by Robert Ryan
“I’d only take what I could carry. Obviously, you pack as light as you possibly can. I even read about a backpack that has helium in the frame tubing to further lighten your load.”
“Fine, but we’re at the lowest point on earth, which means that the atmospheric pressure is the heaviest. That downward pressure would work against the upward lift of your helium.”
“Then we figure out a way to use more helium. Whatever. Mordecai, let me stop you. I see where you’re going, and I appreciate it. You’re trying to keep me alive. Believe me, I’m with you on that. But I’m going down alone, so we just need to make that happen.
“Once we figure out everything I’ll need, a caravan of divers can shuttle it through the tunnel and up to that dry flat stretch. They can set up sort of a supply depot at the entrance to that final downward section. From that point, I’ve got to head down with whatever I can carry on my back—lights, tools, food, drink, whatever. I can probably pack enough subsistence provisions for about three days—a week, tops, and still leave room for as many of the relics as possible. Beyond that, we leave whatever we think I’ll need at the supply depot for when I make it back. More food, water, tanks of air, and so forth.”
“You’ve made up your mind,” Mordecai said, resignation in his voice.
“I have.”
Mordecai theatrically made a big X over the remaining notes. “So what about the return trip? We have no way of knowing how long you’ll be gone, if you’re in trouble…”
“If I get in trouble—God forbid—it’s the kind of trouble no one can save me from. I’ve just got to do this, Mordecai. Me alone. Too many people have died. I can’t—I won’t—put anyone else at risk. I’m extremely grateful for what everyone has done to get us this far. The rest is on me. God has told me He would look out for me. That’s going to have to be enough.”
“I wish I had that kind of faith.”
“Maybe you will if this works out. Maybe the world will.”
“That’s a…tall order, I think the expression is. We humans have become hopelessly cynical. With good reason. But if God Himself saved you from the clutches of Satan—and you could somehow prove it—that would be our best hope of reversing the suicidal course we’re on.”
“Isn’t that what this whole thing is about?”
“Yes. You’re right. I want to believe, but my faith is not as strong as yours.”
“That’s understandable. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”
“True. All right then. Back to business. Suppose you make it all the way down and accomplish your mission. How are you going to get back? From the bowels of Hell, no less?”
“Same way I came in. If I defeat him, game’s over and I’m home free. If I lose, getting back out will be a moot point.”
Mordecai stared at him for a very long moment. Hoping for divine intervention wasn’t a plan, but there was nothing he could do about it. At last a hint of a smile forced its way onto his lips.
“As your Director, I must tell you that, compared to this, I think you’d have a better chance of climbing Everest naked.”
“It’s a long shot, is what you’re telling me.”
“The longest.”
“Well, I don’t know how much you’ve followed the Super Bowl over the years, but in 1969 nobody gave the New York Jets a chance. But they had Joe Namath. And, believe it or not, in my high school days, some recruiters said I was a better quarterback. Had a stronger arm. I had a cannon. Plus I could run.”
“That running thing could come in handy.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Zeke saw Joe Dayagi walk into the room. “I need to get with Joe for a few minutes. I’ll catch up with you when we’re done.”
They met at the coffee station. Dayagi filled two Styrofoam cups and handed one to Zeke. “Thanks.” Dayagi sipped his black while Zeke put cream and sugar in his. “Let’s sit for a minute, Joe. I need to run something by you.”
They sat at a table well away from the coffee station, which would soon be the busiest spot in the War Room. “Mordecai told you what this is all about?” Zeke said. “What we’re ultimately trying to find?”
“Hell. Satan.”
“That’s right. I’m the point man, and I’m going to need some weapons, in case me and him come face to face. Mordecai told me about your military training in munitions, so I wanted to get your thoughts on what I’m planning to do.”
“Sure.”
“You saw the crucifixes and bottles of holy water in the room upstairs last night?”
“Yes.”
“I want to convert them into weapons. Projectiles. At first I kept thinking about some kind of gun, or something we might rig up to launch them. Then I realized the best gun I have is my arm. I could throw a football 70 yards in high school. Very accurately.”
“That would be better. That’s plenty of range, and you don’t have to pack a lot of extra equipment, which would probably be too large, too cumbersome anyway. And you’d have more control.”
“Right. So here’s what I’m thinking: the four ends of the crucifixes could be ground down to sharp points. That way, when they hit him, they’ll stick—unless none of the four points make contact, which is highly unlikely, or unless his hide is incredibly thick, which is entirely possible. Or he could be just a spirit and they’ll sail right through. That’s why I’ll have the holy water for backup. It doesn’t need to penetrate.”
“The crucifix thing makes sense. We can do that. But the holy water. It’s in little bottles with caps on them. When the bottle hits, the water won’t get on him. Which means you’d have to take the caps off first, but you might not have time for that. Even if you do, a lot of the water will leak out by the time it gets to the target.”
“Absolutely. So I need to get the water into something that will explode on impact, like a percussion grenade.”
“A percussion grenade is exactly what you need. Somehow we’d have to get the water inside of it.” He considered the problem for a moment. “I can come up with something,” he said. “Let me work on it.”
“Work fast, Joe. Today’s the 12th. The moment of truth is supposedly coming on the 21st. I need to head down sometime before that. We have no idea how far I might have to hike, but I’ve got to allow at least a couple days.”
“I’ll start today. You don’t need me on the water any more.”
“Good. Can you take care of grinding the crucifixes?”
“Yes. Which gives me another idea.”
“What’s that?”
“The shavings could be turned into bullets. Silver bullets. They’re supposed to have some power over evil, right?”
“Yes. Especially ones made from this silver.”
“I can make the bullets and get you a pistol to put them in. Fully automatic. One pull of the trigger empties the magazine.”
“That would be good,” Zeke said. “You could melt down some of the other crucifixes if you needed to, so I’d have more than one magazine.”
“Consider it done.”
“I’m glad you’re on my team, Joe. I’m curious. Why did you get into munitions?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Friends of mine were dying from terrorist attacks all over the place. Innocent, good people. Women, children. People who had never hurt a soul. I decided that, when I got out of the Navy, I was going to be involved in Israel’s war on terror. When Mordecai told me you were digging for Hell, I was doubtful. I still am. But if there really is a Satan, it seems like he’d be the ultimate terrorist.”
“That’s how I’m looking at it. He’s the ultimate trigger man.”
“And you can’t just sit back and wait for the enemy to discharge his weapon. You’ve got to fight fire with fire. I used that expression so much in the Navy they started calling me the Fireman.”
“That’s good to know. Because we’ve got one hell of a fire to put out. Pun intended.” The barest hint of a smile made its way onto Dayagi’s handsome
face. “You’re a good man, Joe.”
Dayagi shrugged. “I’m not sure about that, but I do like taking out bad guys.”
“That puts you on the side of good.”
“It lets me look at myself in the mirror.”
“I know the feeling.” Zeke stuck out his hand. Dayagi’s handshake was firm and dry. “I’ll get with you this evening,” Zeke said. “See where we stand.”
Dayagi went back to the coffee station for a refill and Zeke rejoined Mordecai, who was making notes at the large workstation on the far side of the room. “Where were we?” Zeke said.
“Talking about setting up a supply depot. I’m a making a list of what you’ll need.”
“Let’s do it.”
Mordecai merely nodded.
There was nothing more to be said.
The final decision had been made.
CHAPTER 64
The next five days were a whirlwind of preparations for Zeke’s final descent, with Mordecai the calm overseeing eye at its center. While every piece of equipment was being tested and re-tested, a team of divers continuously shuttled supplies until a stockpile providing for every conceivable contingency awaited at the entrance to the downward section of tunnel. Mordecai had been adamant about the necessity of every item, knowing full well that most of them would never get used. Only one detail remained before Zeke headed down tomorrow morning: delivery of his arsenal. He sat alone in the War Room, waiting for Joe Dayagi. Dayagi had been gone since his meeting with Zeke, scouring Israel to procure the items he needed to convert the relics into weapons.
Today was the 17th. Monday. The solstice was Friday. He’d start as early as possible tomorrow, but still…That left four days to hike a trail that, for all he knew, could go to the center of the Earth. And no matter how efficiently he packed, he wouldn’t be able to carry enough food to last much longer than that…
He sipped his coffee and picked at a pastry, trying to silence the voice of reason that kept whispering how astronomical the odds against him were. For what seemed like the thousandth time he told himself that this was a mission where logic and common sense didn’t apply. From the moment he’d decided to do this, he’d had to accept that the only way he could succeed was with the help of miracles. He couldn’t start second-guessing that decision now.
It helped that Reese Nolan was arriving today. As much as he’d been against it, now Zeke was glad Leah had talked him into letting Reese come over, “for moral support if nothing else.” He’d take all the moral support he could get for the coming task. And nobody besides Leah could strengthen his spirits more than Reese.
Dayagi came in carrying a large duffel bag. Zeke looked at his watch. Six on the dot.
They met at the long table in the center of the room. Dayagi swung the duffel up onto the table, got himself a coffee, then came back and unzipped the bag to reveal its contents.
“Your arsenal,” he said.
The modified silver crucifixes filled two-thirds of the four-foot-long bag. Zeke gave them a quick admiring glance, but it was the objects filling the rest of the bag that brought a smile to his face. They had consulted on the design, but Zeke had doubted that Dayagi would be able to pull it off.
“Believe it or not,” Dayagi said, “finding just the right size footballs was the hardest part. I had to have them FedExed here from the United States.”
“God bless America,” Zeke said.
Dayagi handed him one.
Zeke curled his hand around the small hard plastic football, getting his fingers into the proper position on the laces.
“Not those real small ones that you can’t control,” Dayagi said, “but not so big that they take up too much space.”
The football fitted comfortably into the palm of Zeke’s hand. About an inch jutted out at each end. “They’re perfect, Joe. Good weight, too. I can get a nice tight spiral with these.”
“I’m counting on that. Centrifugal force from the spinning of the football will make the pins holding the fuze assembly fly outward, so the assembly can slide into position. On impact the firing pin slams into the percussion cap on the detonator and ka-boom.”
“And the holy water is in the middle of all that?”
“Yes. In specially designed breakaway bottles made from a plastic resin. It’s much stronger than the ‘sugar glass’ they use in movies, but still disintegrates easily. Especially with all that explosive. Each bottle holds four ounces, and there are thirty grenades, so that gives you about a gallon of holy water.”
Dayagi unzipped another large compartment on the outside of the bag. “There’s one more thing.” He pulled a pistol out of the pouch. “This is a Para Micro Uzi. It was made especially for Israeli counterrorism forces. Fully automatic. One pull of the trigger will empty the magazine in a couple seconds.”
He pointed to the oversized magazine that extended below the pistol grip. “I’ve used the magazine from the Glock 18 to give you more rounds.” He pulled five more magazines from the pouch and laid them side by side on the table. “Almost two hundred rounds total. Silver bullets from the crucifixes.”
“Great job, Joe. Outstanding. No wonder I haven’t seen you all week.”
Dayagi flashed one of his rare smiles. “I’ve been busy.” He pulled out two more magazines. “These have regular bullets. I thought you might want to use them for target practice, get a feel for the weapon in case you have to use it.”
“Good idea.”
“By the way, total weight on all this is about thirty pounds.”
Zeke did the math. Along with everything else he’d be taking, even packing ultralight and with helium in the aluminum framing of his pack, the effective weight would still be somewhere around fifty pounds. He was maxed out.
“That’s good to know. Listen, I’ve got to start getting ready for tomorrow. I’ll see you before I leave. Thanks again for all your hard work.”
“Can’t send a soldier into battle without the right weapons.”
Zeke walked away thinking that, besides target practice with the gun, he’d like to practice throwing the crucifixes and the footballs, but that was impossible. Hitting targets with the crucifixes would dull their points, and the footballs could only be thrown once. He told himself no amount of practice would be enough, anyway.
Everything that could be done had been done. All that was left was to get himself mentally ready to face the Archenemy of the entire human race.
Alone.
CHAPTER 65
After an early dinner that evening, Zeke and the two people he loved most in the world went upstairs to his room to talk privately. He never said the words, but they all knew he was saying goodbye. All three were trying mightily not to think that it might be for the last time.
Zeke and Leah sat on the bed, using the headboard as a backrest. Reese pulled one of the vinyl armchairs close. Alongside the bed was the duffel bag with the holy arsenal. Zeke had just shown the contents to Reese and left it open. As Reese settled into the chair, a hint of regret tightened his expression.
“What’s the matter?” Zeke asked.
“I struck out on getting you that AA-12 shotgun I was bragging about. I met your weapons guy, Joe. He said he has some pretty good connections in the military, he’d see what he could do, but still. Even if he could get one, I don’t see how by tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Sure. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Zeke smiled. “Listen, I just wanted the three of us to have a little time together before we call it a night. Tomorrow morning will be here real soon, and I’m going to be a little…preoccupied.”
His attempt at gallows humor was smothered by the dark cloud of foreboding spreading through the room. Reese rushed to fill the silence.
“Z-man, I know we’ve been through all this, but you do understand why I keep bringing it back up.”
“I do. And I love you for it. But no.”
“I know. Nobody’s coming down that
tunnel with you. I understand. But we could give you some kind of backup. Something, I don’t know. Hassan wants to, and Leah of course. And that Joe Dayagi is a particularly macho dude.”
“No,” Zeke said, more forcefully than he’d intended. Softening, he went on. “I appreciate it, Reese, from the bottom of my heart, but no. Nobody else is going down there except me. Even if the backup camped out at the top of the tunnel—and that’d be the absolute farthest I’d let anybody come—you’d be too far away to do me any good. There’s just no possible way.”
“We could camp out there,” Leah said. “After you head down the tunnel, you could give us progress reports on the two-way radio to let us know it’s safe, and we could shuttle some supplies in behind you. Set up little relay stations every few hundred yards or so, for when you come back.”
Zeke shook his head wearily but good-naturedly. “You people are stubborn, I’ll give you that. Look, the radio probably won’t work that far underground. But even if it did, the farthest you could set up supplies would be, what? A mile? A half mile? What if the tunnel goes ten miles? Or more? It makes no sense from any angle.”
He caught Reese and Leah exchanging a look that said they’d figure out something.
“Listen,” Zeke said. “Here’s my final word on the subject. I’m leaving here alone tomorrow morning. I will keep you all posted as long as my voice communication holds out. Whatever happens, once I head down that tunnel, what I don’t know won’t hurt me. All I can do is say it one last time: please don’t come down that tunnel after me.”
Reese held out his hand. Zeke and Leah took their cue, each putting a hand on top of his.
“You’re in, you’re out, and nobody gets hurt,” Reese said.
They broke the huddle with a subdued cheer. The silence that settled in its wake churned with emotion. They were all craving eye contact and avoiding it.
Zeke nodded at the sacred arsenal waiting beside the bed and tried to lighten the mood. “Let’s face it. If all of that doesn’t do it, then the only backup that could save me is God Himself.”