the danger of the river, of the dam bursting. We must call him and Nogo.
Nogo's men must clear out the tomb. We can ferry the treasure in the
helicopter up to the Pegasus camp, where. I can pack it securely for the
journey to Germany."
"Yes. Yes." Von Schiller scrambled to his feet, suddenly terrified at
the prospect of being deprived of this wondrous hoard by the flooded
river. "Send the monk, what is his name, Hansith, send him to call Helm.
He must come at once."
Nahoot jumped up to his feet. "Hansith!" he shouted.
"Where are you?"
The monk had been waiting at the entrance to the burial chamber,
kneeling in prayer before the empty sarcophagus which had contained the
body of the saint. He was torn now between religious conviction and
greed.
When he heard his name called he genuflected deeply, and then rose and
hurried back to join von Schiller and Nahoot.
"You must go back to the Pool where we left the others-' Nahoot started
to relay the orders, but suddenly a strange, distracted expression
crossed Hansith's darkly handsome features and he held up his hand for
silence.
"What is it?" Nahoot demanded angrily. "What is it that you can hear?"
Hansith shook his head. "Be quiet! Listen! Can't you hear it?"
"There is nothing-' Nahoot began, but then broke off suddenly, and wild
terror filled his dark eyes.
There was the softest sound, gentle as the sigh of a summer zephyr,
lulling and low.
"What do you hear?" von Schiller demanded. His hearing had long ago
deteriorated, and the sound was far beyond the range of his old ears.
"Water!" whispered Nahoot."Running water!'
"The river!" shouted Hansith. "The tunnel is floodingr He whirled round
and went bounding down the funeral arcade with long, lithe strides.
"We will be trapped in here!" screamed Nahoot, and raced after him.
"Wait for me," von Schiller yelled, and tried to follow.
But he soon fell behind the two much younger men.
The monk, however, was far ahead of both of them as he took the flight
of stairs up from the gas trap two at a time.
"Hansith! Come back! I order you," Nahoot cried despairingly in his
wake, but he caught only a flash of the monk's white robe as he darted
into the first twist of the labyrinth.
"Guddabi, where are you?" von Schiller's voice quavered and echoed
through the stone corridors. But Nahoot did not reply as he ran on in
the direction which he thought the monk had taken, passing the first
turn in the maze without even glancing at the chalk marks on the wall.
He thought he heard Hansith's racing footsteps ahead of him, but by the
time he had turned the third corner he knew he was lost.
He stopped with his heart racing savagely and the bitter gall of terror
in the back of his throat.
"Hansith! Where are you?"he screamed wildly.
Von Schiller's voice came back to him, ringing weirdly down the
passageways, "Guddabi! Guddabi! Don't leave me here."
"Shut up!" he screamed. "Keep quiet, you old fool!'
Panting heavily, the blood pounding in his ears, he
111, Timor:
tried to listen for the sound of Hansith's feet. But he heard only the
sound of the river. The gentle susurration seemed to emanate from the
very walls around him.
"No! Don't leave me here," he screamed, and began to run without
direction, panic-stricken, through the maze.
/4' ansith took each twist and'turn unerringly, with the terror of
dreadful death driving his 7 feet. But at the head of the central
staircase his ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily. He tumbled
down the steeply inclined shaft, bumping and rolling the full length,
gathering speed as he went until he reached the bottom and lay sprawled
on the agate tiles of the long gallery.
He dragged himself to his feet, bruised and shaken by the fall, and
tried to run on. But his leg gave way under him again, and he fell in a
tangle. His ankle was badly sprained and would not carry his weight.
Nevertheless he dragged himself up a second time and hobbled down the
gallery, supporting himself with one hand on the shattered wall.
When he reached the doorway and crawled through it on to the landing
beside the generator the sound of the water came up the tunnel. It was
much louder now - a low, reverberating growl which almost blotted out
the soft, discreet hum of the generator.
"Sweet loving Christ and the Virgin, save me!" he pleaded as he
staggered and lurched down the tunnel, falling twice more before he
reached the lower level.
On his knees he peered ahead, and in the glare of the electric lights
strung along the roof of the tunnel he could make out the sink-hole
below him. He did not at first recognize it, for it had all changed. The
water level was no longer lower than the paved floor on which he
sprawled. It was brimming, a great swirling maelstrom, and the water
pouring into it was being sucked away through the hidden outlet almost
as fast as it entered from the tunnel mouth on the far side. The pontoon
bridge was tangled and half, submerged, bobbing and canting and rearing
as it fought its retaining cables like an unbroken horse on a tether.
From Taita's pool'a roaring river of water was boring down the far
branch of the tunnel across the sink-hole.
The tunnel was flooding rapidly, the water already reaching halfway up
the walls, but he knew that it was the only escape route from the tomb.
Every moment he delayed, the flood became stronger.
"I have to get out through there." He pushed himself to his feet again.
He reached the first pontoon of the bridge, but it was careering about
so madly that he dared not attempt to remain upright upon it. He dropped
to his hands and knees, crawled out on to the flimsy structure and
managed to drag himself forward from one pontoon to the next, "Please
God and St. Michael help me. Don't let me die like this," he prayed
aloud. He reached the far side of the sink'hole and groped for a
handhold on the roughly hewn walls of the tunnel.
He found a hold with his fingertips and pulled himself into the mouth of
the tunnel, but now the full force of the water pouring down the shaft
struck his lower body. He hung there for a moment, pinned by the raging
waters, unable to move a pace forward. He knew that if his grip failed
he would be swept back into the sink-hole and sucked down into those
terrible black depths.
The electric bulbs strung along the roof of the tunnel ahead of him
still burned brightly, so that he could see almost to the open basin of
Taita's pool where the bamboo -scaffolding would offer escape to the top
of the chasm. It was only two hundred feet ahead of him. He gathered all
his strength and pulled himself forward against the raging waters,
reaching forward from one precarious handhold to
the next. His fingernails tore and the flesh smeared from the tips of
his fingers on the jagged rock, but he forced his way onwards.
At last he could see daylight ahead of him, filtering from Taita's pool.
Only another forty feet to go, and he realized with a surge of relief
and joy that he was going to make it out of the deadly trap of the
shaft. Then he heard a fresh sound, a harsher, more brutal roar as the
full flood of the burst dam poured down the waterfall into Taita's pool.
It found the entrance to the tunnel and came down it in a solid wave,
filling the passageway to the roof, ripping out the wiring of the lights
and plunging Hansith into darkness.
It struck him with such force that it seemed to be not mere water but
the solid rock of an avalanche, and he could not resist it. It tore him