Lydia was startled. ‘Wait, Mukobo’s dead?’
‘Ah… yeah,’ Nina said as she took the New Zealander’s flashlight. ‘Should probably have mentioned that sooner, huh?’
‘No shit!’ spluttered Rivero. ‘No wonder they’re pissed!’
‘What happened to him?’ Lydia asked.
‘What difference does—’
Paris’s shout cut her off. ‘Grenade!’
One of the Insekt Posse leaned around the tunnel mouth, about to hurl a bomb—
Fortune fired again. The man’s wrist blew apart in a burst of blood and bone fragments — and he dropped the grenade. The militia around him yelled in alarm—
A pounding blast came from the top of the shaft, shrapnel pinging off the stone walls. Paris yelped as a metal fragment slashed his cheek. The explosion’s echoes faded, replaced by the screams of the wounded.
‘Keep going!’ said Fortune. ‘That won’t stop them for long.’
Nina reached the tunnel’s foot. Both new branches ran level for about fifty feet before turning again. ‘Oh God, which way?’ she said. One seemed no better than the other, but if she picked the wrong path, they would be trapped…
Something touched her forehead. She flinched, then looked up to see flecks of grit falling from a crack in the ceiling. In the panic of the escape, she had forgotten the Mother of the Shamir’s rising rumble — but now its effects were becoming all too apparent.
Rivero and Lydia arrived, the cameraman aiming his light at the crack. ‘It’s going to cave in!’ exclaimed the frightened sound woman. ‘Get out of the way, we’ve got to move!’
‘No, wait!’ insisted Nina, watching the falling dust intently. ‘Jay, hold still, just for a second.’
He kept the camera upon her. ‘What’re you—’
‘Shush! Don’t move! I need to see this…’
She stared at the motes dropping through the spotlight beam — then pointed right. ‘That way!’
‘How do you know?’ Rivero asked.
‘Remember how I found the map room in the First Temple?’ she said as she started down the passage. ‘Same thing — the dust’s being blown the other way, so the fresh air must be coming from down here.’
‘Hope you’re right,’ said Lydia as she followed. Rivero stayed just beyond the intersection to provide light for those behind.
‘Yeah, me too. Eddie, right tunnel, right tunnel!’
More ear-splitting gunfire from the two Congolese as they forced back the regrouping militia — then Paris tossed away his AK. ‘I’m out!’ he yelled. ‘Mr Fisher! Give me your gun!’
Fisher waited for them, but rather than hand over his weapon, gestured for Paris to overtake him. ‘You go on!’
‘Mr Fisher, that is a very bad idea,’ Fortune told him firmly. ‘Our job is to protect you, not—’
Fisher held up the stump of his right arm. ‘Sorry, but the job? Kinda failed! And I’m in charge of this expedition, I’m responsible for everyone else.’ More quietly: ‘Make sure Lydia gets out of here. Please.’
Paris exchanged looks with Fortune, neither man happy, but then the shorter Congolese nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll look after her.’ He hurried downhill.
Nina led the way through the new tunnel. She reached its corner, finding to her relief that it sloped downwards beyond the turn. The feeling was quickly tempered by concern as she saw more dust-spitting cracks in the ceiling and walls. ‘We’ve got to move faster! The whole place is going to come down!’
‘Like we don’t have enough going on,’ said Eddie as he reached the first junction. Rivero moved ahead, lighting the way with the Sony. ‘Doc, how are you doing?’
‘Not… very good,’ Ziff replied weakly. ‘Oh, it hurts…’
Paris caught up. ‘Mr Pinkett, I can take him. You catch up with the others.’
‘Where the fuck’s Fisher?’ Eddie demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be protecting him!’
The Congolese took Howie’s place, the young American hurrying on past Rivero. ‘He wouldn’t let me.’
‘That’s no fucking excuse!’
‘It’s my decision!’ Fisher shouted as he and Fortune approached. ‘I’m in charge here, not you!’
‘There’s a time for heroics and a time for saving your own arse,’ Eddie objected, ‘and this is an arse-saver!’
The two trailing men reached the junction. ‘I agree,’ said the director, ‘so you make sure everyone—’
‘Grenade!’ Fortune cried, grabbing him and diving into the left tunnel. Eddie rushed back and dropped to the stone floor, Ziff gasping in agony as the Englishman covered him. Paris threw himself after them as a hard metal object clacked down the sloping passage—
The detonation obliterated all senses.
Eddie had managed to cover his ears, but still only heard a piercing, ringing sound for several seconds before other noises gradually returned. None were reassuring. Echoes of falling rock faded, smaller bangs and clunks of stone telling him that rubble was still dropping. The blast had brought down part of the ceiling!
He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw in the light from Rivero’s dropped camera was Ziff, face screwed up in pain. The cameraman himself groaned as he clutched at his head. Eddie forced himself up to check on the others.
Paris was behind Ziff. ‘Oh, ma putain de tête…’ he gasped, before jerking upright in alarm. ‘Fortune!’
‘I am okay, I’m okay,’ coughed Fortune from several yards away.
‘What about Fisher?’ Eddie asked. He looked for him, but saw only darkness. ‘Steven! Can you hear me?’
‘Here, I’m…’ The director’s reply was slurred, as if half-asleep — then he screamed. ‘Oh God, oh my God! My leg!’
‘Jay!’ Eddie barked. ‘I need your light over here!’
Rivero crawled to his camera. He brought it about — and its light revealed a large chunk of fallen stone on the junction’s far side, partly blocking the other passage.
Fortune appeared in the gap. ‘Eddie! His leg is trapped!’ He tried to move the rock. Fisher cried out as it shifted, but it was too heavy to lift.
The Yorkshireman moved towards him. ‘I’ll help you—’
He jumped back as bullets cracked off the wall at the slope’s foot. Above, stuttering muzzle flash lit the way for the Insekt Posse. The crazed whoops and howls of earlier had been replaced by something more chilling: an angry chant of ‘Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet!’
They were out for revenge.
The obstruction shifted again as Fortune made another attempt to lift it, but with no better result. ‘Too — heavy!’
‘Run,’ gasped Fisher. ‘Fortune, go! I’ll — I’ll hold them off.’
‘They’ll kill you!’ Eddie protested.
‘They’ll kill us all in a minute! I’m… not going anywhere.’ That last was said almost with resignation.
‘Jesus Christ, Steven!’ said Rivero. ‘We can’t leave you!’
‘I call the shots, Jay.’ Somehow, the words held a hint of humour. ‘Fortune, sit me up so I can see over the rock.’
The Congolese reluctantly did so, Fisher letting out another keening cry as the movement shifted his crushed leg. ‘Have this,’ Fortune said, placing his AK beside the American. ‘Two guns — two sets of bullets. Make them count, my friend.’
The director propped his own Kalashnikov on top of the stone, aiming it up the tunnel. ‘I should say something cool,’ he said, seeing Rivero’s camera pointed at him, ‘but — oh God, I’m scared.’
‘So am I,’ said Eddie. ‘You’re a brave man, Steven.’
‘Th-thanks,’ Fisher replied, drawing in a deep, tremulous breath. ‘Okay. Go on, then, go! They’re almost here!’