Oh, he didn’t say anything. But lately, he’d been wondering if it was smart to follow an adrenaline junkie. Worse, he suspected Gary knew of his doubts—the man was, after all, a mind reader—and John feared those doubts drove Gary to new heights of daring.
“Aren’t your hands cold?” Sun Hee whispered and tucked her gloved hands into her armpits.
“I grew up in the Russian mountains and Siberia.” About his origins he was brief. None of the Chosen Ones knew their birth parents, but most of them didn’t have a background like his.
Frankly, most children didn’t survive a background like his.
“Are you okay back there, Sun Hee?” Gary called.
She smiled, flattered, as they all were, by his attention. “Yes, Gary.”
“The big guy’s not making you afraid with all his worrying?”
“No. John is cautious, but always for good reason.”
John appreciated the sentiment. Yet, at the same time, he almost wished she hadn’t said it. Six feet tall, fit, with a head of black hair and compelling hazel eyes, Gary attracted women, all women. Amina was sleeping with him now, but it was John’s impression that Gary had gone through every female who worked at the Gypsy Travel Agency, every female Chosen he’d ever had on his team, and had plans for every female not yet screwed.
Sun Hee was one of those still-untouched females. John didn’t need to get into a pissing match because Sun Hee had spoken admiringly of him, and he really didn’t want Gary to feel pressure to seduce Sun Hee sooner rather than later.
Yet he said nothing when Gary called, “Come on up and join us reckless ones. It’s more fun than hanging around with that dour Russian.”
John wasn’t Russian. He hadn’t lived in Russia since he was seventeen, when he walked south through the Ural Mountains, then west to the Black Sea and across to Turkey. He’d paid his way with work. He’d earned his ID, a passport, and an American visa with a service done for the right official—the only time he’d traded his power for a favor. If there was any truth in kismet, he should have suffered a turn of bad luck for misusing his gift. But in fact, he had never regretted what he’d done. He’d wanted out, and he’d gone about it the best way he knew how, and kismet had remained uninterested . . . or perhaps it simply was biding its time.
Now he waited for Sun Hee to skip forward to join Gary. She surprised John, though, with an eye roll and a shrug. Then she walked up to be part of Gary’s group.
John watched her. Her exotic features and delicate body gave the impression of fragility. She’d stand back and observe, and she seldom spoke, but faced every challenge boldly—walked and climbed and fought with all her strength, and he had always admired her.
Bataar dropped back and joined John. He was short-legged and stocky, with high cheekbones and straight, dark hair. He heard things: the breathing of a lost child, the whisper of a butterfly’s wings. Now, in his quiet voice, Bataar asked, “Can you hear that?”
John stopped and listened. He heard the tap of feet, the slither of ice down a wall, the soft whistle of some unfelt wind. “Hear what exactly?”
“Water,” Bataar said.
The hair rose on the back of John’s neck. He listened again, but heard nothing. “Where?”
“Ahead of us.” Bataar gestured vaguely forward.
John thought back. The helicopter that had flown them in had repeatedly circled the mountain valley. The long, massively heavy glacier snaked down from the snowy heights, fractured and rugged, moving ponderously toward the lower elevations. The ice dragged sediment off the surrounding rocky mountains and carried it in long, dirty lines that marred the pristine blue ice with gray. The pilot proved that he’d carried tourists there before when he told them how much the ice had retreated in the last year. “Twenty feet.” He grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “I saw the cave first, a cave my people built thousands of years ago out of stone and ice, and I called your people. I’m good, huh? You pay me?”
At the time, John had been so amused by the fellow’s open greed he hadn’t bothered to think that they had landed on bare rock where the glacier terminated—and although the glacier was clearly melting, no stream flowed from its base.
Now Bataar’s words made him realize—somewhere, something within the glacier dammed the outflow.
“How much water?” John asked.
“Not much. Not yet. But do you know what will happen when the outflow for this glacier is released?”
Yes, John knew. It would be a flood of devastating proportions. When it broke through, the glacier, lubricated by the water, would rush forward, obliterating the cave and everything—and everyone—inside.
“Should we tell Gary?” Bataar was Mongolian. He’d traveled in the Himalayas. He understood their dire situation, had probably understood even before they entered the cave.
“No. But let’s see if we can hurry them along.” John glanced forward—and the group in front of them had disappeared. He ran forward, Bataar on his heels. An icy wall, painted to resemble a tunnel, suddenly loomed before them, while the passage abruptly opened to the left. John skidded on the ice, his studded boots barely stopping him.
Bataan slammed into him, and they hit the wall hard.
The stone slab gave, almost as if it rested against a sponge. Ice rained down from the ceiling, breaking on their faces like shards of glass. Suddenly, John could hear the faint, mocking trickle of water.
The two men took the low, left opening. Two steps in, and another wall loomed before them. An abrupt right, and they stood with the Chosen Ones staring into a long, narrow chamber illuminated by a diffused blue, glacial light that leaked between the slabs in the walls and through the cracks in the stone ceiling.
“It looks as if this room was created to collapse like a house of cards,” John said.
“I wonder what’s holding it together,” Amina said.
Sun Hee’s dark eyes examined their surroundings. “Superstition.”
Gary laughed. “Exactly. Foolish superstition.”
John and Sun Hee exchanged troubled glances. He didn’t think superstition was foolish. Quite the contrary. In battle, he’d seen far too many examples of superstitions fulfilled.
The floor had been created by stepping-stones separated by ice. At the far end, rough stones had been piled into an altar with a carefully crafted flat stone table. Atop that in a small stone bowl rested a leather bag, stiff and frozen.
In the rough whisper of a dedicated treasure hunter, Gary asked, “Max, is that it?”
“It’s not . . .” Max’s eyes half closed and fluttered as if he could see the treasure inside the bag. “It’s different. Not gold. Not jewels. But it’s ancient and it’s . . . it’s important.”
“Great.” Gary smiled and started across the floor.
Sophie grabbed him. “No!”
“What?” Gary looked disdainfully at her fingers curled around his arm.
Sophie wasn’t an eloquent woman, or even intelligent; she ran on instinct and now she simply repeated, “No.”
Sun Hee turned her head from side to side. “There’s another way.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—” Gary started out across the floor again.
John didn’t even think. He grabbed Gary’s shoulders and yanked him back. “You’ve got a team. Now listen to us!”
Gary turned blazing eyes toward John.
John protected himself automatically, lifting his hand and holding his power like a shield. He felt the energy of Gary’s mind slam into him and bounce off.
John staggered back, his neck whiplashing as if he’d been hit. For a moment, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Amina caught him.
Gary glared at John. “I’m the leader here.”
John recovered, and in a low, intense voice, he said, “Yes, and Sophie is the one who knows about traps. If she says no, then you don’t go. If Sun Hee can catch the scent of another passage, then you follow her. We are your team. We are your backup. We’re in m
ortal danger. So listen to us.”
One by one, the team members looked around. Stone creaked behind them. John glanced up, and as if a giant’s fingers pinched the ends of the ceiling slab, the center bulged downward. If it shattered, the glacier would capture them, crush them. Drown them.
Sophie covered her head with her hands and whimpered softly.
“This way,” Sun Hee said, her voice strong and sure, and she disappeared through a narrow crack in the wall to the left.
Gary hesitated, still wanting a fight.
John could almost see the realization strike him: if Gary didn’t move, Sun Hee might reach the treasure, and the danger, first. His gaze promised retribution, but swiftly he squeezed through the crack after her.
As Gary disappeared, Amina’s glow faded, but she demanded, “John, why did you say that? Why did you do that?”
“My God, Amina, have you looked around?” Max answered.
The ice was visibly failing everywhere, slipping down the walls and pooling as water on the floors.
“And listened?” Bataar lifted a single finger.
The melting glacier growled like a hungry beast. John watched the shifting shadows inside the treasure room. “There they are!” He pointed across the altar room and up.
Somehow, Sun Hee and Gary had worked their way through the tunnel, then crawled up through the rock. Now they perched on a ledge close to the ceiling and almost directly over the small, frozen, leather bag.
Gary gripped Sun Hee by the waist and held her.
She wiggled, head down, over the treasure.
Gary braced his elbows against the rock to hold himself steady as she stretched, pulling against his grip.
John’s heart pounded so loud he feared Bataar could hear it.
All the while, tremors shook the floor and walls and the noise of running water got louder.
Sun Hee’s fingers brushed the red cord that held the bag closed. Once. Twice.
Behind the altar, the increasing pressure behind the stone made it appear gelatinous.
John gritted his teeth, held himself back. He wanted to use his power, support the cave with a force field. But not with Sun Hee in the way.
On her third swing, she snagged the cord.
The Chosen held their breaths as she lifted it from the altar.
For a moment, the shaking in the cave eased. The sound of water diminished.
She shot them a triumphant grin. Winked at John. Signaled Gary to pull her back.
The Chosen laughed and clapped.
John raised his hand and prepared to use his power to help Gary lift her—and a violent jolt shook the room.
The glacier roared.
A huge slab of rock tilted back as if some beast was deconstructing the cave.
The ledge that held Gary shook so hard it slowly separated from the wall, and behind him dust rose from the passage.
Amina screamed.
Sophie backed away.
“Go on.” John took Sophie by the shoulders and shoved her toward the passage out. “Bataar, take her. Max, get the hell out of here. Amina, you need to leave.”
But Amina shook her head, her eyes glued to the drama before her.
In a feat of athleticism that rivaled anything in the Olympics, Gary swung Sun Hee up, flipped her and caught her wrists, then lowered her toward the altar.
John ran forward, across stepping-stones that tilted like ice floes on a rushing river. As he reached the altar, her weight settled on the table—and beneath her, the stone legs cracked. The top collapsed.
John caught her, yanked her away. A large obsidian ax blade dropped from the ceiling, barely missing them. Shards of black stone glass shattered into a thousand pieces.
Red trickled from Sun Hee’s cheek.
John’s forehead stung, and blood ran into his left eye.
The back wall bulged. Water leaked through the cracks. The roaring grew louder.
“Go on!” John pushed her toward the entrance, then turned in time to see Gary launch himself off the ledge.
The ledge collapsed behind him, dragging a huge chunk of stone off the back wall.
For the first time, John got a clear view of the dam of glacial ice—blue, clear, cold, and impersonal. The dam held back a raging river of turbulent water—and it was failing. In minutes, seconds, the water would break through and drown them all. “Go!” he yelled at Gary.
But Gary, of course, took his place beside John.
Ever the hero.
More stone peeled from the back wall, opening up wider views of the frenetic river rampaging behind the ice dam, demanding to be free.
John didn’t want to worry about saving the hero. He’d be damned lucky to save himself. “You have to go,” he shouted. “You have to save the women!”
That worked. Of course it did.
Gary clapped his hand on John’s shoulder. “Hold it off as long you can.” Then he was gone.
“John!” Sun Hee screamed.
John didn’t turn. He knew Gary would get her out. All his focus had to be on that thinning wall of ice. He had to stop it long enough to get the team—and possibly even himself—out of the cave.
He needed to save his energy, delay until the last possible second before the collapse. Yet if he waited too long, the water would break through and he’d be lucky to contain it.
This disaster felt unreal, as if John were watching the climax of Titanic on his own personal IMAX screen. Every moment, the water and sand ate away at the ice. Once, twice—boulders the size of a refrigerator rose and fell on the mighty, churning current. If one of those hit the ice dam. . . . Then one did.
John flung his hands up, slammed his strength into the ice, catching it before it cracked, bracing it with the force of his will. He could see waves of power emanating from his hands, blue as the ice but ephemeral, fleeting. The smallest crackle told him the ice was failing; the water was winning. . . . Then a louder pop. And a crack that echoed like a gunshot in the tiny chamber.
He staggered back.
Water leaked from the fissure that had opened across the length of the ice. Water ran from the ceiling. The chamber looked like a tropical storm had struck . . . a frigid tropical storm.
John didn’t feel the cold. Sweat broke out on his forehead, trickled down his spine. The might of the glacier, of one of nature’s most commanding forces, clashed with John’s subtler, more unfathomable power—and John knew he couldn’t hold on forever. But long enough for the Chosen to escape . . .
His arms trembled with the strain.
Where did the power come from? He didn’t know. He did know it wasn’t his—that he drew energy from the stones, the stars, the universe: he was merely a conduit. But as a conduit, he could only push so much power.
The water’s roar deafened him; the whole cave trembled violently, continuously. Around him, he heard the glacier shift forward. The stone slabs wavered.
He hoped to hell the Chosen had escaped, because he had no choice. If he was going to get out, it had to be now.
He retreated. The range of his power retreated with him.
Wall slabs slammed to the floor. Water smashed through the ice, breaking it into bergs that rampaged through the water.
He held it away, a seething, destructive dome. He backed around the corner and into the main corridor.
Inside the altar room, blocks of rock and ice collided.
He hurried now, concentrating on his footing. The walls narrowed, crushed by the ice. His hands grew numb with the force needed to push against the stone, to keep the way clear.
He breathed hard. His muscles spasmed with the constant outflow of energy. His mind grew foggy, his reflexes slow.
And all the time he could feel the force of the glacial outflow fighting to be free. He could feel it inviting him, luring him—if he would let it through, he and it would become one, a force of nature.
He ran backward, wanting to get away from the voices that babbled in the water. Let us in. We’ll protect
you, make you greater than you already are . . .
He was hallucinating.
Lack of oxygen in the enclosed space . . .
He stumbled backward into the boulder that blocked the corridor. His focus failed. Water rushed forward, slammed him, lifted him toward the ceiling. Trapped in the water with the stone at his back, he couldn’t breathe.
Then, swiftly, irresistibly, the water pushed him through the crack, over the boulder—and he swirled out of control in the frigid current.
If I live through this, I’m going to get a life.
He snapped back to consciousness, punched out with his power, reaching up to the air, then surrounding himself with a protective bubble.
He didn’t kid himself. If the water had been unobstructed, he could have never stopped it. But as the boulder rolled, it slowed the flow, letting him surround himself with space.
He stopped. Fell to the unstable floor.
Yes. A life . . . A woman . . . Someday, children . . .
The boulder ground toward him, roaring, crushing the gravel beneath it . . . threatening him with the same fate.
He staggered to his knees, to his feet.
The water around him rushed and buzzed, angry at being thwarted.
He backed away again, reaching behind him with his power to keep the way open.
Gotta survive. Get a woman. Sun Hee. . . . Yes. Sun Hee.
The passage went on and on, ever shifting, growing smaller . . . Abruptly, the walls twisted, warped with the weight of the ice.
He hit his head on the collapsing ceiling. His power failed. He toppled backward. The rush of water hit him, clawed at him, holding him under . . .
He had failed. He was going to die.
No wife. No children. No Sun Hee. Nothing . . .
The torrent shoved at him, pushing him through a narrowing crack. Then, like a rebirth—sunshine! Air. Sweet, cold air!
He was out! He gulped in a breath, fought to stand.
The water laughed and tossed him over, thrashing him with sand and stones. He caught a glimpse of the helicopter as it lifted off, its struts lifting out of the rising water while the team leaped to catch the struts and climb in.
Chains of Ice Page 2