She could see a faint light in the distance like a beacon, guiding her to safety. Her strength was waning, but she knew she could make it if she kept fighting.
Starving for oxygen, her vision narrowed. Her lungs burned, desperate for her next breath. But the light grew brighter with every stroke. The open sea was right there in front of her; all she had to do was reach out and grab it.
As the tunnel bent upward, Sarah grabbed the jagged rocks of the fissure and pulled herself in the direction of the surface above. By then, she had nothing left to give.
Only her own buoyancy could save her.
Her eyes rolled back into their sockets as she finally broke the surface, but her chest heaved as she instinctively gulped for air. It had never tasted so sweet.
She was alone, disoriented, and struggling to keep herself afloat.
But she was still alive.
For now.
31
The roar of flooding water echoed through the chamber. It was loud enough to drown out any conversation between Cobb and McNutt. Rather than compete for his attention, Cobb simply grabbed him by the belt and pulled him toward the farthest corner of the room. McNutt stumbled a bit but followed Cobb’s lead. He didn’t know what his friend had in mind, but it had to be better than their current predicament.
If not, they would soon be dead.
When the cisterns were converted to bomb shelters at the start of World War II, whole levels of the system were reinforced with concrete. The result was a series of long alleys that could be used for protection. The accommodations weren’t luxurious — they offered little more than fresh air, safe water, and wooden benches — but they were better than nothing.
Many residents of the city knew what lay beneath their feet. Stories were passed down through family members, wartime tales that described the threat of air raids and the proposed exodus into the tunnels. The older generation was proud of their government’s efforts to save its people. They were comforted by the massive corridors that would protect them from an aerial assault, even if they hadn’t seen them in person.
Luckily, Cobb had.
He had spotted the reinforced hallways during his rekky. He had also found smaller, hidden spaces that could house only a handful of people. These compartments were not designed to save everyone, only to protect a precious few. Cobb knew the first rule of tactical defense was to ensure the safety of those in authority, so he assumed that these spaces would have been built to withstand a direct hit.
In a time of war, their country would depend on it.
Today, Cobb and McNutt would test its strength.
They ran to a narrow section of the wall where the ancient stone had been replaced by modern cement. Peering through a crack no wider than his head, McNutt could see a small, open space beyond the cement barrier. He knew if they could crawl inside that they might be able to weather the explosion.
Together, they set about expanding the entrance.
Shards of cement flew as they hammered away, using their weapons as tools. After a few quick blows, a larger chunk of the wall gave way. Cobb and McNutt were able to slither through the opening as the final seconds ticked down.
Three… two… one… BOOM!
For an instant, they could feel the detonation before they could hear it. The air rushed past them as the explosion sucked in more life-sustaining fuel. As experienced soldiers, they knew the sudden change in air pressure caused by the blast could literally pulverize their internal organs, so they opened their mouths to counter the impending shockwave.
And they covered their ears to block out the deafening roar.
Then they closed their eyes and prayed.
There was nothing else to do.
Earthquakes were fairly common in Alexandria. Over the centuries, the city had been hit with its fair share of seismic activity; everything from slight tremors to catastrophic events. Given this history, few people on the street panicked when they heard the rumbling sound rising from the earth.
They had no reason to believe that their lives were in danger and assumed it would pass rather quickly.
This time, they were dead wrong.
Throughout the vast network of cisterns, the Semtex obliterated the uppermost arches. Shards of rubble rained down from the heights of each chamber. The air was heavy with smoke and particles of pulverized rock. The ceiling of every room was charred, scorched by the heat of the explosion and not by an actual fire.
Semtex had been chosen for a particular reason. Unlike pyrotechnic compositions such as Thermite — which can burn at more than forty-five hundred degrees Fahrenheit — Semtex doesn’t create a raging inferno. The Semtex charges were designed to instantaneously demolish the stone supports at the upper level of the cisterns.
The bombs weren’t meant to burn the pillars.
They were meant to destroy them.
The initial blast was over in an instant, but the damage was far from done. The destruction had been focused on key structural points that were essential to the integrity of the cistern. Once the arches crumbled, the pillars quickly gave way. Without the stanchions the ceiling was not able to support itself, and it collapsed under its own weight. The cumulative burden of the ceiling and the upper level was simply too much for the lower supports to bear, and they were crushed under the load.
It was known as the pancake effect.
And it was quite effective.
This controlled, vertical shaft of destruction used the force of the collapsing upper levels to wipe out everything in its path. The explosions just triggered the process; gravity did most of the work. For city engineers, it was the preferred method of destruction when dealing with large buildings in a crowded metropolis. When done correctly, there was no damage outside the blast radius but total destruction within.
That was bad news for the city of Alexandria.
And the neighborhood above the cisterns.
With nothing to support them, whole buildings began to sway like timbers in a swirling breeze. A moment later, they started to sink into the earth.
The roar of collapsing homes, offices, and restaurants was accompanied by the screams of those trapped within. Onlookers stared in awe as the ground ruptured and split, pulling helpless victims into its gaping maw. The deep canyons below the surface swallowed everything and everyone above.
Glass shattered as the buildings broke. Fires raged as sparks from electrical lines ignited gas leaks and fuel spills. The scent of death filled the air.
Five minutes earlier, the city block had been thriving.
Now it was a scene from the apocalypse.
Sarah heard the rumble of the explosions and felt the shockwave that funneled through the flooded passageway before dissipating in the water beneath her feet. Now she stared in horror at the carnage just beyond the coast.
Smoke billowed into the sky. The wind swept clouds of dust and noxious fumes in all directions. During her years with the CIA, Sarah had seen plenty of people die. She had even played a role in some of those deaths. But this was different.
Her targets had been criminals.
These victims were innocent.
If all the cisterns had been rigged like Garcia had described, she knew the destruction would be widespread and the casualties would be severe. The body count would reach well into the hundreds, if not thousands, and her friends were most likely dead. After all, how could they possibly survive a blast that brought down a city block?
To her, none of it made sense.
Who would do something like this?
Was this because of Alexander’s tomb?
Or did we stumble onto something else?
As she pondered the questions in the back of her mind, she spit water from her mouth and tried to talk. ‘Hector… can you hear me?’