Deep Fathom (35 page)

Half standing, the driver glided his jet ski along the passage. He studied the walled island, slowing as he puttered past Jack's hiding spot. The man, in a black wet suit with his
mask pushed up on his forehead, wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Keep going, asshole
. Jack knew the others could not hold their breath forever. In the reflection of the man's sunglasses, Jack spotted his own face hidden by leaves. His skin, pale, seemed to shine in the shadows. He should have smeared his face with mud, he thought. But it was too late now.

The jet ski inched past him, its fiberglass edge almost grazing his cheek as it swept by him. The man remained unaware of his presence. As he drifted away, Jack recognized the automatic weapon strapped to the man's back. A Heckler & Koch MP5A3 assault weapon. The SEALs' weapon of choice.

He kept an eye on the gunman until he disappeared around the corner, then pulled the others up. They gasped for air.

Jack strained to listen. Another whine arose from across the ruins. A second jet ski! He surmised there were two guards, circling in tandem around the island. He had maybe three minutes to come up with a plan.

“We need to get out of here,” he said. “Now.”

Mwahu pointed toward an islet fifty yards down the waterway. “More tunnels. Go over to shore.” But he seemed unsure of himself.

“Are you certain?”

Mwahu stared Jack down, then shrugged.

Jack sighed. “You make a very good point.” The group had no other choice. They'd have to take their chances. “Move fast, folks. We've got more company coming.”

The sound of the second jet ski grew louder.

Mwahu led the way. Here, the water was deeper. They were forced to swim. Jack cringed at the amount of splashing. If the second guard should turn the corner now, they would be spotted easily.

Positioned at the rear, Jack kept glancing over his shoulder. The whining began to roar, echoing off the walls. “Faster,” he urged the others.

The splashing worsened, but their progress only improved slightly. Jack realized they would not make it. Ahead, he spotted a narrow side channel jutting from the main canal. “Turn in there!”

With a kick, Mwahu led them into the tight alley.

Jack swam after them into the cramped space. Bare walls surrounded them on either side—and the canal dead-ended only a couple yards away. They were boxed in. Jack swung around. “We'll have to hold our breath again.”

Resigned nods answered him.

Jack judged their waning strength, knowing they were all growing cold and exhausted. The rising scream of the jet ski drew his attention around. “He's coming.” He knew he could not risk even peeking out. He listened, trying to time it, grabbed Karen's hand and raised his other arm.

The noise drilled his ears. He held his breath, waiting, tense. Then he lowered his arm, and the others sucked air and dove. Again Jack lowered his face to eye level with the water.

The jet ski roared up to the opening of the side channel, but the driver, a clone of the other, maintained a watch on the larger island across the canal. Standing, the man had a hand pressed to an ear, listening to his radio, reporting in. His words were muffled by the jet ski's engine.

Jack willed him to continue past.

As if hearing his silent plea, the man swung around. Jack just barely managed to duck underwater in time. From under the surface he stared up. He could see the man's watery image, saw him pause, floating the jet ski in place.

Jack felt Karen tug on his hand. She and the others were running out of air. He squeezed her hand, then released his grip and slipped away from her side. Karen tried to grab the back of his shirt, but he knocked her hand aside.

Overhead, the jet ski turned in their direction. Jack saw the man reach for his rifle. Exhaling slowly, Jack sank deeper. He slid out of the side channel, scuttling under the starboard edge of the ski. He hated to abandon the others,
but he needed a moment's distraction.

Crouching down on the bottom of the canal, he positioned his feet and squinted up.
C'mon
, he urged the others. Then he heard a frantic kicking as one of his group ran out of air and was forced to surface.

Jack did not wait. He shoved with all the strength in his legs and shot out of the water.

The driver, still facing the channel, had his weapon pointed in the wrong direction. He noticed Jack's attack a moment too late.

Jack knocked him off the jet ski's seat. The man grabbed the handlebars and twisted around, but by then Jack's elbow had smashed him in the face, crushing his nose, driving the bone into his brain. Instant death.

Jack did not pause. His old instincts arose. He relieved the guard of his rifle and radio headpiece, then shoved the man into the canal.

As he swung back into the jet ski's seat he found Karen staring up in shock from the canal.

“Kill or be killed,” he grumbled, then gunned the jet ski. “C'mon.”

Karen held out a hand, and Jack pulled her into the seat behind him. There was not enough room for the other two.

“Grab the edge of the jet ski,” he instructed them. “I'll drag you both.”

Miyuki and Mwahu swam to either side, fingers clutching for handholds.

“Ready?”

“Y-Yes,” Miyuki said, shivering.

Jack edged the ski forward. Over the noise of his own watercraft he heard the growing roar of the other jet ski. He increased his pace, but a squeal of protest from Miyuki forced him to throttle down. The professor gagged out a mouthful of seawater.

“Sorry,” he said, twisting around and watching for the other guard. Jack clutched the handles in a tight grip. “We can't outrun them like this.”

Karen nodded down the canal. “What about Mwahu's
tunnel?”

They should have just enough time, Jack thought, and slowly throttled up. “Hold your breath.”

Gliding the jet ski, he headed toward the islet Mwahu had pointed out. Once abreast of it, he ducked the ski into another side canal and parked it out of sight.

“Is this the place?” Karen asked Mwahu.

Half drowned, the islander indicated the rear side of the islet's single squat building.

Shouldering the rifle, Jack hopped to shore and helped the others up onto the weed-choked island. He quickly led them around the building, where he stumbled to a stop. “Goddamn it!” The entrance to the building was blocked by a large basalt boulder. He sagged and turned. “Is this your entrance to the tunnels?”

Mwahu crossed and placed a hand on the boulder. He looked near tears. Answer enough.

Karen joined the islander. “We can move it,” she said, wiggling out of her wet pack. “It's basalt. We have the crystal.”

Jack looked at the boulder. It was deep in shadows as the sun hovered at the horizon. “We need sunlight.”

Karen passed him the crystal. “I'll get it for you.” She removed a plastic compact from her pack, opened it and broke off the mirror. Stepping back to the corner, she aimed the mirror toward the sun and deflected a beam toward the boulder so a spot of sunlight danced on the boulder's surface.

Jack smiled. “It's worth a try.”

He crossed to the boulder and slapped on the star, still sticky with gum. It failed to adhere to the uneven surface, but he found he could hold it in place and push with his shoulder. He nodded to Karen.

It took her a few tries to hit the star with the reflected sunlight. Jack pushed each time the star burst with radiance. The boulder, much more massive than the crypt's lid, was still heavy. Jack dug in his heels, straining against the rock, fighting it. Mwahu joined him and pushed, too. Slowly, the boulder shifted.

“I don't hear the other jet ski,” Miyuki said.

Jack paused. She was right. Silence lay over the ruins. “He must have discovered the body. He's probably reporting in.” He hunkered down again. “C'mon, we're running out of time.”

Karen tilted her mirror. The star flashed brilliantly. Jack and Mwahu groaned, against it. The boulder rolled a full foot. The gap opened enough for a small person to crawl inside.

“That'll have to do,” Karen said. “We can squeeze.” She passed Jack her pack and crouched down, slithering into the space. Once through, she called back. “Mwahu was right. There is a tunnel. It leads steeply down from here.”

Jack waved for Miyuki and Mwahu to follow. The pair quickly squeezed inside, into the stone building, while Jack backed to the far side of the boulder. The stone's far edge, now pushed beyond the shelter of the building, was bathed in sunlight.

“Now you,” Karen called out to him. “Jack?”

He hooked Karen's pack to his own shoulder and placed the crystal star against the sunlit edge of the boulder.

“Jack?”

The crystal glowed brightly. Jack crouched down and shoved against the boulder, legs straining. The large stone rolled back into the shadows. Then he straightened and walked back around. Without sunlight, the boulder was now impossible to move any farther.

“What are you doing?” Karen asked from the other side. The crack was no wider than the palm of his hand. Her face was pressed to the gap.

“We can't leave the way open,” he said. “They'll find the jet ski and quickly discover the opening. They'll hunt us in the tunnels.”

“But—”

The roar of a jet ski echoed over the water. First one, then another, then another.

“They're coming,” Jack said, standing. “I'll try and lead them away.” He stepped back and tucked the crystal into the
pack on his shoulder. “But if they catch me, I'll have what they want—the crystal. Either way, they should leave you all alone.”

“Jack…” Karen wiggled a hand through the crack.

Jack knelt and took her hand. “Try to get to someone in authority.”

Karen nodded, eyes moist. “I will.”

Jack turned her hand and gently pressed his lips to her palm. “I'll see you soon.”

She closed her hand, savoring his kiss. “You'd better.”

Jack pushed back up. There was nothing else to say. He hitched Karen's pack higher on his shoulder and hurried to the lone watercraft. The screams of the other jet skis echoed across the ruins.

Jack settled into the jet ski's seat, hooked the radio headset in place and strapped the assault weapon over his shoulder. Ready, he gunned the jet ski, adding its voice to the chorus of others. Opening the throttle, he shot forward.

Across Nan Madol the sun was sinking below the horizon. As darkness descended, Jack remembered Mwahu's earlier warning.

An old superstition.

Death lay among the ruins at night.

David Spangler stood atop the stone roof of the central keep, one of the tallest points in Nan Madol. He had a comprehensive view of the entire megalithic city. Using a night vision scope, he watched the chase begin. He saw Jack's jet ski suddenly burst from out of hiding behind one of the islets.

“He's in quadrant four,” David radioed his men. “Circle the area and keep him contained.” On his command, the other three jet skis swung around, circling toward the designated region. He listened to the chatter over the radio as his team closed the noose.

David allowed himself a hard smile. Darkness was Omega team's ally. While Jack stumbled around blindly, his own men, equipped with goggles and UV lanterns, moved with skill and certainty. He watched the trap tighten. He would end this tonight.

He touched his microphone. “Jeffreys, check out the island where Jack was hiding. Make sure he hasn't left anyone behind.” David knew it was not above Jack to play hero, leading his team on a wild goose chase while the real prize lay hidden.

Below, he heard a jet ski throttle up. He had held Omega team's last jet ski in reserve, for emergencies and backup. Now, the jet ski roared away, angling toward the tiny islet.

Sighing, David returned his attention to the chase. When they first arrived, he had ordered his men to capture Kirkland and the others alive. But the man was proving more of an adversary than he'd imagined. As a consequence, he adjusted his estimation of Kirkland and upgraded his order to “Kill on sight.”

Still, he found it frustrating. His team had been outwitted. He'd spent many hours planning the day's mission. He had commandeered a local police cutter and the six jet skis. “Drug runners” was the official explanation. He had stationed the boat outside the reef and awaited the arrival of Jack and the others. Once they were there, he had watched them paddle around the ruins and finally beach their canoes. From that point it was a simple matter to jet-ski into the ruins through the sea gates and sneak onto the island silently. He had then ordered the area cordoned off, while he and his extraction team hunted Jack's group.

Even now David was not entirely certain how Jack and the others had escaped his trap. Rolfe and Handel had sketched a story of Jack using some sort of stone shield to flee into hiding. Then he apparently disappeared down some secret tunnels, where Kirkland killed one of his men as he escaped. It was a sorry excuse all around, and he would demand a full debriefing on his men's failure once this was over.

From his vantage point, David watched as Jack's jet ski
was encircled within an especially cramped section of the ruins. All exits from the area were blocked by his men. Jack was trapped. He would not escape a second time.

“Get him!” David ordered. “Shoot to kill!” Gleefully, he watched his men close in. If he couldn't be there personally, this was the next best thing—watching Jack hunted down like a dog and shot.

“I see him!” one of the men shouted over the radio. The jet ski in the background made it difficult to hear.

Rifle fire rang out, the sound echoing over the ruins. Off to the left a flurry of birds took flight from their nests, frightened by the blast. But David's scope remained fixed on the glowing mote of Jack and his jet ski.

The spot flared brightly, stinging his eyes like a camera flash. Swearing, David shoved away the night vision goggles and blinked away the glare. He stared across the ruins.