River of Ruin

Barber had left behind.

To make certain, Huai would recommend they scout the river and lake for a few more days before bringing in laborers and equipment. Yet if a treasure was buried somewhere along the river or at the lake, they would find it. Modest compared to other COSTIND actions, Liu’s budget for just this phase was a hundred times that of Gary Barber’s. They would soon have hundreds of workers digging along the river and lake.

With other parts of the operation already under way, Huai knew the importance of finding the ancient treasure. Beijing was currently subsidizing Liu’s efforts in Panama, but the funds were not without limits. After a deadline, now one month away, if Liu hadn’t found a way to finance his activities, COSTIND would withdraw their support. The genius of the plan, however, was that failure would not jeopardize what COSTIND had already built on the isthmus. The toe-hold Liu had already created would not be lost.

And the outcome if they succeeded? It was what had first interested the conservative politburo in such an audacious plot. Liu had promised them that China would enjoy a strategic presence in the Western Hemisphere much like what the USSR had attempted in Cuba in the 1960s.

Once secret bases were established in Panama, China could concentrate on the one goal that had united the government since the founding of the communist state-the reintegration of the breakaway province of Taiwan. America’s promised defense of Taiwan was what had spoiled the countless invasion plans drawn up over the decades. Liu had stated that he could nullify that threat, or more accurately match it, and foresaw the fall of Taipei just one year after the completion of this current operation.

Huai was ambivalent about Taiwan. China already had too many people, and he never saw the need to slaughter thousands of troops to bring in millions more. But it was the stated policy of his government and he would do his duty.

Rolling below the chopper was a jungle that reminded him of the Guangzhou Military Region where his regiment had been created. Though trained in every type of terrain and environment China could offer, Huai felt most comfortable in the jungle, perhaps an affinity learned from Vietcong instructors who’d trained him as a raw recruit thirty-plus years ago.

This would likely be his last action. He was fifty years old, the scales slowly tipping from the wisdom of experience to the impediment of age. When the invasion of Taiwan came, he was sure he’d be at a desk somewhere. Therefore he was glad that his final campaign was in the jungle. It seemed fitting.

Mercer bent back to his task, speaking as he worked. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the ever- increasing roar of the bubbling gas. “The eruption that killed Gary was probably a natural phenomenon, an underwater rock slide caused by his work that discharged a fraction of the CO₂. Those depth charges are going to bring the rest out of solution. Because the mountaintop is shaped like a bowl with only a narrow outlet that’s currently blocked by the prevailing wind, the gas is going to stagnate here until the breeze dies down. Only then will the CO₂ pour down the waterfall and allow breathable air back near the lake’s surface.”

“How long will that take?”

“The summit will probably be poisoned until morning.” With a twist, Mercer released the flexible frame of a three-person tent. Gary had replaced the nylon shell over the spidery scaffold with mosquito netting.

“What do we do?” Although Lauren didn’t understand Mercer’s actions, the fact that he worked steadily returned a measure of her control.

“We need to make a bubble of air to support us.” Mercer began to wrap the clear plastic sheeting around the tent frame, securing it with duct tape from the supplies taken from the boat. He didn’t stop until the tent resembled a translucent cocoon.

“That tent can’t hold enough air for the three of us until morning.”

Mercer pointed at the large duffel bag he’d dragged to the cave. “There’s a coil of hose in the bottom of that bag and a hand pump Gary used to drain water from some of his excavations. Once the CO₂ fills the caldera, it will spill over the tops of the surrounding hills like an overflowing bathtub. I estimate the lowest hills are about twenty feet above us, which puts us under a layer of CO₂ twenty feet thick. If we can secure the top of the hose to a tree above where the gas levels out, we can pump air down into the tent. We’ll be like a glass inverted into a bowl of water with a hose to replenish the air.”

Lauren immediately saw the parallel to Mercer’s idea. “Like a diving bell?”

“More like a bathysphere with an umbilical. Only we’re trapped under poison gas rather than water.” Because CO₂ was one and a half times as heavy as air and they were only going to be twenty feet down, Mercer wasn’t concerned about keeping the tent pressurized. The frame would support the plastic sheets.

“How much time do we have?”

“I can’t tell without knowing how much gas is gushing from the lake. But we’re only a couple feet above where Ruben had his fire. We don’t have long. Can you climb a tree with the hose?”

“Damned right I can.” She went off, leaving Miguel to help Mercer level an area to set the lightweight tent.

The physics behind Mercer’s plan was simple enough but he wouldn’t know how well they’d carried out the execution until they were sealed inside the tent. A thousand things could go wrong, the worst being a miscalculation about the height of the hills and the top of the tree Lauren was climbing like an electrical lineman. If the mouth of the hose wasn’t high enough, CO₂ would drain down into the tent, replacing the air, and smothering the three of them. He had enough tape to keep the tent airtight but there was nothing they could do if the hose was too low.

Mercer found a dozen candles in Gary’s duffel and set a few of them in a row running down to the shore of the lake, lighting them with one of the lighters Gary had also cached. The candle he placed closest to the lake wouldn’t even light. The next one placed at a slightly higher elevation burned for just a few seconds before it starved for air. The gas was creeping ever closer. Captain Vanik was still at the top of the tree, tying off the thick length of rubber hose.

“Come on, Lauren.” Another candle was snuffed. The CO₂ was just a few feet below the tent.

“Almost got it.” A third candle went dark.

The top of the volcano was filling faster than he thought possible. He could see Miguel start to pant as his lungs sought oxygen. “Now, Lauren.”

As agile as a cat, she scrambled down the nearly branch-less tree. Miguel’s eyes were droopy as Mercer slid him into the tent, his young body succumbing to the narcotic effect of the gas much quicker than those of the adults. Before following Lauren into their cocoon, Mercer threw in a few items from Gary’s duffel and sealed them all inside by taping the plastic-covered flaps of the tent fly. The long day of exploration and the quick exposure to CO₂ had already put Miguel into a deep sleep.

Mercer grabbed the end of the hose dangling through the tight slit he’d cut at the top of the tent. He crimped the rubber around the hand pump’s suction inlet. The pump itself resembled a cheap accordion with a one-way valve at its outlet. Mercer gave it a few squeezes, allowing the air it sucked from the top of the tree to blow across his face. So far, so good. While the tent was designed to hold three people, he still had to crawl over Lauren and Miguel to apply more layers of tape to where the hose entered the roof. He also needed to patch a few small holes. The remaining candles outside blinked out one by one, coils of smoke from their wicks barely discernible through the multiple layers of plastic. With surprising speed, the tent began to sag around its frame as the heavier CO₂ pressed against the lower internal air pressure.

Knowing he’d need to maintain a rhythm for untold hours, Mercer began to work the pump. Once he’d matched pressures, he cut a tiny hole in the tent’s floor to prevent the air becoming fouled by their own breath. As the caldera filled to its maximum level, he’d need to adjust the hole in the floor to maintain equilibrium. After fifteen tense minutes he was satisfied that everything appeared set. By fighting the natural instinct to run, he’d just saved their lives. Not that they were safe by any stretch, but for a few moments he would savor the victory. He looked at Lauren and couldn’t help but grin.

She smiled back. “I saw all this stuff sitting in the boat when we came to the island and I still never would have thought of this in a million years.” She regarded him for a second. “When those explosives went off you’d already figured out a solution. I mean instantly. How?”

Asking Mercer that was the same as asking him to explain his entire thought process, something he himself