access to the interior of the original design.”
At the word ‘tunnels’ both Matt and Nick perked up.
“Those tunnels are still intact,” Benson continued. “The main opening begins behind a maintenance door tucked behind a cascade of oleanders. You’d have to be pretty well-informed to even know about the tunnels or their entrance. But if you knew what you were doing, there are a couple of spots where the old and the new parts of the dam converge … and …” Benton glanced over at Matt seemingly measuring whether Roosevelt Dam might truly be in danger of a terrorist attack.
“Go ahead.” Matt nodded, not wanting the engineer to lose his train of thought by bogging him down with a heavy dose of Barzani’s skills with explosives.
“Well, if someone knew what they were doing, that’s where the dam would be the most vulnerable.”
“Okay,” Matt said, “you take us straight there.”
“That’ll be easy. This road ends directly in front of those oleanders.” Benton fished out a set of keys from his pocket while handling the steering wheel with one hand. He handed the keys to Matt, holding one key in particular between his thumb and index finger. “Here’s the key to get in that maintenance door. Take the tunnel straight for about fifty feet, then veer left when you come to a fork.”
Matt took the keys. He looked back at Nick and saw him texting on his phone.
“Anything?” Matt asked.
Nick shrugged.
While looking back, Matt spotted something out the back window which caused him to glower. In the distance, a tiny puff of dirt seemed to drift up between the trees behind them. The wisp of dirt seemed to move with a consistent motion. It only took a few moments for Matt to realize what was happening.
“We have company,” Matt said, nodding out the back window.
Nick struggled to turn freely with his shoulder wrapped. “Shit,” he said.
The cloud of dirt came from a set of tires charging up the road behind them. The vehicle was probably less than a half a mile away. Maybe forty seconds on the winding path they were traveling on.
“Could it be one of ours?” Matt asked.
“No,” Nick said. “The helicopter was going to be the quickest to arrive.”
Benton glanced at his rear view mirror. “It could be hunters,” he said. “They’re about the only ones who use this road anymore.”
Matt and Nick both knew it wasn’t any hunter. They also knew it wasn’t Barzani either. The terrorist was ahead waiting for them. So that left one obvious answer to the question.
“Here’s what we do,” Matt said, unfastening his seat belt and pulling the Glock from his holster. “Slow down enough for me to jump out into the trees and I’ll take care of this.”
“No,” Nick said. “Too dangerous. He’s a pro.”
“Who’s a pro?” Benton asked.
“How close are we?” Matt asked.
“It’s just around this next turn, maybe a hundred yards,” Benton said. “Who’s a pro?” he repeated.
Those were the last words spoken before the explosion lifted the speeding SUV and drove them into the trees. The velocity of the vehicle and the power of the bomb combined to lift the car into a rolling mass of dead weight. Like a meteor breaking through the atmosphere, momentum and gravity both conspired to stop its flight with a deafening collision.
Chapter 29
Matt felt his face first. A sharp pain. Then another. When he finally opened his eyes Nick was over him, slapping him hard. Matt drew enough strength to grab Nick’s hand.
“Stop,” he said, his vision swirling with blurred images of tree limbs.
“You with me?” Nick said.
Matt tried to move and that’s when he felt his left leg. “Ah!” Matt let out a sharp cry. He looked down and saw an image which didn’t make sense. His leg went in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. His tibia shot out from his skin sideways, the bone was exposed and glistening with cartilage and blood.
“Shit,” Matt grunted, leaning his head back down and trying to gather himself.
“Stay put,” Nick said.
Matt forced his head upright and saw the vehicle mangled into a stand of trees, smoke drifting from its frame.
“Benton’s dead,” Nick said. His voice was soft and urgent. “I’ll be back.”
“Wait,” Matt said, taking in Nick for the first time since the explosion. Nick’s forehead was bleeding, his shirt ripped, his arm sling gone. “What are you doing?”
“I need to find Barzani while there’s still time.”
“You can’t, I need to come,” Matt said.
“Don’t be an idiot. Help is on the way.”
“You can’t,” Matt gasped, but wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. What he wanted to say was, ‘You need me,’ but one more look at his leg and he realized he was worthless.
Matt nodded. “Okay.” He searched the ground around him. “My gun?”
“There’s no time. Stay still.” Nick raised his eyebrows. Matt understood. Whoever was following them was still back there. Matt needed to stay tucked under the cover of the woods and maybe he’d be overlooked. He wondered if he’d actually landed this far from the vehicle or if Nick had pulled him into the forest. Either way, he needed to let Nick go and allow him the slim chance of finding Barzani in time.
“Get going,” Matt ordered with as much force as he could muster.
When Nick hobbled away, he looked like a peg-legged pirate stumbling between trees and finally following the road. They’d both known an IED was a possibility, but there was no time for caution. Nick was in the same position now and Matt thought he might never see his partner ever again. Haste was an FBI agent's worst enemy.
Matt leaned his head back down and tried to think of some way he could help. He felt completely helpless and his adrenalin kicked in giving him the strength to get to his elbows. Nick was out of sight and the forest was devoid of sound. Matt wondered whether his hearing was damaged from the blast or the aftermath had scared the animals into a stunned silence.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, a man crept out from the woods and into a clearing just ten yards away. He looked like an ordinary citizen without any striking characteristics, but for the gun in his left hand and the casualness in which he carried it. He looked down at Matt and seemed to regard him with a hint of pity.
“Today is just not your day, Agent McColm,” the man said with a thick Russian accent.
• • •
Nick hurt everywhere. His neck and his legs throbbed, but his left shoulder was flashing a pain so harsh, he had to lean over and force himself to breathe. He was a worthless wretch with limited mobility about to enter a terrorist’s lair which had been set up months ago.
Somewhere nearby Nick could hear the Salt River flowing. Roosevelt Dam was on the other side of a huge hill and out of sight, but he could smell the lake. He spotted the stand of oleanders up against the side of the hill and immediately knew what he’d find behind them. The maintenance door.
When he squeezed behind the bushes, he saw the door ajar. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Like the spider offering the fly an open invitation. With his pistol out, he stood against the wall next to the door and pushed it open with the muzzle of his gun.
He waited. Nothing happened, so he got to his knees and peeked inside. It was dark, but the sunlight allowed him to see the brown corridor extending into the hillside. He was aware of the time and felt an unhealthy sense of duty nudge him into the tunnel.
Nick slowly shut the door behind him and allowed his eyes to adjust. The tunnel was large, maybe ten feet wide and seven feet high. It was lit with dim amber lights hanging along the wall which allowed him to see down the winding corridor. The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. There was a noise ahead of him echoing into the body of the tunnel. It was a man’s voice. As his words reverberated off the walls, Nick recognized who was
