As they filled the pack as much as possible, then zipped it up, Qara, who had been standing mutely near the shore, came closer. “Maybe,” she said quietly, so only Caleb and Phoebe could hear, “this is an opportunity.”
“What do you mean?”
“To free yourselves.”
“If you’ve got any secrets, spill ’em now,” Phoebe said.
“I believe,” she said, “your friend has a chance. Not only to save himself, with the help of your counterweight here, but also perhaps to set off an attack by these warriors. A volley of arrows that would surely injure most, if not all, of Agent Wagner’s men.”
“And not us?” Caleb asked.
“Not if we’re lying flat at the right moment.”
“What are you talking about?” Renée spun away from Chang and came in close.
“Do you want to survive this or not?” Qara said, holding her head up.
Renée studied her. “I don’t trust you. But for now, you live. Just move back, away from Caleb.”
“I have it!” Chang yelled. Two men were on their knees, brushing away the earth in a section just a few yards ahead of the prow of the second boat. Lights converged on the area, illuminating a rounded outline cut into a marble-like surface.
While they went about clearing out the handle and prying it open like a manhole cover, Caleb dragged the backpack toward the field of warriors, where Orlando stood teetering on the balls of his feet, ten yards out. Surrounded by warriors poised to strike both high and low, he looked terrified and miserable.
“Please hurry, boss. Don’t want to get all cliché on you, but I don’t want to die just yet. So much left to do and all.”
“Hang in there, Orlando. I’m coming.”
“I could tell you, but you probably won’t believe me. I’ve never even—”
“I don’t need to hear this, really.”
“—kissed a girl.” He smiled back. “What did you think I was going to say?”
Caleb shook his head. “Never would have guessed. A suave guy like you.”
Then lower, “I love your sister, you know.”
Caleb ducked under the first two warriors. He held his breath, trying to step exactly in Orlando’s footsteps as he lugged the eighty-pound pack. “You can tell her that yourself, when we get out of this.”
Orlando shook his head. “Nope. I think I’m shish kebob. Or hibachi. Whichever.”
“For hibachi you need fire. Kebab is skewering.”
“Ah. Well then.” His body gave a tremor and his back foot almost slipped before he caught himself and regained balance. “These hungry fellows here have waited a long time for their dinner.”
“They can wait longer.” Caleb crouched, dragging the pack right up to the back of Orlando’s legs. “Keep the light on us!” he yelled back, then winced against the blaze.
“Tell me when,” Orlando said.
Caleb could see his feet shaking. His boots, dirt-caked and torn at the sides, wobbled on a plate tilting out of the earth. He could see the levers underneath leading to the closest statues, somehow triggering them into movement.
He dragged the pack onto the back of the plate, inching it forward little by little. “Lift your foot, Orlando. Just slightly. Lean forward. Keep your toes on it. There…”
Something grated and Orlando flinched. It took all his effort not to move off the plate. “Boss? They’re gearing up, and their blades look freakin’ sharp. Vorpal sharp, even. At least I know I won’t feel it when—”
“Stop. Now, just ease forward. All your weight on your left foot.” Caleb slid the pack two more inches, covering now the space where his right foot had been.
Balancing, back foot in the air, Orlando slowly set it down, next to his front foot.
Caleb took his hands off the pack, gently, with his eyes closed. Then opened them and looked up, breathing a sigh. “Okay?”
“Still in one piece,” Orlando said. “It’s holding. Can I run for it?”
“Not yet.” Caleb glanced back and saw Qara behind the others, pulling Phoebe with her. Saw their eyes. Saw Qara’s expression, and her lips moving: Do it.
Caleb put his hand back on the pack while getting up into a kneel, and with his other hand took Orlando’s arm. He could pull him down easily, down and away from the statue’s reach, just as he pulled the pack off the plate. Both of them would be ducking, and after the two statues swung horizontally, the arrows would fly at perfectly coordinated angles, missing the other statues and striking with a maximum spread at anyone standing on the shore.
Take them all out. Do it.
He tightened his grip on the backpack, glancing around at all the lights dancing off the taut visages of the warriors standing in their eternal positions, poised and waiting for this chance to defend their master.
Caleb blinked away a bead of sweat. Shook his head. No. Not like this.
He eased Orlando back, around the plate, even as he stood up from a crouch, and led him slowly, carefully back along their footsteps.
Back to the party on the shore, away from the frozen warriors, who watched them with resigned indifference.
Qara stood up, fury in her eyes. But Phoebe pushed past Renée and Chang and threw her arms around Orlando’s neck. She pulled back, looked into his eyes and gave him a big kiss before pulling away and slapping his cheek. “Don’t ever do that again!”
“What?”
“Risk your life on an unsupported vision. You want to be part of the Morpheus Initiative, you’d better wise up.”
Orlando’s grin was unwavering. “It was worth it. For that kiss.”
“I’d rather drink that mercury water,” said Renée, “than listen to any more of this crap. Let’s get moving.” She moved behind them and pointed her gun at their backs. “Let’s go. Down into the tunnel.”
9
“Don’t move, kid!”
Montross tightened his hold on the Emerald Tablet. The giant warriors on the wall were bent over, crossbows aimed to take out anyone on the shore. “Not a muscle. Do… not… move.” He glanced back. “Nina? Options?”
She thought quickly, looking to the large duffel bag at her feet. “RPG?”
Thinking for a moment, Montross nodded. “I’m sure, given enough time, we could RV this moment, try to figure out what the builders had in mind, how to bypass this trap and get that gate open.”
“But time is something we don’t have,” Nina said, unzipping the bag. She put her Beretta away and reached inside the bag for the rocket launcher and one of three missiles. She screwed it in and stood, raising the rifle butt to her shoulder, flipping over the reticule and peering through it.
“Aim for the ledge between the second and third warrior,” Montross said. “Right, Colonel? Would that be your advice?”
Hiltmeyer, his face ashen, his flashlight trembling, only murmured his assent. He kept staring at the body of his last soldier, staked into the ground, back arched at an awkward angle, head swiveled with dead eyes locked on him.
Nina aimed. “Duck, Alexander. Now!”
She fired. Just as Alexander’s movement triggered something and the second archer swiveled four degrees, lining up a shot with the boy’s location.
The missile struck, exploding the entire rampart under the statue warriors, blowing two of them into chunks and sending debris in all directions. Alexander tucked himself into a ball, wincing as a few smaller pieces struck his back and a powdery dust swirled in the flashlight beams. He rubbed his ears, amazed that anything could produce such a tremendous sound, then waved away the smoke and stood, not sure which direction was which.
“Wait,” Montross cautioned.
He and Nina led Colonel Hiltmeyer out as the smoke cleared and they looked up. The statues were gone, all but the lower torso and crouched legs of the left-most warrior, standing on a cracked edge over the gap. “Nice work,” Montross said. He pointed to the gate and said to Nina, “Now kindly open that door.”