“That is Paul Bissonette,” Smith said. “He was a frequent climbing partner of Soleil’s.”
“Vaya con Dios,” MacD muttered.
“What about Soleil?” Linda asked.
“She either kept running or she’s somewhere down there.” Cabrillo pointed to the stairs.
Flashlight beam preceding them, and pistols drawn because the confines were too tight for their assault rifles, three of them made their way cautiously down the stairs. Cabrillo ordered MacD to remain at the entrance and keep watch.
Unlike the plain walls of the uppermost chamber, the staircase was ornately carved with mythical figures and geometric designs. When they reached the bottom, they found themselves in another windowless room, but this one had a stone bench ringing three walls and a fireplace on the fourth. It was covered in mosaic tiles of deep red and bright yellow that had lost none of their luster over the years. A doorway led to another staircase. This one had windowlike openings that overlooked the cataracts below.
On the next level they discovered small rooms like jail cells that must have been where the priests slept. There was also a kitchen, with a built-in oven, and a fire pit set in the middle that would have been used to boil rice.
Below that was what had to have been the main temple. It had been stripped bare but at some point in the past would have been heavily gilded, with beautiful rugs on the floor and an ornate statue of Buddha high up on a dais overlooking the monks. The windows here all had Juliet balconies of intricate stone.
“Wow!” Linda’s eyes opened wider when she looked out over the gorge.
On the opposite cliff, where they had been when they first spotted the temple, the priests had carved an image of Buddha into the living rock. It was inexactly rendered, as if it were a work in progress. Some parts were beautifully sculpted while other sections were merely crude outlines.
“They must have hung from bosun’s chairs to work on that,” Cabrillo said.
“This place should be a World Heritage Site,” Linda remarked.
“Maybe that’s what Soleil and ...” Why did he keep blanking the poor guy’s name?
“Paul,” Linda offered.
“Maybe that’s what they were doing here.”
Smith was over studying the platform where a statue had once sat. It was constructed of closely fitted wooden planks that had been sanded until they were glass smooth. Wind and rain lashing though the open windows had pitted and stained the side closest, but the one protected by its own bulk still showed the loving craftsmanship that went into making it.
On a closer look, Cabrillo saw that the rougher side had been broken into. The wood had been pried apart, and a few pieces littered the floor amid the leaves that had blown into the room. Because of the age of the wooden dais, it was impossible to tell how long ago the vandalism had occurred. He joined Smith and peered into the hole. It had been a hiding place for whatever the monks considered their holy of holies—a relic of some sort, no doubt.
Had this been what Soleil had come after, a religious treasure that had long since been plundered? It seemed like such a waste. He turned away, shaking his head sadly.
There was one more level to the complex below the main temple. This was the section that had partially collapsed into the river. When they stepped out the doorway from the staircase, they found themselves on a platform maybe ten feet above the raging waters. The stone was wet from the splashing current and slick with moss. Below them was the skeletal framework of the waterwheel, and around them were the remains of a machine made of iron that was so badly rusted it crumbled to the touch.
Cabrillo studied what remained of the contraption, following along where gears and axles connected, and determined that it had been a large pump. He could tell that there had once been a bellows, most likely leather, which would have formed the vacuum chamber. It was sophisticated for its day and, judging by the size, very powerful.
This begged the question of its intended use. Even though it was large, it couldn’t have made a dent in the level of the river, even during the dry months. It had to be something else.
He walked to the right side of the platform, moving carefully in case the stonework was unstable, and peered over the edge. All he saw was white water shooting by like it had burst from a dam. Then he saw that directly below him was the entrance to a cave that bored back into the side of the cliff below the temple complex. It would have been accessible through the waterwheel building before it gave way.
“I bet they built here because of the cave,” he muttered to himself. It had to have some religious significance. His knowledge of the Buddhist faith was limited, but he knew that some caves and caverns were considered sacred.
The cave opening was out of reach without sophisticated climbing gear and more rope than the team had brought with them, but he wondered if Soleil had made the attempt. Is that why they hadn’t found her? She had slipped trying to reach the cave entrance, and her body was swept downstream?
“Hey, Juan. Come here for a sec.” Linda waved as she called him over. She and Smith were staring down into the river just above where the waterwheel sat in the current. “Do you see something down there, tangled with the wheel?”
Juan looked over the edge of the platform. It was difficult to make out any details—the rapids turned the river white from bank to bank—but it did look like something was ensnared in the upstream side of the wheel. He first thought it was branches that had been swept along with the flow. The metal framework would be a trap for such flotsam. And then he put two and two together. When he did, the picture came into focus. It was a body wedged into the wheel’s spokes.
“Jesus! It’s her!”
He quickly shed his pack and dug through it for the twenty-foot coil of rope he had packed. As he tied it to the back of his combat harness Linda secured the other end around the stone foundation of the ancient pump. The metal was just too brittle to trust.
“Should you have MacD here instead of me?” she asked.
Lawless had more physical strength than she, but Cabrillo didn’t want to be belayed by two people he barely knew. He shook his head. “You and John can handle it.”
He scooted to the edge of the platform directly above where Soleil’s body was trapped. He wished he could remove the boot on his real foot to keep it dry, but the metal and rocks were as sharp as knives. “Ready?”
“Yes,” the pair said in unison.
Cabrillo flipped onto his stomach and eased himself over the precipice. Linda and Smith took his weight and slowly lowered him down. The droplets of water that bubbled up from the river were icy cold. Juan twisted a bit as the rope unkinked, then stabilized. They let out more line, and he reached with the tip of his foot for the waterwheel. As they lowered him farther still, his weight shifted to the old contraption, and soon the line went slack.
Now that he was closer, he could see that the body was slender, but it was facedown so he couldn’t make a formal identification. He got down on his knees and reached an arm into the frigid water. The current almost plucked him off his perch. He steadied himself and reached again. He grabbed on to the shirt collar and pulled back with everything he had.
At first the body didn’t move. It was too tangled and the river too powerful. He shifted to get more comfortable and tried again. This time he felt her shift. Soleil’s corpse twisted around the stanchion that had pegged her in place since she fell into the water and for a fleeting second almost took Cabrillo with her. He managed to hang on, but the current was brutal. He fought to drag the body up onto the wheel. His grip was slipping on the wet clothing, and his hand was going numb. He realized that she had a bag over her shoulder, and his fingers soon slipped so he was only gripping its strap. When that happened, her body slipped free of the carryall and vanished down the river. It happened so fast there was nothing Cabrillo could do. One second he had her and the next she was gone.
Juan cursed at his own stupidity. He should have tied her off before trying to move her. H
e looked up at his companions.
“Was it her?” Smith asked over the river’s roar.
“Yeah,” Cabrillo said. “The hair color and build were right. Though I never saw her face. I am sorry.”
He slipped the strap for the leather satchel over his shoulder and let Linda and Smith haul him up. As soon as he could reach for the stone platform he used the strength in his arms and shoulders to scramble over the lip. He lay panting on the stone platform for a moment, more in disappointment than exhaustion.
Linda finally extended a hand to help hoist him to his feet.
That’s when they heard the unmistakable whooping beat of a fast-approaching helicopter.
11
THE THREE REACTED AS ONE. CABRILLO TOSSED SOLEIL’S bag to Smith, since he was as close to the rightful owner as he could get, and together they raced for the stairwell up and out of the temple complex.
His supposition that Soleil and what’s his name had been attacked by rebels or drug smugglers was obviously false. The chopper had to belong to the military, which meant these were reinforcements for a patrol that had to be someplace close by. Soleil must have either stumbled onto it or run into a group that had betrayed them to the military. Either way, it was rotten luck for the two hikers, and was now just as bad for Cabrillo and his team. They raced through the main temple, flew past the dorm level, and ran up to the groundlevel entrance.
“We’ve got company,” MacD said unnecessarily.
The helicopter came in low enough for Cabrillo to recognize it through the canopy as an old Russian Mil Mi-8. They could pack more than two dozen combat soldiers in one.
“Okay, we’ve got one shot at this,” he said. “We’ve got to get across the river and into the forest before the pilot can find a place to set down.”
“Why not try to hide on this side and cross later?” Smith asked.
Cabrillo didn’t waste the breath explaining that guards would doubtlessly be posted on the rope bridge, and he didn’t fancy hiking days or even weeks to find another way across. “Linda, you go first, then Smith, MacD, and me. Got it?”
With the helicopter drumming the air, the four of them sprinted from the temple entrance, keeping as much cover as possible between them and the aircraft overhead. Given how dense the jungle was, it wasn’t too difficult. They only had a hundred yards to cover, but the problem would be once they reached the bridge. It was totally exposed.
The beat of the rotors changed as the pilot transited into a hover. Juan knew that meant the men were coming down fast ropes and would be on the ground in seconds. This was going to be close.
Linda reached the bridge and kept on going, not breaking stride. Her feet danced along the main cable, one hand bracing along the guideline, the other clutching her REC7. Smith let her get a few paces out before he committed himself to the rickety structure. His added weight gave the bridge a burgeoning sway. It creaked ominously, and several of the support ropes snapped free.
Cabrillo and MacD ran side by side, knowing that less than a hundred yards back the Mi-8 had disgorged its passengers and begun lifting clear, its huge rotor beating at the hot, fetid air.
A stream of tracer rounds ripped across their path, forcing both men to dive flat. Juan flipped around and opened fire, laying down a suppressive wall of lead to allow MacD to start across the bridge. Cabrillo wriggled behind a rock, and whenever he saw movement in the jungle behind them, he triggered off a three-round burst.
A grenade came lobbing out of the bush. Juan made himself as small as possible behind his rock as the poorly thrown explosive went off with a concussive whoosh. Shrapnel chewed the dirt around him, but nothing struck home. Lawless was halfway across. On the far side, Linda made it to solid ground and immediately twisted around one of the support pylons and added her own cover fire. From Cabrillo’s position, the muzzle flash looked like twinkling stars.
He changed out his half-depleted magazine for a fresh one, loosed a long burst of autofire, and exploded from his hidden position. He felt like he had a giant target pinned to his back and that his legs were encased in lead. It seemed harder to run than when they’d hit that ooze just off the boat. Cabrillo slung his rifle across his back when his boot hit the bridge. It jolted and jumped like it was carrying a live electrical current. Ahead of him, MacD was moving as fast as he could, while Smith made it to the other side. Like Linda, he found cover behind the support pillar and opened fire.
Bullets cut the air all around Juan as he tried to both keep his balance and run. He didn’t recall the thick-braided rope being so narrow. A hundred feet below him the water was a white frothing nightmare. Expecting a bullet in his back at any second, he kept running, the cable swaying all the while like an old hammock.
With his eyes on his feet, it was a miracle he looked up at the instant he did. A little ways ahead of MacD, bullets slammed into the cable, fired no doubt by the Burmese soldiers. It disintegrated in a furball of hemp fibers, and, as soon as the two ends parted, the guide ropes took the added strain.
“Down!” Cabrillo shouted over the din of battle, and threw himself onto the quivering main cable. MacD dropped flat, clutching at the foot-thick rope with his arms and leg.
Even when the structure was first built, the guidelines were never designed to carry the load of the main cable. They lasted the seconds it took Cabrillo to spin himself around so he was facing the temple. He had one instant to see that a pair of soldiers in jungle fatigues had also started across the bridge, their AKs slung low across their bellies.
First one guideline split apart, rotating the entire bridge in a gut-wrenching jolt. The second let go an instant later, and Cabrillo was suddenly in free fall, clinging to the rope as it arced back toward the Buddhist sanctuary, accelerating with every second. Wind whistled past his ears while the world tilted and spun. The two Burmese soldiers hadn’t seen what was coming. Screaming, one hurtled off the span, his arms and legs pinwheeling until he smashed into the rocks below. The river washed away the crimson smear he’d left on the stone and carried the body away. The second soldier managed to grab at the guidelines as they sagged like deflated balloons.
Juan redoubled his grip and braced for impact, knowing that if he lost his tenuous hold he also lost his life. He hit unyielding stone like he’d been struck by a bus. He felt his collarbone snap like a green twig and his entire left side go numb for an instant. And then his brain rebooted, and the agony struck his nervous system from his ankle to his head. Blood dripped from a gash on his temple, and it took everything he had not to just let go and be done with it all.
The soldier who’d clutched at the rope at the last second gave a warning shriek as he lost his hold and came tumbling down the cliff face. There was nothing Juan could do. The guy struck him a glancing blow that caused him to slip a little farther down the cable, and then he was gone.
Cabrillo looked down to see him sail past MacD, who had somehow stayed on even though he’d fallen farther and hit even harder. The soldier plummeted into the water headfirst and vanished. Juan never did see him surface.
He was stuck. With his broken collarbone there was no way he could climb up the cable, and he knew there was no way he’d survive a plunge into the river. He thought that maybe he and MacD could swing the rope across the cliff and somehow land on the waterwheel platform, but that wouldn’t work either. It was just too far away.
Cabrillo looked up, expecting to see the triumphant faces of soldiers aiming down at him. He could no longer hear any firing from Linda’s side of the chasm and assumed that when the rope parted, she and Smith had beaten a fast retreat. The soldiers could be choppered over in just a few minutes, so it made no sense for them to linger over a situation over which they had no control.
The cable began to shake with a slow rhythm, and it took him just a moment to realize that the Burmese soldiers, rather than shooting the two of them off the rope like flies, were hauling him and MacD up to the canyon rim, to a fate that would probably make dropping into the r
iver seem like the lesser of two evils. But as long as he was alive and had Max Hanley and the rest of the Corporation as backup, Juan Cabrillo would never give up.
Twenty-four hours later, he wished he had.
It took the soldiers nearly ten minutes to haul first Cabrillo and then MacD out of the gorge. By then Juan’s shoulder felt like it had been lanced with a hot poker, and his arms and legs burned with an unholy fire from clutching the cable. He was disarmed by a soldier wielding a combat knife who cut the REC7’s sling before he had been brought fully to the ground. Another soldier plucked his FN Five-seveN from its holster and yanked a throwing knife from its scabbard, hanging inverted from his harness strap.
The same was done to MacD when they brought him up from the depths. He’d been so much farther out on the rope than Cabrillo that when it collapsed, he had actually been dragged into the river. His pants were wet from the knees down. That little bit of a cushion was what saved him from being crushed against the cliff.
They were forced to stay on their knees, with two men covering them and a third removing the rest of their gear. It was during the pat down that they discovered Cabrillo’s broken collarbone, which the soldier made sure to knead with both hands until the bones ground together.
The pain was intense, but only when the soldier let go did Juan let out a little whimper. He couldn’t help it. They also discovered the artificial leg. The soldier turned to an officer wearing aviator-style sunglasses for instructions. A few words were exchanged, and the soldier pulled Juan’s combat leg free of its stump and handed it to his superior. The man looked at it for a moment, gave Juan a rotten-toothed smile, and hurled the limb over the edge.
He hadn’t known what a small arsenal the leg represented or how Juan had planned to hijack the chopper using the pistol secreted within it. He just wanted to show Cabrillo that he was totally powerless and that from this moment on the army of one of the most ruthless dictatorships in the world controlled his fate.
Cabrillo had to fight to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. Instead of giving the bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much this really meant, he shrugged as best he could and just looked around at the scenery as if he didn’t have a care in the world. If his mouth hadn’t been so dry, he would have tried to whistle.