They both had ice axes strapped to their backs, but Maria had no desire to attempt a free descent beyond the end of the rope.
As they continued, the chute grew steadily less steep, but the water also deepened underfoot, requiring them to brace their legs to either side of the strong current.
After another several yards, Nuka stopped and shifted his mask aside and sniffed the air. “Is that smoke?”
Smoke?
Maria stopped and did the same. The fresh air froze the hairs in her nostrils, but she noted a hint of woodsmoke. She knew there could be only one source of combustible material down here. She pictured the ancient ship.
Had it been set on fire by whoever took Elena?
She didn’t know, but the scent suggested they must be close. She waved Nuka on. “Let’s keep going.”
“Um, that’s gonna be a problem.” Nuka reached down and fished the loose end of his rope from the frigid current. He held it up. “We’ve reached the end of the line.”
She scooted next to him. “What now?”
But she knew what his answer would be.
He began freeing his harness from the belaying device. “Like you said. We’re close.” Once free, he unhooked his ice ax. “And it’s not too steep. I can probably just hike the rest of the way if I’m careful.”
“Not alone, you’re not.”
Despite her earlier trepidation, she felt confident enough to go a bit farther. If the tunnel became any more treacherous, they could always use their axes and crampons to reach the rope again.
“Help me off my line,” she said.
After he did, he stared up at her. With his mask pushed to the top of his head, his eyes shone brightly, enough for her to read his fear and relief. “Thanks.”
“Just get going before I change my mind.”
He set off, demonstrating the proper method. He kept his legs wide, taking each step with care, making sure his crampons had a good grip. He held the ax low in both hands, ready to jam it into the ice if he slipped.
She followed, matching him step for step.
It was tedious, but they made slow progress. Effort and tension had her sweating inside her dry suit.
“I think I see a glow ahead,” Nuka said.
She straightened and tried to peek past the kid—and promptly lost her footing. Caught off guard, she crashed into the main current, which immediately caught her body and shoved her forward. She hit Nuka and knocked his legs out from under him.
Tangled together, their ice axes were useless.
The current sped them a short run, then spilled them down a painful cascade into a wider chamber. Once in the larger space, the stream spread and lost some of its force. It split ahead, dividing around a jagged berg of blue ice.
Nuka grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to the left to avoid hitting the obstruction. He then used their combined momentum to roll them out of the river and onto a frozen bank of rock.
She patted the solid ground.
Rock . . .
They must have reached the glacier’s bottom. Maria sat up, gasping, the wind knocked out of her. Across the dark chamber, the shadowy husk of a ship smoldered in the gloom.
We made it.
Her relief was short-lived.
A shout rose from the ship, full of panic.
“RUN! GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!”
1:33 P.M.
A moment ago, Mac had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He thought he’d seen ghost lights flickering by the meltwater cascade flowing into the chamber. Then he heard an eerie echo of voices. The Inuit believed some glaciers were haunted, and after learning their Tuurngaq—their demons—were fiery and real, he did not discount the possibility of ghosts.
Then a pair of figures, as solid as the ice and rock, came sliding and tumbling into view. From the dhow’s deck, he saw them roll out of the stream and onto the shoreline.
But he wasn’t the only one to note their trespass.
Below the ship’s rail, the shadowy bull had been pacing alongside the hull. As the two newcomers crashed into the cave, flames huffed from its nostrils, flaring brightly in the gloom. Its bronze head pivoted in their direction. Heavy legs pounded as it headed toward the commotion.
Mac did his best to warn them—not that it did much good.
A call answered him. “Dr. MacNab? Mac? Is that you?”
Mac recognized that nasal-crack of puberty. He turned to John, who stood straighter, also recognizing the voice.
Mac cupped his mouth and shouted. “Nuka! There’s a dangerous creature down there. Drawn by sound. Maybe light, too. So douse your lamps. Stay quiet.”
To try to lure the beast back here, Mac pounded his foot on the ancient planks. The bull responded and slowed its pace.
Until Nuka called again. “We have ropes over here! A way to climb out!”
Mac groaned inwardly.
What don’t kids today know about staying quiet?
Again the bull headed toward the cascading water. Mac hammered the planks harder, but the beast ignored the sound this time. Perhaps it was intelligent enough to know there were easier, more accessible targets out there.
He needed a new plan—one that was probably foolhardy.
“Nuka!” Mac yelled. “Just shut the hell up. Retreat into the tunnel. We’ll try to get to you.”
He then turned to John.
“Looks like it’s time to take the bull by the horns.”
1:35 P.M.
Clutching her ice ax in both hands, Maria stayed low and backed upstream along the waterway. Its babbling made it difficult to hear. Her eyes searched the dark shoreline, which was a maze of broken ice and glacier-carved rock.
Nuka followed her.
What could be living down here? Had a polar bear been trapped with the men?
From the terror in the man’s voice, she knew it had to be something else, something far worse than a polar bear.
But what?
They finally reached the moulin’s tunnel again. She crouched to enter when a gun blasted hollowly over by the smoking shipwreck.
She jumped. So did Nuka.
Closer at hand, maybe ten yards away, the smoky darkness bloomed with fire. For the briefest instant, she caught a glimpse of something bulky, plated in armor. But a broken cliff of ice blocked most of her view—then the lurking monstrosity retreated, trailing flames, and headed back toward the ship.
Nuka turned to her, his expression shocked.
Whatever it was, it had been almost on top of them.
She retreated deeper into the tunnel, drawing Nuka with her.
Another gun blast rocked through the chamber.
She prayed the others knew what they were doing.
For all our sakes.
1:37 P.M.
Back inside the ship, Mac stood waist-deep in icy water and stared across the dark hold as John reloaded. Both men hid behind tall shards of the giant shattered pots. Mac turned his attention to the smoldering ruins of the dhow’s stern, searching for their nemesis.
C’mon, you bastard, where are you?
After failing to lure the bull with his pounding, Mac knew they needed to pull out their big gun. The first shotgun blast should have been impossible to ignore. Still, he had held his breath, fearing it wouldn’t work. Then he’d heard the heavy tread of its approach back to the ship. He signaled John, who emptied his second barrel through the roof.
The two blasts in the closed space left his ears ringing. What if it didn’t take the bait? He turned to John, ready to nod for another blast—then a roar drew his attention to the stern.
The bull rounded the back of the ship and waded into the hold, impossibly trailing flames in the water. Its overlapping bronze plates shifted as it shouldered toward them. Its head swiveled, threatening with its curved horns. Flames huffed from its wide nostrils. Its jaw gaped, revealing rows upon rows of razor-edged plates.
Dear god . . .
Mac’s blood turned to ice. Even hidden,
he felt exposed and vulnerable. He wanted to push farther into the shelter, but he was paralyzed with fear, immobilized by the horror.
John must have noted his panic and whistled to him.
The bull jerked toward his Inuit friend, drawn by the noise.
No, no, no . . .
Mac finally acted, returning to his plan. He flicked on his flashlight and threw it toward the open door of the captain’s cabin. The light cartwheeled through the air and into the tiny chamber. It hit the far wall and clattered loudly, spinning on the desktop.
The bull roared, casting out flumes of fire from its throat. It charged toward the cabin, either lured by the sound, or maybe it could see. The beast did have a set of black-diamond eyes, lit by an inner fire, but they could be merely decorative.
Either way, the bull lowered its horns and barreled through the water, leaving a fiery wake in its path, along with the stench of burning oil. It leaped headlong into the cabin and smashed into the desk, splintering it to ruin, then struck the curved prow hard enough to jolt the entire ship.
Mac and John were already moving. John shifted to the center of the hold, while Mac headed to the cabin. Once in position, John fired both barrels into the back of the bull. The solid-shot shells pounded into its rump with resounding clangs but only dented its surface.
Still, the impact of those massive slugs hammered the beast in place and gave Mac a chance to reach the open door. He set his shoulder against it and shoved it closed. John joined him and grabbed the brass bar they had set outside. Together they jammed the brace between the door and floor planks.
Inside, the bull thrashed and roared, but the confined space gave it little room to maneuver or get up a head of steam to smash out.
Or so we better hope.
“Go!” Mac yelled.
The two of them splashed their way out of the ship. They clambered to the rocky shore and sprinted through the maze of boulders and bergs. It quickly became too dark to see as they left the flaming pools of the lake behind them.
“Nuka!” Mac shouted. “Get those lamps back on!”
Lights flared in the distance.
Then a huge crack of timbers exploded behind them. Mac glanced back to see the bull burst through the side of the hull. It bounded high, lit by angry flames. It landed with a skid of sparks and thundered toward them, cloaked in fire and smoke.
“Haul ass,” Mac urged John.
Together they ran for the cascading water. Upon reaching it, they scrambled up the wet rock toward the lighted tunnel. Inside, he spotted two figures crowded together a short way up.
“Keep going!” he yelled to them.
The heavy tread of the bull closed in behind them. It shattered through ice and bounced off boulders in its haste to run down its prey.
Mac pushed John into the tunnel, then crowded in behind him.
Nuka slid back and passed an ice ax to Mac. He pantomimed hacking into the ice. “Dig and move!”
Got it.
John managed to scale the slick tunnel with a skill ingrained into his DNA. Mac followed, clawing at the ice with the ax and dragging himself up. It was slow going. The others were leaving him behind.
Not going to make it.
He was right.
The bull reached the tunnel and slammed headlong into it. Jammed there, it roared at Mac, sending gouts of flame at him. Its jagged maw snapped at his scrambling feet.
Panicked, he let his ax slip. He belly-flopped into the current and washed back toward the bull.
“Stay down!” Nuka hollered.
Twin blasts deafened him. He felt the passage of the shotgun slugs over his head. The rounds struck the bull between the horns and punched it back into the tunnel, buying Mac enough time to plant his ice ax again and regain his footing.
He set off quickly, knowing the bull would be back.
It roared behind him.
A woman shouted to him, “We’re almost to the ropes!”
Mac didn’t know who this lady was, but he obeyed. He set a harder pace. By the time he reached the others, Nuka and the stranger had secured their hip harnesses to belaying devices.
Nuka pointed to the back of their two harnesses. “Grab hold.”
John latched on to the woman’s harness; Mac locked his fingers on to Nuka’s.
“Hold tight,” the lady warned. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
1:42 P.M.
Maria pressed the radio to her lips. “Now . . . as fast as you can!”
She stared up the dark throat of the moulin. She clutched the rope with both hands. A slight vibration was the only warning. The slack in the line snapped taut—and the four of them were jerked forward and dragged bodily up the slick chute.
Earlier, while waiting tensely, Maria had radioed topside, letting them know they would need an immediate evacuation. With their two ropes secured to the tow hitch of a snowmobile, she saw no reason to climb on their own when they had the horsepower to be pulled up.
An angry bellow chased them.
Maria glanced back. Even now, the fiery creature tried to force its way after them.
“Screw you,” MacNab called back.
Maria let out a sigh of relief—until the tunnel began to cave in. Whether from the thrashing of the beast or the concussions of the shotgun blasts, something finally gave way. The tunnel below cracked, and the chute imploded with an explosive clap of ice.
The roaring finally ended.
The continuing collapse chased them up the moulin. She stared ahead and sent a silent prayer to those above.
Don’t spare those horses.
After a few more breaths, they reached the wider vertical shaft. The snap of the line tossed them hard against the wall. With the impact, the Inuit elder lost his handhold on her belt. He swung wildly by one arm. Secure in her harness, she let go of the rope and grabbed his hide jacket with both hands.
“I got you.”
She clutched with all her strength until iron arms hooked around her waist and hauled her and Nuka’s grandfather free of the moulin.
She let the elder go and lay on her back.
Joe’s windburned face stared down at her. “What did I tell you about not playing hero?”
She shrugged. “I think I was only a supporting character here.”
Joe helped her sit up. The others were safely out, too. She stared over at the red-bearded climatologist.
“Mind telling me what that was all about?” she asked.
“I will. Over a beer. Lots of beer.”
Joe nodded at this wisdom. “Best plan I heard in a long time.”
Maria held up a hand, knowing this could not wait. “First, what about Elena? Do you know who took her?”
“Dr. Cargill? She’s still alive?”
“As far as we know. I’ll fill you in on the details over those beers. But do you know who took her and what they wanted?”
“I have no idea who they were. But they’re definitely not from around here. They were speaking Arabic.”
Arabic?
“As to what they wanted, I’m not entirely sure. Definitely wanted the gold map. They called it the Storm Atlas, as if they already knew what it was.”
Maria frowned. A Storm Atlas?
“Oh.” He reached to a pocket and removed a softball-sized silver sphere. It looked to be inscribed and covered with complicated-looking dials and compasses. “They also wanted this.”
Second
The Daedalus Key
Quod est ante pedes nemo spectat, caeli scrutantur plagas.
No one regards what is before his feet; we all gaze at the stars.
—IPHIGENIA, A TRAGEDY BY QUINTUS ENNIUS (239–169 B.C.)
8
June 22, 8:59 A.M. EDT
Takoma Park, Maryland
Commander Grayson Pierce had survived countless brushes with death, but nothing had prepared him for fatherhood—especially living with a tiger mom.
“It’s not going to happen,” he warned from the living room’
s sofa.
“It will.”
Seichan sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, like some Eurasian queen. She had pushed the coffee table aside and held their baby boy under his arms. She did her best to get the child to balance on legs made of Jell-O. Jackson Randall Pierce wasn’t cooperating. He cooed and babbled and tried to reach his toes.
Gray tapped the well-thumbed book on the end table. “Says here not to expect a baby to walk until nine months to a year. Maybe longer.”
“That’s only an average.” She pointed her chin toward a stack of printouts. “Look. There are many articles about babies who started walking by six months. It’s rare but not unheard-of.”
“Jack is only five months old. In two days.”
“So? He’s already sitting up on his own, even crawling a little. That’s ahead of schedule. And I got him sleeping through the night two months ago. You said that couldn’t be done.”
“Not true. I seem to recall I said, please, dear god, won’t this kid ever sleep.”
“Well, I did it.”
Gray considered whether he should unplug their wireless router. Seichan spent too much time on the Internet reading all she could about child-rearing and treated motherhood as a blood sport. She was determined that Jack would reach every milestone sooner than the books said, using those accomplishments as proof she was the best mother on the planet.
And this was a woman who once doubted her maternal instincts.
Of course, she was a former assassin, brutally trained to be heartless and cold-blooded. So, he understood her misgivings. He had enough worries about his own parenting skills. At first, her dogged determination amused him, but as it continued, he had grown concerned. After Jack’s birth, the two of them had taken an extended period of parental leave from Sigma. Gray was scheduled to return to duty next month, after Jack’s six-month birthday party, which apparently was something that needed to be done.
Gray slid to the floor until his knees pressed against hers. He took little Jack, sniffed his Pampers, and from the odiferous emanation, decided this walking lesson was over. But a diaper change could wait a few moments. He scooped Jack under one arm and shifted next to Seichan. They settled together against the chair behind them. Jack fussed in his arms, but he kissed that mop of dark hair, which got the boy to settle—at least for the moment.
The Last Odyssey: A Thriller Page 8