splitting apart on their journey to the same destination.
There was light ahead, a pale glow shimmering off in the dim distance. The tunnel brightened to a kind of ashen sooty dusk. A pair of figures were outlined at the far end of the milky, smoke-strewn brightness.
It took a minute for Jack to realize that the duo was Frith and Sanchez and the glow was, literally, the light at the end of the tunnel.
Armstrong called out to them, a wordless cry. She was answered by a series of flat muffled cracks from outside. Jack’s hearing had recovered to the point where he was able to recognize them as gunfire.
Frith and Sanchez turned at the sound of her voice. They crouched sheltering behind the tunnel’s rock walls, pointing their weapons at the gap in the wooden barrier. Smoke and dust poured steadily out through the opening. A large number of holes in the barrier let in beams of sunlight. Bullet holes.
More flat cracks sounded from outside, punching fresh holes through the boards and ricocheting off rock walls.
Frith said, “Get down! We’re under attack!”
Jack heard that. He got down. So did Armstrong and Bailey. All three of them more or less collapsed at the same time, tumbling to the tunnel floor. Which was just as well. It was safer down there. For the moment.
Frith gave the trio a rundown on the situation: “Holtz said, ‘That’s funny.’ That’s all, just ‘That’s funny.’ That’s the last message we received from him on the headset. He didn’t respond after that. He must’ve noticed something wrong but too late to do anything about it. There was no sound of a shot being fired. We found out why later.
“The blast came a few minutes later. A cloud of smoke and dust came out of the tunnel. It got so thick in here that we couldn’t breathe so Sanchez and I got out. We went out on the ledge. That smoke saved our lives. It caused the shooter up top to miss his shot. Or shots. We don’t know how many he fired before he tagged Sanchez.”
Sanchez glanced over his shoulder at Jack, Arm-strong, and Bailey where they sat on the tunnel floor with their backs to the wall. His face and clothes were blackened with dirt and soot, just like the rest of the group. He grinned, said, “I got hit in the back and knocked down but my Kevlar vest saved me from worse. Gave me a hell of a jolt, though.”
Frith went on, “Some falling rocks almost hit me. The shooter must have knocked them over the edge while he was angling for a better shot. I looked up and saw him. He was leaning way over trying to get a bead on me. He made a nice fat target. I got him first. He fell off. You can see his body sprawled out on one of the ledges down there. But don’t try. Stick your head out and his playmates will try to shoot it off.”
Anne Armstrong said, “How many are there?”
“About ten I’d say, at least to start with. They popped up in the rocks at the bottom of the hill right after the shooter fell. I guess they’d been there for a while but the first we knew about it was when they opened fire. I don’t mind telling you that it got pretty hot out on that ledge! We ducked back in here for cover. It’s hard to breathe with all this crap in the air but it beats not breathing at all.”
Sanchez said, “We got two of them, so that leaves about eight, give or take a corpse.”
Jack was checking his pistol to make sure that it was undamaged by the blast. It seemed to be working fine. He was eager to put it into action.
Frith said, “That first shooter had a silenced rifle, of course. That’s why we didn’t hear anything when Holtz was shot or when he was using Sanchez for target practice. The others down below don’t give a good damn how much noise they make. Why not? Nobody around to hear them.”
Bailey sat slumped against the wall, hugging his middle. His chin rested on top of his chest. He raised his head a little, said, “The one up top… How— how’d he get there?” His voice was a harsh croak.
Frith said, “He must’ve been up there all the time. He sure as hell didn’t drive or walk up, Holtz would have seen him coming from a mile off.”
Jack said, “That’s why Holtz had to go first. The Zealots probably had a man in place the whole time serving as a spotter. There’s plenty of places on the hilltop to hide out. He was probably watching us the whole time we were searching the site.”
Frith nodded. “That’s how I read it. He must’ve sent for reinforcements when we found the bus.”
Bailey said, “Our radios don’t work in the canyon. Why his?”
Anne Armstrong said, “Probably because it’s not a radio. A satellite phone could do it.”
Bailey said, “That’s a good one. He’s got a sat-phone and we don’t. He can call for help but we can’t. Those CTU budget cuts will be the death of us yet. What a joke — a sick joke.” He laughed without mirth, his laughter a harsh crow’s caw. His face contorted with pain; he bit down on his lip to keep from crying out until the spasm passed.
Sanchez said, “Write a letter to your congressman to complain.”
Bailey forced a weak grin. “I would… if I thought he could read.”
Frith said, “We didn’t know what happened to you three. Thought the blast might have got you. Glad you made it back in one piece.”
Jack said, “Somebody — most likely the shooter who got Holtz — tossed a bundle of TNT down the shaft to cover up the evidence.”
Sanchez said, “What evidence?”
“A mass grave at the bottom of the pit. We found the missing Zealots. There had to have been twenty bodies there, maybe more.”
Sanchez frowned, puzzled. “Then who are the guys shooting at us now?”
“That’s the big question.”
Bailey said, “Why don’t you go ask ’em, Sanchez?”
Frith lay in a prone firing position on the tunnel floor, pointing his rifle downhill. The figure of an armed man darted out from behind a boulder and ran toward the slope. Frith squeezed the trigger. The figure fell sprawling and lay motionless on a piece of open ground. Frith put another round in him to make sure. He said, “Got one!”
An instant later the dead man’s teammates loosed a fusillade at the tunnel mouth. The shooters were scattered in a loose arc among a jumble of boulders and slabs at the bottom of the hill. Some were armed with rifles and others with machine gun pistols of the Mac–10 variety. They had a lot of firepower.
Frith and Sanchez wriggled backward, covering behind rock ribs and outcroppings. Rounds ventilated the remnants of the plank barrier. The real danger came from ricochets that bounced off the inside of the tunnel. The shooters didn’t have the proper range and the rounds angled away into the tunnel leaving the defenders unharmed.
The death of one of their own provoked a prolonged outburst. The racketing rattle of assault rifles and machine pistols on autofire sounded like a street crew of jackhammer operators at work.
The shooting subsided, falling silent except for an occasional potshot. Frith and Sanchez bellied back into position and scanned the slope. Frith was on the east side of the tunnel mouth, Sanchez the west. A flicker of motion in the corner of his right eye caught Sanchez’s attention and he swung the gun muzzle toward it but held his fire.
He said, “One of them’s working his way up the west ridge. He took cover before I could get a bead on him.”
More shots popped from below. Frith said, “They use that covering fire to change position, move in and up. A couple of shooters are higher up the slope now.” Jack noticed an M–4 standing propped up against the wall near Sanchez. It was Bailey’s weapon, the one he’d left behind before going on the tunnel probe. The ammo pouch stood beside it. “That M–4 functional?”
Frith said, “Should be.”
Jack said, “Let’s get some more firepower into play.”
Bailey rested a clawlike hand on Jack’s shoulder. He said, “You take it. I’m not much good now — all busted up inside.”
“Hang on. We’ll get you to a medic.”
“Sure.” Bailey smiled with his lips.
Jack low-crawled across the tunnel floor to the other side. He sat with his back to the wall with legs extended. He slung the ammo pouch over his shoulder, picked up the M–4, and examined it. It checked out okay. He said, “What’s the plan?”
Anne Armstrong said, “We can’t just sit here and try to wait them out. It’ll be a long time before help arrives.
