Subterranean (27 page)

Khalid sat on his haunches, hanging his head. The gun still rested in his hand, as comfortable and easy as a pen. He must have noticed her look.

She sniffed. “Why?”

His words were dry, unemotional. “I was assigned this mission.” Khalid shifted to face her. “Blakely was naive. News of his discovery of a huge diamond statue reached many ears. A South African diamond cartel approached my employer. If the source of such huge diamonds were ever discovered, it would destroy the diamond market. Current prices would plummet. I was assigned to find the source of the diamonds, then sabotage the site. Explode the entire system.”

She lowered her head. “All those deaths just for money.”

He reached over and tipped her face toward him, his fingertips warm from the hot gun. “No,” he said. “I accepted this assignment from the South Africans for another reason too. One closer to my heart. Like the diamond market, if this continent should open up as a major oil competitor, it could devastate the Middle East economy. Oil is my country's lifeblood. Before oil, my country was poor. No education, no health care, no way out of the sand. I will not see that happen again. Not after so much progress.” A flash of pain in his eyes. “I care for my country as much as you do yours. Would you kill to save your country?”

Unsure herself, she did not answer, only turned her face away.

Releasing his grip on her chin, he stood up. “I need to head back up. Complete my mission.” He walked to Villanueva's body. “He had to be killed. His knowledge was a threat to my mission. But . . . you . . . I need. Another pair of eyes, another pair of hands. It's a long journey back up.”

She allowed herself a moment of hope.

“I have my mission and won't fail,” he said. “You could stay here . . . or you can come with me. But you must understand. If you come along and betray my secret, then I will be forced to kill again.” He held a hand out to her. “Can I trust you?”

Linda stared at his calloused palm. To go with him, he might turn on her as swiftly as he had turned on Villanueva. But to stay alone down here, unarmed, meant certain death.

Wrapping her arms around her body, Linda ignored his hand and made a decision. “I'll go with you.”

Thank God, Michaelson thought, as Ben stopped in front of him. He steadied himself with a hand on the Aussie's shoulder, the crude splint on his ankle biting into his calf. The half-assed contraption had been hurriedly slapped on his leg after climbing back to the nest area. Walking was possible, but slow and wobbly. Michaelson winced when he saw how far they still had to go to reach the nursery's exit.

“Did you hear something?” Ben asked, his head cocked to the side.

Ashley shook her head. Michaelson listened.

From several yards behind, the infant marsupial predators hissed at the group, tiny crests twitching up and down. Their protests had become less strident as they became aware that the group was leaving the nest. Still the tunnel was some distance away, a black slash in the wall.

“No,” Michaelson said. “Nothing. Sounds clear.”

Ben nodded, using a finger to clear an ear. “I could have sworn . . .” He proceeded forward.

Michaelson followed, his steps clumsy on his bad ankle.

Ashley stepped up beside him. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, but I still think you should proceed without me. I'm holding you up.”

She frowned. “It's best if we go slowly anyway. No telling what lies ahead.”

Resigned, he tromped after Ben, keeping an eye on the tunnel entrance. A goal. He began counting his steps, each odd numeral painful as he hopped his weight on his splinted ankle.

On his thirty-third step, he finally reached the opening. He leaned on the wall of the tunnel, perspiration soaking his forehead. A stitch of pain had started throbbing on his right side. Damn it, must have cracked a rib too, he thought, rubbing a hand over his side.

Ben stepped up to him. He had reconnoitered the passage ahead while waiting for Michaelson to hobble up. He glanced at where Michaelson rubbed and raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn't ask any questions. It was already embarrassing enough to have the Aussie pull his butt out of the fire when that enraged creature had caught him up. If it wasn't for Ben's foolish stunt, he would have been dead by now.

He dropped his hand from his side. “What did you find?”

“It's a bloody maze down there. Passages crisscrossing every which way. Some lighted by fungus, some clear. We need to be careful.”

“At least we have plenty of escape routes.”

“Yeah, but which passage gets us out of here?”

“There's only one way to find out.” Suppressing a wince, he pointed down the tunnel. “After you.”

Ben flashed his light forward and entered the tunnel. After several yards of careful progress, Michaelson realized Ben's description of the passages ahead was an understatement. The first intersection had five rocky passages sprouting in all directions.

“Now which way?” Ben asked, his question directed at Ashley.

Michaelson hopped forward, irritated that Ben should exclude him from the decision-making process. Even if he was an invalid, he was still the senior military presence here. Their safety was still his primary responsibility.

Ashley pointed to each of the tunnels with a beam of light. She settled her light on one of the passages. “This passage seems to be heading up. And it has some of that glowing mold on the wall.”

Michaelson peered down the tunnel selected. He made a noncommittal grunt.

Ashley looked at him. “The mold will allow us to conserve batteries. We still don't know how far we have to travel before we find our way out of this hellhole, so we better think conservation. Try to stick to lighted passage-ways as much as possible. Besides, the more light around us, the safer I feel.”

Michaelson nodded. As much as it grated on him, her assessment of the situation was sound. He couldn't have planned any better. “Let's go, then,” he said.

Ben took the point again. He turned his light to a weak diffuse setting, just enough to highlight some of the blacker nooks and crannies. Otherwise, the thickening mold added sufficient glow to see by. Ben waved them to turn off their lights, including their helmet lamps.

Michaelson followed Ben. Ashley covered their rear, pistol in hand. Michaelson ground his molars, both from the pain and his frustration with his physical shape. He should be guarding their retreat or sweeping ahead for dangers. Not sandwiched in the middle like some sheltered mama's boy.

Still, he couldn't argue with the order of their procession. Ben had already skipped several yards ahead while Michaelson hobbled to keep up. Glancing behind him, balanced on his good foot, he watched Ashley check the passage behind her. She swung forward and caught him staring at her. She smiled weakly at him, almost like she was trying to reassure him.

Pinching his brows together angrily, he increased the pace of his hopping. Side passages and crossways flew past. He didn't try to memorize his route, only kept his eyes fixed on Ben's back, struggling to match his pace. As much as his hot blood drove him forward, past the pain, past his incapacitation, eventually his feverish pace dwindled back again to a pathetic crawl. Ben disappeared around a bend in the corridor. Panting now, sparks of lights danced across Michaelson's vision; pain shot in electric bolts from his ankle.

He stopped, leaning on the wall, his side now burning with a hot flame.

Ashley stepped to his shoulder, her voice a mixture of concern and anger. “Quit pushing yourself. We're not in a race. Careful progress is what will get us out of here.”

“I'm slowing you up,” he said between pain-clenched teeth.

Ben's face suddenly appeared in front of him. Damn, that Aussie moved silently when he wanted to. Ben wore a concerned expression.

Michaelson glared at Ben. “I'm fine.” He dared him to argue.

“That's good,” said Ben, his voice an urgent whisper, “because I think we're being stalked.”

Ashley crossed next to Ben. “What do you mean?”

“I keep hearing something scraping and shuffling in neighboring passages. Keeping pace with us.”

“Maybe they're just echoes of our own progress,” Ashley said, but her eyes darted behind her. “I haven't heard anything.” She glanced at Michaelson. “Have you?”

He shook his head, but he was no judge. All he could hear when he moved was his own wheezing pants and his heart pounding in his ears. Hell, he hadn't even heard Ben approach until he was on top of him.

Ben hissed his words. “You've got to know what to listen for. I know noises that are natural for a cave. And these aren't normal.”

“So what do we do?” Ashley asked.

“We need to shake this tail, but it knows these passages better than we do. Our only hope is speed. Outrun it.”

Michaelson was very conscious that Ben didn't glance his way. Ashley didn't either, but an uncomfortable silence descended like a weight upon them. He knew what they were thinking. They needed to move quickly but wouldn't leave him behind.

Rolling his eyes, he started to speak when he heard it too. They all did. Six eyes turned in unison to their back trail. Something scraped rock behind them, out of sight, followed by the sound of a single pebble displaced and bouncing. Something was back there.

“Leave me,” he said. He pulled his pistol and pointed it. Not down the trail but at Ashley and Ben. “Now.”

“Quit that shit,” Ben said. “We're not in some damned Rambo movie. We know you're not gonna shoot us.”

“I won't allow my injuries to get us all killed.” He raised the barrel to his own temple, pressing the cold muzzle to his heated skin. “Go or I'll shoot.”

“Michaelson . . .” Ashley's voice was tight with fear. “We're a team.”

“Go. I'll cover the back trail for as long as possible.”

“No!” Ashley said. “You're coming with us.”

“Go.” He cocked the pistol with his thumb. “Now. Or in three seconds you'll have no one to cover your escape.”

He watched Ashley swallow hard and glance at Ben for help. If either rushed him, he would pull the trigger. He knew he needed to force them to leave him behind. A second pebble tripped somewhere behind them.

Ben turned to Ashley, the stubborn set of his shoulders slumped. “He's right. We've got to think of the others. If we don't reach help, they'll all die too.”

Ashley's fists clenched, her knuckles white. “I hate this.”

Ben rested a hand on her shoulder. He turned his eyes to Michaelson. “I know you're keen on this suicide mission. Kamikaze and all that. But up five yards ahead is a small alcove with a tiny pool of water. It's large enough to hide three Marines in there. I suggest you hole up. It'll be a secure spot to keep out of sight and offers good coverage if you need to shoot.”

Michaelson nodded, suspicious. “Go. I'll check it later.”

Ben pulled Ashley away. “C'mon. Maybe we can lead the pursuers away from him.”

She allowed herself to be shifted away, but not before her eyes locked on the major's one final time, tears at the corners of her lids. “Dennis, be careful. Don't do anything stupid.”

He waved her away with the muzzle of the gun. He watched her twist around and leave with Ben's arm around her. They disappeared around the bend without a glance behind. He listened as their footfalls faded down the tunnel until there was only silence. He listened carefully, ears straining, making sure they had definitely left, as well as trying to hear any telltale sound of the stalkers.

He heard nothing other than his own pulse throbbing at his temples. He continued to wait. Still after nearly an hour, nothing appeared or was even heard. Maybe Ben had been panicked over nothing, but he couldn't convince himself. Ben was too wise in cave lore to be fooled by an echo or natural noises.

He licked his dry lips, caked with dust and dried sweat. He swirled the canteen at his belt. Almost empty. He'd better take Ben's advice and check that alcove. Fill his canteen and hole up there.

Wincing, he stumbled as quietly as possible down the tunnel, searching for the side cave. The scrape of his boot on the rocky floor sounded explosively loud in the empty tunnel. Luckily, only steps past the turn in the passage, a small black aperture appeared in the right wall of the tunnel. He clicked on his lantern and flashed the opening with his light. It was dark in there, no glowing fungus, just emptiness. The roof was low. Too low to stand up in, but by crouching he could enter and move around. In the corner, a small trickle of water ran down the rear wall and accumulated in a puddle.

He tested it with a finger. A strong mineral tang but should be okay to drink. After finishing the dregs of his canteen, he positioned his canteen under the trickle to collect the fresh water.

Satisfied, he settled by the opening, hidden in shadow; the glow of the mold-encrusted passage allowed him to view both directions in secret. It was a secure post. He waited, his gun pointing forward.

Cowards, she thought, that's all we are—cowards. No matter how logical their decision to abandon Michaelson was, Ashley still felt like a dog running with its tail between its legs.

She followed Ben's back through the twisting maze. Almost five hours had elapsed, and during brief rest breaks to sip warm water from her canteen, she still heard the noises trailing them, sometimes from a long distance away, sometimes from just around a blind bend.

Ben stopped ahead of her, his brow drenched in sweat, and unscrewed the lid of his canteen. He raised it to his lips and took a short swig. Wiping the cuff of his sleeve across his mouth, he said, “It doesn't make bloody sense.” He shook the canteen and frowned at it.

Hers was almost empty too. “What do you mean?”

“By now we should have either lost this tail or been caught. This stalemate is bloody odd.”