CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
BENE WAS READY.
The woman was safe.
And Simon’s attention was momentarily on her success.
He lunged.
Simon reacted by swinging the gun, but Bene’s right leg arched upward and snapped Simon’s arm, the grip on the gun releasing, the weapon clattering away.
Simon froze.
Bene smiled.
He saw that the Simon did not understand patois. “It’s a saying of ours. ‘If you keep on scratching yourself, something is going to happen to you.’ ”
He lunged forward and grabbed the lying bastard with one hand, swinging his right fist hard into the stomach. He released his hold and allowed Simon to stagger back.
He readied himself for another blow.
Simon recovered and tried to land a fist of his own.
Bene dodged, then landed an uppercut to the jaw. He was twenty-three years younger than this man, with a lifetime of experience in facing down opponents.
He righted Simon, who was woozy and breathing hard.
He wrapped his right arm around the neck, tightened, and began to choke the life away. Simon’s muscles tried to counter but, as oxygen lessened, so did his resistance.
Bene lifted Simon off the ground, stepped to the lake’s edge, and dropped him over the side.
———
ZACHARIAH HAD NEVER FELT THE PRESSURE OF STRONG MUSCLES encircling his throat, arms immovable, a vise tightening. He could neither breathe, nor call out. Even worse, Rowe was dropping him into the water.
And not on stones.
His feet found mud.
For a few seconds he held, then his body sank, the mud consuming him. He searched for something to hold on to. Nothing. He tried to arrest the panic rushing through him and recalled what Clarke had said, what Sagan had advised Rocha.
Stand still.
If the mud was unmolested it would support weight.
He told himself to stop moving. He’d sunk to just about his knees, but the rigidity worked. He stabilized.
No more sinking.
Rowe, Sagan, and Clark stood on the bank and watched him, all three within an arm’s grasp.
He was at their mercy.
———
TOM WAS UNCONCERNED ABOUT SIMON.
He wanted to get to Alle.
So he grabbed one of the flashlights lying on the ground, stepped into the water, and worked his way across the pond, following the prescribed path to the ledge on the far side.
Alle waited, watching what was happening a hundred feet away with Simon.
He hopped out of the water.
They both stared across.
“I appreciate you being right,” she said to him.
“Thanks for trusting me.”
“I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.”
“That’s not our problem anymore,” he said to her, motioning to the far side. “Time for you and me to see what your grandfather spent his life protecting.”
She nodded, but he could read her thoughts. She’d trusted Simon, believed in him, done his bidding. All for nothing. In the end, he tossed her away as meaningless.
He touched her shoulder. “Everyone makes those kind of mistakes. Don’t sweat it.”
“I was an idiot. Look what I did to you.”
No anger. No resentment. Just a daughter speaking to her father.
He switched on the light. “That’s history. Let’s do this.”
He led the way into the crack, which opened to a narrow corridor that wound a path through a natural fissure
