by Bob Finley
"Remember. Go for the chest. It's the bigger target," Strickland warned.
"Yeah, but two legs equal a chest in size, and he’s still alive. And so are we."
"No. We’re alive. You’re dead."
Chapter 92
Marc Justin was surprised. Though he’d been unsure where the vent duct was going to take him, and up made sense, he still hadn’t expected the vertical rock shaft, cylindrical in shape, to come equipped with rebar climbing studs anchored into the walls. He’d climbed only twenty feet, though, when he came to the top of the shaft. Directly across from the climbing studs, the shaft was redirected by a horizontal sheet metal air duct, three feet square. Marc realized that it must traverse the cavern ceiling, though where it might terminate was anybody's guess. He peered cautiously over its bottom edge, ducking back quickly so Jambou, if he were hiding there, wouldn't have a chance to use his head for target practice. But all he’d seen was a ‘tunnel’ so long the straight lines of the duct merged in the distance. Now and then light penetrated the otherwise dark ductwork where grills allowed air to filter out into the cavern. The cavern. He had time to understand that when he entered the duct, there’d be nothing between him and eighty feet of freefall but the thin metal of the duct walls. He hoped, briefly, that the now-dead contractors who’d installed this part of the installation had used good anchors to hold this flimsy metal conveyance in place.
He leaned across the shaft and muscled his way into the vent. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he began what he assumed would be a hundred yards of crawling on his belly. It bothered him that he couldn’t see the far end. Jambou could be lying down there in the semi-darkness just waiting for him to get close enough to be a better target. Then he remembered how he’d almost gotten shot trying to save this creep’s life and how Jambou had repaid him by disappearing into this hole like the snake-in-the-grass that he was.
Below and behind him gunfire suddenly erupted. Inside the metal walls that surrounded him, the noise was deafening and scary. He realized that Jambou’s guards must have gotten into position to open up on the TRAP team. That meant they’d be firing toward...something slammed into the metal just six feet ahead of him. A jagged hole instantly appeared, the torn metal edges flaring wickedly where his stomach would have been a few seconds later. Dust roiled up inside the duct, kicked loose by the high-velocity bullet that had gone clear through both of the thin, metal walls.
With sweat suddenly stinging his eyes and his elbows already chaffing, he wormed his way carefully around the bullet hole and leaned hard into the crawl. He wanted very much to put some distance between himself and the area of the cavern roof the guards had targeted. He felt his heart thudding in his chest. More than anything else, though, he felt his own vulnerability.
Chapter 93
Janese saw him before Banner did. Actually, she heard him first. There was a guttural, animal sound that quickly rose to a crescendo. Then a large grill on the far wall near the ceiling erupted explosively into the room, followed immediately by a blur that tumbled from the opening to the carpeted floor below. The blur coalesced into a scrambling black mask of fury as Jambou recovered from his leap/fall from the vent and charged the would-be thief who was filling a bag with the diamonds he, Jambou, had worked so hard to steal for himself.
Banner had been so immersed in his own gluttony at the diamond kiosk that, when he heard the crash of the ventilator cover being kicked out, he thought that somehow the noise had been made by his fellow captive conspirator. The couple of seconds he wasted turning to look at her was all the advantage Jambou needed. Before Banner could turn all the way back around to confront what he now perceived to be a threat, Jambou slammed into him with the bone-crushing momentum of an NFL tackle.
Janese scrambled behind the chair she’d so recently occupied as the two massive bodies hurtled across the room and slammed into the wall. Momentarily at a decided disadvantage, Banner had the breath knocked from his lungs and his head whipped against the stone wall hard enough to kill an average man. But neither man was average at just that moment. One was enraged to the level of super strength and the other was more heavily-muscled and an experienced street fighter, who also happened to hate his attacker.
Amid the thrashing, eye-gouging, and murderous grunts and growls of combat, both men desperately sought to gain the slightest advantage that would give one victory over the other. The bulging day pack lay on the carpet some feet away, a handful of its glittering contents strewn in sharp contrast across the black carpet.
It suddenly became clear to Janese that, no matter who won this fight, she shouldn’t be around to congratulate the winner. But, she remembered, with all that shooting outside, safety didn't exactly lie beyond the door, either. So...?
She was hit hard from behind, sending her sprawling to the carpet, a heavy weight smashing down on her, entangling her legs and pinning her face down. A moment later, the crushing weight doubled and drove the air from her. Seconds later the weight disappeared and she frantically crawled and rolled away, finally getting her head around to see what had hit her. The two men were still wrestling wildly on the floor and she realized one must have fallen on top of her and the other had jumped on top of them both. Her right cheek stung harshly. When she instinctively touched it, she jerked her hand away it hurt so. She guessed she had a serious case of carpet burn. And from the feel of it, her knees and the heels of her hands were no better off. She got to her feet and backed away just in time to see Jambou jerk Banner’s gun from its holster. Banner grabbed Jambou's sweaty wrist and forced his arm up and away from himself. Janese screamed and clapped her hands over her ears as the big bore weapon roared, the .45 caliber slug tearing chunks of rock from the ceiling and spraying the whole room with flying shrapnel. A second shot, deafening in the close confines of the rock-walled room, tore through the computer bank. Exploding computer monitors lit up the room with blinding incandescence as arcing electrical cables spewed showers of white-hot cinders bouncing across the carpet. Glass shards shattered against the walls and tinkled to the table top of the computer bank.
From her now-crouching position ten feet away, Janese watched with fascinated horror as Jambou managed to roll on top of Banner and get both his hands on the gun. He leaned forward, putting his full weight into the press. And, slowly, slowly, the gun barrel sank toward Banner. Gasping for breath, his arms trembling as he tried to bench press the other man’s full weight off him, Banner’s full attention was riveted on the muzzle of the gun that was inexorably coming to bear on him. But he couldn't summon that last little bit of strength he needed. Janese saw the wild-eyed grimace of concentration on Jambou's face as he pressed his advantage. And she knew the outcome as surely as she knew that she would be next.
Her scream and the blast from the gun filled the room at the same instant. She saw Banner’s body arch and go rigid, then drop limply back to the carpet. Jambou rolled off to one side, his breath loud and harsh as he gulped in air. He lay gasping for what seemed five or ten seconds. And then she saw his massive head roll toward her. She saw the sheen of perspiration beaded on his scalp and the rivulets streaming down his face. His right arm was outstretched on the carpet and the gun lay loosely in his grip, the barrel pointing vaguely in her direction. And then his eyes found her.
Janese scrabbled backwards like a crab, ignoring the pain in her hands and knees, her eyes never leaving his. Her feet hit a hard surface and she backed along it until it gave way and she discovered a recess from the feel of it. She gratefully prostrated herself behind its meager protection. Her last glimpse of Jambou was when he slowly rolled to a kneeling position and brought the gun up with the butt of it resting in his left hand and the barrel bearing directly on her.
She instinctively shoved her back flat against the wall, drew her knees up into the fetal position, clenched her eyes tightly closed and covered her ears. Even so, her scream was drowned out by the roar of the gun as the wooden shelving behind which she had taken refuge exploded under the impact of the bu
llet.
Chapter 94
The first gunshot raised his blood pressure twenty points. Marcus Justin flopped down in the vent duct and tried to think thin. When there were no more shots, his reasoning filtered back. He had no doubt that what he'd heard was a gunshot. But it probably hadn't been fired at him because (1) he hadn't been hit and (2) there hadn't been any sounds of a bullet hitting anywhere close to him. So, if he wasn't the target, where was the shooting and who was doing it? Finally, he realized that the shape of the ductwork he was negotiating would tend to focus noise in his direction. That meant...probably...that the shot had come from wherever this duct terminated. The second shot flattened him again, but this time he was reasonably sure it hadn't been aimed at him, so he hurried his pace.
He was thinking so hard he almost crawled head-on into the end of the duct. Well, not the end, apparently, but a left turn in an area with no louvers to let in the light. He peered around the corner and...saw a large square of bright light on the right wall of the duct some fifty feet ahead. Well, at least, if the opening wasn't directly in front of him, nobody could see him coming before he could get to the opening.
He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the sleeve of his jumpsuit and peered closely at the gun in his hand. It was difficult to see much in the dim light, but the thing seemed to be in the firing position. Unexpectedly, like a revelation, he noticed that the light coming from the opening seemed to be dancing and irregular, as if someone were welding just around the corner, and there were strange noises just discernible. He pressed on, but more cautiously now, careful not to make any more noise than necessary.
The third shot brought him up short and, because he could now see what must be the end of the tunnel, he dropped into the prone firing position, holding his weapon out in front of himself and bracing it with his left hand. But nothing happened. So he eased forward the last few feet and reluctantly forced one eye around the edge of the vent. Then he popped his whole head around for a better look.
The scene below him like something out of that old vid, ‘Apocalypse something-or-other’. There was a bright glare of light from the diamond kiosk which was in full view. Just beyond it two men lay stretched out on the dark carpet, just a couple of feet between them. One of them was Banner. But Banner’s left chest was splattered a vivid red and he wasn't moving. The other was...Jambou! He was lying flat of his back beside Banner, but was obviously alive because his chest was heaving, as if he was having trouble breathing. The room was alive with flashes of light and showers of what looked like sparks erupting from the remains of a computer console over on the right wall.
A movement caught his eye and he quickly looked back just as Jambou turned his head to look toward the wrecked computers. Just as Justin began to slide forward for better positioning, he noticed the gun in Jambou's hand for the first time. That changed things a bit. He'd have to get the drop on him or end up in a gun battle. For a brief moment he wondered if he shouldn’t have let...Tyrone?...come after all. At least he’d know what to do next.
"Probably shoot him through the head, from here. With no warning." At just this moment, that didn't sound quite so bad, after all. He eased back up to where he could see Jambou again.
He'd moved. In fact, he'd sat up. And seemed to be aiming at something over by the computers.
"What could...?"
He dragged his body forward a few inches on his elbows and leaned out of the vent just far enough to look to his right. And froze.
"Janese!!"
She was obviously terrified from the quick glimpse he had of her face before she disappeared behind something. And she was the ‘something’ Jambou was aiming at! Justin abandoned caution, kicked himself forward into the large vent opening, discounting the fact that he was fully exposed to whatever Jambou might send his way and yelled at the top of his lungs, "JAMBOU, NO!!!"
But his voice merged with a scream from somewhere and with the huge BOOM! of Jambou's gun going off.
Jambou couldn't have heard him, but he must have noticed the movement above his head, the direction from which his last threat had come. And that was enough to slightly distract him and minutely deflect his aim. Then, rattled, he instinctively began to redirect his fire to answer the new threat. But Justin, seeing Jambou's gun hand come around, jacked himself up on one elbow and brought his own gun down to respond.
They fired simultaneously. And badly. Neither one had had time to aim and both shots went wild. But, as Justin rolled back from the opening, Jambou loosed a volley that filled the vent duct and the surrounding wall with enough ricocheting lead to pin Justin down for a full five seconds. And enough to empty the clip in the big .45 semi-automatic.
It was several additional seconds before Marc was sure Jambou had quit firing because the noise in the confined space had almost totally deafened him. As soon as he realized he wasn’t being shot at anymore, the only thing he could think of was that Jambou was going for Janese. He catapulted himself out of the vent without regard to where or how he’d land. He hit hard but doggedly rolled over a couple of times and whirled in Jambou’s direction, ready to kill him if he could. The nuclear threat was completely erased from his hyperextended mind.
There was no Jambou. Through the smoke from the electrical fires at the console and the acrid, choking aftermath of the blazing guns, he couldn't see him anywhere. Then he saw the gun lying on the floor a few feet from a bag of some kind.
"Janese."
Holding the gun...he was surprised he still had it...at full extension, he began moving cautiously, sideways, across the room toward the still burning console. His eyes were everywhere at once, searching, seeking. Then he saw the end of the bookshelf, where the round Jambou had evidently fired at Janese had practically blown it apart and partially collapsed the shelves. His stomach went sour, knowing that whatever had been behind that flimsy piece of wood must have been hit by the mushrooming chunk of lead. He paused, fearful of looking. But look he must.
Expecting Jambou to suddenly leap out at him from somewhere, like the wraith he seemed to be, Marc eased around the corner and...she was there! Curled up, hands over her ears, but wide-eyed and staring straight at him. He quickly looked around, wary of Jambou's appearance, before he moved toward her. Slowly. Holding out his free hand. Encouraging her.
And then she was there and he was holding her as she babbled and trembled, her face blackened with soot from the smoldering plastic of the burning computer equipment. He had backed them both into a corner wall, so he could watch the room. It didn't take as long as he’d expected for her to recover. Whatever else she might be, she was resilient. Together, they explored the room while she told him what had happened.
Checking Banner, he found a feeble pulse, but the man's breathing was labored and shallow, his eyes unseeing. Marc thought a few minutes more would finish him off. And he didn't have the few minutes to give him. Apparently Jambou had, somehow, managed to escape. Again.
But maybe not. Justin found a spare clip on Banner's belt. He re-loaded the .45 and gave it to Janese. Just in case. Then they got serious about Jambou's disappearing act.
Near the far left wall they found a doorway. Inside was a hallway. It went maybe ten yards, then turned right. A blind corner. The odd thing about the corridor was that there were no doors leading off of it. Just one long hall. As soon as Justin stepped into the short hall, a ghastly odor hit him. The smell was so putrid and thick it seemed to coat the lining of his nose and cling there. It reminded him of singed hair, but much, much worse. He slid carefully along the right wall of the corridor, Janese so close they seemed attached. He stuck his head quickly around the corner and just as quickly retrieved it.
"I know what the smell is," he said, breathing against his will.
"What?" she whispered, holding one arm crooked over her mouth and nose.
"It's not a ‘what’...it's a ‘who’. Or, it used to be."
She looked at him with a look of horror and clenched his left jumpsuit arm for reassu
rance. When he tried to go, she didn't move. He looked at her.
"Stay here," he suggested.
All she did was shake her head, her wide-eyed expression saying more than words would have. This time, when he tried to move, she moved with him.
He’d barely turned the corner when he stopped.
"What is it?" Janese whispered fearfully behind him.
He didn't answer right away. Finally, he shook his head and said, "I don't know. There's just something about this hallway that seems odd."
"Odd, how?"
He shook his head again. "Well," he said slowly, “two long hallways, no doors leading off of either one, a ninety-degree turn...and the second hallway leads to nowhere. A blank wall. A dead-end. It just doesn’t make sense."
They eased past the body...or, what passed for a body...and continued down the corridor to its end. They stood there for a moment, turning this way and that, staring at the walls. Justin began tapping the walls, looking for a secret passageway, and feeling a little melodramatic and foolish.
Janese was the one who found it. About six feet from the dead-end there was an almost invisible break in the plush carpet. A circle. It took a couple of minutes to figure out how to get it open. Marc peered with understandable caution down into the dimly-lit shaft. Another dimly-lit shaft.
"This guy must be part magician and part mole," he muttered as he stared down into the pit.
"Shouldn’t we tell some of those men who came here to capture him?" Janese asked.
"They didn't come here to capture him," Marc answered ruefully. "They came here to kill him."
"Kill him? But, if he dies, won't that mean..."
"Uh huh. And that's why we can’t tell them. That, and the probability that the body over there is probably one of theirs. Another good reason for them to want him dead."
"Then, what are we going to do?"
