The Devil Colony

Chapter 27

May 31, 6:11 P.M.

Arizona desert

Kai clung to the rope with both hands as the sled under her was lowered from the hovering helicopter. Dust billowed up from below; winds from the roaring rotors whipped all around. She stared down as the top of the mesa rose up toward her, a dizzying view made worse by desert thermal gusts buffeting the sling.

"We're almost there," Jordan said.

He shared the aluminum swing with her. Both his eyes were blackened from the gun butt to his face, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. He kept one hand on the rope, too, but he had his other arm around her shoulders. She had never been a fan of heights-and was even less so now.

But at last, soldiers on the ground caught their sled and roughly unloaded them. Kai stood on shaky legs, glad to find Jordan's arm still around her. At gunpoint, they were led to the chute she'd seen on the video screen earlier. It was a steep descent, but they had no choice.

Reaching the bottom of the chasm revealed a transformed space. A score of soldiers bustled about. Equipment and crates, several broken open, littered the space. Somewhere a drill was grinding into stone. She couldn't figure out what was happening. In the middle of the chaos, she spotted a familiar figure.

Rafael Saint Germaine leaned on his cane, standing over a hole in the ground. She was pushed toward him from behind. He noted her approach.

"Ah, there you two are. Looks like we're all in attendance now."

A shape emerged from the hole, thick with black body armor and wearing a bulky helmet. Still, even without seeing his face, Kai knew it was the blond giant named Bern. When he did look up, she saw that his face was streaming with sweat, which dripped from his eyelashes and off his nose.

"Sir," he said to Rafael, "we've got the ambush site locked down. We just need the bait."

His gray- green eyes flicked toward Kai.

" Tr s bien, Bern. Then we're ready. We'll take them both down. No reason not to play all of our cards."

Kai turned to Jordan. He had been staring to the side-toward a shape half covered in a tarp, booted legs sticking out. She again pictured the rifle shot that had taken out the park ranger and began to shake. Jordan turned, noting the focus of her attention, and stepped to block her view. He put his other arm around her and held her.

Impatient, Bern reached to rip them apart, but Jordan knocked his arm aside. Surprisingly, he was successful.

"We can move on our own," Jordan said coldly, and helped Kai along.

They both knew where they were headed.

Down that black hole.

But what fate awaited them below?

6:22 P.M.

Alone, Painter climbed up the remaining length of the passageway toward the cavern that contained the boiling mud fountain. He'd left Hank down below at the Anasazi tomb. Kowalski had Painter's pistol in hand and had taken up position behind an ice-encrusted rock fall a few yards behind him.

Painter's mind ran through various scenarios, doing his best to anticipate every eventuality, to think a dozen steps ahead of his opponent. He advanced unarmed. What was the use of a weapon? He and the others didn't have enough firepower to lay down a barrage and storm their way out of this hole without getting killed. Instead, he needed to be smart.

He reached the end of the tunnel and stepped into the sulfurous, sweltering cavern. Again a mix of awe and gut-wrenching terror struck him as he viewed the surge of bubbling and roiling mud that flowed down the wall and across the cavern. The heat seemed worse than before, but maybe that was because of the chill of the tomb below.

Steeling himself for what was to come, he stepped out of the tunnel and into the open. Beyond the bridge, a spread of lamps revealed a tight knot of soldiers gathered on the far side. They weren't trying to hide themselves. The enemy must have guessed that the fleeing dog had alerted their quarry.

Figures rose out of the rubble of dark boulders to either side of him, with rifles mounted at their shoulders. Painter held up his arms, palms open, showing he had no weapon, and continued forward. All he had on his person was his backpack with his flashlight secured to it. He hadn't wanted anything in his hands to be mistaken for a weapon.

One of the soldiers attempted to enter the black tunnel behind him, to go after the others. The pop of a pistol discouraged him.

"I have a man at a bottleneck down the passageway!" Painter called out without turning. "He's got plenty of ammunition and can pick you off one at a time. Stay back. I know what you want! We can settle this quickly!"

Painter continued forward, step by step, heading toward the bridge.

Across the way, a thin man broke from the knot of soldiers and moved toward the bridge, too.

One of the mercenaries accompanied the man forward. Painter recognized the commando who'd shot Professor Denton back at the university lab. He pictured the blood on the dog leash. It was smeared on his pants where he'd wiped his hands. That was another death he knew he could lay at that soldier's feet.

I'm sorry, Nancy... I should never have involved you.

Darkness narrowed his vision as he studied the helmeted giant.

But now is not the time for revenge.

That was clear enough. The commando was dragging a young man behind him, all trussed up and gagged. It was Jordan Appawora. Painter was not overly surprised to see the young man here. He'd already worked out in his head that someone had to tip off the Guild team to his location in Arizona. That left few choices.

Outnumbered, he had to get their attention and gain some control.

"I'm not going for a weapon," Painter called out, and slowly reached to the open side pouch in his pack. With one hand, he carefully extracted the two gold tablets and held them aloft. "I believe this is what you came after, yes?"

From across the bridge, the thin man eyed Painter suspiciously, clearly struggling to figure out what angle was being played here. After a long breath, he simply relaxed with a shrug, perhaps deciding he still had the upper hand.

"Monsieur Crowe, my name is Rafael Saint Germaine." His accent was French, cultivated, with just a touch of a Proven al lilt, placing his origins somewhere in the south of France. He pointed a cane. His arm shook with a very fine tremor, which continued down the length of the cane. The palsy was unusual for someone so young, likely something he'd been born with, made worse by the climb down here and the heat. "I believe I will take those from you."

"Of course," Painter said. "But you can have them freely. As a sign of good faith."

Still, a soldier stalked up from behind and tore them from his grip.

The Frenchman motioned for the soldier to hurry over, but his focus never left Painter. Despite the air of frailty about the man, a dark cunning shone from his eyes. Painter dared not underestimate him. A hunted animal was most dangerous when it was wounded, and this man had been wounded since birth. Yet, despite that, he'd survived amid a group that tolerated no weakness-and not only survived, but thrived .

Rafael examined the plates. "Such generosity is most confusing. If I may be blunt, I expected more resistance. What is to stop me from killing you right now?"

Weapons were cocked behind him.

Painter took another step forward, stopping at the edge of the bridge. He wanted to make sure this man understood.

"Because," he said, "that was a sign of my cooperation. Because what we found down below makes the worth of those two plates pale in comparison."

The man cocked his head, turning his full attention to Painter.

Good.

"May I?" Painter asked, reaching to the open pouch on the other side of his pack.

"Be my guest."

Reaching inside, Painter removed the sculpted top of the gold jar they'd found. He held up the wolf's-head totem.

The man went weak at the knees at the sight of it, barely catching himself with the cane, slipping into French in surprise. "Non, ce n'est pas possible..."

"From that reaction, you must know what we found."

" Oui . Yes." The man struggled to collect himself, raw desire shining in his face.

"At the moment another of my companions is far below. If I don't return, he is ready to cast the gold bottle into another boiling mud pit, where the sludgy current will carry it away forever."

The man trembled, frustrated, but his eyes also danced with the challenge. "Fair enough. What are your terms?"

"Your men will pull back from this side of the bridge. I want the boy as a sign of your goodwill. Then I will go below and fetch the jar. After that, we will make our final trade."

"For what?"

"You know very well what I want." Painter let some of the fierceness he'd been suppressing leak out. "I want my niece."

6:28 P.M.

Tr s int ressant...

It seemed these negotiations had suddenly become far more challenging and exciting. Breathless, Rafe stared at the sculpted gold lid. He indeed knew what it represented. Such bottles had the potential to be the Holy Grail of nanotechnology, a key to a lost science of alchemy that promised a vast new field of industry and a source of incalculable wealth. But more than that, it would allow his family to buy their way further up the hierarchy, to rise perhaps as high as the one surviving True Bloodline.

And it would be the brittle-boned son who brought home that glory for the Saint Germaine lineage. Nothing must stop this from happening.

Rafe turned to Bern. "Do as he says. Pull your men back. Free the boy and send him over the bridge."

His second-in-command looked ready to argue, but knew better. The prisoner's hands were cut free, the gag ripped away.

"Go," Bern ordered, giving him a push.

The youth fled across the bridge, skirting around the soldiers who were returning from the other side. Once he reached Painter, the pair bowed their heads for a time, then the young man nodded and headed toward the far tunnel.

That left just one last demand.

Rafe held up his arm. Another soldier hauled Kai Quocheets forward. Gagged, she struggled with her bound wrists. Her eyes grew large when she spotted Painter.

At the same time her uncle rushed forward, ready to help her. He stumbled several steps out onto the bridge, allowing his guard to drop. Half blind with an avuncular need to defend his niece, Painter threw off his backpack, letting it dangle from his wrist... and only then did Rafe realize his own mistake.

Oh no...

6:30 P.M.

Painter read the understanding in the Frenchman's eyes. It took all of his strength to pull his attention away from Kai. He had seen the deep bruising on Jordan's face. It had set his blood to pounding in his ears.

Had they hurt Kai as well?

Such questions would have to wait.

Instead, he stopped on the bridge. He'd taken only a few steps, but that put him out over the chasm, yet still well enough away from the hostile party on the other side. He kept his arm out. The heavy pack dangled from his fingertips over the gorge. The steam burned his exposed skin while bathing his arm in yellowish clouds of toxins. The river below hissed and gurgled.

"You already have the gold jar with you," Rafael said, his voice a mix of dismay and respect. "You've had it all along."

Painter reached out over the chasm and unzipped the pack's main compartment. He let the gold shine out. "Shoot me, and it drops into the river below. If you want this treasure, you'll let my niece go. Send her across the bridge. Once she's safely in the tunnel behind me, I'll throw the bag to you."

"And what guarantee do I have that you'll do as you say?"

"You have my word."

Painter refused to break eye contact with Rafael, not to intimidate but to make his intention clear. He was being honest. There was no subterfuge, no clever plan. He had to risk everything to get Kai to safety. Kowalski had a good spot from which to defend them. Rafael would likely flee with his prize, rather than try to dig the others out of that hole. Kai would have a chance to live.

But that didn't mean Rafael wouldn't order his men to shoot Painter after he tossed the package. Anticipating this, he would do his best to retreat to the shelter of the boulders and work his way back to the tunnel himself.

It wasn't a great plan, but it was all he had.

Rafael kept staring back at him, doing his best to read his enemy. Finally, he nodded his head. "I believe you, Monsieur Crowe. You are right. We can end this like civilized men." He gave Painter a slight bow. "Until we meet again."

The Frenchman turned and motioned for his men to free Kai. They undid her hands. Painter watched. Still gagged, she had a wild-eyed stare-but she was not looking at him.

She was looking behind him.

Because of the bubbling of the muddy river, he hadn't heard the approach until it was too late. As he turned, he felt a telltale tremble in the sandstone trusses of the span as someone's feet pounded onto the bridge. He got a glimpse of a tall dark shape hurtling toward him. A shoulder hit him low in the rib cage, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him to the stone bridge, knocking the wind from his lungs. Strong fingers ripped the backpack from his grasp. Then the figure flew past him.

He twisted around to see a woman sprint to the far side and reach Rafael. As promised, the Frenchman had pulled back his men . Painter should have been more specific.

The tall black woman-a veritable Amazon-handed Rafael the bag.

" Merci, Ashanda."

Painter knelt on the stone span, defeated.

Rifles pointed back at him, but instead of ordering him shot, Rafael waved his men to retreat. He matched gazes with Painter. "You'd best be off that bridge, mon ami ."

With a nod to the side, one of his soldiers raised a transmitter and twisted a dial on it. A resounding blast sounded from under the span. The far side of the bridge exploded in a blast of sandstone and mortar. Deafened, blinded, Painter fell back and rolled off the bridge's end and onto solid rock.

He raised himself up on his hands and knees to see Rafael and his group retreating for the surface on the far side. The remaining span of the bridge crumbled apart and crashed with mighty, muddy splashes into the river below, churning up more sulfur and heat.

As Rafael reached the tunnel, he held Kai by the shoulder. He took off her gag and called to him. "So she can say good-bye!"

Kai had to be held up by the tall commando. Her voice was a wail of fear and grief that ripped into his belly. "Uncle Crowe... I'm sorry..."

Then she was hauled up the tunnel. Still on his knees, he listened to her sobbing cries fade away.

Footfalls sounded behind him. Kowalski came running up with Jordan. "What happened to the bridge?"

"They'd mined it," Painter said hollowly.

"Kai?" Jordan asked, his face aghast.

Painter shook his head.

"What are we going to do?" Kowalski asked. "We can't make it across that."

Painter slowly collected himself, gained his feet, and stepped to the edge of the steaming gorge. They had to get across. It was Kai's only chance. With no further use for her, Rafael would soon kill her. Painter had to stay alive, so she could live, too. Still, despair washed over him. Even if they made it out, what did he have to bargain with to win her back? Rafael had the gold tablets and the canopic jar. He stared down at his empty hands.

Then the ground shook, and an echoing blast reached them. A wash of dust and smoke belched out of the far tunnel, accompanied by the distant grumble of rock.

"Seems the bastards mined more than just the bridge," Kowalski said.

Painter pictured the chasm cliffs above crashing down, sealing them in. As the dust settled, the air grew strangely still. The sting of sulfur worsened, and the heat rose rapidly. With the opening of the blowhole above now blocked, any circulation of air stopped down here.

Jordan covered his nose and mouth. "What are we going to do?"

As if in answer, a thunderous detonation cracked through the enclosed space. But it was no explosion.

Painter turned as the fissure high up the wall broke wider, splintering outward. The concussion of the charges above must have traveled deep into the earth, to this bubble in the limestone, weakening its already fractured structure.

The flow of boiling mud surged through the widening gap. Boulders began to break off the wall and fall crashing into the pool below. Mud splashed high, raining down.

As Painter and the others retreated from the hail of muddy gobbets, more and more of the wall broke away, falling apart in pieces like a crumbling dam. The sludge fall became a torrent, gushing forth, flooding the river and overflowing the banks of the bubbling pool.

At last, Painter had an answer for Jordan's question.

What are we going to do?

He pointed to the tunnel as a wall of mud rolled toward them.

"Run!"