Subterranean (17 page)

Ashley's eyes widened with the implication. “We're not alone down here.”

The drifting of gypsum crystals thickened as the team crossed the cavern. Lights jittered in every direction, shadows jumping and lunging. Ashley adjusted the handkerchief she had tied over her nose and mouth to keep from inhaling the flakes. She glanced at the others, masked like a bunch of bandits sneaking up on an unsuspecting victim.

Villanueva still had the point, crouching low and darting from cover to cover, before waving them forward with an all-clear sign. No one spoke much, fearful of just what else might be lurking in the next shadow.

Ben marched beside her, pointing his gun forward. He shifted his light to the cavern floor. “Blood trail is thinning,” he whispered.

Their evening report to Alpha Base was now an hour past due, but they couldn't halt their search now. It would take half an hour to unwrap the radio's components from their waterproof plastic, assemble the parts, and make their report. Time, like the SEAL's blood trail, was running out.

A frantic hissing from Villanueva drew her attention away from the red trail. The others had frozen in crouched positions. She was the only one still standing. Ben pulled her down beside him. He kept a hold on her hand.

The SEAL, crouched at the base of a huge boulder, held a finger to his lips and motioned her to come forward . . . quietly. Ashley crept to the point position.

Villanueva pressed his lips to her ear. He spoke in a hurry. “We've reached the other side of this cave. There're two exit points. A large tunnel and small wormhole.”

“So? Let's go. Which way does the blood trail go?”

He shook his head. “I can't say for sure. The mud is too chewed up out there to get a clear trail.”

“So we just check both,” she said, leaning away.

“Wait. That's not why I called you over.” He pointed beyond the boulder. “Poke your head around the corner and listen.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ashley craned her neck around the boulder. In the rock face before her, she spotted another rough-walled tunnel, like the one that had led them to this cavern. At first she didn't hear anything above her own panting breath. Perhaps her ears weren't as sharp as the SEAL's. As she was turning to ask Villanueva for elaboration, she heard it too. A cracking and crunching, like dry sticks underfoot. And a throaty slurping. A shiver passed through her. It was coming from the tunnel ahead.

She raised her light to flash it into the heart of the tunnel when Villanueva swatted her arm back down.

“No,” he hissed. “Whatever's in there doesn't know we're here.”

“Maybe it's Halloway,” she said earnestly, but even she didn't believe her words.

“Bullshit,” the SEAL said.

“Well, what do we do? Just sit here and wait?”

A sharp sneeze retorted from behind them. Ashley whipped around. Khalid shrugged apologetically and pointed to the drifting flakes, his other hand restraining a second outburst.

Turning back to Villanueva, Ashley held her breath. “I can't hear it anymore,” she whispered.

The SEAL nodded. He had his eyes closed. “Neither can I.”

Shit! Whatever was in that tunnel now knew they were here. There was no further use hiding. She stood up, now holding her pistol in both hands. “Ben, Villanueva. You're both with me. Michaelson, you stay under cover behind the boulder with the others.”

Michaelson stepped forward. “This is a military matter. You should remain here. It's safer. I'll go with Ben and Villanueva.”

“No,” she said, checking her pistol. “I want you here. Guarding our rear. And protecting the others. We may need a fast retreat.”

She watched the major chew over her decision. Apparently unable to find fault, he nodded. “Be careful.”

She cocked her pistol. “Let's go.”

Her group crossed to the front of the boulder, gun barrels pointing toward the tunnel opening.

“I say we open fire,” the SEAL said quietly. “Blast the tunnel and ask questions later.”

“No,” Ashley hissed. “There's still a chance Halloway may be in there.”

Villanueva raised his assault rifle. “We take the advantage while we've got it.”

She shoved his rifle with her shoulder and stepped forward. “Halloway!” she called. “If you're in there, give us some signal!”

The tunnel just stared blankly back at them.

“Satisfied?” The SEAL's contempt dripped from the word as he repositioned. He lowered his head closer to his rifle sights. The cavern exploded with rifle fire as he blasted blindly into the dark eye of the tunnel. The reverberations rocked through the cavern.

Her ears still rang after the SEAL ceased firing. A cloud of rock dust and smoke rolled from the assaulted opening.

Ben narrowed his light beam, trying to dig deeper into the inky blackness, but failed. “Damn.”

From the mouth of the tunnel erupted a ululating cry, like a keening hawk, but more guttural and rasping. Ashley winced at the noise. A primordial part of her responded, wanting to cower and flee, but she dropped to one knee and raised her pistol higher.

Then something small bounced out into the main cavern.

“Jesuschristgoddamnmotherfu . . .” Villanueva swore a stream, backing a step away.

It was Halloway. His head. The decapitated head of the former SEAL bumped to a stop a yard away, eyes staring up, snowflakes settling softly on the eyelashes.

J
ASON PLOPPED INTO HIS CHAIR IN THE OFFICE, EXPELLING
a sigh loud enough to draw his “baby-sitter's” attention. He had been waiting for five minutes already. Five minutes! He was going to be late for his karate practice.

Roland looked up from his papers; his glasses drooped to the tip of his long nose. “Oh, Jason. Are you still here? I thought you had already left for the gym.”

“You know I can't.” He stressed each syllable.

“Why?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Dr. Blakely said I was not to leave any of the buildings without a stupid baby-sitter.” He scrunched up his face and imitated the nasal quality of Blakely's voice. “It's for my own protection.”

“Well, that's just silly. The gym is right next door. Be a good boy and scoot on over there. I've still a huge pile of reports to log and index.”

Jason's face brightened. All right! He shoved his chair back with a loud squeak and bolted away. He ran down the hall and out the door, his gym bag bumping against his leg. He sprinted the ten yards to the next building. Lieutenant Brusserman was probably already waiting. Once through the door, Jason was assaulted by the familiar smells of a gymnasium. Sweaty cotton jerseys, varnish on the basketball court's floor, and the tang of disinfectant.

He searched the aerobics area for Lieutenant Brusserman, but saw no sign of him. Jason crossed the gym, heading for the locker room. He stopped to watch a game of one-on-one being played on the basketball court. Jason recognized Major Chan, with whom he had gone boating yesterday.

Signaling a time out, Major Chan crossed over to where Jason stood. He was winded and spoke between gulps of air. “Hi, kid. Listen, the lieutenant called. He won't be able to make it today, but he said to say sorry. He'll see you tomorrow.” The major faked a punch at him playfully and then returned to his game.

Jason's heart sank. “But what am I supposed to . . .” The major was already back in the game, defending a drive to the basket.

Darn it! Now what? He didn't want to go back to Roland's office. He'd be stuck thumbing through those boring magazines about Navy life.

He nudged open the door and slipped outside. A group of white-smocked researchers milled past him, heading toward the dormitories, joking and laughing.

Jason sat on the steps and searched in his gym bag for something to do. His Nintendo Game Boy? He crinkled his nose. No—boring. His hand curled around a Spiderman comic book, but he'd read it.

Sighing, he juggled the contents. A few coins jingled, and a pack of gum fell out of his bag. Frowning, he picked up the package of Juicy Fruit and shoved it into the side compartment of his bag. While doing so, his hand fell upon a hard, round object hidden in the pocket.

He fished it out. Oh, yeah! He fingered the old red firecracker. A cherry bomb. He smiled, remembering how he had traded for it with Billy Sanderson for an X-men comic book. Almost forgot about this little baby. Glancing around him with a mischievous gleam in his eye, he pondered sneaking off and trying it out.

Just then a white-smocked scientist turned a corner nearby and walked in his direction. He quickly returned the firecracker to its hiding place. Maybe he'd better wait until he returned to the States. If his Mom found out about his little treasure . . . no, he'd better play it cool.

He zipped up his bag, still unsure what to do with his free time.

Standing, he moved from the steps, shifting his gym bag to his other hand. Just then, angling around the corner of the hut, a group of officers passed by, one of whom was decked out with enough medals to choke an elephant.

The decorated man took off his hat and wiped his brow. “Is it always this damned hot down here?”

One of his companions spoke up. “It's not the heat, it's the humidity.”

“It's the
heat
, Lieutenant,” the man said with authority.

“Yes, sir, yes, Admiral.”

Jason, impressed by the fear this man could generate, stood transfixed.

“Now, where is that Blakely fellow?” the admiral asked, replacing his hat.

“This way, sir.” The lieutenant bumbled his way around the corner.

Wow! Something big must be happening. Jason peered around the corner. The men disappeared into one of the concrete-block buildings.

Jason knew that building. It was the communications center. He had been in it three times, when he was allowed his two minutes of morning air time to talk to his mother. Usually the conversation consisted of his mother questioning if he was obeying his “baby-sitters.” Still, he thought with a sigh, it had been good to hear her voice over that static.

Scratching behind an ear, Jason wondered what all that brass wanted with Dr. Blakely. He pursed his lips. Maybe he could find out. He knew his mother hated his eaves-dropping, but he couldn't resist a good scoop. Besides, it might be information about his mother.

He slinked around the corner and crept to the door. No one was around. The secretary, Sandy, was not at her desk. What luck! He slipped inside. As he reached for the door to the main hallway, the doorknob turned and the door swung open.

Sandy stood in front of him, a half-empty coffeepot in her hand.

“Oh, Jason!” she said with a big smile, pushing a stray lock of blond hair back over an ear. “I didn't know you were coming by.”

Jason bit his lip and backed a step, ready to bolt. He cleared his throat. “I . . . I just wanted to tell something to Dr. Blakely.”

She placed the coffeepot down and fingered out a new filter. “I'm sorry, hon, but the doctor is busy. Why don't I tell him for you?”

“No! . . . You see,” he stammered, wide-eyed, “it's something personal . . . private.”

She pursed her lips, then smiled. “I see. Well, then why don't you have a seat, and we can wait until Dr. Blakely is free?”

He nodded. This was getting him nowhere. Perhaps he should just leave and say he'd talk to Blakely later. That would be the smart thing to do. His mouth had other ideas. “I have to use the restroom.”

“Well, dear. It's just through the door on the left.”

Of course, he already knew that. More importantly, it was also next to the main communications room. He crossed to the door. “Thanks.”

Sandy smiled up from her computer keyboard and winked at him.

Holding his breath, Jason passed into the hallway. His sneakers squeaked on the waxed linoleum. No one was in the hall, but he could hear the buzz of voices from the various offices. Raising on tiptoe, he crept down the hall, trying to move as silently as possible. He reached the door that led to the main communications room.

Freezing in midstep, he listened. Blakely's voice was clear and curt. “Why the hell do you think I wanted this communications net? You damned well know from my reports that there is an undetermined danger down here. We need to—”

The admiral's voice interrupted. “Be that as it may, your team's evening report is only an hour late. I think calling this red alert was premature.”

“If able, Michaelson would not be a second late with his reports.”

“The major's too close to this mission. It's too personal for him. You should never have allowed him to go.”

“We've had this argument before. It's done. Now I want to know what you're going to do about this.”

“Nothing.”

A large crash. “Listen here, I have motion sensors going crazy. Yesterday, another man was lost in Sector Four. And now my team is late with their report. And you're going to do what? Sit on your ass and wait for more of my people to disappear?”

The next words were so cold that Jason shivered. “No. Washington sent me to do only one thing: upon my judgment, to decide if you are fit to continue command. You've made my decision easy. As of this moment, you're relieved of duty.”

Silence, then words spat with vehemence: “You jackasses planned this all along, didn't you? You never had any intention of keeping this a civilian project. When did the brass decide to snag this facility from me? Was it when the last team was lost? Or since the very beginning?”

Dead silence followed.

Before Jason could react, the door burst open. Blakely, wild-eyed, bowled into the boy, knocking him down. “Jason!”

“I . . . I . . . I . . .”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was going to . . . I mean . . .”

“Never mind.” Blakely bent down, helping Jason up. “C'mon.”