The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) (45 page)

“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!”

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.

Rizzo 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.