Synbat

Chapter 23

Giannini watched in fascination as Riley poured the gooey mixture into the PVC pipe he held between his knees and waited until it settled a foot short of the end.

"Will that stuff explode?" she asked.

Riley nodded as he took a large wok and pressed it down into the center of the mixture, creating a concave depression. "Fifteen pounds of fertilizer to a half gallon of gas. Guaranteed to ruin your day. Before I became an officer and a gentleman, my specialty in Special Forces was engineering — or demolitions, depending on whether we were building something or tearing it down. You'd be amazed how relatively easy it is to make expedient demolitions if you know what you're doing and are willing to scavenge." He held the pan in place for a few minutes until the mixture kept its form. "The caps we stole from the construction site will set it off." He pulled out the pan and placed the pipe next to the seven others he'd already made. "They'll be hardened by the time we get to the target."

He glanced over at Merrit, who was standing at the window to the front of the abandoned warehouse, staring aimlessly out into the street. Riley met Giannini's gaze, and she lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. He'd told her about Merrit's actions in the lair and Giannini had agreed that the woman had crossed the line away from sanity. But she'd also had to agree with his realization that they could use Merrit's help since she was the only Synbat expert.

"Let's get moving," Giannini said. "We can put them in my car."

The two of them loaded the charges and then hustled Merrit into the backseat. Giannini started the engine and they headed out.

On the southern end of the main post of Fort Campbell is an area known as Old Clarksville Base. Surrounded by a one-lane tar road and a rusting fence, it presently contained the headquarters for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment and, nestled in one corner, the post's ammunition storage facility.

Decades ago, though, Old Clarksville Base had served another purpose; it was a nuclear weapons storage facility. Massive bunkers were built into the sides of ridges throughout the area, along with numerous concrete pillboxes that had once held marine guards. Plant life now camouflaged the structures.

Sergeant Major Powers had the lights of his pickup truck pointed at the front of one of the abandoned bunkers. He worked swiftly, unlocking the massive padlock that secured the iron bar on the front of the bunker doors. The rusted metal protested as he slid back the bar. The large door swung open with a groan.

Powers pulled a mag light from his fatigue pocket and shone it around the interior. If Colonel Hossey found out about the existence of this cache, Powers knew that the old man wouldn't hesitate a moment before busting his ass to Leavenworth. Upon first arriving at Fort Campbell a year and a half ago, Powers had inherited the cache from a retiring sergeant major with whom he had served in Vietnam. It was knowledge he would have preferred to have been without, but now it was paying dividends.

Powers spotted what he needed. He tore open the crate of C-4 plastic explosive and took out the white packets. He rapidly retraced his steps and relocked the bunker, then hopped into his truck and drove away.

"How are we going to get all this to where it needs to go?" Giannini wanted to know as she peered through the windshield.

"Same way the Synbats moved what they wanted to move," Riley replied.

Giannini pointed to the police barriers blocking off the street and the large, darkened van sitting near the small tent that covered the entrance to the manhole. "How are we going to get it in there?"

"We're going to carry it," Riley replied with a smile.

"Aren't they going to see us?" Giannini asked.

"Who? Lewis's men? They got their asses so far up their computer screens, they aren't bothering to look outside. That would be like real work. No problem — we can do it."

"Why don't you just go to Lewis with this plan?" Giannini asked. "Seems like it's something they'd like — get rid of their problem in one fell swoop."

"I could," Riley admitted. "And they most likely would like it. But they also might dick around with it too long. We have to go tonight. Tomorrow's Monday and this place will be crawling with people, even at night. I can't take the chance of Lewis calling Trollers and having one of their damn conferences to discuss it. We have to end this now."

"What about the men watching the lair?" Merrit asked suddenly, surprising both of them.

"No problem. Doc Seay and the other six members of my team, and the three DIA men — they'll clear the tunnel by 0200 tomorrow morning." Riley looked at his watch in the glow of the streetlights. "That means we've got five hours to move all this stuff, get it set, and clear out before the shit hits the fan." Riley stepped out of the car. The two women opened their doors and got out.

"I'll help," Merrit said. "I'll go with you."

Riley pulled out the first charge. "Why don't you just stay up here and keep watch?"

"No," Merrit insisted. "I can help."

Riley shook his head. "I don't think you should — "

"Hey," Giannini growled, a charge on her shoulder. "Let's stop jawing and do it."

Riley grabbed a second charge and handed it to Merrit. "Follow me."

Sergeant Major Powers was whistling as the headlights of the pickup truck guided him through the Tennessee countryside. By the dim glow of the dashboard, he could see the miscellaneous pile of supplies on the passenger seat. He smiled. There were several large bags of incendiary mix that he had worked up prior to picking up the C-4. Three parts flour and one part aluminum shavings, the mixture sat next to the more lethal concoction of C-4 and blasting caps. It'd be an ugly scene if he had an accident right now.

It had been a long time since Powers had to work out a problem like this, and he was enjoying the challenge. The repercussions would come tomorrow. Tonight was action, and action was the fuel that Powers ran on.

As he turned up Route 139, Powers's time sense slowed down and he mentally prepared himself for the night's events. After thirty years in the army and Special Forces, it wasn't hard. His smile grew wider.

"How much farther?" Giannini asked as she pulled at the front end of the battered shopping cart.

"Another four hundred meters," Riley answered.

They'd turned the cart sideways and dropped it down from the sewer level to the freight tunnel level, then carefully lowered all eight pipes by rope before going down themselves. For more than an hour now they'd been moving due north. They had taped flashlights to the front of the cart, and the glow extended about twenty feet ahead. Giannini and Merrit were on either side of the lights, pulling, as Riley pushed from the rear. It was hard going, since the small wheels would get stuck in the mud or suddenly spin around, causing the cart to tip from side to side. Anxiety would rise as the cart threatened to tip over and spill its volatile contents.

Riley's eyes flickered about, searching. The three were making enough noise to alert any Synbat within a half mile. The light was also a dead giveaway, but he had access to only one set of night vision goggles and they'd never make it in time with Merrit and Giannini stumbling around blindly in the dark. His M16 rested in front of the cart in the child's seat and his pistol was snug in its shoulder holster. Giannini had discarded her jacket, and a rather large Colt Python was riding under her left arm.

"How we doing for time?" Giannini asked.

Riley glanced at his watch. "We're just a little behind."

The DIA guard had been pulling the ten to six graveyard shift for the last three days; the novelty had worn thin within two hours of the first shift. The entire building had been stripped bare and all the equipment and supplies piled up in the main foyer. They were due to be picked up tomorrow morning and taken away.

The guard leaned back in his chair and flipped the page on the paperback he'd started the first night. As his eyes registered the first word something flickered across his line of sight. He started forward, but a cloth tightened around his mouth and he reflexively sucked in a large breath. He was unconscious within five seconds.

Like taking candy from a baby, Sergeant Major Powers thought as he grabbed the guard by his armpits and dragged him out of the building and across the parking lot. Powers tied him to one of the light poles and blindfolded him for good measure. He figured the guard would be out for at least six hours, but Powers didn't believe in taking chances.

Powers recovered his pickup from its hiding spot a quarter mile down the road and drove it up to the lab, parked next to the front door, and began unloading his equipment.

The tunnel began descending slightly and the air grew increasingly damp. Small droplets of condensation plopped off the ceiling onto the floor, forming a small rivulet of water. Riley kept them going until the tunnel began rising slightly. "This is it."

Merrit looked around. "You're sure we're under the river?"

Riley nodded. "Pace count and direction add up. We just went down about five extra feet, and I'd say it's pretty damn damp in here."

"Now what?" Giannini asked. "You know what to do?"

"You think I'd take you all the way down here and not know what to do?" Riley asked as he lifted the first pipe out of the cart.

"Hey, I've seen stupider things done," Giannini replied as she pulled out her revolver and ripped the tape off one of the flashlights. "I'll cover the way we came."

Riley paused and handed Merrit his pistol. "Take the other light and cover in that direction."

Riley pulled a mini-mag light off his vest and clenched it between his teeth as he worked on the first pipe. He carefully took a nonelectric fuse and wrapped a length of detonating cord eight times around it, then he placed it inside the small opening on the base of the pipe and pressed it into the ammonium nitrate-gasoline mixture. Using normal TNT as a blast factor of one, this mixture had an effectiveness of only.42 — thus Riley's insistence on using a larger amount than his calculations told him would do the job.

Finished with the first pipe, Riley placed it back in the cart, fuse end facing down, concave end up. He carefully threaded the det cord through the blood-stained grate at the bottom of the cart and coiled it, keeping it out of the water on the floor. He did the same to all eight pipes. Then he tied all eight fuses along another length of det cord, and left the last piece dangling.

When he was done, he tied a large flat cake pan, layered with a half inch of explosive, about a foot below the bottom of the cart. He primed the charge with another fuse and det cord.

Giannini would occasionally glance over her shoulder and watch Riley work, his hands expertly twisting the explosive rope into knots and handling the fragile detonators. She searched for something humorous to lighten the mood a little and then gave up, focusing on the dark corridor that stretched up and out of sight.

Riley stood slowly and held both pieces of firing cord in his hands. "I'm ready to wire this up to the ignitors."

"Why two?" Giannini asked.

"You always have a dual firing system." He held up the piece of det cord tied into the pipes. "This is the primary. It should set off all eight pipes at once. If that fails," he held up the other cord, "then this one is set to go off five minutes later. It blows the explosive on the pan below the pipes. That explosion ought to be enough to initiate the fuses in the pipes."

"Then what?" Merrit asked, diverting her attention for the first time.

Riley pointed at the pipes. "Those are called shaped charges. I don't know exactly how it works, but the concave shape on the top of the charge focuses the blast."

"Don't you have to put it against whatever it's going to blow up?" Merrit asked.

"No. You need stand off for the blast to focus." He looked up at the pitted ceiling. "I don't know how thick the concrete up there is, but it can't be more than a few feet. There's a layer of dirt on top of that, and then the river. There's enough explosive here to go through at least five feet of reinforced concrete — and this stuff isn't reinforced — and about ten feet of dirt. It will do the job."

"Let's stop talking and get out of here," Giannini suggested.

Riley looked at his watch. "It's almost two. Seay will be moving his people out in a couple of minutes. I'm going to wait until then to hook this up to the ignitor."

Doc Seay and the other six members of ODA 682 stood up and moved out of their defensive positions as the second hand swept by the twelve, marking the hour.

"Let's get out of here," Seay ordered.

When the DIA agent in charge started to protest, Seay shrugged. "You can stay here and die, or you can go to the surface with us. It's your choice."

"What do you mean 'stay here and die'?" the DIA man asked.

"Stay here and find out," Seay replied cryptically as he and his men set off down the tunnel. The three DIA men looked at each other briefly and then quickly set out behind the Special Forces soldiers.

Powers placed the bags of mixture throughout the first floor of the building, taking special notice of the equipment stacked in the main foyer, particularly the computers. Next to each bag he placed a small charge of C-4. He primed it with a blasting cap and linked them together with detonating cord. Then he ran the det cord back to the front door and hooked it into a radio-controlled fuse ignitor.

The C-4 would explode the aluminum and flour mixture, which would blow out, causing a total vacuum on the inside of the building. Air pressure on the outside of the building would implode the structure, effectively destroying everything inside. Powers would have preferred to simply blow up the building, scattering it over the countryside, but the amount of C-4 required to do that was more than had been available in the bunker. The expedient dust initiator mixture would have to serve.

Powers used the guard's key to descend to the lower level and do the same thing, hooking the charges into another remote fuse ignitor on the same frequency as the one above. He took the elevator back up and made his way out of the building.

Riley finally used the last two items they had laboriously carried here — two small lockboxes with timers inside. He hooked the det cord from the tubes into the fuse ignitor on the bottom timer, then connected the one from the backup system. He looked up at Merrit and Giannini, who had gathered in close.

"My watch reads 0205," he said. "Seay's clearing the tunnel and will be out in thirty minutes. It will take us about forty to get out." He moved the hour hand on the tube clock back to eleven. "I'm setting the primary to blow in one hour." He moved the backup to 10:55. "The backup goes off in an hour and five if the primary doesn't blow. You all ready to move out?"

Both women nodded.

Riley pulled a pack of four double-A batteries from his pocket and tore off the plastic cover. He pushed two batteries into the backup clock, and the second hand started moving. Then he pushed two batteries into the primary clock, and immediately pressed buttons on his wristwatch, setting the stopwatch for one hour. He placed each clock into a lockbox, then locked them shut with two keys. He handed the keys to Giannini. "You take these."

"What do we need them for? I don't even understand why we're locking the damn things."

"I'm locking them because if there's a one-in-a-hundred chance that the Synbats come across this setup, I don't want them messing with the ignitors."

"They could just pull out the wires," she noted.

"They could," Riley agreed. "But there's only so much you can do. We've got fifty-nine minutes. Let's roll."

They set off down the tunnel, Riley in the lead, Merrit in the middle, and Giannini bringing up the rear.

Powers sat in the cab of his pickup truck and looked at the lights glowing in the foyer of the building. He reached into the cooler between the two seats, pulled out a soda, and popped the top. He took a deep draft, swished it around, and then swallowed. After a brief pause, he belched.

He pulled the handset for the remote fuse ignitor out of his parka pocket and leaned it on the steering wheel next to the soda, then took another long drink.

"Let's see if the master can still whip up a good dust initiator," he said to himself as his forefinger played with the power button on the control. He flipped it on. There was a bright flash inside the foyer, then nothing happened for a millisecond. The windows in the buildings suddenly imploded with a whooshing sound as everything was sucked into the vacuum caused by the blast. Another brief pause and the ceiling collapsed with a thunderous crash.

When the air cleared, the mission had been accomplished. The only thing they'd be trucking out of Biotech the following morning was a load of debris.

Powers put away the control and slowly drove off, steering with one hand as he continued to drink his soda in celebration, looking forward to the cold brew waiting back at Fort Campbell.

They were more than halfway back to the manhole, Riley in the lead, holding the flashlight with his right hand under the hand guards of the M16. His left forefinger was on the trigger as the light played over the walls, left to right, forward, and then back, in a continuous pattern. Behind him, Merrit stumbled along, exhausted, holding his pistol. In the rear, Giannini crabbed sideways, flashlight in one hand pointing back, revolver in the other. There had been no conversation since leaving the demolition site; each person was lost in thought or trying to tune into the hostile environment that enveloped them.

They hit one of countless cross tunnels, and Riley quickly scanned left and right, then unerringly continued straight on, due south. The walls seemed closer now and more forbidding. The darkness beyond the feeble reach of the flashlights was absolute.

Another cross corridor and Riley stepped out into the intersection. Taking a quick glance left, he swung to check right, and as he moved, a Synbat slammed into him from that side at full charge. Large, sinewy arms wrapped around him and he immediately dropped both weapon and flashlight to fight for his life, trying to keep the fangs from closing on his neck.

Directly behind, the second Synbat ignored the greater threat of Giannini and her pistol — its eyes focusing on Merrit. It leapt over the struggling forms of Riley and the first Synbat and landed on the doctor, slamming her to the ground. Merrit screamed as fangs tore through her shirt and into her stomach. Giannini swung her light around, pistol locked on the two figures struggling in the center of the beam.

"Get out of the way!" she yelled at Merrit.

Riley's left forearm was levered against the Synbat's throat. Saliva splashed on his face from the fangs just above him. He could feel distant pain as the Synbat swung at him with its powerful hands. He slammed his right fist into the creature's gut, with no apparent effect.

The second Synbat looked up as Giannini took a good firing stance, flashlight locked with her free hand under the barrel of the pistol. The clear shot disappeared as Merrit reached up and wrapped both arms around the Synbat.

"Let go!" Giannini shouted.

But Merrit held on as the Synbat reached down and twisted her head, breaking her neck. Giannini fired three times; two of the magnum slugs hit the Synbat, killing it.

The shots echoed in Riley's ears as the Synbat on top of him bit down on his shoulder. He heard, rather than felt, bone snap. The Synbat rolled, pulling Riley on top of him as a shield.

"Shoot!" Riley screamed as the Synbat's head dipped for a second attempt at his neck. He swung his right arm outside the Synbat's grip and jabbed his rigid fingers directly into the creature's face. The creature howled as three of Riley's fingers pierced its right eye. Riley felt the bones snap in those fingers as the Synbat reared back, and then it was gone.

Giannini fired her three remaining shots as the creature sprinted away into the darkness. She immediately knelt, snapped open the cylinder, dropping the empty casings to the floor, and slammed a speed loader against the empty holes. She stood and shone the light back down the corridor. "I think I hit it."

Riley forced himself to a sitting position, his back against the wall, feeling the bones in his right shoulder grate together. "How's Merrit?" he gasped.

Giannini backed up and knelt next to the doctor. "Dead. Neck broken. I told her to get out of the way, and instead she grabs the damn thing."

"She wanted to die," Riley said, breathing heavily.

"What?"

"We kill these — and if Powers destroys the lab — the only link to making the Synbats is her. She knew that. Now she's gone too."

Giannini shook her head and played the light over Riley. "Shit, you're a mess. Can you move?"

"Think so," Riley said, gritting his teeth. He grabbed her outstretched hand and started to get to his feet when his left knee suddenly buckled. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "I didn't feel that get hurt." He reached down and tenderly felt around. "It isn't broken. Must have strained something when the Synbat jumped me."

"Here, I'll give you a hand." Giannini helped him to his feet and then wrapped his left arm over her shoulder. "Can you walk like this?"

They took a few tentative steps forward, Riley placing most of his weight on her whenever his left foot came forward. "Yeah."

They started moving. "But if another Synbat shows up, we're gonna be dessert," Giannini commented.

"We killed one. One's wounded. That leaves only one healthy Synbat, and I think it will stay with the young," Riley said. "But if we don't get out of here soon, we'll have more to worry about than the Synbats."

"What the hell are you doing up here?" Lewis demanded, staring at the group of men clustered around the manhole.

"We're waiting for Mister Riley, sir," Doc Seay replied.

"Why aren't you at your positions?" Lewis asked.

"Because they were no longer tenable, sir."

"What?" Lewis asked incredulously.

"They were no longer tenable, sir." Seay looked at his watch. "As a matter of fact, the whole tunnel system is going to become untenable in a few minutes."

Lewis stared at Seay and sorted through his military mumble-jumble. His eyes grew wide. "Where's Riley?" He looked around at the gathered figures. "What's he doing?"

"He's blowing a hole in the roof of the tunnel where it crosses under the Chicago River," Seay said.

Lewis's mouth dropped open as he realized the implications.

Seay didn't add that he was getting increasingly worried about Riley and the two women. They were late.

The primary clock flicked to twelve and the electrical impulse fired a charge, which ignited the det cord. The det cord didn't burn — it exploded, initiating all eight fuses simultaneously. The fuses set off the gasoline-ammonium mixture from bottom to top, causing the force of the explosion to focus on the roof of the freight tunnel.

Riley had been quite modest in his claims. A car-sized hole instantly appeared in the roof of the tunnel, the force of the blast easily carrying through the concrete into the soil above. The hole grew smaller and smaller until it punched through into the bottom of the Chicago River. There the force of the man-made explosion finally lost its power to that of Mother Nature. The pressure reversed and the water came in.

A dull rumble sounded through the tunnels. Giannini paused; Riley stumbled and almost fell. "What was that?"

"You know what it was," Riley said.

"How fast will the water come in?" she asked as they continued on.

"I don't know."

"How far do we have to go?"

"I don't know," Riley said. "Just follow the arrows we painted."

"Fuck," Riley cursed as he stumbled and fell, taking Giannini down with him. "I'm feeling light-headed. I think I'm losing too much blood from my shoulder."

"Your shoulder?" Giannini asked. She shined the light on him, pulled aside the torn cloth, and gasped as she saw the mangled flesh. Blood had soaked his entire side. As she lowered the light she could see that the dark stain reached all the way to his boots. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we didn't have time and I thought I could make it," Riley whispered, closing his eyes and trying to get control of his spinning brain. He'd felt this before, on the chopper flying out of China after being shot. He knew that he was minutes from passing out.

"Go on without me," he said.

"Bullshit," Giannini replied as she fumbled with his combat vest, looking for a bandage. She found one in his first-aid pouch and pressed it on his shoulder. A hiss of pain escaped his teeth.

Only an occasional car passed over the Kinzie Street bridge at this hour, and in the dark its occupants wouldn't have noticed that in the water to the south of the bridge a whirlpool had formed. Swirling, it sucked down small pieces of debris from the surface of the river and bore them down twenty feet to the hole in the river bottom. The water was gushing into the hole at a rate of more than 100,000 gallons per minute. The freight tunnel under the river was completely flooded and the water was searching outward, north and south, east and west, the level lowering as the number of tunnels increased. But there was no end to the water that could come. All of Lake Michigan waited to flow into the river and then into the tunnels, until every last square foot of space below river level was full.

"Come on, let's go," Giannini urged, pulling on Riley's left arm.

He pushed up on his good leg. "All right." The two set off down the tunnel. There was a low, constant roar sounding through its length, yet no water had appeared. Above the roar came another sound — a riveting howl.

"What was that?" Giannini asked.

"A Synbat," Riley replied.

"Where?" she asked, the flashlight in her free hand jumping about, searching around them.

"Not close to us," Riley replied. "I think it got wet feet and is trying to figure out how to get all those little ones out. Let's hope it doesn't succeed."

They continued on, Riley closing his mind to everything but taking one step forward, and then another. Giannini's hand was sweaty on the flashlight. She felt uncomfortable not holding her gun, but they needed the light to find their way out. She spotted another of the bright red arrows they'd painted on the wall on the way in. The entrance couldn't be too far now. Another intersection beckoned.

She was startled by the roar as the water caught them from behind, knocking them off their feet. Losing her grip on Riley and almost dropping the flashlight, she struggled to her feet against the water swirling about at thigh level. There was no sign of Riley.

"Shit!" she cursed as she plunged her hand under the water, feeling around. Nothing. She stuck the flashlight in her belt and used both hands, flailing about in the water, searching. Something brushed her left hand and she grabbed hold. Gripping with both hands, she pulled Riley up, sputtering and hacking. His eyes held no sign of recognition.

"Don't lose it on me now," she pleaded. She pulled out the flashlight and pointed the way ahead. The water was dark and oily-looking with floating debris. It wrapped around her upper thighs like a cold, slimy blanket. "Come on!" she exhorted Riley, trying to get him moving. She could feel the water slowly creeping higher as she moved.

Seay took one more look at his watch and slung his M16 over his shoulder. "Let's go," he ordered, swinging his feet into the hole leading down. The rest of ODA 682 followed without question, leaving Colonel Lewis and his DIA men to contemplate the dark opening.

Seay clambered down to the sewer and quickly made his way to the opening leading to the freight tunnels. Shining his light down, he could see water in the chamber below. "Trovinsky, you come with me. The rest of you stay up here and be prepared to do some hauling to get us back up."

The other five members of the team formed a human anchor point for the rope as Seay and then Trovinsky rappeled down. The water was waist high when their feet finally found purchase on the floor.

Seay immediately headed to the left, due north, pushing his way through the water.

The water was up to Giannini's chest, and they were barely making progress. Riley was a sodden weight on her arm, his legs moving slowly under the water. He'd bled through the bandage she'd put on his shoulder, and blood floated out behind them on the scummy water.

"Go on without me," he whispered.

"So, there's life in there after all" was her only comment.

"You aren't going to make it with me, and you don't have much time," Riley insisted.

"It isn't much farther," she grunted, leaning forward into the water. "I wish you hadn't been so good at your demolition job," she added. "A smaller hole might have done just as well."

"Haven't heard the Synbats since that howl," Riley muttered weakly. "I think we got them."

"I think we got us," Giannini retorted. A swell of water broke against her face and she sputtered as some got into her mouth. "Shit, do you have any idea what kind of crud is in the Chicago River? If we don't drown we'll die of hepatitis."

They reached another intersection. She stopped for a second, leaning Riley against the cable pylons on the side, and stepped up on one of the pipes, peering ahead. No sign of where they were. The arrows were all underwater by now. She had no idea which way to go.

She reached down and grabbed the back of Riley's vest to keep his head above water. He was losing consciousness. She took another step up on the stanchion holding the cables in place. The water was five and a half feet deep, leaving only a foot and a half of space below the concave ceiling.

"Come on, Riley. Don't give up on me now." She felt the strain on her arm as the water tried to drag away his body. "Give me a little help here, bud," she exhorted. Riley's good hand reached under the water and gripped her belt, fingers curling up. "That's it," Giannini said as she looked anxiously about. "That's it." She slid her feet along the pipes, another foot closer to the exit, however far away it was.

A light flickered to her left. "Down here!" she screamed, firing her revolver into the water for emphasis. Two men, only their heads visible above the water, turned the nearest corner.

"We'll get you!" Doc Seay called out as he led the way. He swam up and grabbed hold of Riley.

"He's hurt bad," Giannini gasped.

"Let's get out of here," Seay yelled. Trovinsky gave a hand to the exhausted woman. Seay hooked his arm under Riley's chin and breaststroked his way back to the opening, only one turn away, where the rope was waiting.

Three stories down and two blocks east of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, in a side tunnel of the freight system, the bodies of eleven baby Synbats and an adult with an injured eye floated listlessly in the pitch black waters. Under the Mercantile Exchange itself, a boarded-up entryway for the freight system was the watery grave of the one uninjured adult. She'd made it there, hours previously, fighting the water, a baby cradled under each arm.

Her hands were bloody where she'd pried at the boards closing off the tunnel from the building's subbasement. Her left arm was jammed into the small opening she'd created, fixed there by the pressure of a jet of dank water pouring into the hole. She'd squeezed the two babies through the hole before succumbing to the water.

As the morning wore on in buildings throughout the Loop, people were slowly discovering the rising tide of river water in the basements. The water rose over the power cables, and electricity started going out; by midmorning the power company was forced to shut off service to the entire area affected by the flood. No one knew where all the water had come from, until someone noticed the whirlpool in the Chicago River just south of the Kinzie Street bridge. Even then, no one was sure how the water was getting from there into the buildings.