choked him. When he ran out of air, he would die-unless he could get far enough away from the pool that the fumes didn't overcome him. There was no telling what kind of deadly material the pool contained.
'There's no way out of there, mister. You better come up.' It was a different, more reasonable-sounding voice. 'You're going to run out of air, my friend. You've got to come up.' Quickly looking around for a weapon, or a place to hide, or something that might help deliver him from the madness of his predicament, he found nothing. There was only a pool of noxious liquid.
He turned and began to jog. Here the ground was rougher. Rock that had fallen from above lay where it hit the ground. There was a track at this level, so he knew it was likely that this tunnel went a long way. It twisted and turned, depriving him of any sense of direction. He stopped long enough to pull out his compass but didn't know what good it would do since the tunnel offered no options.
Determined to control the jitters, he began regular deep breathing and maintained a brisk walk. The passage was narrowing and in places he had to stoop. Soon outcroppings and debris slides to either side narrowed the passage further.
He came to a partial cave-in where timbers had fallen. He squeezed his way between the rough timbers and over a pile of rock that went almost to the ceiling.
Air from the tank might run out at any time, and he had no idea whether he could breathe in these shafts. Instantly he cracked the mask and was greeted by the same pungent smell-but not as strong. Coughing hard, he replaced the mask. To continue on might well be suicide. He had no guarantee that the air would improve. It probably wouldn't. If he went back, he had no idea what they would do to him.
He looked at the gauge and discovered it was half empty. Undoubtedly, stress was causing him to gobble the air supply. He began to control his breathing. Walking around the next bend, he came to an old chamber filled with debris and partially collapsed timbers. Leading off this chamber were three passages. This was obviously some kind of a hub near a concentration of whatever ore they had been mining. There were four options. One of them was a vertical shaft going up. It might lead to the level above, perhaps to the right fork of the shaft through which he had entered.
'You're daydreaming,' he said to himself, staring upward into the blackness, trying to figure if he could even climb it. In studying the vertical tunnel, he turned around 180 degrees. Then he sucked in his breath.
In his direction came the faint glimmer of a light How could they be so near? Quickly he ran into the largest- looking shaft and went perhaps a hundred yards before he came to another debris slide and an unfinished vertical shaft. There were massive timbers partially caved in and large boulders, perhaps from a blast before the mine was abandoned. He couldn't keep running. There was an old, rusted crowbar about six feet long lying in the dirt. It was his first bit of luck.
Sighing at the improbability of what he was about to attempt, he climbed up the debris and began the vertical ascent of a narrow chimney. It looked like the start of an abandoned vertical shaft. Wedging himself in an alcove above the main shaft, he waited. The bar was heavy and he laid it on an outcropping. In the process he glanced up and what he saw stopped his breath.
A hand.
Pulling himself up to the next ledge, he found a headless body dressed in a filthy, blood-soaked blue blazer.
Forcing his mind back to the men who were after him, he lowered himself down and listened. His heart beat like a drum. Trying desperately to quiet his breathing, he attempted meditation, but he was unskilled and the fear crowded his mind. He was in a terrible spot. If two of them came down this passage, he might get the first and catch a bullet from the second.
He didn't know if he had the stomach to ambush some faceless, nameless guy whose intent was unknown. Until someone shot at you, there was no way to know for sure that they were out to kill you. There was no black and white here, no obvious villain. Then again, the guard had a gun, and those guys in the mine had guns and were talking about using them. Above him someone had hidden a corpse.
In that moment he knew that everything in his existence boiled down to one thing-his son needed a father. He never should have risked Nate's future by coming here. Maria was right.
Then he saw a light. He held his breath instinctively.
Think, think. Breathe. Get control of yourself.
His breaths began coming again, shallow but regular.
Still the light bounced around the walls. It was taking forever.
'Nothing yet,' he heard the words, low in tone, like a whisper. The guy had to have a radio. Sweat broke out on his forehead, stinging his eyes, as if he'd run for miles.
He gripped the iron bar and saw that his hand wasn't quite steady.
The light was bright now, completely lighting the walls.
The first thing he saw was a silencer on a semiautomatic weapon. This was no goody-two-shoes rescue group.
He aimed one end of the iron bar at the side of the man's head. It struck his hard hat with an ugly whack. Then Dan dropped his 240 pounds right on top of the man even as the man collapsed. They hit the ground in a tangle. Dan had one hand on the gun, the other on the man's throat, overpowering him. Glancing around, he saw no more lights. They were apparently alone for the moment. The man struggled feebly, barely conscious.
Dan choked down on the man and could feel the man's body shaking in some kind of nervous spasm. Perhaps by instinct Dan rolled the half-conscious man so that both of them were sitting with his adversary's back in the direction of the large chamber. The man's arms windmilled and there was a loud smack, like a fist hitting mud, and the man's body jerked violently. Instantly Dan knew they had shot their own by accident. Yanking the man's gun from his hand, he snapped off both his light and the man's, then retreated into the mine. After three steps he realized the man would be carrying more clips of ammunition.
Knowing he was taking a terrible risk, he stepped back to the body, grabbed the man's radio, his air tank, and two clips from leather pouches on his belt. The man groaned and Dan could feel the body armor. In all probability he wouldn't die unless the bad air killed him. Again he retreated around the corner. Everything was quiet for several minutes. Then he heard the man gasping. 'Help,' he said. 'Help.'
Dan cracked his mask. The air was bad but didn't seem sufficiently bad to cause suffocation. He held down the broadcast button on the radio.
'Come and get your man. You cretins shot him.'
'Yeah? Well, you can prove that in court. Right now you need to give up that gun.'
'Help me,' the man screamed.
'I have no gun. You're the ones with the guns and that fellow didn't look like Roger the ranger out trying to help a lost soul.'
'Come out and we'll talk. We can work this out.'
''Body armor and automatic weapons with silencers? That doesn't seem to me like a real talking-type group.'
'Go get the dumb son of a bitch,' he heard the boss say.
'What if he shoots?'
'He's an officer of the court. He won't shoot you in cold blood.' A hint of sarcasm in the tone.
They know who I am.
'I'm dying,' the man groaned.
'Don't shoot. Red Cross coming through here.' He saw a light coming up the passage.
'I'm dying,' the man said again.
Dan was staring around the corner with his gun pointed at the ground and his light off. The rescuer approached the downed man and put his own mask over the man's face. He could hear the deep sucking breaths.
'Put your gun down when you carry him out.'
'What?'
'You heard me. Put down that gun when you carry him out of here.'
'You bastard. You never said-'
''You try walking out of here with that gun and I'll shoot you in the back.'
'Keep the gun,' the boss said. Dan squeezed off three shots right next to the rescuer.
