by Peter Hernon
No luck. The long sleeves of their jumpsuits covered their wrists. With their headlamps on again, Elizabeth couldn’t tell who was wearing the watch.
But he was here. Close to her.
She wanted to scream. It took every ounce of her frayed self-control to keep the look of anger and fear off her face. He was sitting within a few feet of her, a few inches.
“We better move out,” Murray said. They were on Level 11. He explained that they were going to ascend the skip shaft about two hundred feet to Level 9. Moving back into the coal tunnel on that level, they’d try to see if the air shaft or man shaft was still open so they could climb up to Level 8, where the elevator cage waited for them.
They had to keep going at all costs.
Murray warned them it was likely they’d encounter smoke—possibly fire.
“Loop the air masks around your neck so you can get them on fast in an emergency,” he advised. They headed down the tunnel to the skip shaft. Murray checked his gas meter. The carbon monoxide levels were rising. So was the methane, which had climbed to 6.3 percent.
“This keeps up, we’re going to have another explosion,” he said grimly. “It’s just a matter of time.”
They started up the skip shaft. Elizabeth hung back so she could whisper a few words to Atkins. “He’s here,” she said softly. “The man who stole my laptop.”
The words startled him. They were totally unexpected. Atkins said, “Who is it?” He knew it couldn’t be Booker or Murray. There were only two possibilities, Weston or Wren.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I saw his wristwatch when we turned off our lamps. I recognized the luminous dial from that night. It was the only thing I got a look at. I remember seeing a blur of something green. I didn’t realize it was a watch until a few seconds ago in the dark.”
“What did it look like?” Atkins asked, trying to keep his voice down.
Elizabeth described the watch.
“Get ready to take another look,” he said. “I’m going to try something.” He shouted to Murray up at the head of the line.
“Hey, Doc. Can we turn off the headlamps again? Just for a few seconds. I’d like to have one more try with the face mask. I don’t have it down yet.”
“Make it quick,” Murray said.
Atkins noted where Weston and Wren were in the shaft. They all switched off the lamps on their hard hats. Instantly, the blackness swallowed them up, obliterated their presence.
Atkins waited, straining to see. Then he glimpsed the watch. It was just ahead of him, a green, oval-shaped dial. He wanted to reach for it, grab it, but held back.
The man with the watch had his arms extended, bracing himself on the narrow walls of the shaft.
“I’ve got it now, thanks,” Atkins said, calling out to Murray. Everyone turned their headlamps back on.
Ever since Elizabeth had told him what had happened, Atkins was sure it had to be either Weston or Marshal.
The man with the watch was the soft-spoken geologist, Mark Wren.
ATKINS and Elizabeth both got a clearer look at the wristwatch as Wren kept his hands pressed against the sides of the skip shaft. Atkins was struck by the man’s daunting coolness. During the descent into the mine, he’d spoken several times to Elizabeth, had helped her pick up her gear, offered his hand to her in some of the more difficult places. He’d given no indication anything was wrong, not the slightest hint.
It was a bravura performance, Atkins thought. But the question remained: Why was he taking such a risk? He already had the computer. What else did he want? Surely he had to figure there was a remote chance she might recognize him. It didn’t make sense. Was he that sure of himself, that brazen? If so, he was more dangerous than either of them could have imagined.
They’d climbed about a hundred feet up the skip shaft and were nearly to Level 10 when another explosion ripped through the heart of the mine. The walls and floor shuddered. The deafening blast was much louder than before. Its concussive force knocked them down. Rock and powder fell on them. There was a cave-in somewhere far below them. They heard the shaft collapse.
“That’s got to be another methane explosion,” Murray said, getting back on his feet.
Fire curtains were drawn to each side of the opening to the mine tunnel on Level 10.
Murray, who was in the lead, saw it first, a ball of white fire rolling down the tunnel, spreading out through the other tunnels and crosscuts as it headed toward the skip shaft.
Murray pulled the fire curtains together. “Come on, fast!” he yelled. “We’ve got to get up the shaft before we’re fried.”
They tried to run, but their heavy air tanks and the other equipment weighed them down, and it was impossible to stand up in the low, steep tunnel. Hunched over, they were strung out. Murray was in front, followed by Neutron and Booker. The robot was carrying Murray’s forty-pound foam canister as well as the one that had belonged to Walt Jacobs.
Weston was the last to make it past the Level 10 opening. A tongue of flame obliterated the thick plastic fire curtains, roaring into the shaft right behind him.
Wren, the next in line, was forced to drop back. In his haste to get away from the heat, he threw himself against Elizabeth, driving her into Atkins. They rolled and slid down the shaft nearly all the way to Level 11.
Stopping his own tumbling fall. Wren got to his feet and faced the flames. He shouted up to Murray, but the roaring fire drowned out his words. Backing down the shaft, he joined Elizabeth and Atkins at the entrance to the tunnel on Level 11.
Atkins confronted him. “If we get out of this, I’m going to make sure you’re charged with theft. You can tell the cops why you wanted Elizabeth’s computer.” He knew he should have held off, waited until they were out of danger, but he couldn’t help himself. He was too angry.
Wren didn’t look in the least surprised or shaken, but his entire demeanor changed. The soft-spoken geologist, ever deferential to Weston and his superiors, spoke with bullet hardness.
“I wondered if you’d ever figure out it was me,” he said, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got another problem to deal with here, don’t we? We need to talk about the dam at Kentucky Lake and what you saw there. Those incredible cracks. I sure haven’t forgotten them. I doubt you have either. Weston says you told him you’d seen them. That was very indiscreet, Doctor Atkins. And Doctor Holleran makes several references to them in notes she typed in her laptop. Did you know it was Weston’s idea I steal your computer? I wish I’d thought of it myself. There’s some very interesting information stored in zipped files on your hard drive.”
He put his right hand in the pocket of his coveralls and took out a pistol.
Atkins recognized the automatic. It had belonged to Walt Jacobs. He’d lost sight of it after Jacobs had jumped to his death.
“I know,” Wren said. “First Jacobs pulls a gun on Doctor Booker, and now it’s my turn. Frankly, I wasn’t planning on using a pistol. Didn’t think I’d need one in a place like this where there are so many ways to get killed.” Wren looked at his watch. “We’ve got one hour, forty minutes, and counting until blastoff. Turns out maybe it was a lucky break we got separated from the others. Gives us a chance to work all this out in private. In a minute, I’m going back up that shaft with your extra foam tanks and see if I can get by that blowtorch up there. You won’t need yours anymore, and I wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”
Atkins carried one of the two forty-pound foam sprayers they’d brought into the mine.
Wren raised the pistol. He was less than five feet from Atkins. The stubby barrel was pointed at his chest. Staring at the black hole in the muzzle, Atkins felt helpless, unable to move. He and Elizabeth unstrapped their tanks and set them down.
THE weather had slowly improved. The thick clouds and gray overcast had broken up. As the morning slipped into afternoon, the sun started to shine again.
Ross found himself checking his watch every few minutes. Fighting continued in isola
ted pockets, but, for the most part, the Army had brought it under control. Despite nightmarish logistical problems, the evacuations were proceeding. Troops were out in the country, escorting thousands of people out of the danger zone. Some of the convoys were a mile long.
Steve Draper quickly chilled even this meager dose of good news. He’d just gotten a radio message from the mine.
“They’ve got trouble down there, sir. There’s been a fire. The flames have separated the group.”
“Where are they right now?” Ross asked. Draper had drawn a rough map of the mine to follow their progress. He pointed out the probable locations.
“Some of them are huddled in the skip shaft right about here,” he said, pointing to the map. “Just above Level 10. They’ve had a methane explosion down there. The fires are still burning. Three others are trapped on one of the lower levels.”
“Who is it?” the president asked.
“Atkins, Elizabeth Holleran, and the geologist from the Seismic Commission, Mark Wren.” Draper’s voice was husky. He knew the odds.
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Nothing, sir,” Draper said, shaking his head. “Doc Murray says they’re going to lay down some foam and see if they can get through the fire and reach them.”
“I don’t know if they should risk that,” Ross said slowly. For all anyone knew, Atkins and the others were already dead. It might be a fatal mistake to go looking for them. The more prudent course, Ross thought, would be for the survivors to keep looking for an escape route. The brutal truth was they were running out of time. The bomb was scheduled to detonate in about an hour and a half.
Ross stared hard at the ground, hands clasped behind his back. “How do they propose getting through the fire to look for Atkins?”
Draper smiled. He couldn’t help it, even at such a moment. “They’re sending down Neutron.”
WREN took a step toward Elizabeth, who’d been holding her hands behind her back. She threw a fistful of rock and coal dust in his face.
Staggering backward, rubbing his eyes with a gloved hand. Wren started shooting. He fired blindly, the gunshots echoing off the walls.
Atkins grabbed Elizabeth. They ran down the tunnel and turned left into a crosscut. A large picnic table was there, along with a few wooden storage boxes and hand tools. Atkins had noticed similar places during the descent. Murray had explained they were rest stations, where the miners ate lunch, took their breaks, drank coffee.
A long crowbar lay in the dust next to the table. Atkins picked it up. Nearly seven feet long with a pointed end, it was like the one Murray had carried. He couldn’t believe his luck. It wasn’t much, but at least he had something in his hands to fight with.
They turned a corner and entered another tunnel. It was lined on both sides with room-and-pillar cuts, black holes that looked like the eye sockets of a skull. They turned off their lamps and in the dark heard a noise, boots on gravel. Wren was coming after them.
“I want you to stay here. Keep your light out,” Atkins whispered.
“Forget it,” Elizabeth answered. “I’m coming with you.”
Groping their way down the tunnel in the dark, they came to another crosscut. Atkins knew they couldn’t afford to play hide-and-seek for long. They might get lost, and besides, there wasn’t time. Every second mattered.
“John, I’m happy as hell to leave you two in peace down here,” Wren said, his voice booming out in the darkness. “I’m going to end this foolishness and head back to the skip shaft. Maybe I can get past that fire up on the next level and join the others. Wish me luck.”
“We’ve got to follow him,” Atkins told Elizabeth. “If we’re going to get out of this, we’ll need those extinguishers.”
Using their headlamps, switching them on seconds at a time, they made their way back to the main tunnel. They saw Wren’s light about fifty yards in front of them, swaying from side to side. He was running.
“Maybe we can get in front of him,” Atkins said. They ran down another tunnel, slowing at every crosscut.
Atkins was sure Wren could hear them. Their footsteps were loud on the hard, tamped-down rock of the tunnel floor. Gunfire suddenly exploded in front of them. Three shots. Something stung Atkins’ right forearm just below the elbow. He’d been hit. He couldn’t tell if it was a bullet or a rock fragment. He felt a stab of pain when he moved his arm.
He pushed Elizabeth down behind one of the pillars that supported the roof.
They turned off their headlamps.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” Wren said. “Let’s settle this quickly. Doctor Weston will breathe a lot easier if he knows you’re dead. The fact is he’s hoping I’ll get killed, too, so he can blame those cracks at the dam on my negligence. He’ll say I was taking payoffs, not doing the regular inspections. The very thing he’s guilty of himself.”
Atkins heard Wren’s footsteps as he came closer to their hiding place. Before they’d turned off their headlamps, he’d noticed a pattern of large cracks extending across the roof of the tunnel. It wouldn’t take much for the whole thing to cave in, another good tremor. He remembered how Murray had chipped away at the roof with a crowbar. A few light taps had caused an entire section to collapse.
Atkins gripped the crowbar in both hands and hefted it. His arm burned and was starting to stiffen up.
Do it near the rib, where the roof and wall meet, he told himself, recalling what Murray had said.
He peered around the pillar and saw the light from Wren’s helmet coming toward him, moving in rhythm to his footsteps.
“Frankly, if I were you, I’d have waited for the bomb to go off,” Wren said. “You won’t feel a thing. You’ll just turn into gas, probably some form of hydrocarbon. You should have stayed hidden. Now I’ve got to shoot you.”
BOOKER made the last adjustments on Neutron’s control panel. The robot was armed with Murray’s forty-pound canister of fire-fighting foam and the twenty-pound canister that Jacobs had carried.
“You’re sure that thing’s fireproof?” Murray asked.
“He’ll roll right through it,” Booker said. “The trick will be getting him down the skip shaft. It’s hard to gauge distances by remote control. I don’t want him to pitch forward. Then we’d be in trouble.”
Booker, Murray, and Weston were crouched in the skip shaft thirty yards up from the fire that was still pouring out of the main tunnel on Level 10. They’d managed to climb up as far as Level 9. The tunnel was partially smoke filled, but there was no sign of an active fire. A few yards beyond that point, another cave-in had blocked the shaft.
Murray was sure another fire was burning somewhere else in the mine. The rock that blocked the skip shaft was warm to the touch.
They had their emergency air tanks turned on. Their masks were fitted with transistor-sized radio receivers and speakers that allowed them to talk to each other.
Weston wasn’t saying much. He was preoccupied with worries. He knew what Wren had in mind for Atkins and Elizabeth. They’d discussed it in detail before they made their descent into the mine. If the two raised any questions about the cracks that had opened up in the dam at Kentucky Lake before the big quake, there might be serious trouble. One thing might lead to another, all of it bad. He’d read enough of Elizabeth’s computer files to know she’d written extensive notes on what she’d seen at the dam.
He also recalled Atkins’ veiled threat about the cracks a few days earlier. Weston thought Atkins was feeling him out, trying to see how he’d react.
Fortunately, he’d kept no records of the money he’d received during the last six years from a contractor who’d done routine maintenance on the dam. He’d allowed the contractor to pad his bills, not much, just a few percentage points here and there, but over time it added up to nearly $2 million. There was no paper trail, and the work hadn’t had any bearing on the disaster. No dam in the world could have withstood an 8.4 quake. And yet if an inquiry began, it could ultimately lead right to his
door. He had to downplay the seriousness of those cracks when they first appeared.
In a sense, the disaster was a godsend. It had washed away the evidence. All he needed to say about the cracks was the truth, at least part of it, that they’d tried to have them repaired before the earthquake struck. An evacuation order might have started a panic. They’d done everything they could, but a horrendous act of nature had doomed their efforts.
The key was to make sure Atkins and Elizabeth Holleran never talked. And if everything went extremely well, maybe Wren would also die down there. Wren and Stan Marshal had both received kickbacks from the contractor. Marshal had panicked and tried to kill Atkins and Elizabeth Holleran by blowing them up during those seismic reflection tests. It was crude, stupid, and careless. Badly frightened, Marshal would keep his mouth shut, but Wren was another matter. The man was quite capable of asking for more money. Weston knew it was only a matter of time before he’d have to deal with him.
All things considered, this could work out splendidly. He just needed to survive.
“How much time do we have?” Weston asked.
“About an hour and a half,” Murray said.
With Booker operating the controls, the robot slowly started to descend the steep incline of the skip shaft, clasping the heavy canisters of foam with its clawed “man extenders.” It was briefly lost to view as it rolled through the flames and smoke that continued to dart out of the tunnel on Level 10. Booker glimpsed the robot’s orange helmet through the swirling smoke. Then, suddenly, it reemerged from the inferno.
Outfitted with its television monitor, audio receiver, and powerful spotlights. Neutron gave Booker a clear image of its progress down the shaft.
“It’s coming up on the entrance to Level 11,” he said. “There’s some smoke down there, but it doesn’t look too bad.” He carefully guided Neutron out of the shaft and into the coal tunnel.
Watching the television monitor, he saw a miner’s headlamp burning far down the tunnel. It seemed to be moving.
Then he heard what sounded like small explosions. Three of them. The sound was clear, unmistakable.