The Aleppo Code (The Jerusalem Prophecies) (46 page)

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.

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.