He stole a glance back over his shoulder and, thankfully, did not see the flashlight glow that would tell him the Dominion agent was almost upon him.
A flash of red burst across his vision, hot pain shot through him, and, an instant later, he found himself on the ground, gazing up at a pile of rubble. The ceiling had collapsed here.
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” He looked around, his heart now racing, and his eyes fell on a tiny side passage. It would be a tight squeeze, but it was better than running headlong at an armed man. Holding his MagLite in his teeth, he forced his bulk through, and found himself in a small rubble-strewn antechamber, staring at an iron door.
“Now, where do you lead?” He tried the handle and was surprised when it turned. He slipped through and closed the door behind him. “Dude! What is this?”
Rodent droppings covered the moldering remains of burlap bags at the base of the wall to his left, while the rotted remains of wooden crates lay on the right. Rifle barrels and heaps of ammunition jutted up from the debris like islands in a sea of ruin. But it was what lay right in front of him that held his gaze.
Before another iron door, a skeleton lay curled in the fetal position atop a pile of dust and dirt that had perhaps been a blanket. Nothing remained of his clothing, but his dagger identified this as a Nazi bunker.
Bones picked up the dagger, feeling thrilled and repelled in equal measure. The history buff in him was amazed to have stumbled across a previously-undiscovered bunker, but the image on the dagger — an eagle, its spread wings forming the quillon, clutching a swastika in its claws, turned his stomach. Nonetheless, he needed a weapon. He tucked the knife into his belt, and then moved to inspect the old rifles. As he’d feared, the dampness had been unkind to them. Even if the seventy year-old ammunition was still good, the rifles were too fouled and rusted to fire.
“Too much to hope for,” he muttered.
He would have liked to inspect the bunker further, but just then, he heard movement outside. His pursuer had found the antechamber, which meant he’d be coming through the door at any second. Bones thoughts raced. Fight or flight?
He decided to take his chances with door number two. He forced it open, and found himself in a rough, dank tunnel. He looked around for an alcove, or any potential hiding place from which he could ambush the agent, but the passageway ran straight ahead, gently sloping upward into the darkness. Cursing his luck, he took off at a sprint.
He heard the door behind him open. Instinctively, he dodged to the side, just as gunfire erupted and bullets deflected off the stone walls. Something needed to give, and fast.
The tunnel curved and sloped downward, and the sewage smell dissipated, replaced by the most smell of clean water. The beam of his light glinted on a pool of water and he skidded to a halt on the slick stone floor. His breath caught in his chest as he stared out at a sight that many believed to be a myth.
Fed by an underground river and made famous by The Phantom of the Opera, the subterranean lake beneath Palais Garnier was, in fact, a cistern built by construction workers when they found themselves unable to remove the water from the ground where the foundation of the famed opera house was to be built. Now, the space was almost forgotten, though it was occasionally used by firefighters to practice swimming in the dark.
Bones shone his light up at the grate in the ceiling — his sole path to freedom, and knew he didn’t have a chance of getting there before the Dominion’s agent caught up with him. He had one hope.
The tunnel sloped downward at a steep angle and the way grew slick with moisture. Eric slowed his pace. It wouldn’t do to fall and crack his skull or lose his weapon. He no longer heard the big Indian’s running footsteps, which meant that the man had given up on running, and decided to turn and fight. Or, more likely, he was hiding in the shadows, waiting to spring.
Eric had gotten a good enough look at the man to know hand-to-hand combat was unlikely to favor him. He needed to locate the Indian before he attacked, and put a bullet through his heart. He shone his light all around, but saw nowhere the man could hide.
Up ahead, the tunnel opened onto a larger space. One filled with water! What was this?
“Where am I?” Eric whispered. He stood on a ledge looking out at a body of dark water of indeterminate depth, inside a concrete vault. He played his light around, inspecting the walls and ceiling. Aside from this tunnel, a single grate appeared to be the lone means of egress.
The Indian was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone into the water.
The thought had scarcely passed through his mind when a strong hand seized him by the ankle and yanked him into the water.
Eric lost his grip on his flashlight, and it clattered to the ground and bounced into water. He managed to squeeze off a single, wild shot as he fell, but it went wild. In the muzzle flash, he caught a strobe-like glimpse of dark eyes and bared teeth, and then icy black water enveloped him.
He kicked and flailed, trying to get back to the surface, but wasn’t a strong swimmer, his sodden clothing weighed him down, and he didn’t know which way was up in the black water. His assailant seized him by the hair and, for an irrational instant, he thought the Indian would pull him free of the water. But then the truth hit him like a dagger to the heart — the man was holding him beneath the water.
Panic overrode rational thought, and he clawed at the hand that held him down, but the man’s grip was like iron. His lungs burned and lights swirled before his eyes. His time was almost up. Desperation welled up inside him and he fought harder to dislodge the death grip. His lungs began to cramp, and he thrashed about like a fish on the line. He opened his mouth to scream and icy water filled his lungs. He jerked once and then relaxed in the face of his inevitable demise.
At least I gave all to the service of the Lord.
Something thin and sharp pressed against his throat, and he relaxed as death made him its own.
Chapter 19
“What do we think?” Dane ran his hand along the smooth, silver surface of the thing they’d taken to calling, simply, the Device. They’d brought it back to headquarters, where it now sat on supports beneath a bank of fluorescent lights, looking like an inscrutable piece of modern art.
“I think it’s dangerous,” Tam said.
“Shouldn’t we send it to a lab somewhere to be analyzed?” Willis eyed the Device like it was a rattlesnake coiled to strike.
“What lab and where?” Tam’s face tightened and then relaxed. “Remember, we don’t know who we can trust, and our little group doesn’t carry any weight, or even credibility. Yet.” Her features hardened and she raised her chin.
“Our group needs a name,” Bones said. He Greg, and Kasey had returned from Paris in the middle of the night, having managed to keep the skull out of the Dominion’s grasp. “Something that doesn’t sound like a coffee klatch.”
Tam ignored him. “I’ve got someone coming in to look at it. He’s an engineer from NASA. I’ve known him for a while and I’m sure he’s not connected to the Dominion.”
“How sure?” Dane asked.
Tam’s shoulders sagged. “As sure as I can be.”
“I don’t see what there is to figure out. You put this,” Bones hefted the crystal skull, “in the hand, point, and shoot. Boom! Instant tsunami!” He strode over to the device and stepped up onto the framework that held it off the floor.”
“Don’t you dare!” Tam sprang forward and snatched the skull out of Bones’ hand.
“Chill. I just wanted a closer look. Does it have a trigger?”