Outside Loogootee, Indiana – Same Day
Mark Ryland lit his cigarette with a shake of the match and leaned
against the tailgate of his black Suburban. He watched the smoke curl into the
chill November air, then tapped the ash into the brown leaves at his feet.
Behind him, two men stood quietly—both younger, both dressed in camo gear
that actually showed signs of use. One of them—Mason—scanned a tablet, while
the other, Brenner, kept eyes on the trail camera footage feeding in from the
bluff.
“Latest hit,” Mason said, turning the screen. “They're heading south.
Took a shot of them near Hindostan Falls. Not subtle.”
Ryland looked but didn’t say anything at first.
He already knew where they were going. Knew it the moment he saw the
chalk tracing Kate Lander made at Jug Rock. The triangle. The dots. It was all
part of the cipher. Most people thought it was folklore—something the Civil War
cooked up and left behind like a ghost story.
Ryland knew better.
The American Sovereign Trust had been following these clues for years.
Longer than Eli Turner or that overeducated teacher had been chasing dusty
diaries.
Ryland had grown up in Greene County. Not far from the river. Not far
from the box.
He remembered his grandfather’s stories—whispers about something hidden
during the war, something never meant to be found. But his grandfather was
weak. A believer. Mark was a doer.
And he wasn’t about to let two aging treasure hunters bumble their way
into a piece of real power.
He dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his heel.
“Send a message,” he said to Brenner. “Nothing loud. Just close enough
that they know they’re not alone.”
Brenner nodded and disappeared toward the truck.
Mason looked uneasy. “If they find it first—”
“They won’t,” Ryland cut him off. “We let them do the digging. Follow the
trail. But the moment they find the fourth mark—we take it.”
Mason hesitated. “And if it’s already been removed?”
Ryland’s smile was cold and humorless.
“Then we dig them up instead.”
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