He glanced at Clay, who obliged by turning the flashlight beam toward the machine. Hatch began stabbing at the miniature keyboard. The warning message disappeared, and the three-dimensional coordinate grid once again filled the screen. Standing, Hatch began to move the detector around. A blazing, rainbow-colored spot blossomed in the center of the screen, colors shifting as he turned.
"Oh, my God." He looked up from the screen. "Neidelman's not dead. He's on the ladder now, below us. And he's got the sword."
"What?" Bonterre breathed.
"Look at these readings." Hatch turned the Radmeter toward her. A ragged patch of white showed on its display, oscillating wildly. "Christ, he must be getting a massive dose from the sword."
"How much of a dose?" Clay asked, his voice strained.
"What I want to know is, how much of a dose are we getting?" Bonterre asked.
"We're not in immediate danger. Yet. There's a lot of intervening ground. But radiation poisoning is cumulative. The longer we stay, the bigger the dose."
Suddenly, the earth shook like a possessed thing. A few feet down the tunnel, a massive beam gave way with a loud crack. Dirt and pebbles rained around them.
"What are we waiting for?" Bonterre hissed, turning toward the depths of the tunnel. "Let's go!"
"Wait!" Hatch cried, the Radmeter buzzing in his hands.
"We cannot wait!" Bonterre said. "Can this tunnel lead us out?"
"No. The base of the well was sealed off when the reverend reset the trap."
"So let's climb out the Pit! We cannot stay here." She began walking toward the array.
Hatch pulled Bonterre roughly back into the tunnel.
"We can't go out there," he hissed.
"Why not?"
Clay was now at their side, looking intently at the screen. Hatch glanced at him, briefly surprised at the look of suppressed excitement, almost triumph, on the minister's face.
"According to this," Hatch said slowly, "that sword is so radioactive that even one second's exposure to it gives a lethal dose. Neidelman's out there now, and he's climbing toward us. If we so much as peek out into the main shaft, we're toast."
"Then why is he not dead?"
"He is dead. Even the most massive doses of radiation take time to kill. He was dead the moment he laid eyes on that sword. And we're dead, too, if we get within a sight line of it. Neutron radiation propagates through the air like light. It's vital that we keep rock and earth between him and us."
He stared at the Radmeter. "He's maybe fifty feet below now, maybe less. Go back down this tunnel as far as you dare. With luck, he'll climb right past us."
Over the uprushing of sound, Hatch heard an indistinct shout.
Gesturing for the others to stay back, he crept forward, halting just before the mouth of the shaft. Beyond, the web of titanium struts shivered and swayed. A low-battery alarm began sounding on the Radmeter, and he looked down to check the display:
3217.89 Rads/hour
Fast neutron flux detected
IMMEDIATE EVACUATION CRITICAL
Christ, he thought, it's redlined. They were still within safety limits, shielded by the rock and dirt of the Water Pit. But Neidelman was closer now, and soon not even the intervening earth would—
"Hatch!" came the hoarse, ragged voice.
Hatch paused.
"I found Lyle's body."
Still Hatch said nothing. Could Neidelman know where he was? Or was he merely bluffing?
"Hatch! Don't be coy, it doesn't suit you. I saw your light. I'm coming for you. Do you hear me?"
"Neidelman!" he yelled in return.
There was no answer. He glanced back at the Radmeter. The whitish blob on the screen kept ascending the grid, flickering in and out with the waning power of the battery.
"Captain! Stop! We need to talk."
"By all means. We'll have a nice little talk."
"You don't understand!" Hatch cried, inching even closer to the edge. "The sword is highly radioactive. It's killing you, Captain! Get rid of it, now!"
He waited, straining to hear above the uprushing roar.
"Ah, the endlessly inventive Hatch," came Neidelman's voice, faint and unnaturally calm. "You planned this disaster very well."
"Captain, for Chrissakes, drop the sword!"
"Drop it?" came the answer. "You set this trap, wreck the Water Pit, kill my crew, deprive me of my treasure. And now you want me to drop the sword? I don't think so."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Don't be diffident. Take credit for your fine work. A few well-placed explosives did the trick, right?"
Hatch rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, searching for options. "You're a sick man, Captain," he called out. "If you don't believe me, ask your own body. The sword is a powerful emitter of fast neutron radiation. It's already stopped all cell mitosis and DNA synthesis in your body. Soon you'll be suffering from cerebral syndrome. The most severe form of radiation poisoning."
He listened. Except for the roar of the great gulf beneath, the only sound he heard was the dying chirp of the Radmeter. He took a deep breath.
"You're already in the prodromal period!" he called out. "First, you'll begin to feel nauseated. You probably do already, don't you? Next will come confusion, as inflammatory foci sprout up in your brain. Then tremors, ataxia, convulsions, and death."
There was no answer.
"For God's sake, Neidelman, listen to me!" he cried. "You're going to kill us all with that sword!"
"No," came the voice from below. "No, I think I'll use my gun."
Hatch sat up fast. The voice was closer now, very close: no more than fifteen feet away. He retreated down the tunnel to the others.
"What is happening?" Bonterre cried.
"He'll be here in a few seconds," Hatch replied. "He's not going to stop." As he spoke, he realized with grim finality that there was nothing they could do. They had no escape route. Another moment or two, and Neidelman would appear over the lip of the tunnel, sword in hand. And they would all be dead.
"Is there no way to stop him?" Bonterre cried.
Before Hatch could answer, Clay spoke. "Yes," he said, in a strong, clear voice. "Yes, there is."
Hatch turned. The look on Clay's cadaverous face was not only triumphant—it was ecstatic, beatific, otherworldly.
"What—?" Hatch began, but Clay had already brushed past him, light in hand. In a flash, Hatch understood.
"Don't do it!" he cried, grabbing for Clay's sleeve. "It's suicide! The sword will kill you!"
"Not until I've done what I came to do." Clay jerked his arm free and raced to the lip of the tunnel. Then—skirting Rankin's body—he leaped across the metal bridge to the array and descended quickly out of view.
Chapter 61
Clinging to the rings of the array, Clay climbed down a few feet, then paused to steady himself. A great roar was coming from the depths of the Pit: the sounds of collapsing caverns and thunderous water, of violent chaos churning in the unguessable depths. An uprush of damp air tugged and worried at the collar of his shirt.
He angled his flashlight downward. The ventilation system had shut down when the emergency power failed, and the air was heavy. The shaking spars were dripping with condensation, striped with clots of falling dirt. The beam licked through the fog, settling at last on the form of Neidelman, perhaps ten feet below.
The Captain was toiling painfully up the ladder, grasping each rung in the crook of his arm before hauling himself up to the next, his face contorted with effort. With every shudder of the ladder he paused, hugging the rungs in both hands. Tucked into Neidelman's back harness, Clay saw the flash of a jeweled hilt.
"Well, well," croaked Neidelman, staring up toward the flashlight. "Et lux in tenebris lucet. The light does shine in the darkness, indeed. Why am I not surprised to find the good reverend part of this conspiracy?" His voice dissolved into a hacking cough and he clung to the ladder with both hands through another nasty shudder.