Tortured Spirits (33 page)

“Under the circumstances, you should go first,” Jorge said to Jake.

Jake swung one leg over the tree stump, set it on the top rung, then swung the other leg over and plunged into darkness. Jorge's flashlight beam showed the bottom, perhaps ten feet below. When Jake's sneaker touched the ground, he aimed his flashlight at the ceiling.

Seven feet,
he estimated. He pointed the flashlight into the tunnel, which swallowed the light. Directing the beam, he glimpsed supports and crossbeams spaced every eight feet. The walls and ceiling were flat and straight.

Maria descended behind him, and he heard Jorge close the stump and join them. Darkness pressed in.

Jorge lit a lantern, which cast dull light over them. “We
have half a mile to travel, which will take us to the prison fence. Then another tunnel that's not so spacious. The floor here is level and clear of stones, but it's still just dirt, and you'll encounter the occasional tree root. Every crossbeam has four holes drilled into it two inches wide, with a pipe that runs to the surface for air. Some of them are clogged with dirt and leaves. If you have trouble breathing, you have a small oxygen mask and tank in one of your backpacks. Use it sparingly, in case the ceiling caves in.”

“I guess smoking is out of the question,” Maria said.

They set off.

Jake and Maria used their flashlights to supplement the light from Jorge's lantern.

“How long did it take to dig this?” Maria said.

“Decades,” Jorge said. “The original diggers started with the final tunnel you'll use, then worked their way back to where we started. If Le Père was a younger man, we might have continued another half mile. The time for rescuing him is running out. It's good you came when you did.”

“I wish Humphrey was alive to see this.”

“So do I.”

They reached a dead end. Jake lowered his flashlight beam to a perfect black square in the cinder-block wall. Two six-foot
lengths of PVC piping extended from the hole.

“Mi Dios,” Maria said.

Jake got down on his knees and shone the flashlight around the inside of the tunnel. The parallel tracks of PVC pipe running on the ground faded into darkness, and a single metal track hung from the ceiling. “It's only three feet high.”

“Three and a half,” Jorge said. “It just seems like less with the tracks.”

Maria used her flashlight to illuminate three flat dollies similar to those used by auto mechanics. “I take it these are our wheels?”

“Oui.”

Jake and Maria crouched around one dolly. Four skateboard wheels had been screwed underneath each corner of the board. One inch of padding covered the top surface, with thicker padding to support the rider's head. Jake studied a metal device, like an arm, attached to a pole set into a hole on the right side. A two-foot bar covered with a long foam rubber grip extended from the arm above where he expected the rider's chest would be, with four small wheels above it, which he spun one by one. The device reminded him of exercise equipment in a fancy gymnasium.

“I see these wheels attach to the upper track, but how does this thing work?”

“Like a pump,” Jorge said. “Traveling headfirst, you push the handle toward your feet, and the tension propels you forward. Then the spring pushes the handle above your head so you can push it down again. You can go fast with minimal effort.”

“A quarter of a mile is a long way,” Maria said.

“We've run tests many times. A man in good condition can run a quarter-mile track in sixty-eight seconds. A man in average condition can jog the same track in two minutes. Even going slow and steady, coasting as much as possible, you can make the trip in five minutes, ten at the most.”

“It looks to me like it takes two hands to push that bar down.”

“It will be difficult to operate with one hand but not impossible.”

“I can still use my left arm,” Jake said. “Just not my hand.”

“Don't you dare.” Maria's voice took on an arch tone. “You could break your sutures and rupture your arm open. With your heart pumping at that rate, you'll bleed to death before you reach the end of the tunnel. Then I'll really be screwed.”

“I'll go in Jake's place,” Jorge said.

Jake shook his head. “Forget it. We need you here to coordinate with the teams above. I'm in good shape. I've been working out. I can do this. What's at the end of the tunnel?”

“A station of sorts. For the last eight feet, the ceiling is as high as this one. The first person to arrive will have to lean his dolly against the wall so the next dolly can enter that space. You'll find an iron ladder bolted to the wall. Fifteen feet above, you'll find the access panel.”

“Is there light in there?”

“No, you'll need your flashlights when you reach the station. In the tunnel, there is a small bulb in the arm”—he pointed at the dolly—”powered by your motion. As long as you pump, you'll be able to see the ceiling.”

“What if something goes wrong in the tunnel?”

Jorge motioned to a hole on the left side of the dolly. “Move the arm into this hole, and operate it the same way. It will reverse your direction—as long as your path is not obstructed by your partner. There are no real brakes; pull up on the bar to slow down. When you reach the station, the top wheels will encounter stoppers that will bring your ride to an end. Expect a jolt.”

Jake looked around the floor. “There are three dollies.”

“One for each of you, plus Andre. The empty dolly will have to travel between the two of you, with the person in the rear pushing it along.”

Jake realized that if he had agreed to allow others to accompany them, transporting everyone would have been a laborious process, with a speedy escape impossible.

Maria looked at Jake. “Can you handle that?”

“Yes.”

“Then I go first.”

Jorge said, “When you've both reached the end, take a full five minutes to relax your arms before you climb the ladder. When you return with Andre, we'll have to run the half mile back to the entrance. It won't be easy.”

Maria stood and removed her backpack. “Unlike the rest of this adventure. Send me in.”

Jorge and Maria positioned the first dolly on the PVC tracks. The skateboard wheels fit perfectly. Maria hopped onto the dolly and grasped the bar with both hands. Jake set her backpack across her thighs, and Jorge slid her machine gun under one leg.

Jorge raised his hand radio. “We're at the access point and ready to go.”

Stephane's voice squawked over the radio. “I'm in position.”

“So am I,” Armand said.

Jorge nodded to Maria, who glanced at Jake.

“I'll see you on the other side,” she said.

Before Jake could answer, she pressed down on the bar and disappeared into the tunnel.

Jorge positioned a second dolly on the tracks, pushed it into the tunnel, then positioned the third dolly, which Jake climbed aboard, his back and buttocks resting on a blue mat nailed to the dolly's surface. His legs dangled over the edge just under his calves. The bar extended above his head, and he placed his right hand on its center.

Jorge set Jake's backpack on top of his thighs and the machine gun under one leg. He put one foot on the edge of the dolly between Jake's legs. “Let me give you a push.”

The dolly surged forward, and Jorge and his flashlight disappeared. The skateboard wheels ran smoothly on the tracks, but the heat made Jake feel as if he had entered an oven. He pulled down on the bar, and the dolly increased speed, a spotlight of dull gold appearing on the ceiling. The spring-loaded mechanism popped the bar back into place, and the light moved above Jake's face, allowing him to glimpse the ceiling inches beyond his fingers. The claustrophobic sensation in the narrow tunnel reminded Jake of the MRI machine he had been in when Katrina had cast a spell on him.

He pushed the bar down again with ease and established a steady rhythm. Whoever had designed the contraption knew what he was doing.

Jake's dolly bumped into the empty dolly ahead and propelled it along. Despite the smooth ride, he felt vibrations beneath him. The golden light intensified when he pushed the bar, then faded when the bar returned to position. Each push caused his dolly to bump against the one intended for Andre. He hoped Maria was making good time, so they wouldn't get jammed up.

Maria.

Jesus, she had turned out to be a pot of gold, a fiery soldier with strong convictions. Jake admired her as a cop, a fighter, and a lover. He didn't want to let his feelings for her cloud his judgment, and he didn't want to lose her. Just thinking about the possibility made him pump the bar harder, the dolly's vibrations increasing with its speed, sweat forming on his brow. He knew she could take care of herself, but he felt compelled to ensure her safety anyway. And how could he do that with only one hand?

Russel.

He had disliked the man upon meeting him in the Tower and had feared what he might do after Jake had killed Old Nick and Kira. Jake had always expected to run into Russel again but had not expected to walk right into his clutches in another country where he had no legal protection.

Laurel.

His psychic confidante proved yet another complication. They had shared sexual experiences together but had both realized a romantic relationship was out of the question. Reading his mind, Laurel had even forced Jake to admit he
had feelings for Maria. But Jake considered Laurel a friend, and he knew she had become a shut-in because she was hiding from someone or
something.
He wanted to help her with her problem, which she had so far refused to share with him. Maria had inadvertently provided him with a clue to Laurel's past.

A romance writer!

Now he wondered if he would ever see Laurel again.

By the time the wheels on the dolly encountered the braking system at the end of the tunnel and he lifted the bar in the opposite direction to help slow the dolly, Jake had worked himself into a full sweat. The dolly shook as it decelerated, and he heard Andre's dolly crash ahead of him. Then his dolly slammed into that one, and he felt himself hurtling off the padding. He squeezed the bar, which snapped him back into position, and felt as if his arm had been ripped off. He clenched his jaw to keep from screaming as the dolly rebounded back into the tunnel with him still on it.

Jake cursed in the darkness. He heard one of the dollies ahead turn over, then light enveloped him.

“Are you all right?” Maria said, her voice more distant than he would have liked.

Jake groaned. “I can't move my arm. I think it's broken.” He reached for the bar with his stump—

“Don't!”

He stopped in midmotion. “I need one good arm to crawl, and I don't have one.”

“Move your ass to the bottom of the dolly, and use your feet.”

Sighing, he did as she said. His soaking wet T-shirt clung to the mat beneath his back. Unable to grab either side of the dolly for leverage, he raised one knee and kept a foot on the dolly, using his other foot to propel him toward
Maria, like skateboarding in reverse. The light around him grew brighter, and he emerged from the tunnel into darkness again.

Squeezing the flashlight under one arm, Maria caught the dolly and stopped it, then helped him sit up, which caused him to growl in pain. “Jesus, how fast did you want to get here? You were pushing me, too. I didn't even have to pump the last half of the way.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“And I don't?” Maria swung her flashlight around the concrete walls, illuminating the station Jorge had described—a very small room, like a walk-in closet. Locating the lantern Jorge had mentioned, she picked it up and lit it, then kneeled beside Jake. “Where does it hurt?”

“Shoulder …”

She raised his right arm straight out, and pain lanced through it, causing him to moan. He felt her probing his shoulder, and his torso spasmed.