A steady breeze now moving his thick, dark hair, Rizzo came to the edge of the opening. He was afraid to look over the edge and find a precipitous drop, dooming him to entombment in this tunnel but, as he extended the lantern through the opening, he saw something he didn’t expect.
There wasn’t much of a drop on the other side of the opening—six to ten feet and the space opened up into an irregular chamber about twenty feet high and just as wide. Its surfaces were smooth grooves carved out by fast-moving channels of water from long ago. And on the far side of the chamber were two tunnels. Two.
Rizzo calculated the distances in his mind. Probably six feet to the floor of the chamber from the lip of the opening. Not wise to try to jump with the lantern in his hands. And he wasn’t going to leave the lantern here. He took off his belt, lay on his stomach, and dangled the belt over the edge. Too short. Looping the belt back into his pants, Rizzo looked at his boots.
“Too wide to jump?”
“Yeah, and the current is awfully fast,” said Joe.
Annie came to his side. “Sammy wouldn’t have gotten over.”
“No, not at this depth he wouldn’t.” Joe’s mind flashed to an image of Rizzo being swept away into that deadly, dark tunnel. He shook his shoulders to chase away the dread and gazed into the black hole to his right where the river disappeared into the wall of the shaft. “But we have to.”
They were all going to get wet. The only questions were how, and who went first.
“Maybe I could tie a couple of ropes around my waist,” said Tom, “and I could ford the river while you and Annie hold on and keep me from getting swept away.”
Joe thought about the possibility for a moment. “The only way that can work is if someone was on the other side and could pull you across.” He reached up and touched the roof of the shaft. It wasn’t that far above his head. He looked across the river. It wasn’t that far across. “I’ve got an idea. Tom, give me three of those pitons.”
Based on their earlier adventures underground, Tom and Joe had included a few items in their packs they thought might come in handy. One safety measure—though heavy—was the ropes. Another was the spelunker’s gear. Their helmets were still back in the Land Rovers, but the rest of the gear had been packed long ago, just to be ready.
Tom slipped off his pack, sending a shiver of pain through his shoulder, dug into a pocket, and pulled out a handful of hardened steel pitons—sharp-pointed rope hangers that mountain climbers or cave divers drove into stone or wood or clay. Their design locked them in place, and they could support more than five hundred pounds of weight.
Joe stepped back and inspected the tunnel. He needed to get up enough speed, and the fulcrum point needed to be as far out over the water as possible. He stepped up to the edge of the fast-moving water. “Here, hang on to my belt while I lean out over the water.”
Both Annie and Bohannon came up behind him and Joe leaned forward, the piton in his left hand, a hammer in his right. But he couldn’t get far enough over the water. “Wait, let’s try a rope.”
He grabbed a coil from the floor. “Let me turn around so I can lean backward. Tie one end around the belt loop on the right side of my pants, and the other end around a belt loop on the left side. Then you and Annie hang on to the ropes and keep me steady while I try to drive this piton into the roof.”
Joe leaned against the ropes as he moved close to the edge of the river. The Bohannons played out the ropes, Tom’s left arm straining under the pressure, and Joe found himself looking up at the ceiling, the river rushing below his back. He held the piton in his left fist and with short, awkward strokes, drove it into the hardened clay. His body swaying with each swing, Rodriguez fought to keep his feet from slipping on the wet floor. He took a third piece of rope and threaded it through the eye of the piton.
The lantern hanging at the end of his shoelaces, Rizzo lowered it slowly to the floor below. The last thing he needed was to break that light. As it settled on the clay floor, Rizzo dropped the shoelace over the edge, turned his body, and tried to find a firm grasp on the smooth clay at the opening’s edge. He pushed his knees out and wiggled to his waist. His legs dropped perpendicular to the wall and, as his fingers grappled for a hold, Rizzo fell.
Standing about twenty feet up the shaft, Joe visualized in his mind the next few moments. Like riding a rope swing out over the water, Rodriguez needed to gain momentum on this side of the underground river, hang on to the rope as it pivoted against the piton and, at just the right moment, release his hands from the rope. He wasn’t worried about that part. It was landing on the other side that had him concerned. And the odds of whether he would break a leg.
Rizzo’s boots hit the floor with a thud. He thought he was balanced enough for his feet to land flat. But his left ankle buckled, he cried out in pain, and his body crashed to the eroded floor of hardened clay. Rizzo’s ankle heralded the promise of swelling to join the pain, but this was no time to lie around waiting for bad things to happen.
He retrieved the lantern and relaced his boots. Picking himself up and standing in front of the tunnel entrances, vainly trying to keep weight off his bruised ankle, Rizzo considered his options. Right or left? Left or right? He hobbled over and looked into both tunnels. Each one showed the smooth-faced erosion of moving water. Which way?
“When you come to a fork in the road, take it,” he said into the silence. No coin to flip, Rizzo shrugged his shoulders. “I hope this is the right shaft.” And he entered the left.
When Joe landed in water on the other side, he was surprised, for a heartbeat. But then he was too focused on keeping his feet and not falling back into the river. A river that seemed to be growing in size and speed. Waving his arms forward, Joe regained his balance and took two steps out of the water, turning quickly to look at Tom and his wife on the other side. “Hurry up. The river’s getting bigger.”
“How’s it getting bigger?” Tom wondered.
“It’s a river. I don’t know.” Joe’s words held an edge of urgency. “Annie, hurry. I’ll catch you.”
Tom heard sounds behind him as he pulled the rope back and put it in Annie’s hands. He looked up the shaft as the darkness behind them grew gray.
“That’s voices.”
“I know. Get moving. I’ll be right behind.”
Annie ran faster, and was lighter, and cleared the river easily, landing in Rodriguez’s arms.
“They’re coming.”
“I know. I can hear them.” Joe swung the rope back in Tom’s direction. He was already up to his ankles, and the swiftly moving river was pulling at his grip on the floor. The rope was still at least a foot away when it changed direction and swung back toward Joe. Tom glanced over his shoulder, then to his left where the river was coming out of a fissure in the wall. The river was growing in volume and speed. And the voices were getting louder.
He grabbed Joe’s pack off the floor with his left hand. “Here!” He threw it with all his might into Joe’s arms. “Here’s Annie’s.”
“Wait!” Annie’s voice was strained. “Grab the rope, Tom.”
He looked across the raging water and was forced to take another step back. “I can’t reach it. Here, catch this.”
Bohannon lofted Annie’s pack. As Joe caught it, Tom tied a loop of rope, one end around his waist, the other end to the straps of his backpack. “And this one.”
A flashlight beam illuminated the shaft behind him. “Stop!”
34
9:35 p.m., Babylon
When he heard voices, Sammy Rizzo started to cry.
He was cold, exhausted—physically and emotionally spent. His stomach felt like the inside of a tornado, and his head pounded with a vicious headache, all the result of wrestling with the claustrophobia that threatened to paralyze his every movement. Fear ceased to be a factor long ago, supplanted by a debilitating dread that he was walking through his tomb, that his desperate effort to find a path of escape was destined to failure.
R
izzo traveled along the left-side tunnel for several hundred yards when he came to a small chamber, and the end of the tunnel. Along the right, up near the roofline, was a large hole, the only exit other than reversing direction and going back to the fork.
He sat on the floor, his head drooping, growing more despondent the more he debated with himself about the viability of his options. Where did the hole go? Was there a way out? But how could he reach it? If he went back to the fork, would the right tunnel provide any better result?
None of the options held much hope.
“Hurry up. The river’s getting bigger. Annie, hurry. I’ll catch you.“ Rodriguez! The voices came through the hole at the top of the shaft, amplified like in a megaphone. Distant, but clear.
Before he even thought to react, the tears were running down his face. They’re close!
Rizzo jumped to his feet. “Hey! Hey, it’s me!” he yelled. Only echoes returned. He looked up at the hole just below the roof. He was short, but his legs were strong. If he could get a running start … if his ankle held up … maybe … He turned to gauge the distance to the far wall. His lantern dimmed.
Joe caught the pack and the rope. Without hesitation, Bohannon ran a few steps back, turned, and then raced toward the growing river. He took two steps into the water and launched himself at the rope hanging from the piton.
Spinning round, Rizzo saw the bulb in the lantern pulse, dim to bright, and then shine brighter than ever before. Oh, God!
Which is when he saw the water running down the passage from the direction he’d come.
Rizzo turned and jumped as hard as he could. If he could reach the hole above, maybe the light would last long enough for him to reach the rest of the team. His stubby fingers stretched for the lip of the hole, but he was at least two feet short. He shot a glance back, over his right shoulder. The water was running faster and beginning to cover the floor in his small chamber.
Maybe I can tread water and float up to the hole? Doofus! Where’s the water going to go when it gets that high?
Rizzo looked around frantically. He had only one chance.
He pulled his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. Pushed the lantern closer to the wall, under the hole. Took a few steps back until his shoulders were against the far wall. Then launched himself, ignoring the pain in his ankle, sloshing through the growing stream.
The sound of running feet was obliterated by the thunder of an automatic weapon in an enclosed space. Bohannon could hear the bullets thudding into the thick clay along the walls. But his focus was on the rope.
Kicking his knees high to pull his boots out of the water, Rizzo splashed across the tunnel in two giant strides, landed with his right boot on top of the lantern and pushed up with all his strength. Rizzo dug the fingers of his left hand into the wall and, using his left hand as a fulcrum, swung his right arm over his head, stabbing the steel blade of the knife deep into the hard clay.
He almost lost his grip when the echoes of automatic weapons reverberated along the opening.
Stretching, not thinking, Tom reached for the rope with both hands, but there was very little forward momentum left. As he grasped the rope, his left hand slipped. Tom screamed in protest as all his weight bore down against the damaged joint. His legs splashed into the river, slowing him down even more. Sucking in a huge, great breath, Bohannon’s throbbing arm lost contact with the rope and the rushing water started driving him downstream.
The knife was imbedded only three to four inches inside the lip of the hole, but it was enough for Sammy to pull himself up and wrap his left hand around the hilt of the knife. His chest was pounding, and his lungs ached. He pushed with his boots against the side of the tunnel wall and pulled his elbows into the space inside the hole.
Joe and Annie, now knee deep in the river and in danger of being swept away themselves, pulled hard on the rope attached to Bohannon’s waist. “Tom!”
Rizzo’s weight balanced on the lip of the opening, his hands around the knife as it pressed into his sternum. But now he was really in a predicament. He needed to let go of the knife in order to move farther into the hole in the wall. How could he move any farther inside the hole without the danger of slipping off the lip and dropping back into the chamber?
He snuck a peek under his left armpit. The water in the chamber was rising. He needed to move.
Rizzo realized that he was still wearing his small backpack. He didn’t need the extra weight. Extra weight. Rizzo pushed both hands down on the knife’s hilt, raising his body up, and pressed his stomach hard against the handle. As he came down, he forced the hilt of the knife under the belt on his pants.
And he let go.
Rodriguez was digging the heels of his boots into the hard clay floor of the tunnel, pulling with all the strength in his arms. Annie was at his side, almost parallel to the floor as she threw her body weight against the current. Rodriguez wasn’t gaining any advantage—but he wasn’t losing any, either. At least not yet. Gunshots—and bullets whizzed above their heads.
As his body hung from his belt looped around the knife, Rizzo could feel the strength leeching from his arms. He willed himself to one last, great push.
His knees found the lip of the hole, and he lunged forward. The knife hilt plunged into his groin, shooting pain through his midsection, and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Rizzo reached out his hands to steady his body. They found nothing but air.
35
9:51 p.m., Babylon
Later, Bohannon would realize two things: one, as Rodriguez held fast to the rope, his brother-in-law acted as a fulcrum. Swept downstream, Bohannon’s body moved in an arc, not a straight line, being pulled closer to the edge of the river the farther downstream he was pushed. Bohannon cushioned his contact with the wall of the shaft by extending his left arm and pushing off the wall. At the same time he felt a huge yank against his waist as Rodriguez began reeling in his further-battered body.
And two, whoever was chasing them wasn’t getting past this river without building a bridge.
It started as a skid. Momentarily weakened by the blow to his midsection, Rizzo’s hands reached for substance as his head and shoulders dipped into the descending chute. As his body started to slide down the slope, the water his boots carried from the leap inside the tunnel ran down his legs, further soaking his still damp pants. The smooth clay, worn by centuries of flowing water, became slick—like ice.
Rizzo’s body picked up speed, falling headfirst, down the shaft.
Arms, legs, knees, elbows all vainly tried to act as brakes for the runaway Rizzo. For a heartbeat he slowed. Then gravity exerted its law.
“Aaaaarrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhh!”
They were all exhausted, dripping wet, and ready to collapse. But this was no time to sit and wait. Flashlights bobbed and boots pounded on the far side of the dark. Rodriguez grabbed Bohannon’s sopping shirt by the shoulders. “Let’s—”
“Aaaaarrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhh!”
Rodriguez’s ears were ringing. And for a moment he thought he was crazy.
“It’s Sam!”
The shaft got steeper. And Rizzo dropped into the blackness like a rock.
Hunched over in the lowering space, Rodriguez led the way as they slipped along the passage. He held Rizzo’s MagLite close to his shirt, giving him a dim view of what was ahead and, hopefully, a more difficult target for their pursuers.
With the rupturing abruptness of a skidding car against a fire hydrant, Rizzo slammed to a stop. The straps of his backpack jerked his shoulders back and snapped his head into the roof of the now much-more-narrow channel.
His scream made his ears hurt.
Rizzo’s head and arms had gotten through a narrowing in the shaft, but his shoulders and the pack on his back acted like emergency brakes. His shoulders throbbed from the violence of the crash. It hurt to breathe, as if he was getting stabbed in the lungs. Blood dripped into his eyes.
He fought hard to remain conscious. He forced a swallow to hold
his vomit in check. He flexed his fingers, arms, and legs—just to make sure they still worked.
And he felt the steady rain of water falling down the course behind him.
“Awww, come on, will ya!” he shouted into the dark. “Give me a break!”
Rodriguez skidded to a halt, and Bohannon ran right into his back, tripped over his own feet, and fell to the wet floor of the tunnel. On his injured shoulder.
“That’s Sammy! Look around. We’ve got to risk it. Look around.”
His eyes closed, Rizzo tried once again to rein in the panic attack that bubbled up in his chest like a sudden illness. He pulled in a deep breath to calm his nerves, but the shooting pain in his side pierced any growing calm and jolted his eyes wide open.
“Sam! Sam, we can hear you!”
Water falling like rain around him, Rizzo saw moving light through an opening at the base of the shaft. It’s Joe! “Hey!” The yell sent a shiver of pain through Rizzo’s ribs. “Oww!”
At first Rodriguez thought the water on the floor was coming from the overflow of the raging river in their wake. But as he swept his MagLite in great, frantic arcs up and down the walls, he saw more water coming from an opening up ahead. The opening was down near the floor, on the right side of the shaft, like the opening of a small cave. Rodriguez threw himself on his knees and skidded to a stop just in front of the cave. He shoved his arm with the flashlight into the opening and carefully peeked under the lintel. “Sammy?”
“Will you get that stupid light out of my eyes? What, do you think you’re the cave police?”
The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) Page 30
