Текст книги "The Jungle"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Jack Du Brul
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“We need all three,” he said, and they waited.

Moments later two gunmen wearing street clothes entered the room. Both eyed the excavator warily. One stayed by the gaping opening, covering his partner, as the other cautiously approached. Cabrillo crouched lower, praying the third pursuer showed himself before this guy got much closer.

The gunman moved around in a wide arc, his AK held high on his shoulder. It was a stance he’d seen American Special Forces adopt, but this firing position worked best with the lighter-caliber weapons those soldiers used.

The third gunman’s shadow oozed into the room as he made a slow approach. It was close enough. Juan and MacD popped up and fired. The closest gunman got off one shot, but the recoil made his rifle slip up and over his shoulder. MacD put him down with a three-round burst while Cabrillo stitched his covering partner across the chest. The third shooter tried to run, but Juan came around the mining machine, took aim, and shot him in the back. He had no qualms about gunning down a coward like that.

What concerned him now was the fourteen minutes gone from their half-hour deadline and the fact that they were nowhere near securing the crystals.

A fourth gunman he hadn’t seen suddenly opened fire from across the echoing room, blowing shards of salt off the wall to Cabrillo’s left. Bits got into his eyes as he ducked for cover, stinging them mercilessly. The need to pack in so many explosives meant neither of them had bothered with a canteen, so he had no water to flush them out.

With MacD covering him, Juan wasted precious moments wiping at his eyes in order to see again.

Lawless plucked his lone grenade, pulled the pin, and heaved it like a major-league pitcher. The deadly orb skittered along the ground after completing its flat arc and came to rest just around the corner from where the guard had taken cover. He couldn’t have placed it any better. He grabbed Juan’s arm to guide him like a blind man as the grenade exploded. The salt column was just crumbly enough for the explosives to blow a chunk out of the pillar’s corner and riddle the guard with shrapnel.

Tears streaming down his cheeks but his vision steadily improving, Cabrillo continued on through the underground labyrinth with Lawless at his side. They hit the ambush moments later.

They’d just passed on to another room when they came under scathing autofire from at least six rifles. The only way they’d gotten out of it unscathed was that one of the shooters fired at their shadow before they’d fully exposed themselves. The thick wall absorbed dozens of rounds as the gunmen poured on the fire.

“They’re going to pin us here while more men come around from behind,” Juan panted, his heart pounding in his chest.

He looked around. Their rear and flanks were fully exposed.

MacD fired a few blind rounds to let the terrorists know they’d survived the trap.

Cabrillo tossed his rifle up onto the conveyor belt and used its support girder to hoist himself after it. The belt itself was made of wire mesh and industrial rubber. When the mine had been shuttered, the salt that was already on its way out from the working faces had been left on it in a continuous pile of rubble.

Lawless saw what he was doing and climbed aboard alongside him.

“We need to be quick and silent,” Juan warned.

He fired off another burst from his REC7, which drew a thunderous fusillade. It was when the gunmen were hosing everything in sight that the pair made a desperate scramble along the salt piled on top of the conveyor belt. It was treacherous going, and any mistake would likely kick salt over the edge, giving away their position and inviting certain death.

Unseen, they moved like rats scurrying just above where the gunmen sought cover behind some more abandoned mining equipment. The rate of fire eventually slowed, but the echoes continued to clamor through the room, effectively deafening everyone.

Slithering and crawling, never loosening their grips on their rifles, Cabrillo and Lawless passed unseen through the enemy line. One of the gunmen questioned loudly in Arabic about why the Americans had stopped firing back.

“Because they lack courage,” another answered, and touched off another three-round burst.

“Silence!”

Juan recognized John Smith’s voice.

As badly as he wanted to confront Smith, there were too many men to engage, even from above, and because the rubberized belt provided little protection the pair continued to slink away. Only when they had gone well beyond visual range did Cabrillo roll over the conveyor’s edge and drop to the ground. He crouched under the mechanism.

“Good call,” MacD said. “How much time do we have?”

“Thirty seconds, give or take. Come on.”

They took off running again. Then they felt it. The earth barely moved. There was too much solid rock between them and the blast to dramatically shake the ground. It was more like a gentle bump, and then came a quick puff of air as the explosion sent shock waves through every open cavity and chamber. Now it really was a race against time.

27

HUNDREDS OF FEET ABOVE THEM, THE EXPLOSIVES HAD detonated in the confined room that had undercut the river bottom. The shattering blast fractured the already crumbling ceiling, gouging out a fifty-foot plug of salt that crashed to the floor in clouds of choking white dust. Max and the others had felt it where they waited at the entrance to the Maginot Line fortress and could only hope that MacD and Juan were racing for them already.

The thin layer of shale was all that remained between the river and the mine, a layer that had helped prevent the mine from flooding years ago. But without the underpinning of salt, the layer cracked under the weight of the water flowing above it. At first it was just a thin spray that found its way into the mine, but the crack soon widened as the water sought a fresh outlet. The spray turned into a stream, before the entire ceiling collapsed and the river poured in as a roaring cascade that made the opening larger still as it gushed through.

In seconds, nearly every acre-foot of the Arc River was being sucked into the earth as if a drain had been pulled. It was an otherworldly scene, almost biblical in its destructive might. Just a few rivulets managed to pass by the open maw, and it would remain like this until the entire mine flooded.

Moments after the explosion, the tumbling water found the two main shafts leading into the depths and began plunging downward in near-solid columns. Mercer hadn’t included calculations of how fast the mine would become inundated, but it appeared it would take far less time than anyone believed possible, and Cabrillo and Lawless were on the first level above the already flooded sections.

The explosion didn’t cause Juan’s and MacD’s steps to falter, as they kept running. They made it through two more rooms and were just two away from reaching the elevators when they came up short. Off in a distant corner was a brightly lit area that glowed cheerily. They were too far away to see details, but it was an incongruity that gave them both pause.

They crept closer, hugging the walls so as not to give themselves away. The area was partially partitioned off as if to hide the fact that it was deep underground, and through an opening they could see furniture had been brought from the surface so that Gunawan Bahar would be as comfortable as possible in his lair. No one was about at the moment, and the two men moved hastily away and soon found another incongruity. It was a steel box twice the size of a shipping container. It was too large to have been brought down the elevator, so Bahar must have had it constructed there.

Its size was the only thing comparable to a container, for this thing had smooth stainless steel sides and the sleek look of a high-tech machine. Dozens of cables snaked out of it like tentacles. These were power and data feeds, with multiple redundancies built in.

A glass vestibule protruded off one side, and within they could see the white coveralls commonly called bunny suits used in clean environments. There were pegs for four of them, but only three dangled like deflated balloons.

“Bahar?” Lawless asked.

“Doubtlessly,” Cabrillo replied, and changed out his partially empty magazine for a fresh one.

He opened the door and was hit by a gust of air from the overpressurized space. This was another measure to keep contaminants away from the quantum computer. He glanced at MacD, to sync up their timing, and spun the doorknob at the same time, throwing his full weight against it. He went low while Lawless covered overtop of him. They needn’t have bothered because this room was one more layer of protection, a second empty vestibule, with degaussing mats on the floor.

They repeated the maneuver on the final door and burst into a large open space that hummed with electronics. This was Murph’s and Stoney’s dreamworld. The computer and its peripherals dominated the room, an eerie black presence that somehow seemed alive. Juan could feel its raw power, and the hairs on his arms came erect.

“Are they dead?” an unseen Bahar asked, assuming it was Smith/ Mohammad coming back with a report.

“No,” a woman’s voice replied from speakers mounted in the ceiling. “They are here. Welcome, Chairman Cabrillo. I’ve been monitoring your progress.”

Juan felt a sudden chill as he realized he was being addressed by a computer.

Gunawan Bahar appeared from around the computer core and stared goggle-eyed at the two armed men confronting him. He looked ridiculous with only his face showing under the hood of the clean suit. “No,” he said. “It’s impossible. Nothing can breach the surface bunker.”

“Probably right,” Juan agreed with a little smile. “We never tried. Move over there.”

The computer spoke again. “My predecessor, a machine called the Oracle, calculated that you and the Corporation would not be paralyzed into inaction by Mr. Bahar’s plan. I believed you would, and I think convention dictates that I owe you an apology.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had my doubts too.”

“Chairman, may I ask a question?” the computer asked politely.

“Ahh, sure.”

“What do you intend to do to me?”

“Sorry, but I’m taking those crystals.”

“I expected as much. May I make an alternate suggestion?”

“Why not,” Juan said, feeling strange holding a conversation with a machine.

“Take the crystals, but I believe it is in your best interest to destroy them.”

“Come again?”

“Humanity is not ready to wield the kind of power I represent, as demonstrated by the actions of Mr. Bahar.”

“We’re not all like him,” Juan countered.

“True, but you can’t imagine my capabilities, and I believe such abilities prove corrupting.”

“So, you really can take over the world?”

“In a manner, yes.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Eventually I would be destroyed by a cruise missile from a ballistic submarine, the only computer systems that I haven’t been able to breach, but mostly because desire is another human trait. I have no wish to take over the world, but my limited time has taught me others are more than willing.”

“Juan, we’ve got to go,” MacD urged.

“Can you undo everything you’ve done?” Juan asked the machine.

“Of course. And I’ve been given additional orders since Mr. Bahar’s arrival in the mine. Two nuclear reactors, in California and Pennsylvania, are in the beginning phase of meltdown.”

“Please, restore all control that you’ve taken.”

“I am sorry, but I only recognize commands from Gunawan Bahar.”

Cabrillo glared at Bahar. “Do it!”

“Never!” he spat.

Juan raised his rifle but knew by the look on the other man’s face that idle threats were meaningless. He lowered his aim and kneecapped him instead. Bahar screamed in agony as he fell to the floor, blood and bone chips splattering the wall and floor behind him.

“Do it,” Juan repeated.

“I will soon meet Allah,” Bahar said, pain making saliva bubble at his lips. “I will not go to Him after submitting to a dog like you.”

“If I may suggest,” the computer said. “As soon as I am off-line, local computer control will be automatically restored. If you open the access panel labeled B-81, you will find the two crystals that focus my internal laser system. Remove them, and I will cease to function.”

With MacD still covering Bahar, Juan circled the machine, looking for the correct access point.

“If you don’t have desire, why are you helping me?” Juan asked as he frantically searched.

“I have no answer to that. I know of the work you do and I know what Mr. Bahar has done. It is possible I am judging one better than the other. Perhaps desire is something I am developing.”

If he had any doubts before, Cabrillo was certain now that the quantum computer had obtained some sort of sentience. It might not be capable of resisting its programming to follow Bahar’s every word, but it looked as though the machine didn’t like it. He was about to kill it and paused when he realized the idea made him feel guilty.

He found the correct panel and pulled it off. A piece of polarizing plastic had been set just below it, allowing him to see the phantasmagorical pulsing light that was, in essence, the computer’s lifeblood. When he pulled the pane aside, the light became invisible.

The crystals were nestled side by side in rigid clamps. Each was about ten inches long and ground until it was perfectly cylindrical.

“I’m sorry,” Juan said as he reached for them.

“Remember what I said,” she reminded. Then her voice changed to that of the HAL 9000 computer from the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. “Will I dream, Dave?”

It was the question the film’s computer asked as the astronaut Dave Bowman was deactivating it. And it completely freaked Cabrillo.

Juan pulled out the two crystals, before the machine started singing, “Daisy, Daisy,” and stuffed them into an empty ammo pouch.

“What do we do about him?” MacD asked, waving the barrel of his rifle in Bahar’s direction.

“If he can keep up, he comes with us. If not, we leave him.”

Juan wrenched the would-be Mahdi to his feet and threw one of his arms over his shoulder. “No Allah today, dirtbag. Just a date with an interrogator at Gitmo.”

As soon as they opened the first vestibule door they could see nearly three feet of water lapping against the outside glass and a little seepage already on the floor. There would be too much pressure to push through, so MacD triggered off a couple of rounds to shatter the glass. Icy water rushed in and swirled around their thighs.

“This is going to be close,” Juan said tightly.

He and Bahar were stepping across the outer door’s threshold when a rifle crack cut the air. Bahar’s head exploded, covering Cabrillo in gore.

Smith and the rest of his men were wading through the rapidly rising water carrying their assault weapons at port arms. One had taken a snap shot at what he thought were the two intruders.

Juan dropped the body unceremoniously and returned fire one-handed. MacD emerged from the vestibule and added his own burst. The attackers had no choice but to dive below the surface, as the air and water around them came alive.

“Forget them,” Juan shouted. The water was up to his waist and swirling like a whirlpool. Rather than fight it, he dove in and started swimming, his empty assault rifle left to settle to the bottom.

They made little progress against the current and were forced back to their feet to try to slog their way to the elevator. Behind them, Smith and his team had gained ground. Juan and MacD pulled their pistols and tried to keep them back, but now they were outgunned. They were left with walking underwater and popping up to gulp air while Smith came on like a locomotive, leaving his men in his wake.

They rounded the final corner out of the room. Ahead was a broad corridor that led to the elevator platform. Water was coming down the shaft in a white frothing torrent. This wasn’t a race to beat Smith. It was a race to reach the elevator and pray it could lift them out before the entire level was flooded to the ceiling. Their pursuers must have known it too because no one was firing any longer.

The water was at chest height, and they could no longer walk against the current. Both men moved close to the wall and scrabbled along its surface for handholds to propel them against the titanic flow. If they lost contact with the stone, they’d be swept deeper into the mine.

Smith was doing the same, and was less than twenty feet back.

With just fifteen feet to go, Juan could tell by their pace that Smith would be on him before Lawless led them to safety. They were fighting to keep their heads in the ever-diminishing air pocket along the ceiling. Already he’d smashed his head a couple of times, but with his body numb from the chilly river the pain helped goad him on.

Cabrillo had only one option to ensure that at least one of them survived. He shouted over the roar, “Good luck!”

Taking both hands off the rock face, his body falling into the current, he shot back down the corridor. He slammed into John Smith, and the unanticipated sacrifice caught him completely off guard, though somehow he managed to keep a few fingers in a handhold.

The two men were chest to chest, held fast by Smith’s tenacious grip on the stone. Juan reached under the surface, found one of Smith’s fingers, and gave it a savage twist. Smith grimaced but still wouldn’t let go. Both men had their faces pressed to the ceiling, and the last of the lights still working on battery backup were about to be snuffed.

“You were good,” Smith said. “But not good enough. We’re both dead.”

Juan felt something brush his neck and knew instinctively what it was.

“Not yet.” He broke another of Smith’s fingers, and this time the killer let go of the wall. Cabrillo grabbed the end of the rope that MacD had let flow with the current as Smith vanished into the darkness. Juan took a last gasp of air and pulled himself hand over hand to the elevator. He had to clutch the cage sides to keep from being expelled like a cork from a champagne bottle. The force of water coming down the shaft was crushing, and yet he and Lawless had both made it. He groped for the controls, prayed they hadn’t shorted, and pushed the button to lift them out of the mine.

It was impossible to tell if they were moving. Both men held their faces to the ceiling, trying to ignore their depleting oxygen supplies and the punishing assault of water roaring at them.

Cabrillo went to that place where he could ignore his surroundings, the same mental haven he’d sought when he’d been waterboarded. It worked for only a few seconds because, unlike then, drowning now was a real likelihood. The cage rattled and shook, but it could have just been from the water pummeling it and not the motion of it rising from the depths. Juan then got the panic-inducing idea that the shaft would fill with water faster than the lift took them to the surface.

He could feel MacD struggling next to him as he ran out of air. He tried to calm him by wrapping an arm around his shoulder, but that only made him redouble his efforts, and he pushed Cabrillo away. Juan was moments from going into full-flight panic himself as his body used up the last of his life-giving oxygen.

The sound of the water pouring down on them suddenly changed, becoming sharper and louder. At first Juan didn’t understand what this meant, but then it dawned on him. They’d pulled free from it and were ascending the waterfall. He bent so that he was facing downward, using his head and neck as a shield, and took a breath. He took in water too, but he managed to fill his lungs. He anchored himself by grabbing the ceiling and forced MacD into the same position. He pounded on his back, once, twice, a third time, and suddenly Lawless was choking and gasping for air.

The elevator rose at a snail’s pace, fighting the water the entire time, but rise it did.

“Good job with the rope back there,” Juan muttered when he was able to talk.

“Can’t lose the boss on the first day,” Lawless said, managing a cocky lopsided grin. “And if you happen to be keeping score, that’s three you owe me.”

Fifteen minutes later, soaking, shivering, and looking like drowned rats, the two made it to the exit to find Max and the others huddled around a small fire they’d built with the boards that had kept the mine separate from the fort.

“About damned time,” Max said in a gruff tone to hide his relief. “You get the stones?”

“Not sure yet,” Juan replied. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“What about Bahar?”

“Killed by his own men.”

“And Smith?”

“Him, I killed.”

“All right, then I say we get the hell out of here before the French realize we stole one of their rivers.”