Through the glass windows of Orthanc, she could make out a dark shape moving slowly.
She crept forward, keeping low, using the tall grass as cover. A hundred feet out she stopped again, hiding behind a clump of tea roses. Here the view was much better. The figure had its back to her, and she waited. As it moved into the light she saw the broad shoulders and long, dirty-blond hair of Rankin, the geologist. He appeared to be alone.
She hesitated, sheltering the Radmeter from the rain as best she could. It was possible that Rankin might know how to use it, or at least have a better idea. But that would mean taking him into her confidence.
Streeter had deliberately tried to kill them. Why? True, he'd hated Hatch from the beginning. But Bonterre couldn't believe that was enough provocation. Streeter didn't seem the type to act rashly.
Then again, Hatch was trying to shut down the dig.
Were others in on it?
Somehow, she could not imagine the open, hearty Rankin being party to first-degree murder. As for Neidelman . . . she couldn't allow her thoughts to turn that way.
There was a searing bolt of lightning overhead, and she shrank away from the thunderclap that followed. From the direction of Base Camp, there was a sharp crackle as the last generator failed. The lights atop Orthanc blinked out for a moment, and then the control tower was bathed in an orange glow as the emergency batteries came on.
Bonterre clutched the Radmeter closer. She could wait no longer. Right or wrong, she had to make a choice.
Chapter 51
A faceful of mud brought Hatch back to the black reality of the tunnel. His head throbbed from Streeter's blow, and something was pressing relentlessly on his back. The cold steel of what Hatch knew must be a gun barrel was digging into his torn ear. He hadn't been shot, he realized groggily; he'd been knocked on the head.
"Listen up, Hatch," came Streeter's whisper. "We had a nice little chase, but the games over now." The barrel ground into his ear. "And you're it. Understand?"
Hatch tried to nod as Streeter jerked his head back cruelly by the hair. "Yes or no?"
"Yes," Hatch croaked, choking mud.
"Don't twitch, don't jerk, don't even sneeze unless I tell you to, or I'll turn your brains into a pink mist."
"Yes," Hatch said again, trying to muster some energy. He felt stupid, cold, barely alive.
"Now we're going to get up, nice and smooth. Slip in the mud and you're dead."
The pressure on his back was released. Hatch rose to his knees, then his feet, slowly, carefully, fighting to quell the pounding in his head.
"Here's what we're going to do," came Streeter's voice. "We'll return to where the tunnel forked. Then we're going to head straight down the Boston Shaft. So start walking. Slow."
Hatch put one foot in front of the other as carefully as he could, trying not to stumble in the darkness. They reached the fork, then continued down the main shaft, following the wall.
It seemed to Hatch that he should be able to escape. It was pitch black, and all he had to do was break free somehow. But the combination of the gun barrel grinding into his hurt ear and the thickness in his mind made clear thinking impossible. He wondered, momentarily, why Streeter hadn't simply killed him.
As they moved forward cautiously, he began to wonder just how well Streeter knew the Boston Shaft. There were few horizontal tunnels on the island, and almost all of them were riddled with intersecting vertical shafts. "Any pits along here?" he asked at last.
There was a harsh laugh. "If there are, you'll be the first to know."
After what seemed an eternity of nightmare shuffling through the blackness, wondering if the next step would be into open space, Hatch saw a faint glow ahead. The tunnel took a gentle turn and he made out a ragged opening, framed in light. There was a faint hum of machinery. Streeter pushed him forward at a faster pace.
Hatch stopped at the point where the tunnel opened onto the main shaft of the Water Pit. Momentarily blinded after the long chase, it took him a moment to realize that only the banks of emergency lights running along the ladder array were still lit. Another sharp pain in his ear, and Streeter forced him forward onto the metal catwalk that connected the Boston Shaft to the array. Following behind, Streeter punched a keypad bolted to the side of the lift rail. There was a humming sound from below, and in a few moments the lift itself came into view, slowed, then locked into place beside the catwalk. Streeter prodded Hatch onto the platform, then took up position behind him.
As they descended toward the base of the shaft, Hatch realized the dank, rotten smell of the Water Pit was now mixed with something else: the stench of smoke and hot metal.
The ladder array ended at the base of the Pit. The walls were narrower here, the air thick despite the ventilation systems. In the center was the narrow shaft of freshly dug earth that led down to the treasure chamber itself. Streeter gestured for Hatch to climb down the ladder. Clinging to the rails, Hatch clambered past the complex tracery of titanium struts and braces. From below came the crack and fizzle of acetylene.
Then he was at the bottom of the shaft, at the very heart of the island, swaying on uncertain feet. Streeter dropped to the ground behind him. Hatch could see that the earth before him had been cleared away from the top of a massive, rusted plate of iron. As he stared, the last ember of hope died away. Gerard Neidelman was kneeling before the plate, angling an acetylene torch into a narrow cut about three feet square. A bolt had been welded to the top of the plate, and from it a cable was fixed to the large bucket. In the far corner of the shaft stood Magnusen, arms folded, staring at Hatch with a mixture of cold hatred and contempt.
There was an angry hiss as Neidelman cut the flame on the torch. Laying it aside, he stood up and raised his visor, staring expressionlessly at Hatch.
"You're a sorry sight," he said simply.
He turned to Streeter. "Where did you find him?"
"He and Bonterre were trying to come back to the island, Captain. I caught up with him in the Boston Tunnel."
"And Bonterre?"
"Their dinghy was crushed on the reef. There's a chance she survived drowning, too, but the odds are against it."
"I see. Pity she had to get involved in this. Still, you've done well."
Streeter flushed with the praise. "May I borrow your sidearm for a moment, Captain?"
Neidelman slid the pistol from his belt and handed it to Streeter, an inquiring expression on his face. Streeter pointed it at Hatch and gave his own gun to Neidelman. "Could you reload that for me, sir? I ran out of ammo."
He gave Hatch a crooked smile. "You missed your opportunity, Doctor. There won't be another."
Hatch turned to Neidelman. "Gerard, please. Hear me out."
The Captain slapped a fresh clip into the gun, then snugged it into his belt. "Hear you out? I've been hearing you out for weeks now, and it's getting rather tedious." He shrugged the visor from his head and handed it to Magnusen. "Sandra, take over the torch, please. The island's battery system will only last two hours, maybe three, and we can't waste any time."
"You have to listen," Hatch said. "St. Michael's Sword is radioactive. It'll be suicide to open that casket."
A weary look crossed Neidelman's face. "You never give up, do you. Wasn't a billion dollars enough?"
"Think," Hatch went on urgently. "Think past the treasure for a moment, think of what's been happening on this island. It explains everything. The problems with the computers, the system acting flaky. Stray radiation from the treasure chamber would cause the anomalies Wopner described. And the rash of illnesses we've had. Radiation suppresses the immune system, lowers the white blood count, allows opportunistic diseases to intrude. I'll bet that we'd find the worst cases among those who spent their time in this Pit, day after day, digging and setting braces."