“I’ll be damned,” Sykes said when he spotted the six-foot-wide cave entrance. He whispered to Mercer, “What now, we put you in a big body glove and lube you up?”
“You are no longer allowed to comment on my sense of humor.”
Because of the cave’s height, thirty feet above the valley floor, and the way the cliffs curved, Mercer would not be able to free climb up to it. Also he had to admit that in the thin air he probably didn’t have the strength. There was a flat plateau about fifty feet above and to the right of the cave entrance, and it looked like an easy march up a goat trail to reach it. From there he could rappel down and spider crawl to the cave mouth while the others provided cover. He told Sykes his plan, and after a few minutes studying the terrain through binoculars the former Delta officer agreed.
The trail was just wide enough for them to place one foot in front of the other and walk with their shoulders torqued around, but the grade was manageable and soon the men were eighty feet up the two-hundred-foot cliff face and on the shelf Mercer had seen from the ground. A chunk of stone the size of an automobile engine had broken off the cliff and made a perfect belay point for the safety rope Mercer would pay out as he climbed across to the cavern.
Sykes and Sleep helped with the line while Grump surveyed the entire scene through his sniper scope, and Sneeze did the same over his M-4A1’s optics. There was some passable cover behind other chunks of rock that had dislodged and settled on the shelf over the years, but this was still an exposed position and countersniper procedures were necessary.
While Booker tied off the line, Mercer shucked his pack and quickly hauled out the extra ammo, spare canteen, MREs, and other gear so all he would carry in it for the climb were the rock hammer, the short pry bar, sample bags, and a flashlight.
“I don’t like it here,” Sykes said, giving the rope a final, brutal pull. “Get over there, do your thing, and get your ass back. We are way too exposed for my taste. Got it?”
“What is it you guys say? Hooah,” Mercer replied.
“Hooah,” Sykes called back softly, and Mercer climbed over the makeshift barricade and started down the rock face.
The strain on his arms and legs immediately made him want to cough, but he suppressed the urge and concentrated on his tenuous grip on the stone. It was ice cold and greasy from the rain turning a coating of dust into something as viscous as pond slime. The climb also put added pressure on his abdominal muscles, which were toned into hard bands, but when they tightened on his stomach, it brought the first wave of altitude-induced nausea. The men above kept the rope from getting in his way as he crawled down, and also across the right cheek of the buttocks-shaped formation. The mountain was very young in geologic terms and erosion hadn’t yet smoothed out the face, which provided plenty of hand- and footholds, but still he was racing his own body’s negative reaction to being this high up in the oxygen-depleted air.
As part of his mine rescue work, Mercer was an accomplished climber, even if he never saw it as a thrill sport. He moved surely and steadily, his technique flawless in execution and adherence to safety protocols. His fingers were cold but not yet cramping, and only once did the toe of his boot slip from a knuckle-size projection when he asked it to take his weight. Because of the rock face’s outward curve, he could not see the ground directly below him, which wasn’t a problem, but when the wind picked up, whipping around the horseshoe-shaped valley head, Mercer felt a small stab of concern. It came around so fast that it got between him and the stone and tried to peel him off the mountain with surprising force. He had to tighten his hands into claws and curl his toes to keep a precarious grip on the rock, attempting to press his body back against the face while Mother Nature tried to send him tumbling into the void.
Fighting for every millimeter, Mercer was able to mash himself to the rock in a lover’s embrace. He suddenly gave in to his body’s need, and he coughed so deeply it almost felt like he’d torn tissue. He spat some watery saliva, but it wasn’t stained with blood. That would likely come later.
The wind dropped a minute later and he kept going, ever downward and moving to his left, approaching the cave entrance with each step. Because it was so high off the valley floor it wouldn’t be home to any predators; snow leopards, though rare, still haunted these forsaken mountains, and they were high enough in elevation that bats wouldn’t likely call it home, but there were some large bird species that hunted the Hindu Kush, and Mercer wasn’t keen on encountering one bursting out of the cave as he tried to enter.
He was still five feet above and ten feet to the right of the cave when he paused, pulled a handful of pebbles he’d collected just prior to the climb, and threw them at the shadowy cave entrance. Several pattered down the face of the cliff, but enough found their mark that had a vulture or eagle or other raptor been roosting inside, it would have burst out in a riot of feathers and angered cries.
Mercer finished his descent and soon found himself standing at the cave entrance. The floor was littered with the bones of tiny creatures — mice and voles and other ground mammals that were the favored meal of the indigenous birds of prey. Powdered guano also blanketed the floor while more recent streaks splattered the walls. The cavern remained wide and tall for only a short distance into the mountain before the ceiling dropped and the walls narrowed. Mercer unhooked himself from the line, tying it off around a chunk of stone almost as large as the upper anchor point.
Only ten feet in, and he was down to his hands and knees and needing the flashlight to peer into the stygian blackness ahead of him. There was nothing remarkable about the geology; the mountain was granite of poor quality judging by the numerous cracks and fissures. It wasn’t handling the shock load of so much seismic activity, and if he were to guess he’d have to say the cave would most likely collapse in another couple thousand years.
A further twenty feet in, and he was forced to remove his backpack and push it ahead of him and commando crawl. He saw no evidence that anyone other than the raptors had been here before him. The sandy cave floor showed occasional animal tracks, but no telltale human spoor. This didn’t bode well and Mercer started feeling the first pangs of doubt. He had just been guessing that this cave was what Dillman referenced. They could be miles from the actual target. He moved on, forced even flatter by the constricting rock walls and lowering ceiling. No matter how carefully he crawled, he still kicked up a cloud of fine dust particles that made their way deep into his airways and triggered another coughing fit, only this time the surrounding stone seemed to squeeze in on each spasm and redouble the pain in the delicate oxygen-deprived tissues of his lungs. Each cough was like a full body blow, and no matter what he tried he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Mercer worried that in seconds his hind brain would overwhelm his logic center and blind panic would ensue. He fought to control himself, to calm down and take easy shallow sips of air, to forget the tons of rock pressing in on him, and the tickle at the back of his throat or the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
Booker and his team were hanging exposed on the side of a mountain in the middle of Taliban country, and they were relying on him to get the mission done as quickly as possible. He took as deep a breath as possible and forced himself to hold it, forced the muscles around his diaphragm to relax. He held on to that breath until his vision pixelated and dimmed so it looked as if his flashlight was dying and he was being left in the pitch darkness of that Afghan cave. He kept at it until he was moments from passing out, and maybe he even did for a second, but then he let it go, nice and easy, no need to panic. When his lungs were empty he took another, normal breath and this time there were no spasms. The air was still filled with dust, and it irritated his nose and throat but it wasn’t getting so deep as to convulse his entire body.