The guard quickly found the detonator transceiver in Jack’s left pocket and held it up for Aslan to see.
“Give it to me. What is the channel?”
Jack caught Costas’ eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. He watched Aslan’s fat fingers curl round the receiver before replying with quiet assurance.
“Channel 8.”
The instant Aslan punched in the number there were two explosions outside, followed seconds later by a deeper boom that rolled up from the sea. The split second of paralysis was all that was needed for Aslan’s men to lose the advantage. Costas rolled on his side and kicked his guard’s legs from under him, and Jack took out his captor with a ferocious punch to the neck. Katya immediately saw what was happening and kicked out with lightning speed at the third man, hitting him hard in the solar plexus and leaving him retching on the floor.
Aslan bellowed hideously when he heard the explosions, his face contorted with rage. He hurled the detonator into the chasm and tottered precariously on the edge, his arms flailing wildly as he struggled to remain upright and away from the searing blast of the vent.
Katya screamed as she saw what was happening. Jack reached up to hold her back but it was already too late. The ground was shaken by a series of violent tremors, the explosions having set off a seismic disturbance. Aslan was sucked in by the centrifugal force of the chimney, his expression fleetingly showing the heightened awareness of a person facing death, at once aghast and strangely accepting, before his body burst into flame like a self-immolating idol. The scalding heat of the vapour consumed his robe and melted his skin until all they could see were the bones of his hands and the white of his skull. With a piercing shriek he toppled over and plummeted into the chasm, a living ball of fire swallowed forever into the inferno of the volcano.
The river of death had claimed its last victim.
CHAPTER 29
Jack Howard. This is Sea Venture. Do you read me? Over.”
Costas passed the portable VHF receiver they had taken from Vultura a short time before and Jack pressed the recall button.
“I read you loud and clear. What’s your status? Over.”
Jack was thrilled to hear Tom York’s confident tones again. He had expected the worst, that York could never have survived the onslaught that wreaked such devastation on Seaquest’s foredeck.
“We’re hove to three nautical miles north-west of the island. A flight of four Seahawks with Turkish marines and Georgian anti-terrorist commandos is heading your way. They should be in sight about now.”
Jack had already heard the distant clatter and guessed their identity.
“How did you make it off Seaquest?” he asked.
“I was blown clear when Vultura attacked. Luckily the crewman in charge of the escape sub recognized the vibrations from the gun battle and came back to investigate. I have a nasty gash on my leg but am OK.”
“And Peter?”
York’s voice when it came back was taut with emotion. “We’re still searching. I have to be straight with you, Jack. It doesn’t look good.”
“I know. You’ve done your best.”
Though Jack was overjoyed that York had made it, Peter Howe had been a boyhood friend. It was like losing a brother, and the cost suddenly seemed far too high. Jack closed his eyes.
York put the receiver on hold and returned a few moments later.
“We’ve just had a message from Ben and Andy in the Kazbek. They’ve managed to float a radio buoy. They’re standing by.”
The roar of the approaching helicopters began to drown out the conversation.
“We’re going to have to terminate while the cavalry arrive,” Jack shouted. “Tell the captain to sail to the following co-ordinates and maintain position until further notice.” Jack read out a map reference corresponding to a point one kilometre north of the submerged pyramids. “I have some unfinished business to attend to. You’ll be hearing from us. Out.”
Jack was in an emotional turmoil, anguished at the fate of Howe yet elated that the others had survived their ordeal. He looked at Costas’ battered face and was amazed at his friend’s unruffled demeanour.
They were squatting on the steps outside the rock-cut doorway. They had left Katya seated just inside the audience chamber, a Heckler & Koch MP5 resting on her legs. Jack had tried to comfort her after the death of her father but she had been unable to talk about it or even make eye contact. He knew there was nothing he could do until the initial shock had worn off.
In addition to the three bodyguards lashed together on the central dais, there were twenty men from Vultura. The crew had surrendered after Jack and Costas boarded the disabled vessel and informed them of their leader’s demise. Despite his injuries Costas had insisted on coming along, claiming that he was in no worse condition than Jack had been on their journey through the volcano. Katya had asked to be allowed to guard the prisoners, a way of being alone with her thoughts.
“The good guys are finally winning,” Costas said.
“It’s not over yet.”
Costas followed Jack’s gaze beyond the island where Sea Venture’s Lynx was carrying out a grid search over the site of York and Howe’s stand. Four Zodiacs were combing the waves beneath.
The first of the Sikorsky S-70A Seahawks thundered overhead, the downdraught a refreshing blast of cool air. Above the stone circle beside the other peak the doors sprang open and disgorged heavily armed men who rappelled past the smoking wreckage of the Ka-28 Helix. As they made their way up the steps towards them, Jack and Costas looked at each other and mouthed their age-old refrain.
“Time to kit up.”
Just over an hour later the two men stood dripping inside the torpedo room of the submarine. Using fresh equipment airlifted from Sea Venture they had made their way back through the labyrinth, following the tapes that Costas had paid out on the way up. In the membrane chamber they had heaved shut the gold-plated doors and tapped a signal on Kazbek’s casing. Moments later the pump emptied the chamber and the hatch swung open to reveal the gaunt faces of Ben and Andy.
“We haven’t got long,” Ben warned. “The hydrogen peroxide CO2 scrubbers are saturated and the reserve air tanks on the DSRV are nearly empty.”
They quickly doffed their equipment and followed the crewmen round the edge of the torpedo room and up the weapons loading chute. The door to the sonar room with its macabre sentinel was closed and they could hear a muffled banging inside.
“Two of Aslan’s men,” Andy remarked. “Left behind as guards after the rest fled in the submersible. They surrendered almost immediately. We thought they’d like to keep our KGB friend company.”
“The others weren’t so lucky,” Jack said grimly.
Ben and Andy’s haggard appearance matched their own, but Jack still marvelled at their stamina after so many hours holed up in the submarine.
Moments later they were inside the control room. Jack stood at the spot where he had taken the bullet that so nearly cost him his life. In the corner a blanket covered the body of the dead Kazakh gunman. The evidence of their firefight had become part of the scenery, another layer to the devastation caused years earlier during the crew’s desperate last stand.
“Where’s the ballast control?” said Jack.
“Over here,” Andy replied. “It’s pretty smashed up, but luckily we don’t have to do anything sophisticated. We think there’s enough pressure left in the air tanks to carry out an emergency blow. All you have to do is yank these handles and the valves open manually.” He pointed at two mushroom-shaped protrusions on top of the panel, both designed to be pulled down by an operator standing in front of the console.