The Templar Salvation

Chapter 45

Tess felt all the blood in her body rush up to her temples. He was only a few feet away. And closing.

She went completely rigid. Every muscle of her body was locked down tight. Forget moving a finger. She wasn’t even blinking. It was all channeled into her jaw, which she was biting down, hard. She was expecting him to try to spook her. It was coming, she knew it. And she couldn’t allow herself to get caught by it again.

She waited, each second stretching to hours. He was getting closer—so close that she could now hear his breathing. It was subdued, dampened, he knew what he was doing. He had to be breathing through his mouth, she imagined, as she was. It was quieter that way. But it was still there, at the edge of her perception. A bit blocked, wet, gargly. A bit labored. Maybe from slamming into that column, she hoped.

It did little to alleviate her terror.

She could also feel him now. Somehow, even though they weren’t touching, she could feel his presence. It was as if she actually did have a sonar within her that had detected him. She heard his fingers land on the wall above the cavity in which she was crouched, the tiniest scrape of nails against porous rock. He was standing right in front of her, feeling the wall, mere inches away now, his waist more or less level with her head.

Her heart was rocketing away, about to burst out of its cage. The pounding in her ears was deafening, and she was amazed he couldn’t hear it himself. She knew that if his hand moved downward, even slightly, he’d find the cavity and he’d find her.

She wasn’t about to wait for that.

No choice but to act first.

She sprang out from her coiled position, slamming into him at thigh-level, thrusting out with as much power as she could muster, her fists clutched tight against the butt end of her flashlight, using it like a mini- battering ram and hoping it caused him some damage. She heard him grunt heavily as she slammed into him and thought she must have hit him where it counted. He lost his balance under the unexpected tackle and fell back, with Tess tumbling over him but managing to stay on her feet. His arms lashed out at her furiously, and one of them struck her across the cheek, but she had the advantage of being on top and pulled back quickly.

She disentangled herself from him and bolted out of the room before he was back on his feet. She had to move as fast as she could, but couldn’t risk crashing into anything. She had to use the flashlight, just quick on-off flicks to guide her as she blew through the subterranean maze, keeping an eye on the cabling and following its trail, flying from one chamber to another, hunched through the narrow tunnels, her chest heaving with panic. She was making too much noise to be able to hear him coming up behind her, but she didn’t care. All she was focused on was covering as much ground as fast as possible and putting as much distance as possible between him and her.

She was charging out of a stepped passageway when two arms grabbed her and pulled her in. She let off the beginning of a shriek before one of the hands pressed hard against her mouth and muffled her scream.

“Shh, pipe down,” he hissed, low and urgent. “It’s me.”

Her heart soared.

Reilly.

REILLY OULLED HER TIGHTLY AGAINST HIM, away from the opening she’d just burst through.

He kept one hand clasped against her mouth and trained his hearing in the direction she’d come from. He heard nothing, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the Iranian caught up with them.

“How’d you find me?” she whispered.

“My BlackBerry’s screen and those cables,” he told her. “I followed them down and saw the light flickering. You have a flashlight?”

“Yes,” she mouthed. “He’s right behind me. And he’s pissed off.”

Reilly thought hard and fast. “Okay. Keep going. I’ll stay here. He can’t be far behind. Draw him out. Let him follow you. I’ll get him when he comes through here.”

“Are you su—”

“Just go, do it,” he insisted, herding her away.

She darted back in and her hand found his face. She planted a quick kiss on his lips before setting off.

He tucked his handgun into the small of his back and sank back against the wall by the opening, feeling the coolness of the perspiration along his spine as it came into contact with the volcanic rock. There was no point wasting ammo in the dark, and besides, he would prefer to get the Iranian alive. He thought he’d be more nimble with two free hands; he’d be able to inflict more damage. Which right now was a very appealing prospect.

He saw the flickering of Tess’s flashlight, getting dimmer as she disappeared farther into the bowels of the citadel.

Then he heard him.

Frantic movement, closing in.

Reilly tensed up.

The scrapes grew louder, the breathing more intense. The Iranian was plowing ahead now, like a steamroller. Reilly could almost smell his fury.

He waited, his body stiffening up for the brawl, his hands tightening into fists, his mind’s eye converting every sound into a visual and projecting it into the impenetrable darkness around him—then he heard him emerge from the passageway and pounced.

He hit him full-on and rammed him, slamming him against the wall. He knew the Iranian had a gun, and his hands dove straight for where he guessed the bomber’s gun hand would be. He quickly found his opponent’s right wrist just as the Iranian squeezed off a thunderous round that lit up the chamber in a cold white flash. Reilly kept his left grip clamped around the bomber’s gun hand, pinning it back against the wall and pounding it repeatedly against the tufa while his other fist flicked fierce jabs at the Iranian’s head. He connected hard, once, twice, hearing the cartilage snap and the blood gurgle, waiting to feel the man’s gun tumble out of his hand, but the Iranian was hanging on to it stubbornly. Reilly was looking to land a third punch when he got something he hadn’t counted on: a knee to the kidneys, quickly followed by a battering ram of an uppercut straight to his chin. The first impact winded him, and the second rattled his brain and caused him to lose his grip for a moment—which was just enough for the Iranian to shove him off with a scream of rage.

The gun was still in the man’s hand.

Reilly dove and rolled over himself just as the bullets drilled into the ground around him. Shards of tufa splintered off and cut into him as he yanked out his own gun and loosed off several rounds of his own, but none of them seemed to connect. His ears ringing from the deafening gunfire, he thought he heard his opponent scampering out of the chamber and he chased him out with a couple of rounds, but he didn’t hear the telltale sound of a round punching through human skin and bone and the accompanying outburst of pain.

Worse, the Iranian was now heading toward Tess.

Reilly found the cabling and felt his way forward, moving frantically now, one hand on the wiring, the other clutching the gun tightly, his ears attuned to make sure the Iranian hadn’t stopped and wasn’t about to ambush him.

He stopped at the mouth of another tunnel. “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” he shouted into the darkness, hoping to get a handle of the man’s position and to distract him from finding Tess. “The Jandarma should be all over this canyon by now and they’re not going to let you walk out of here alive.” He waited for an answer, then added, “If you want to live, your best bet’s walking out with me. The things you know can be of great value to us.”

Nothing.

He crept through the tunnel, through another cavern, and up to the entrance of another passageway. “You want to die, asshole? Is that it?”

Still nothing. The Iranian wasn’t a lightweight. But then, Reilly had known that already.

He pressed ahead, through a curving stairwell and across another chamber, and was about to go up what felt like a tight tunnel when he heard her.

“Over here,” Tess whispered, from his right.

She reached out and pulled him to her.

“He pass you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “When you were calling out to him. He stopped to listen to you, but didn’t see me.”

“Any idea where we are?”

“No. But we’ve come up a bit. I’d guess we’re maybe a couple of levels underground?”

“There’s no point trying to get him in here. It’s too dangerous,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“We need to get this belt off me first,” she told him. “There’s no signal in here. I can’t go go back outside, not while I’m wearing it.”

Reilly’s insides knotted. “How’s it locked into place?”

“There’s a padlock. On the back.” She took his hand and guided it around her back.

He felt it. It seemed heavy and solid. He gave it a tug to test it, more out of frustration than with any expectation that it would give. “Can you turn it around so the padlock’s on your side?”

“Sure, it’s not on that tight. Why?”

“I can try to shoot the padlock off. But I need light.”

Tess exhaled heavily. “You sure?”

“If you stand right up against the corner of the opening of the tunnel, I’ll angle the shot away from you and into the tunnel. Even if it bounces off the metal, it’s not going to hit you.”

“You sure?” she repeated. She didn’t sound convinced.

“I want it off you,” Reilly insisted. “Trust me. But I’ll need you to flick the light on. Just for a second. On and off, that’s all. Okay?”

He’d rarely, if ever, heard her scared. Hadn’t really known her to fear much.

She was scared now.

He helped her position herself right against the edge of the opening into the next tunnel. She tilted her waist out as much as she could and tucked her arms behind her back, out of view. Reilly held the padlock out so it was peeking out from the corner of the doorway. He brought the barrel of his gun right up against its body, pushing it even farther away from Tess.

“Ready?” he asked.

“You ever done this before?”

“Not really.”

She shrugged. “Not the answer I was hoping for.”

“On three. One. Two.”

She flicked the light on at three and Reilly pulled the trigger. The padlock exploded with an ear-splitting crack and a flurry of sparks—and just then, several rounds punched the tufa around them.

“Back,” Reilly hollered, pulling Tess away from the tunnel opening as rock sharpnel flew wildly around them.

Then he heard it—the dead snap of the handgun’s slide locking back after it had belched out its last round.

“He’s out of ammo,” Reilly yelled as he pulled the belt off Tess and flung it into a far corner, then grabbed the flashlight and charged out after him. “Come on.”

He raked the beam ahead of him and spotted the Iranian ducking out of the tunnel and crossing another cavernous room.

He chased after him, his legs flying now, closing in on his prey, the taste of the imminent catch coursing through him.

ZAHED GROUND HIS TEETH as he hurtled through the honeycomb.

He cursed the American woman—cursed her for luring him down here, cursed her for taking his rucksack, cursed her for leaving him out of ammo.

It was time to cut his losses and get the hell out, assuming he’d be able to. He didn’t know what was waiting for him aboveground. He knew Reilly had to be bluffing about there being any troops there, but he couldn’t be sure of that. Even though the canyon hadn’t been swarming with tourists, someone was bound to have heard their earlier gunfight. They might have called the cops. The area could soon be seriously hostile, and slipping away from it wouldn’t be easy, given the limited number of ways in and out of the canyon.

He had to make it out first.

He stormed through a large communal room and dove into a sweeping passageway, the chasing light flickering in and out of view. It was helping him, bouncing off the walls, lighting up passages, giving him glimpses of clarity, but as long as it was there, he was the deer in the headlights. He had to get out of its range. He was moving frantically, as fast as he could, and didn’t know where he was going. It didn’t matter right now. All he could do was follow the cabling, hoping it led back to the entrance.

He could hear Reilly keeping pace, not far behind. He needed to lose him. He glimpsed a narrow stairwell and took the stairs, two at a time. They led both left and right. He chose right and hunched through the passageway, moving quieter now, hoping to confuse his pursuer and buy himself some time.

He had to do something. Delay him somehow.

And then he saw it.

At the mouth of the tight tunnel. A rounded edge, sticking out from the side of its wall. He’d spotted it on the way in.

It was a millstone-like trapdoor. A circular, one-ton piece of rock, with a diameter of around four feet. It was designed to keep invaders out and could be rolled into place quickly just by releasing a couple of timber wedges that held it back.

“Freeze, asshole.”

Zahed turned.

Reilly was there, at the other end of the tunnel. The American had both gun and flashlight aimed at him, the beam making him squint.

He glimpsed Tess appearing behind the agent. His eyes looked for her belt, but it didn’t seem to be there, and from the defiant glare in her eyes, he gathered she was no longer wearing it.

“I should have killed you back in Rome,” Zahed called out to Reilly, buying time.

“Too late now, dickhead. Put the gun down.”

Zahed’s eyes darted across to the base of the millstone and back. The timber wedges that would have been used by the early villagers were long gone. Instead, a rusted piece of iron bar, a far more recent addition, stuck out from the side wall and held the stone in place. It looked like a crude fitting that had been put in decades ago, before the canyons had been condemned and evacuated. There were hardly any tourists visiting Cappadocia then, so safety hadn’t been a paramount issue for the local, self-appointed custodians of the underground cities.

Which was just as well.

“I can’t walk out of here with you, you know that,” he yelled out as he flicked quick glances at the iron rod, processing his options, evaluating his chances.

“It’s your choice, pal. Walk out with me, or be carried out in a black zip bag,” Reilly shot back. “I’m easy, either way.”

“On second thought, you know what?” He paused for a second, then shouted out, “Fuck you,” briefly enjoying the confused look on the agent’s face—and moved like lightning. He darted to his right, the edge of the millstone shielding him from harm, and flipped the gun around in his right hand so he could use its grip like a hammer.

And slammed it against the base of the iron rod.

The angle was perfect.

The bar moved, crumbling the soft rock it was sittting in. A second strike jarred it further.

Tess yelled something out, and Reilly was already rushing toward him, firing.

The third strike did the trick, loosening the bar—just as a round from Reilly’s gun exploded straight through his exposed hand.

REILLY SAW THE IRANIAN LUNGE sideways and raise his gun like a hammer.

He didn’t understand what he was up to—but he knew it wasn’t good. He couldn’t get a clean shot at him, not with that protruding disc of stone blocking him. All he could see of him was his hand, gripping the empty weapon.

“The millstone,” Tess yelled. “It’s a trapdoor.”

Reilly charged through the tunnel like he’d been shot out of a cannon, firing as he moved. He heard Zahed’s right hand hammering away at something, each strike echoing back at him, his heart pounding inside him at triple-speed. He saw the eruption of blood from his opponent’s left hand and heard him grunt heavily from the hit, and was just a few feet away from reaching him when the huge stone disc suddenly rolled out of the wall. The ground under his feet shook as the millstone slammed into the opposite side of the tunnel just as he got to it, his fingers instinctively reaching out to stop it before pulling back at the futility of his move.

The tunnel was blocked. Completely, utterly blocked.

Reilly tried to push the millstone back, but it wouldn’t budge. It was designed to roll into position on an incline, and was too heavy for him to move back on his own. Reilly cursed aloud and ran his fingers all over it in desperation. It had a small opening at its center, about three inches square. He peered through it, a sinking feeling choking his throat. He couldn’t see anything on the other side. It was shrouded in darkness.

Then he heard him. Groaning, cursing, agonizing over his injury. Which was nice to hear. The Iranian seemed to be in serious pain.

After a few drawn-out seconds, the wounded man’s voice rang out from behind the trapdoor. “You comfy in there, Reilly?”

Reilly brought the barrel of his weapon up to the hole and replied, “How’s the hand, jerk-off? I hope I didn’t put too big a dent in your love life,” before stuffing the gun through the opening and firing off four rounds. Their reports bounced through the tunnels and died out, then he heard the Iranian again.

“Stop wasting your bullets and start looking for a way out of there.” His voice was loud, but not loud enough to mask the agony the man was clearly suffering. “It’s not going to be easy. I think it might be impossible. But try. Do it for me. Make the impossible happen. And if you do, know this. This isn’t over. Somewhere, somehow, I’ll find you. Wherever you are. I’ll come find you, and Tess … and then we’ll end this properly, all right?”

Reilly shoved his gun through the hole again and emptied his clip feverishly, yelling out in frustration, hoping one of the rounds would find flesh and bone. And when the echoes of the detonations died down, all that was left was the furious mutterings and the distant footfalls of the Iranian, which receded until there was nothing left but a drowning silence.