Hunt at The Well Of Eternity

Chapter 23

Now that he had familiarized himself with the mechanism, Gabriel didn’t have to climb all the way back into the hole. He lit the Zippo again and set it down on the stone surface, then reached in with one arm extended. He was able to reach the end of the stone rod with his fingertips. He felt his fingers brush against the links of the metal chain, saw the shadows shift as the counterweights swung. With a glance first at Cierra, then Mariella, and then General Fargo, he gave a nod, then gently lifted the rod.

He felt the counterweights activate.

A rumbling sound came from within the wall as the mechanism began rotating the heavy door on its axis.

Gabriel heard the guards shouting as they noticed what was happening. “Stand back!” one of them yelled. “What are you doing in there?”

“We’re not doing anything!” Fargo called back. “It just started opening on its own!”

The door was no longer flush with the wall on the inside of the chamber. Gabriel leaped up, caught hold of the upper edge of the door, and hung there as it continued its ponderous movement. When there was room, he pulled himself up, hooked a leg over the top of the door, and rolled onto it. The door was two feet thick and a good ten feet tall. If they had looked up, the guards might have been able to see Gabriel stretched out on top of it, but all their attention was focused on the other prisoners as they advanced into the chamber, brandishing their guns.

Of course, only two of the guards came in; the third stayed outside. It would have been best if all three had come in, but Gabriel hadn’t expected that—professionals knew better.

The man still outside the door said, “I’m going to call Podnem’vitch on the radio and tell him something funny’s going on here!”

Gabriel knew they couldn’t let that happen. He pushed up onto his hands and knees and then dived off the door, landing on the two guards inside the chamber.

His arms went around their necks and slammed their heads together as the impact of his weight drove them forward. The satisfying crack of bone against bone told him that they wouldn’t be waking up for a while.

But the third guard was still out there and had to be dealt with quickly. Before Gabriel could move, though, a big figure leaped over him and the two men he had knocked out. Boone crashed into the remaining guard just as the man jerked the trigger on his gun.

Boone’s body muffled the automatic weapon’s chatter. The sergeant’s momentum bore the guard over backward. The man’s head hit the edge of one of the stone steps with a crack, and the gun fell silent.

Boone rolled off the man. The burst of gunfire had ripped his midsection to pieces. His shirt was soaked with blood. He pressed his hands to his belly to hold in his ruined guts as one of the female prisoners rushed forward and threw herself on him, sobbing. That would be Virginia, Gabriel thought as he stood up.

Fargo moved to comfort the woman, Mariella coming after him. Boone’s eyes flickered open. “Did I…get him, Gen’ral?”

“You certainly did, Sergeant,” Fargo told him. “That was exemplary behavior. Exemplary, Seth.”

“Thanks…Gen’ral.” He glanced down at himself. “I reckon I could…drink up the whole well…and it wouldn’t help me none…even if the water still worked…oh, Virginia…”

His wife threw her arms around him again as his final breath drained from his body.

Gabriel picked up the weapons Esparza’s men had dropped. He handed one of them to Fargo, saying, “You know how to use one of these, General?”

“Looks to have a trigger,” Fargo said. “I think I can figure it out.”

Cierra stepped forward and held out her hand. “Give me one, Gabriel. I certainly know how to use it.”

She certainly did. Gabriel handed over the weapon.

“Your men must have had some firearms—your old pistols or rifles, if nothing else,” he said to Fargo. “Do you know what Esparza’s men did with them after he forced you to surrender?”

One of Fargo’s crew spoke up. “I saw them takin’ the guns into the infirmary, General.”

“They probably won’t waste much effort guarding old weapons like that,” Gabriel said. “Especially with the lot of you all safely locked up. But I’ll bet you could do some damage with them if you got your hands on them again.”

“Damned right we could,” another man said. “That old muzzle-loader of mine is the sweetest rifle I ever held.”

“Well, they make ‘em sweeter today,” Gabriel said, “but it’ll have to do.”

One of the women stepped forward. “I’ll go with Matthew. The two of us, we’ll get the guns.”

“It’ll take more than two,” another woman said. “Count me in.” And a man beside her stepped forward as well.

Was it bravery, or just that they had nothing to lose now that all the long years were about to come crashing down on them? A little of both, Gabriel thought. And did it matter more of which?

“Any of you that want to fight are welcome,” he said. “Any that don’t, that’s fine, too. Just keep out of the way.” He nodded toward the stairs that led up to the rest of the palace. “The general, Dr. Almanzar, and I will lead the way, since we’re already armed. Join in when you can. Use any weapons you can find.”

As they started up the steps, Cierra moved closer to Gabriel and took hold of his arm. “Against machine guns?” she whispered. “This is suicide. We’re leading these people to their deaths.”

“And ours?” Gabriel said. “Let’s hope not.”

When they reached the top of the stairs, Gabriel scouted the shadowy ground floor while the others waited. Voices led him to the terraced steps outside. Seven or eight of Esparza’s men were sitting there smoking and passing a bottle back and forth.

Just past them he saw one of the machine guns. It had been lugged up the steps and set up in front of the palace entrance so that it covered the triangular area between the temple pyramids. If the people of Cuchatlán could get control of that gun, the odds against them would look a lot better…

Gabriel drifted back through the shadows to the others. He explained the situation to them. “If we can rush them and take them without a lot of commotion, we’ll have that fifty caliber on our side and still have the element of surprise with us.”

“I’ll do it,” Fargo said. He pointed to half a dozen men who swiftly assembled in a circle around him. The men armed themselves with makeshift bludgeons, chunks of broken rock they picked up from the floor as they went. Following close behind Fargo and Gabriel, darting from pillar to pillar, they approached the terraced steps and came up behind Esparza’s men.

The moon was rising over the mountains now, flooding the valley with silvery light. Pausing just inside the arched entrance to the palace, Gabriel and Fargo looked at each other and exchanged a nod. Then Fargo raised an arm and swiftly swung it down, signaling his men to charge.

Gabriel and the general were in the lead as they rushed out. Esparza’s men were talking and laughing among themselves, and they didn’t hear the slap of hurrying feet on stone until it was too late. Gabriel swung the butt of the automatic weapon in his hand and crashed it into the back of a man’s head. The others struck right behind him. Esparza’s men fell under the unexpected attack, slumping to the steps one by one.

Now the prisoners had eight more automatic weapons—and the machine gun. Gabriel moved among the men, quickly demonstrating how to use the weapons. He picked out a couple of men to handle the machine gun. It would have been helpful if they could have practiced with the weapons before having to use them, but you couldn’t ask for everything.

He found the man who had seen where the rifles had been taken and said, “Take some of the men and get to that infirmary. Arm yourselves and spread out, but stay out of sight until the shooting starts. Then pick off as many of Esparza’s men as you can.” He turned to the machine gunners. “You can see Esparza’s camp over by that pyramid from here. When all hell breaks loose, hose it down good.”

The men looked to Fargo for confirmation of the orders. The general nodded. “All of you do as Mr. Hunt says. I believe he has the makings of a good field officer.”

Gabriel grinned. “I don’t know about that. There are too many rules in the army for me.”

“Only ever been one rule that counts in any army,” Fargo said. “Win your battles.”

Once the other group had stolen off into the shadows, Gabriel, Fargo, and the rest of the former prisoners made their way toward a ring of portable lights Esparza had set up around the Well.

“General Jackson was a master of splitting his forces at the proper time,” Fargo said in a low voice. “I hope that works out here as well.”

“We talking about Stonewall Jackson?” Gabriel said.

“Some called him that,” Fargo said. After a moment, he asked, “Are we going to give Esparza an opportunity to surrender?”

“Absolutely not,” Mariella said. “He should be shot on sight. He doesn’t deserve any better.”

“I’m a soldier, my dear, not a murderer,” the general said. “If Esparza is willing to order his men to throw down their arms, we will accept his surrender.”

Gabriel suspected it was a moot argument—Esparza wasn’t going to throw down his arms.

They were too close for talking now. Gabriel and Fargo used hand signals to tell the people of Cuchatlán to spread out. The men armed with the machine pistols were posted at intervals along the line. The others had only the chunks of rock they had brought with them from the ruined palace, but those rocks could be deadly enough at close quarters, as they’d already demonstrated back on the steps.

After motioning for Cierra and Mariella to stay with them, Gabriel and Fargo looked at each other and exchanged a nod. They stepped up to the edge of the big circle of light cast around the Well of Eternity by the bright, generator-powered lights that had been set up.

For the first few seconds no one noticed them. That gave Gabriel a chance to take in the scene. A thick hose extended down into the Well and was attached to a pump. Hoses led from the pump to several metal barrels that were being filled by Esparza’s men. Esparza, Podnemovitch, and the turncoat Hector stood beside the pump, watching the operation.

This was not a man to content himself with turning samples over to scientists—he was pumping water out by the barrelful, as fast as it would come. Mariella had said that the people of Cuchatlán had pack mules that had been trained to cross the rope bridge. Esparza had to be planning to pack the water barrels out by mule and then take them to wherever he had left his trucks. From there they could be taken back to Mexico City, where he could do with it as he pleased: analyze some, sell the rest, always setting enough aside, of course, to keep Esparza himself alive for centuries. That would be the plan anyway. What a laugh, when he discovered that, with the water’s diminished potency, all these many barrels wouldn’t buy him more than a few extra weeks or months of youth at most.

So why not let him take it? Because he’d surely kill the people of Cuchatlán before he left, and destroy the valley—and because there was always a chance, however slim, that his scientists would find a way to restore the water’s potency. His were simply too dangerous a pair of hands to leave that power in.

Gabriel raised his voice and called out: “Esparza!”

Podnemovitch reacted first, spinning around and reaching for the revolver holstered on his hip. He stopped, with his lips twisting in a snarl, as he saw the guns aimed at him from every direction.

Esparza turned more deliberately. He glared at Gabriel and said, “Is there no end to your troublemaking, Hunt?”

“This is the end, sir,” Fargo said, his deep voice booming. “I call upon you and your men to lay down your arms and cease hostilities. If you do, there will be no more killing.”

“You think I fear a bunch of creaky old men?” Esparza shook his head. “You possessed the power toremake the world, and what did you do with it? Nothing! You hid here at the end of the earth like cowards!”

“We lived the lives we chose,” Fargo replied, still holding his head high, his expression a model of pride and dignity.

“You disgust me,” Esparza said. “Power is to be used, or it is nothing.”

“Should we kill them, Vladimir?” Podnemovitch asked. The fact that Gabriel and the others had the drop on him and his allies seemed to mean nothing to him.

Esparza hesitated. If he gave the order to shoot, his men would open fire. But Esparza himself might be caught in the crossfire. He didn’t want that.

Gabriel saw the doubt in the man’s eyes and tried to tip the balance. If he thought there was no longer anything to fight for, he might be more inclined to surrender.

“Have you ever asked yourself, Esparza,” Gabriel said, “why everyone in Cuchatlán is starting to look so old?”

“They are old, Hunt. They’re the oldest people on the planet.”

“But they didn’t used to look this old, Esparza. That’s new. They explained it to me. The Well is wearing out. Its power is fading. The water doesn’t work anymore.”

Esparza’s eyes widened as the implications of Gabriel’s words soaked in. His head jerked toward Hector, and he snarled a curse.

“Did you know this, you worm?” Esparza said. “Is it true?”

Hector stammered, “I…I don’t know…”

“You led me down here for nothing!”

Hector held his hands up and started to back away, saying, “No, señor, no! I…I swear, the water still has its power—”

Esparza yanked a knife from the sheath at his belt and shouted, “Kill them, Alexei! Kill them all!” as he lunged at Hector and plunged the blade into the traitor’s belly. Hector screamed as the knife sank deep into his flesh.

“Fire!” Podnemovitch bellowed. He palmed out his revolver with one hand and reached behind his back with the other. That hand came into view holding Gabriel’s Peacemaker. Both guns spurted flame.

Gabriel dropped to a knee and squeezed off a burst from the machine pistol he held. Fargo and the other men were shooting now, as was Cierra. So were Esparza’s men. The night air, which just moments earlier had been so peaceful, was filled with the sudden thundering of guns and the whizzing of bullets. Up at the top of the palace steps, the machine gun kicked in as well, sending slugs ripping through the camp Esparza’s men had set up.

Podnemovitch rolled away from Gabriel’s shots. The slugs stitched into the water barrels instead as Podnemovitch took cover behind them. Water began to spurt from the holes.

Esparza shouted in fury as he saw the water splashing on the ground—perhaps, Gabriel thought, he hadn’t entirely accepted that the water had lost its power. Esparza jerked his pistol from the holster at his waist and fired at Gabriel and Fargo, forcing them to veer apart so that the bullets passed between them.

Fargo’s gun jammed. He threw it aside, and at that moment one of his men came running up and held something out to him.

“General! We found it in the hut with the guns!”

Fargo wrapped his hand around the hilt of a cavalry saber. A smile appeared on his weathered old face. “My good friend,” he said, and Gabriel wasn’t sure if he was talking to the man who had brought him the saber—or to the blade itself.

With a chilling Rebel yell, Fargo lifted the saber and charged through the chaos toward Esparza.

Gabriel, meanwhile, went after Podnemovitch. Like Fargo, he’d already emptied his pistol, so he charged bodily into the barrels, sending them crashing against the Russian. Podnemovitch yelled as the barrels tumbled around him, knocking him over and dashing the guns from his fists.

Gabriel bounded over one of the barrels and tackled Podnemovitch as the man tried to get up. They rolled over and Gabriel realized they were just inches from the lip of the well. Podnemovitch wound up on top, and he managed to get his hands around Gabriel’s neck.

“Here we are again,” the Russian said, breathing heavily. “Just like in New York. I seem forever to be strangling you, Hunt. But this time—” he said, squeezing viciously “—I am going…to make it…stick.”

Gabriel had the fingers of one hand inside Podnemovitch’s grip, and that was the only thing that had kept the Russian from crushing his larynx—so far.

The faces of the two men were only inches apart as the desperate struggle continued. Between gritted teeth, Podnemovitch said, “Do you want to know how my shoulder healed so fast after you bayoneted me, Hunt? Do you?” A harsh laugh came from him. “I drank the water that dog Hector brought to Mexico City! The water does work. I will live forever, you fool!”

Gabriel had been gathering his strength while Podnemovitch gloated. Now he acted, using all the power in his rangy body to arch himself up from the flagstones and plant a knee in Podnemovitch’s belly. At the same time, he grabbed the collar of the Russian’s shirt and heaved as hard as he could. With a startled yell, Podnemovitch went up and over Gabriel’s head…

And into the Well of Eternity.

Gabriel rolled over onto his belly and gasped for breath as he heard the huge splash from the bottom of the well. He didn’t know how deep it was, but with its smooth, slimy sides, Podnemovitch wouldn’t be able to climb out. Unless—

Gabriel raced to the pump, struggled to detach the suction mechanism leading down into the Well. From far below, he heard Podnemovitch grab hold and slowly begin an ascent. He was climbing the hose.

“I’ll kill you, Hunt,” came the Russian’s voice, echoing from deep within the Well.

Gabriel wrestled with the end of the hose that was connected to the pump, trying to unlatch it. The thing was firmly attached, and Podnemovitch’s weight was making it impossible to loosen it.

“It won’t take me long to climb out,” the Russian taunted, “and when I do, I will kill you most painfully.” And indeed his voice was louder, closer than it had been. It wouldn’t take him long.

Gabriel searched the ground for anything he might be able to use. He saw a knife lying half in shadow and snatched it up, began using it to saw away at the hose. The damn thing was too thick to cut quickly.

“Just fifteen feet, Hunt,” the Russian jeered. Then: “Fourteen.”

Gabriel swept sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand while he kept sawing with the other. The surface of the hose was finally showing signs of stress as he ran the blade furiously across it, back and forth, pressing hard with each stroke. The material was starting to part, to separate, and as it did, the pressure of the water inside helped drive the cut open wider.

“Just five more feet, you son of a bitch,” Podnemovitch called.

Then the hose split, with a popping sound. Water went gushing everywhere, and Gabriel heard the big Russian fall once more, bellowing as he plunged. The severed hose whipped through the air, then dropped into the Well.

“Now try to climb out,” Gabriel muttered. “You son of a bitch.”

Gabriel heard another sound, a quieter cry of pain, and turned. A few yards away, General Fargo was struggling with Esparza. The general had hold of Esparza’s right wrist and was straining to keep the man’s gun aimed away from him; at the same time, Esparza was twisting Fargo’s right wrist so that the general couldn’t use his cavalry saber. It was a stalemate…but one that Esparza was slowly winning. It was Fargo who’d let out the whimper of pain that Gabriel had heard.

Suddenly, with a wrenching twist, Esparza jerked his gun hand free and swung the pistol toward Fargo. The muzzle was almost touching the general’s chest when flame spurted from it. Fargo rocked back as the bullet drove into his body.

“Granville!” Mariella screamed and ran toward him.

Fargo dropped his sword as he collapsed. Mariella scooped it up and slashed at Esparza, driving him back. He howled in pain as the blade cut across his face, laying his cheek open to the bone. Cursing, Esparza swung his gun around and fired twice, hitting Mariella both times in the chest. She staggered and fell, collapsing next to Fargo.

Gabriel surged to his feet and started for Esparza. He didn’t have a gun, just the knife, but at the moment he didn’t particularly care. He was prepared to kill the man with his bare hands if necessary.

Esparza fired again. The bullet ripped along Gabriel’s side, spinning him around and dropping him to his knees. The wound wasn’t bad—he could breathe, he didn’t think he was bleeding too badly. But it had stopped him, and now Esparza had drawn a bead on him for a finishing shot.

Before Esparza could pull the trigger, though, Cierra let go with a burst of fire that chewed up the ground around his feet. Esparza turned and dashed away into the darkness.

Gabriel struggled to his feet, one hand clamped to his wounded side, aware that the shooting was dying out around him. He saw bodies scattered around the plaza, some Esparza’s men, others wearing the rustic clothes of the Cuchatlán dwellers. He also saw the living, the few who remained standing. And those, thank God, included none of Esparza’s men.

Gabriel saw Fargo’s saber lying on the ground next to the general and Mariella. He picked it up, pausing just long enough to confirm the worst: Both of them were dead.

Before dying, Mariella had managed to reach out and take Fargo’s hand. They lay there together, hands clasped in death, just like in their wedding photograph.

“Gabriel!” Cierra cried as he started toward the jungle. “What are you doing?”

He glanced back at her, saw that she appeared to be all right, and said, “Going after Esparza.”

Then, clutching the saber, he ran in the direction Esparza had fled.