Subterranean (48 page)

Harry nodded.

“But be careful,” Ben warned. “This bastard's a tricky one.”

Harry huddled a moment with Nob'cobi. Then the two slipped away to circle east a bit, to draw its attention away from Ben's hiding place.

Ben waited as they maneuvered into position, holding his breath, praying that he wouldn't all of a sudden hear a scream from Jason. The creature wouldn't wait forever. Eventually the novelty would wear thin and it would attack.

Tensed, muscles quivering with anticipation, Ben jumped at the sudden eruption of clanking pots and pans from just east of his position. Harry and Nob'cobi. It was about time. He risked peeking around the corner to see the commotion's effect on the
crak'an
.

It stood there frozen, its ears cocked back to listen, then slowly swung its head in the direction of the noise. It took a few steps toward the sound, then stopped and glanced back at Jason strapped to the pillar. It wasn't going to take the bait. At least not before nailing its easy prey. It took a step back toward Jason.

Goddamn you! Ben raised his pistol. Before Ben could shoot, Harry jumped into the clearing with two dented pots in his hands.

He hollered at it. “Hey there, big fellow, how about a little action?” To punctuate his statement, he slammed the pots together.

The voice and clank got its attention. With a roar, it swung back in Harry's direction. The quickness of the beast seemed to catch Harry off guard. He stumbled a step backward, almost falling. Ben clenched his teeth. Move it, soldier! Harry seemed to hear his silent command and dashed back into the alley.

The fleeing man was too much temptation for the monster. It scrabbled after Harry, disappearing down the alley.

Ben didn't wait. As soon as the tip of its tail vanished, he dashed into the clearing. Toward the boy.

Tears trailed down Jason's soot-blackened features. The boy still stared in the direction of the disappearing beast. Thank god he seemed otherwise unharmed.

Ben ran toward him. The scuffing of Ben's boots on rock drew Jason's attention. A fleeting look of terror crossed his features before he seemed to recognize Ben. Then fresh tears flowed.

Ben reached him in seconds. He hugged him hard in the ropes, pulling the gag free, wondering who the hell had bound and gagged the boy. But now wasn't the time for questions. Jason shook with sobs. “You're okay now, son. You're safe.”

But Jason kept on sobbing, trying to get words out between choking sobs. “I . . . tried to . . . tried to call you . . . with my game.” He dropped the toy still held in his hands, and it clattered to the stone.

“You did good.” Ben crouched down, pulled out a knife, and attacked the ropes.

“My . . . my mom . . . . is she okay?”

“She's fine. She's somewhere safe.”

Suddenly, Jason jerked in the loosening ropes. Ben could barely get the boy's hands untied with him squirming so much. He finally succeeded.

“Stay still for a sec. Let me get that last rope from around you.”

“I need to see!” Jason seemed frantic.

“What?”

Jason lifted up his untucked shirt. For the first time, Ben noticed the glowing LED readout on Jason's belt buckle. The number 6 glowed back at him.

Jason looked down, then moaned.

“What's that?”

“It's a bomb,” he said, a desperate look in his eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jason pointed out the gray squares of plastique hooked to the belt. “Khalid put it on me. To control Linda. It's set to go off in six minutes.”

“Then let's get it off you.” He reached for the boy with the knife.

Jason backed away. “If it's removed, it'll go off. Only the secret code will release it.”

“Who knows the code?”

“Khalid . . . and he's out there somewhere setting other bombs.”

The goddamn bastard. If I get my hands on him . . . “Well, there's got to be a way to disarm it. Maybe Harry . . . he's a demolitions expert.” Ben covered his face with his hands. Bloody hell. How was he going to get him back here in time? They weren't supposed to rendezvous back at Blakely's office for another half hour. He clenched his fists and pressed them against his temple. Goddamn it man,
think
!

Ben stared as the LED number dissolved from a 6 to a 5.

Ashley plopped down on the pillow in her small cave. Once again she was confined to her cell. Three guards stood at the threshold, diamond blades glinting in the fungal glow. She had tried through both pantomime and repeating Sin'jari's name to communicate her innocence in the attack on Mo'amba, but it was futile. Her only witness, Mo'amba, was near death.

A commotion at the entrance to her cell drew her attention. She watched as Michaelson was shoved past the guards. He stumbled on his weak ankle but caught his balance.

“Fuckers took my guns,” he said as he crossed over to her. “All of them. What's going on?”

“Sorry, it was my fault,” she said, standing up, her muscles still tense with frustration. “I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” She told him the story of Sin'jari's attack on Mo'amba, and the result of her interference. “I was caught with a smoking gun, so to speak. Mo'amba was found stabbed in the chest with me standing over him, the murder weapon in my hand. Can you blame them?”

“What's going to happen?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I think everyone's more concerned about Mo'amba at the moment.”

“Do you think the old guy has any chance of surviving?”

Ashley shook her head. “Doubtful. He lost a lot of blood. And with his mental abilities, if he was able, he'd be blowing the whistle on Sin'jari himself—telepathically on all wavelengths. For him to be remaining so silent, he's got to be nearly brain-dead. And if he dies, I don't think either one of us has much chance of living, regardless of whether or not Ben makes the deadline.”

Michaelson glanced at his watch. “Ben has less than eight hours.”

Sighing, she said, “Now I'm hoping he doesn't return. As angry as those tribesmen are, I think even if he returns with the statue, they'll just execute him along with us. It'd be best if he just stays away.”

“He won't.”

“I know.” She sat back down on a pillow and waved Michaelson to do the same. “If only there was a way to warn him. To tell Harry and Ben not to come back.”

“There's no way. Come hell or high water, Ben will return for you.”

She smacked her knee with a fist. “Then I've got to find some way to let the village know about Sin'jari. Some way to communicate. But they won't even try to listen. Their judgment is too clouded with anger.”

“Maybe Harry will return with Ben before Mo'amba dies. He could translate your story.”

“Even if he did, do you think they'd believe us? Sin'jari is one of their elders. It would be his word against mine.”

“Then we'll need evidence. What do you think the bastard was up to anyway?”

“No good, that's for sure. I think he means to interfere with Ben's mission. Thwart it in some way.”

“If we could prove that, then that would go a long way to support your claim.”

“But how?” she asked, exasperated.

“Catch him red-handed when he returns. The only easy route back to the village from Alpha Cavern is through that wormhole. If he went up that way, he'll sneak back that way.”

“And how do you propose to catch him locked up in this cell?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I don't have all the answers.”

She shook her head at the uselessness of their reverie. “Still, this all depends on Mo'amba surviving until Ben and Harry return. If he should—”

A keening wail erupted from the guards at the door. A cry that also echoed from the village around them, piercing the stone walls like paper, the pitch so high it caused the hairs to stand on Ashley's arms.

Michaelson covered his ears, eyes squinting at the noise.

As suddenly as it started, the wailing ceased. The sudden silence felt huge and empty, as if something vital had been removed from the air.

Ashley saw one of the guards look in her direction. Under his bony brow, tears were in his eyes, and something else too—hatred.

“What was that all about?” Michaelson asked.

“We just ran out of time. Mo'amba's dead.”

Ben was just starting to stand when it hit. Like an explosion between his ears. He stumbled back to his knees. At first, he thought some bomb must have detonated, like the one attached to Jason's waist, but when he pried his eyes open, Jason was just staring at him with a quizzical look.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked, seemingly unaware of what had just transpired.

Ben nodded. “I think so . . .” Then the world went black.

What the hell? He struggled but seemed to be floating in a space without stars, nothing to push against, nothing to fight. He was not unconscious, just surrounded by an infinite blackness. Then a single dull ember appeared, glowing in the darkness ahead. As he concentrated on this landmark, like some distant beacon, the glow intensified to a bright flame. It spoke, vibrating with each word, in his grandfather's voice. “. . . Ben . . . Ben . . . you must . . . hurry . . .”

By now, Ben could recognize one of Mo'amba's callings. But now was not the time. “What is it? What's wrong? Is Ashley okay?”

“. . . weak . . . tired . . .” The flame died again to only a feeble flicker. “. . . must hurry . . .” It flickered bright for a heartbeat. “Danger . . .” Then it faded, first back to a dull glow, then to nothing. And in the darkness, Ben felt an emptiness. Somehow he knew that Mo'amba had not just broken contact but was gone. Gone for good. As the world reappeared around him, he found tears trailing down his cheek.

“Ben, what's wrong?” Jason was shaking his shoulder.

He pushed off the stone floor where he had collapsed. Mo'amba was dead. He knew this as sure as he knew his father's name. “I'm okay,” he answered the boy.

“You fainted.”

“Don't worry, I'm fine.” He patted the boy's knee, while pondering the meaning of Mo'amba's final urgent message. He had wanted Ben to return immediately. Not to waste any more time. But what was the hurry? Ben still had seven hours before his deadline. Something must be up. A new danger.

Jason looked at him with concern but didn't speak.

Ben glanced at the timer on the boy's belt. The number five still glowed on the panel. Hurry, Mo'amba had urged. No kidding. He needed a plan. A way to contact Harry. Get him back here to defuse the bomb.

Then it dawned on him . . . Hell, why didn't he think of this earlier?

He
did
have a means of contacting Harry. Well, at least Nob'cobi, who could then tell Harry to get his butt back here. Mo'amba's calling reminded him. He could do the same. He had never tried it at such a distance . . . and it was doubtful that Nob'cobi was in a relaxed trance state, susceptible to his calling, but it was possible. Mo'amba had done it to him before. He had to try.

“Jason, I know this is gonna seem bloody bonkers, but I'm gonna need to concentrate. I need you to stay quiet.”

“Okay, but what—”

“Shhh. Later.” Ben sat down cross-legged, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He again pictured his childhood home outside Perth. The orange dust. The 'roos in the distance. Home.

He sat in a creaking chair on the porch again, not bothering with a beer this time. Instead he concentrated fiercely on Nob'cobi's image, visualizing the hunter sitting next to him. He filled in the details of the hunter's features. The scar across his cheek, the graying patch of fur at the top of his head. As he concentrated, the image flickered into reality for a heartbeat. Nob'cobi's surprised face turned to him, then winked back out.

Damn it! Ben concentrated again. C'mon, Nob'cobi, you saw me there for a second. You know what I want. He pressed forward again. C'mon, listen to me. Nothing. He persisted for what seemed like several wasted minutes. Minutes he didn't have.

Just before he was ready to scream in frustration and give up, Nob'cobi appeared. He seemed winded. “What do you want?” he growled at Ben. “I almost tripped and fell with that first call. You're supposed to—”

“Enough! I need Harry back here. Now!”

“Well, we're heading back that way. That
crak'an
must have it in for you. It gave up chasing us and turned back your way. Are you cleared out of there yet?”

“No. We've got a problem. I need Harry and you to forget about Tiny Tim and meet me back at the office. Run as fast as you can.”

“You better do the same. That
crak'an
is coming your way fast.”

“Hurry.” But Nob'cobi had already vanished.

Ben pushed back out of his dream state and found Jason staring at him.

“What are you doing?”

“It's a long story,” he said scrambling up. “We've got company coming.” With a relieved sigh, he noticed Jason's LED readout showed a 4. Time moved oddly in the dreaming place. It seemed like he was there a lot longer than a mere moment. “Can you run?”

Jason shifted from foot to foot, obviously full of nervous energy. “Oh, yeah.”

“Then come on.” Ben grabbed his hand and hurried away, just as he made out the sound of Tiny Tim scrabbling toward them from the other direction. He increased the pace to a vigorous run. The office was barely a hundred yards away. He reached it with Jason in tow in less than a minute. The readout on the belt changed from 4 to 3 just as he pushed through into the trashed reception area. Now just bloody hurry, Harry.

Ben crossed to the door leading to the building's offices and knocked. “It's Ben,” he called. He heard the deadbolt being released; the door swung open.

Sandy's worried face peered out. She spotted Jason and her eyes widened. “You found the boy!” She rushed out and scooped him up in a hug as if he were some sort of life preserver.