Capesterre caught the furtive glance and his lips glazed into a knowing smile. He pointed the revolver at the coffin. He pulled the trigger and four holes appeared on one side but exited in great shredded gouges on the opposite. The reports were deafening inside the rock chamber.
They sounded as if the gun was fired under a giant bell.
Capesterre took hold of the rid over the coffin's upper half. 'Your backup, Mr. Pitt?' he snarled. 'How simple- minded of YOU.'
'There was no place to hide him,' Pitt breathed regretfully. The green eyes showed no fear and his voice was tightly controlled.
Capesterre threw open the lid and stared inside. His face went deathly pate and he shuddered in horror before letting the lid drop with a loud thump. A low moan escaped his lips, growing into a long, drawn-out 'no'
sound.
Pin turned slightly so the shield covered the movement of his right hand. He edged away from the chamber wall until he stood facing Capesterre's left side. Then he glanced uneasily at the hands of his watch. He was almost past his deadline.
Capester stepped fearfully toward the coffin again and lifted the lid; this time he let it fall open and backward. He forced himself to stare inside.
'Paul . . . it really is Paul,' he stammerrd in shock.
'from what I was told,' said Pitt, 'President Hasan wasn't about to allow Akhmad Yazid's followers to entomb him in a shrine as a martyr. So the cadaver was led here where you two can lie together.'
Grief slowly replaced shock as Capesterre stared at his brother. Then his face twisted in bitterness and he asked in a vicious undertone,
'What was your part in all this?'
'I headed the team that found the key to the Library treasure site. That was a dedicated effort. Then your brother's hired terrorists tried to kill me and my friends but only succeeded ravaging my classic car. That was a big mistake. Next, you and your brother took my father as a hostage on the Lady Flamborough. YOu know the ship I'm talking about.
Now that was really a blunder. I decided not to get mad, but get even.
You're going to die, CaPesterre. In another minute you're going to lie as cold and stiff as your brother. A damned small payment for the men whose hearts you cut out and all those children who drowned because of your insane power grab.'
Capesterre's body tautened and the grief cleared from his eyes. 'But not before I kill you!' he said savagely as he spun around and crouched.
Pitt had prepared for the attack. The sword he'd snatched from the stack by the wall was already raised above his head. He brought it down in a slashing sideways arc, Capesterre it-antically lifted the Colt. The muzzle was only centimeters from lining up on Pitts head. The gleaming blade sliced through the air, glinting under the hanging lights. The gun, with Capesten-e's hand clutching the grip, finger tightening on the trigger, seemed to detach from his arm and sail toward the ceiling. They rotated through the air, end over end, before dropping to the limestone floor, still locked together.
Capestet's mouth sagged open and a thin scream echoed through the excavation. Then he sank to his knees, staring dumbly at the severed limb, unable to believe it was no longer a part of him, oblivious to the spreading stream of blood.
He knelt there, swaying side to side, the pain tightly held in check by shock. He slowly looked up at Pitt with dazed eyes. 'Why this?' he whispered. 'Why not a bullet?'
'A small payment for a man by the name of Guy Rivas.'
'You knew Rivas?'
Pitt shook his head. 'Friends of his told me how you mutilated him. How his family stood at the grave site not knowing they were burying only his skin.'
'Friends?' Capesterre asked blankly.
'MY father and a man who lives in the White House,' Pitt said coldly. He glanced at his watch again. He stared down at Robeii Capesterre, but there was no pity on his face. 'Sorry I can't stay and help with the mess, but I have to run.' Then he turned and headed for the exit tunnel.
He took only two steps before he came to an abrupt halt-A short, swarthy man, wearing a pair of old and worn army combat fatigues, stood in the center of the chamber entrance holding a four-shot pistolized shotgun that was pointed at Pitts stomach.
'No need to hurry, Mr. Pitt,' he said with a heavy accent, his voice maner-of-fact. 'No one is going anywhere.'
Though they had been aware of a third party entering the tunnel, the sudden appearance of the menacing stranger still took everyone by surprise in the Situation Room. Calamity began to loom as they helplessly watched the scene being played out deep under Gongora Hill.
'General Chandler,' said the President sharply, 'what in hell is going on? Who is the intruder?'
'We're viewing him from our monitoring unit too, Mr. President, but the best guess is he's one of Topiltzin's men. He must have penetrated from the north, where our security line is spread thin.'
'He's wearing a uniform,' said Brogan. 'Can he be one of your men?'
'Not unless our quartermaster is issuing Israeli Army battle fatigues.'
'Get some men down there to help Pitt,' ordered General Metcalf.
'Sir, if I sent a squad of men anywhere near the excavation, the mob would think we were out to either harm or capture Topiltzin. They'd go berserk.'
'He's right,' said Schiller. 'The crowd is getting edgy.'
