Gabriel grabbed hold of one chain, DeGroet another; they both clung desperately as the platform sped through the air, the solitary light of the flashlight dwindling far below them. They were being drawn up a stone shaft at tremendous speed, as though a mammoth counterweight had been dropped from some vast height and was now plunging into whatever stygian depths Istvan had fallen to.
They couldn’t see—not just each other, but anything. Gabriel brought his sword up in front of his face and he couldn’t see the blade. The walls of the vertical tunnel through which they were rocketing might have been feet away or inches—there was no way to know, other than to reach a hand out, and Gabriel wasn’t about to try that experiment. Looking up, he saw no sign of what waited for them overhead—
But then a crack opened, a narrow line above them, lit by a concussive string of lightning strikes. It widened from a hairline to a handsbreadth and from there to a doorway’s width, two slabs of stone above them separating and tilting to either side to make room for the platform to emerge.
What had this been used for, Gabriel wondered, this primitive but effective elevator—raising beasts to the upper surface in dramatic fashion, to impress prospective purchasers?
The opening continued to spread wider and rainwater gushed down on them, the monsoon having reached its full strength while they were sheltered within the belly of the mountain.
The platform slowed, some sort of baffle kicking in. It shuddered to a halt when it was level with the upper surface. Gabriel stepped off between the chains, his legs unsteady.
The sight that greeted him in the next flash of lightning was extraordinary—all of Sri Lanka spread out below them, a thousand feet below or more, the treetops a vast furred carpet, the snaking lengths of highway and river like veins on an anatomy chart. The winds were powerful, gusting this way and that, buffeting him from behind, pushing him toward the rock’s edge. He saw DeGroet run toward him and raised his sword to meet the charge.
But it was hopeless. He parried high and DeGroet swung low, the point of his blade shredding the front of Gabriel’s leather jacket and the shirt and skin beneath. Gabriel tried to control his blade, to swing carefully rather than wildly and not give DeGroet any openings, but it was like a novice at chess playing against a master, his desperate attempts at strategy countered and foiled effortlessly.
He saw a cruel smile emerge on DeGroet’s lips as he pressed Gabriel back, back, till they were both near the edge. Glancing down, Gabriel saw they were at one of the mountain’s overhang points—no slope at all that he might roll down safely, not even a sheer face he might dream of climbing if the rains hadn’t made that impossible. Just a fall—an endless, open drop into eternity.
There was still a way out, of course. There always was. But as DeGroet teased him with his blade, drawing blood here and here and there, he began to fear he might not manage it.
“Lajos,” he shouted, his words stripped almost to silence by the rushing winds. “Lajos!”
“Yes, Hunt?”
“I know where the treasure is,” he shouted. “I’ve figured it out!” The older man’s blade darted in again, nicked a bit of flesh from the side of Gabriel’s neck.
“You know what, Hunt? I don’t believe you. And even if it’s true…I don’t care. I’ll figure it out for myself. Or I’ll pay someone to do so. I don’t need you.” And with that he sent his saber’s blade spiraling out again, as he had in the chamber far below, and swept Gabriel’s sword out of his hand. They both watched as it spun end over end into the darkness.
Gabriel whipped off his jacket and threw it at DeGroet, who batted it aside with his sword. It landed at his feet. “That the best you can do? I am disappointed in you, Hunt.”
Gabriel looked behind him—only inches remained.
“There’s no wire for you to grab hold of here, is there?” DeGroet taunted.
Gabriel dropped to his knees.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t beg,” DeGroet shouted. “Meet your death like a man.”
“Just give me a moment, please,” Gabriel said. “One moment, to say a prayer.”
“One moment,” DeGroet said. “No more.”
“And please,” Gabriel said, “when you do it…swing hard. Make it clean.”
“Oh, I’ll swing hard,” DeGroet said and raised his sword high overhead.
There is a reason they say that in a lightning storm it is unwise to be the tallest thing in sight. How much less wise, Gabriel thought, to stand atop a thousand-foot boulder in a raging thunderstorm and raise a metal bar above your head?
He knew it wasn’t possible—he knew that lightning travels much too swiftly for its motion to be seen—but looking up at DeGroet standing over him he could have sworn he saw the charge gather in the clouds, saw the forked serpent’s tongue of electricity streak down, aimed unerringly for the point of DeGroet’s saber, saw it kiss the metal with its deadly, incinerating charge.
But it couldn’t be. Not just because of the speeds involved—but because he wasn’t there to see it.
The same people who said you shouldn’t be the highest point in a lightning storm had a thing or two to say about kneeling in a puddle of water beside a man being struck by lightning, too, and none of them were good. So before he could get incinerated along with DeGroet, Gabriel kicked off, hard, from the surface of the rock and flung himself outward into space.
Beneath his leather jacket he’d been wearing one last emergency supply he’d taken off the plane, a slender knapsack, and he reached now for the metal ring attached to one of the straps. Finding it, he tugged firmly.
And behind him a compact stream of folded fabric unfurled, blossoming with a satisfying whoomp into an airtight canopy that lowered him gently through the storm.
Chapter 26
He landed where they’d begun their climb, at the foot of the mountain. As the folds of fabric pooled around him, he stripped the parachute off and squeezed between the walls of rock, beginning the laborious ascent once more. He was tired, he was wounded, he was weak—he would have liked nothing better than to make his way back to Dayani’s car and drive it to Dambulla, get help that way. But he couldn’t just leave Sheba alone in a dark cavern at the heart of a mountain fortress. And worse, she wasn’t alone. Karoly might have a broken wrist, but he might also have a flashlight—and a gun.
No, there was nothing for it but to climb, and he did, as quickly as he could without losing his footing or his grip, hugging the wall as he went. He passed the wasps’ nests, careful not to disturb them again; he passed the lacquered wall and the painted ladies; he passed the tiny cave with the bloody towel lying at its entrance. Rainwater washed his wounds clean as he went, and when twice he felt a moment of dizziness he leaned against the rock and waited for it to pass.
Eventually he made it to the lion’s paws. He staggered to the opening, waited for a lightning strike to illuminate the interior, showing him both the corridor and the gaping hole he’d have to cross to get to it. There was nothing for it—he had no rope, and the crossbeam was gone anyway. He judged the angle as best he could, got a running start, and leaped.