him so.
    “I’m not being evasive, ma’am. I’m simply
stating the facts. We’re not in city limits; we’re on private
property in the country, and we are here with the permission and
blessing of the landowner. Again, nothing we do here will impact
your lovely town.”
    “I have a right to know,” Anne protested but
knew it was futile. It was clear Jack Dyson was as resolute as he
was big.
    “I’m sorry, but you don’t have that
right.”
    “So this is a secret project?”
    “I suppose you can call it that. We have a
confidence to keep, ma’am. We plan to keep it.”
    Bob chimed in. “I could find no county record
for a building permit.”
    “We’re not building,” Jack said
perfunctorily.
    Anne decided to take another approach. “You
said you were the assistant project manager. Who is the project
manager you assist?”
    “His name is Perry Sachs, and as I said, he’s
not here.”
    “Sachs?” Anne responded. “As in Sachs
Engineering?”
    “Perry is senior vice president and senior
project manager.”
    “Where is he now?” Anne pressed.
    “Resting.”
    “Resting while you work. Nice job.” Anne was
getting irritated. “Precisely where is he resting?”
    “In his motel room, and no, I won’t tell you
where that is. He’s had only a few hours’ sleep over the last few
days. He doesn’t need to be disturbed.”
    Anne sighed loudly. She had run up against a
brick wall in a man the size of a brick wall. “I could have a
sheriff’s deputy up here in no time.”
    Jack nodded and reached into the breast
pocket of his work shirt. “Here’s my card. It has my name on it so
the deputy will know who to ask for.” He handed the card to Anne.
She took it reluctantly, and before she could retract it, another
hand appeared with another card. It was from the man with the odd
name: Gleason Lane.
    “You can have mine too,” he said.
    Anne caught sight of the college kid patting
his pockets. He shrugged, smiled, and said, “I’m just an intern. I
don’t get cards, but I could write my name down if you want.”
    Her anger had been brought to a boil, but
expressing it would be futile. She had no authority to demand
answers, and it galled her. Then she had another idea. “So you’re
telling me this Perry Sachs is not on location. He’s resting.”
    “That’s right,” Jack answered.
    Anne spun and snapped, “Let’s go, Bob.”
Several steps later she turned to look at the men who stonewalled
her. They had returned to their computer and papers. Back at the
truck, Anne asked, “You’re the local building specialist; what do
you think they’re doing?”
    He dropped the truck into gear and pulled
away, descending the