As Fredrik freed himself from the rope and shed his gear, Gray tried once again to dissuade the mountaineer from this course of action. “I can do this myself,” he said. “I know boats.”
“But you don’t know this river or the caverns that swallow it away.” Fredrik clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve been leading tours into the depths of Đula’s Abyss for the past two decades. I know every twist and turn, every rock and boulder. If you hope to find your friend, then you will need me.”
Despite the bravado and confidence in the man’s voice, Gray noted how his dark eyes shone with glassy fear. This local might know the river and the neighboring caverns, but traversing that course now, in the middle of this storm, nothing was predictable. The currents would be treacherous, and any landmarks would likely be flooded or washed away.
Still, Fredrik pointed to the pontoon boat. “Get aboard. This river isn’t going to get any less wild.”
Gray glanced one last time toward the balcony. Seichan leaned over the rail, staring down, with the young man Dag at her side. She was not happy to be abandoned, but there was no reason to risk any more lives than necessary in this attempt. Besides, Gray didn’t trust that whoever had tried to take out Fredrik wouldn’t return to finish the job. If so, he needed someone to watch his back.
He lifted an arm toward Seichan, but she simply pushed away from the rail, still plainly angry.
Gray turned and climbed into the boat. Even tied down, the boat jerked and bobbed in the strong current, like a rodeo bull in a bucking chute. He shifted to the bow of the craft while Fredrik chucked loose the lines and hopped to the outboard engine at the stern.
“Hold tight!” the man called out and yanked on the engine’s cord.
Gray grabbed a rubber handgrip as the engine roared throatily to life, but the noise was nothing compared to the thundering rumble of the storm-flooded river.
The Zodiac burst out of the dock and into the current. The flow immediately tore at the craft, spinning it crazily before Fredrik could wrestle the boat in the correct direction. The steep walls of the gorge soon swept past to either side. Ahead, the river vanished down the gaping maw of a tunnel.
“Here we go!” Fredrik shouted.
6:15 P.M.
Seichan watched the boat fishtail for a breath in the current—then whisk away into the tunnel. Her fingers clutched hard to the iron rail of the fence that separated a parkland trail from a precipitous drop into the gorge.
I should be down there.
After Fredrik had told them about the Zodiac, she and Gray had devised this plan from the safe confines of the BMW. Still, they had hesitated at proceeding. To search those flooded caverns via the river would be treacherous, and while Sigma command had picked up the ping of the missing geneticist’s phone, there was no guarantee the woman was alive. The scientist could have been killed in the tunnels and her body—or just her cell phone—washed out of the higher mountains to this valley.
Then ten minutes ago, they’d received word from D.C. of a brief connection, a snatch of conversation between the two sisters.
It seemed the woman still lived, trapped down below.
Even upon learning this, Seichan had tried to play devil’s advocate, debating the reasons not to attempt a rescue. What would it serve for Gray to put himself—and the mountaineer, for that matter—in harm’s way to save one woman? As far as anyone knew, this whole attack was nothing more than thieves raiding an archaeological site. To risk losing a skilled Sigma operative for the sake of one person seemed reckless. A more conservative approach—such as waiting out this storm—seemed the wiser course.
In the end, her words had fallen on deaf ears.
She had expected no other outcome.
The wet clapping of footsteps drew her attention back around. Dag came running down a tree-lined path. He had gone off to scout the situation back at the hotel, to get a handle on how local law enforcement was responding to the raid at the pub.
“What did you learn?” she asked, noting the flashing lights of emergency vehicles through the park’s foliage.
“It’s chaos at the moment. No one really knows who—”
A loud boom silenced him, causing him to duck slightly. She immediately knew this was no crack of thunder. She turned to the west and watched a sooty fireball climb into the dark skies.
She pictured the soaked fields in that direction—and the abandoned helicopter that sat parked out there.
Even Dag guessed the source of that fiery blast, his voice hushed. “Someone took out your ride.”
Closer at hand, sirens wailed louder in the wake of the explosion. Shouts echoed across the park from the direction of the hotel. Moments later, the blaze of lights fled away, heading to the west, toward the outlying fields.
Seichan breathed through her nose, then slipped her SIG Sauer from her shoulder holster.
Dag eyed her. “What are you doing?”
She ignored him and turned back toward the gorge.
She suspected someone blew up that helicopter—not only to trap her and Gray here but also to draw off local law enforcement, to turn attention to the west.
Away from here.
She kept her senses sharpened, listening for any approach through the park’s trees, but it was a whining noise echoing up from below that drew her attention. A trio of small lights raced downriver toward her position. Jet Skis. They all bore the logo for a local marina, and from the prominent headlamp affixed to each vessel, they must be used for exploring this subterranean world, similar to Fredrik’s Zodiac.
Only these passengers weren’t joyriding tourists.
Each watercraft carried two men, both wearing helmets. She spotted the telltale shadows of rifles over their shoulders.
The enemy must’ve also gotten word that there was a survivor of their attack.
She aimed for the lead watercraft as it approached, using the fence rail to steady her arm. From her high vantage, she squeezed off three shots. The first round took out the man seated in the back. His body went jackknifing into the river. The second shot ricocheted off the steering assembly, behind which the driver hunched. As she hoped, the vehicle wobbled. It exposed her target for a second, allowing her third round to strike his shoulder. The impact spun the driver out of his seat and into the water. The abandoned Jet Ski careened and crashed into the steel dock below.
One down . . .
She adjusted her aim toward the next target, but the enemy had quickly recognized the threat. The two remaining watercraft slalomed across the current, cutting back and forth, moving swiftly and unpredictably. She fired, emptying her weapon, but all her shots went wild.
Then the two vehicles escaped out of sight, swallowed up by the tunnel.
She banged the butt of her gun on the fence rail, cursing this reckless plan—and the man who was foolhardy enough to attempt it.
Damn you, Gray . . .
6:21 P.M.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Gray crouched low near the boat’s bow—both to help Fredrik see past his shoulders and to keep his head from hitting any low-hanging stalactites. By now the flooded river had swollen to the point it almost filled the massive tunnel. Stalactites hung from the roof, looking like limestone fangs cutting into the current. And those teeth could just as readily rip the Zodiac’s pontoons to shreds.
“Keep the light pointed straight ahead!” Fredrik warned.
Gray obeyed, clamping harder on the handle of a lamp at the bow of the boat. It was all he could do to help.
The current churned high up the walls with every slightest turn. Riptides and eddies spun into side caverns. And these natural formations were not the only hazards. Dead logs raced alongside them, spinning and cracking against boulders or walls.
And all the while, the roof pushed lower and lower.
Fredrik expertly fought this mad current, earning Gray’s deep respect. The Zodiac’s engine whined and growled as the mountaineer spent most of the time with the propellers
running in reverse, braking against this flow as best he could.
“Hang on tight!” Fredrik called.
Gray immediately spotted the danger. The tunnel veered sharply to the left. The river thrashed high around that corner, roiling with white water. It looked fierce enough to chew them up.
A change in the engine’s timbre drew Gray’s attention back to the stern. Fredrik had switched out of reverse and now throttled the engine up. Gray understood. They needed speed if they were going to make it past here.
Gray swung back around as the Zodiac shot toward the maelstrom. The boat now ran with the current rather than fighting it. Once at the turn, the engine roared even louder as Fredrik goosed the boat to an even swifter flight. The boat banked high at the corner, tilting up on one pontoon, nearly vertical.
Gray held his breath, but then they shot out of the rapids and into smoother water.
He sagged with relief.
“End of the line!” Fredrik called out and pointed.
Directly ahead, the beam of their lamp vanished into a vast cavern, one half flooded by a wide lake.
Fredrick slowed their approach, plainly cautious. “This may be tricky,” he warned.
“Why?”
His answer was a single word. “Charybdis.”
Gray frowned, recognizing the reference. According to Homer’s Odyssey, Charybdis was the name of a monstrous whirlpool that sucked down unwary sailors and their ships.
That did not sound promising.
6:24 P.M.
Roland stopped suddenly, one leg slipping as he swung back around. Water flowed underfoot, streaming down from where they had abandoned their ledge alongside the lake. The trio had set off away from the flooded cavern, descending back the way they had come, pursued by the ever-growing deluge that spilled out from that overflowing lake.
Gerard led them, searching for any side path that might lead to higher ground, some way to escape the flooded roots of these mountains.
“Wait!” Roland said.
Lena halted, her face exhausted. Her helmet’s headlamp flickered as the batteries began to fade. “What is it?”
“Listen.”
Gerard growled. “We don’t have time—”
“Just goddamn listen,” he swore. He would beg God’s forgiveness later for cursing, but right now he needed to get the others’ attention, to cut through the despair, cold, and fatigue.
His effort worked. Lena cocked her head; then her eyes grew wide. “Is that a motor?”
Echoing from the lake behind them, cutting faintly through the roar of the water was a new note, a higher-pitched whining.
“It’s an engine!” Gerard confirmed. He pointed. “Go! Go back!”
Roland needed no such encouragement. He splashed upstream, stumbling a few times, half crawling near the end. By the time he returned to the lakeside ledge, the water was ankle-deep. It was hard not to be washed back the way they had come. Gerard helped Lena join him.
He silently thanked God for His mercy.
Out on the dark lake, a bright star shone.
A boat!
“Hold tight!” a voice echoed from there. “We’ll be right over!”
From behind the craft, a new pair of lights burst forth, shooting out from the tunnel.
Roland choked out a sob of relief and waved an arm.
It seemed a whole fleet had come to rescue them.
6:27 P.M.
Gray swung around as lights flared behind him, accompanied by the sharp growl of engines. A pair of Jet Skis flew into the cavern.
What the hell . . .
Blinded by their lights, he could not tell who manned the vehicles, but he had a bad feeling about it. This was confirmed a moment later when gunshots rang out—but he was already moving, responding to his gut reaction. He yanked his SIG Sauer from its shoulder holster and fired back while lunging toward the stern.
He drove Fredrik to the floor of the Zodiac.
Gray’s rounds shattered the lone headlamp of the lead Jet Ski. Before the light died, he spotted shadowy masked figures aboard the watercraft: a driver and a rifleman behind him. Under Gray’s barrage, the craft angled away.
The second Jet Ski swung in the opposite direction, its bright headlamp turning it into a star shooting across the dark lake.
They’re trying to flank us.
Gray grit his teeth. If their Zodiac got pinned down between the two Jet Skis, they were doomed. Aboard the boat, he had the only weapon and could defend only one side at a time. He needed help.
Firing one-armed at the brightly lit craft, Gray pointed with his other hand.
“Fredrik! Stay low, but keep us ahead of those two!”
The mountaineer proved to be made of strong mettle. He rolled to the engine and gunned it. The Zodiac sped forward, trying to outrun the two Jet Skis.
Gray dove low to the starboard pontoon and continued to fire at the brighter craft, but the driver of the other Jet Ski—the one with the broken headlamp—had regained his composure. Rifle blasts rose from that direction. Rounds pelted the pontoon on that side. The whistle of escaping air announced a new threat.
Even if he and Fredrik avoided getting shot, the Zodiac might not survive.
Gray returned his attention to that dark Jet Ski. He had to get that bastard to back off. He raised his weapon—but fresh gunfire came from a new direction. Muzzle flashes flared among the trio of lights at the edge of the cavern.
Someone over there has a gun, someone who must have encountered these masked assailants before.
The dark Jet Ski swung around to face this new threat, firing toward the cavern wall. Two of the lights vanished, dropping out of sight. Rifle blasts continued to echo from over there. Gray knew whoever had come to his defense was too exposed and could not hold out for long.
Still, the brave effort offered him a breath to deal with the other watercraft.
Gray twisted back around. By now the brightly lit Jet Ski had caught up with them and rode alongside their boat. He cursed the smaller watercraft’s speed and nimbleness. He aimed carefully. By his count, he was down to two rounds and had to make them count.
“Hold on!” Fredrik yelled.
Before he could object, Fredrik cut the engine. The boat slowed, then jerked hard as Fredrik kicked the propellers into reverse.
Out on the lake, Gray’s target raced ahead, then swung across their bow with a rooster tail of water spraying high.
Damn it . . .
Gray’s worst fear had come to pass.
Their Zodiac was now pinned between the two Jet Skis—one in front, one in back. As if giving up, Fredrik continued to chug them in reverse.
“What are you doing?” Gray called out.
Behind him, the gun battle along the cavern wall had ended. Whoever had tried to help them had either been killed or driven into hiding. Free now, the dark Jet Ski sped toward them, a hawk falling upon a wounded prey.
Gray turned to Fredrik, but the man was grinning savagely.
A scream rose from beyond the bow, from the direction of the brightly glowing Jet Ski. Gray peered over the pontoon. The enemy’s craft spun within a deep depression in the lake, sucked into the maw of a large whirlpool. Its tidal forces proved too fierce for the small engine.
As Gray watched, the Jet Ski capsized and was dragged down into the depths, along with its two passengers. The beam of its headlamp glowed out of the depths for another breath—then was gone.
Gray now understood Fredrik’s maneuver. He had led the enemy straight down the throat of the monster Charybdis.
But there was still one other threat.
Gray turned and aimed toward the remaining Jet Ski, taking advantage of its driver’s momentary shock. But before Gray could fire, a new volley of gun blasts erupted from the cavern wall.
Aboard the Jet Ski, the rifleman seated in the back toppled sideways, splashing heavily into the lake.
That takes care of one . . .
Gray cradled his SIG Sauer between his
palms and squeezed his trigger two times.
The faceplate of the driver’s helmet shattered, and his head jerked back twice from the double tap of slugs. Then his body fell limply over his controls. Left unguided, the Jet Ski flew past the Zodiac and into the heart of Charybdis, where moments later it joined its companion in the watery grave.
“Turn us around!” Gray twisted and pointed to the cluster of lights along the cavern wall. “Let’s get them and get the hell out of here!”
Fredrik studied the deflated section of pontoon, then turned to the river flooding through the tunnel. “That’s if we can.”
6:33 P.M.
Lena huddled in the middle of the boat. Her ears still rang from all the gunfire. She tried not to stare as Roland bandaged a deep laceration on Gerard’s upper arm. The French soldier had stripped off his jacket after hopping aboard the idling boat. The wound was not from a gunshot, but from a shard of blasted rock that had grazed him.
“If it hadn’t been for your support, we wouldn’t have made it,” their rescuer told Gerard, motioning to the rifle. “That was some good shooting.”
He had introduced himself as Commander Gray Pierce, a military adjunct of DARPA, if she understood him correctly. But she was beyond caring who rescued her, as long as they helped her escape this subterranean hellhole.
Gerard reached over and tugged his weapon closer. “I owed them . . . for my men.”
Gray nodded, his face stern, plainly understanding the loyalty of a unit.
The boat’s pilot—a local named Fredrik—throttled the engine up. He wore a worried expression that kept her heart thudding heavily in her chest. As they sped across the lake, she shifted farther away from the sagging section of pontoon. By the time they neared the mouth of the river tunnel, they were flying over the water, going frighteningly fast.
“Need as much speed as possible!” the pilot hollered. “River’s a lot higher! So everyone stay low! It’s going to be a tight squeeze!”