The Eye of God (30 page)

From his sheltered vantage, he took out the shooter’s left kneecap—as the man toppled, Duncan placed a round between his eyes.

Another attacker slid into view on his knees, strafing under the table.

Then the neighboring bookcase fell on top of him, crushing him. Monk clambered over the top and punched a stunned gunman in the throat with his prosthetic hand. With his larynx crushed, the man fell to his side, writhing, choking on blood.

At the exit, one of Arslan’s crew clubbed the bird away from their leader’s face.

Josip used the chaos to break free and run deeper into the room.

Two shots cracked loudly.

The priest’s chest blew out. He collided with Monk, who caught him in his arms.

Behind them, Arslan’s pistol still smoked as his men dragged his bloody form through the door. Duncan fired after them, but the hatch swung closed with a clang of steel.

Climbing back to his feet, Duncan rushed the door and shouldered into it. It refused to budge, likely braced on the other side. They were locked in.

He surveyed the room, taking swift inventory.

Jada rose from a crouch behind another bookcase, shoved there by Monk as the first shots rang out.

Sanjar knelt by Heru, as his stunned bird flopped dazedly on the stone.

Rachel hurried alongside her uncle to Josip’s gasping form.

Seeing the blood pooling beneath the priest, she knew the man did not have long to live—which was probably true for all of them.

12:40
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No
,
no
,
no . . .

Vigor knelt beside his friend, who had come back from the dead only to die again, a man whom the Fates had already afflicted so cruelly, gifting him with both brilliance and madness. He did not deserve this end.

He took Josip’s hand and began last rites.

Josip stared up at him, disbelief in his eyes, blood on his lips, unable to speak, his lungs collapsed and shredded by the bullets of a traitor.

“Lie still, my dear friend.”

Monk cradled his thin form in his lap, supporting him.

Vigor took Josip’s hand, squeezing all his love for the man between his palms. He could do no more. He had seen that truth in Monk’s eyes.

Stripped of his voice, Josip found the strength to take Vigor’s hand and bring his palm to his bloody chest. Vigor felt the beat of his friend’s heart.

“I will miss you, too.”

In his eyes, he read the man’s struggle, his regret. Josip knew the danger the world faced and could do nothing more to help.

“You’ve shouldered this burden long enough, my friend. Let me carry it from here.”

Josip kept staring at Vigor as he gently anointed a cross on Josip’s forehead.

“Go rest,” Vigor whispered.

And he did.

12:42
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Duncan helped Monk place Father Josip atop the table.

“I’m sorry,” Duncan said. “I wish we had the time to bury him properly.”

Vigor fought tears but nodded, staring around the chaotic library. “This is a good spot for him.”

Monk got them all moving. “Let’s not make it our burial spot, too.”

Duncan turned to Sanjar. “Is there another way out?”

Sanjar had his falcon wrapped in a blanket. “I’m sorry, no. The other tunnels just lead to more rooms. Dead ends. The only way up is through this sealed door.”

Duncan knew they had at best another few minutes or so to break free. Once Arslan and his crew evacuated the ship, they’d blow the lower levels. His only hope was that the assassins would drag their feet long enough to scavenge anything of value on their way out, but he couldn’t count on that.

Jada stood, wide-eyed, hugging herself with her arms. “They meant to kill us,” she said, shivering, near shock.

“And they may still succeed,” Duncan conceded, figuring there was no reason to sugarcoat their situation.

She scowled at him. “That’s not what I meant. Think about it. If we hadn’t gotten the upper hand, we’d be dead. The explosions were meant to bury our
bodies
in this unmarked grave.”

Duncan still didn’t get it.

“We’re not supposed to be alive right now,” she said, her voice growing heated. She waved a hand around the room. “That jackass said he planted bombs throughout this place. So why not here, too? It’s the lowest level. He thought we’d be dead already.”

Of course . . .

Monk swore and set off looking along the walls.

Cursing his stupidity, Duncan canvassed the other side. It took him less than thirty seconds to find one of the charges. It was hidden at the base of a thick wooden brace that helped support the roof to this large room.

“Got one!” Duncan called out.

“Found another over here!” Monk yelled from across the room.

“Remove that one’s transceiver!” he shouted back. “And be careful!”

Rachel had followed him over. “Do you think you can defuse them all in time?”

“Not the plan,” he said as he worked. “They’re likely planted all over the place.”

With great care, he freed the wad of plastic explosive, being careful of the blasting cap and transceiver. He rushed with it over to the steel hatch.

Monk met him there, another transceiver in hand.

Duncan slapped the chunk of explosive to the thick hinges of the hatch. He popped open the transceiver, a device that contained both a radio
transmitter
and a
receiver
. Using a fingernail, he changed the receiver to a different setting, one unique from the other charges planted throughout this maze.

Don’t want to bring this whole place down.

He then took the transceiver out of Monk’s hand.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” his partner asked.

“I didn’t take all those electrical engineering courses to work at RadioShack.” Working quickly, he adjusted the transmitter to the new frequency, then waved everyone back. “Find shelter and cover your ears!”

He retreated with the group and hid behind a sturdy bookcase. Once in position, he brought his thumb to the tiny red button on the transceiver. His jury-rigged charge should be the only one that responded to this new frequency—but when it came to explosives and radios, bad things sometimes happened to good engineers.

He pressed the button.

From the skull-crushing explosion that followed, Duncan believed he had failed, that he’d blown everything. Smoke and dust rolled through the space. Standing up, he waved and coughed.

Across the way, the hatch was gone, along with a fair amount of the wall around it.

Monk joined him, sounding as if he were speaking underwater. “Bastard probably heard that!”

Duncan nodded.

In other words,
run!

12:46
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Jada sprinted up the steps behind Duncan, who led the charge topside with their only flashlight. Behind them, Monk and Rachel helped Vigor with the steep stairs, half carrying him between them. Sanjar brought up the rear.

At any moment, Jada expected the world to explode around her, crushing her under tons of stone, burying her in sand and salt.

The exit that led into the ship’s rusty hold seemed an impossible distance away. The size of this labyrinth swelled around her, stretching higher and wider, expanding in proportion to her terror. Above her, the winds whistled and howled through the corroded bulk of the ship, taunting her to run faster.

“Not much farther!” Duncan gasped, taking two steps at a time, his rifle in hand.

She craned up, but his bulk blocked her view.

In another five yards, he was proven right. Rock turned to steel treads under her boots. The group clanked the last of the way up—

—then the ground bucked violently under them, accompanied by the sound of the earth cracking beneath their feet.

They all went crashing to their knees on the salt-corroded stairs. A flume of sand, dust, and smoke blasted up from below, choking them, blinding them.

Jada climbed the remainder of the stairs on her hands and knees, drawn by the glow of Duncan’s flashlight. A hand grabbed hers and hauled her up and out of the stairwell, lifting her as if she were weightless. Placed back on her feet, she stumbled to the side as Duncan drew the others into the hold with her.

“Make for the exit!” he hollered and pointed to the hole cut into the port side of the ship’s hull.

She turned, but her footing slipped as her world tilted under her. The stern of the ship dropped precipitously behind her with a groan of steel, while the bow rose up. She pictured the back half of the thousand-ton vessel collapsing and crushing into the sinkhole created as the labyrinth below imploded.

Across the length of the hull, a half century of windblown sand suddenly shifted en masse, flowing toward the stern.

Jada could not hold her place any longer, dragged by the tide of sand. She fell to her knees and started sliding down the steep slant. The others fared no better, unable to gain any traction as the sands turned into a streaming cataract, growing deeper, pouring faster, trapping limbs, tumbling them all back toward the sinking stern.

Jada fought, flailing, feeling like a swimmer about to drown.

And maybe she was.

A sandstorm swirled treacherously below, waiting to swallow her up—behind her, the other half of the ship’s sand flowed after her, ready to swamp her once she was trapped.

Then Duncan appeared and sped past her, half skating, half body surfing, not resisting the tidal pull like the others.

He quickly vanished into the dusty cloud ahead.

Has he simply given up?

12:50
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Racing atop the sand, Duncan aimed for their only hope of survival.

He recalled their arrival earlier in the day, when the Land Rover came wheeling out from a makeshift garage in the ship’s stern, sweeping out to confront the newcomers.

As the world upended a moment ago, he had spotted the Rover still parked back there. He aimed for its bulk, already axle-deep in sand and being buried rapidly. He hit the bumper hard and flung himself onto the hood. Once at the windshield, he squirmed sideways through the open side window and dropped into the driver’s seat.

He checked and found the keys still in the ignition.

Thank God . . .

With a twist of his wrist and a pound on the gas, he felt the paddle-treaded tires churn, kicking up a rooster tail of sand behind him. Then he was moving, tires digging back up the slope.

Monk had already noted Duncan’s goal and swept fast down the slanted hull, no longer resisting the pull of the sand. Reaching the Rover, Monk leaped over the front grill and rolled up onto the hood, landing belly down, passing Duncan a prosthetic thumbs-up.

“Keep going!” Monk yelled.

Duncan slowly ground his way upslope as Monk fished the others out of the churning flow of sand. Vigor slid across the hood until his back rested against the windshield; Rachel soon joined him. At the right fender, Jada helped Monk grab Sanjar, who still clung to his blanket-wrapped falcon.

With everyone on board, Duncan gave the engine more gas. Staying in a low gear, he climbed up the steepening slope, picturing the massive weight of the ship shifting to the stern, driving it deeper into the collapsing subterranean complex.

Even with sand tires and four-wheel drive, the Rover fishtailed in the flow. He held his breath each time the vehicle slipped, knowing if they fell back to the stern, they might never get out. If that happened, they’d be quickly buried alive as the ship’s five decades’ worth of sand, silt, and salt filled the stern.

As he labored, the rusted vessel groaned, echoing with the strain of stressed steel. Hull plates popped like gunshots and tumbled into the stern. It was all coming apart.

Angling to the port side, he finally reached the hole cut through the hull. With the ship tilted, the opening was several feet off the ground, but they would have to risk the jump.

Duncan fought the tide to hold them steady, as Monk shuttled everyone through the hole, half tossing them into the teeth of the storm out there.

“You next!” Monk screamed into the wind blowing through the opening.

Duncan waved to him. “Go! I’ll follow!”

It was a lie. There was no way Duncan could move. Once he let up on the gas, the Rover would immediately roll backward.

Monk stared through the windshield, read Duncan’s determination—then with a scowl, the man turned and jumped toward the hole. But rather than leaping through the opening, he hung from its lower edge by his prosthetic hand and reached out with his other arm.

“Pull even with me!” he yelled. “Then grab my hand!”

Duncan balked, knowing such a maneuver would likely end with both of them dead.

“Don’t make me jump down after you!” Monk bellowed.

Guy probably would, too.

Knowing that, Duncan gunned the engine and gained a couple of yards, his tires spinning on the sliding sand as he fought to hold his place. With one hand on the wheel, he stretched his arm out the window.

Monk caught his fingers, then his palm, gripping tightly.

With a silent prayer, Duncan let go of the steering wheel, took his foot off the gas, and shoved out the window. As he had suspected, the Rover immediately plummeted backward, shedding from around his body as it fell away, leaving Duncan hanging from Monk’s arm.

He gasped in relief.

But it was premature.

As he hung there, the ship broke in half.

1:04
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From only yards away, huddled low against the storm, Jada watched the middle section of the rusted vessel fracture, splitting in half with a scream of rent steel. The entire bow came crashing down, blasting up more sand into the storm.