David Gilman - The Devil's breath

It was only a few hours away. It demanded patience and a cool head.

“Find them,” he told Slye.

A very simple command; a very definite threat.

Max’s dad had told him it made no sense to try to knock out any of Shaka Chang’s communications, they would be too sophisticated. He just hoped, if any information had reached the outside world, that they could respond in time. If Chang was going to open the floodgates, he could do it with a phone call, though Tom Gordon guessed he would want to be at the dam itself to witness the moment when he became one of the most powerful men on earth. He and Max had laid the booby trap which might buy them a few minutes. But now his dad lay exhausted, sweat glistening on his face and his body trembling. The exertion had taken its toll.

Max bore his father’s weight and helped him towards the second hangar area. If they could find keys for a quad bike or a pickup, they could make a run for it. The boat at the top of the ramp would still be useless, so it would have to be across the desert.

They made it to the passageway leading to the next hangar. Almost there. But they needed a breather. Max heaved a sigh of relief at this small victory, but a nagging guilt plagued him, wondering if!Koga had survived. His father kept an insistent dialogue going, urging Max to stay alert; to believe that!Koga could still make it; that they had to get out and keep moving in order to give themselves the best chance of survival. That was their responsibility-to survive.

The wind outside was increasing, and Max realized that if too much sand and dirt penetrated these hangars, the men would close the doors and then he and his dad would never get out. He got to his feet and began pulling his dad up, but his father shook his head and pointed. One of the men had moved to a work area; if Max tried to get through, they would be spotted.

It was now or never. He pulled open the door to one of the heavyweight Humvees. There was a key in the ignition. He eased it free and crept out of the cab, turning back to where he had left his father slumped against the wall.

And stopped in his tracks.

Dr. Zhernastyn. His face looked sore and the odd residual clump of whiskers made him look silly. Beyond the unsmiling Russian, a man in black stepped out of the shadows, the same man he had seen coming down in the lift. The long, sour-looking face gazed at him with dark, bloodshot eyes, like someone who never slept.

Max instinctively grabbed a hefty wrench from a workbench. He’d fight his way clear if he had to, and these two didn’t look as though they could stop him.

But you could drop a steel girder on the third man who appeared, and it would probably have no effect.

Shaka Chang smiled. “So, you’re Max Gordon. You just won’t die, will you?”

Max stood his ground, fist clutching the wrench at shoulder height like a battleaxe.

Zhernastyn and the other man had taken a couple of steps back. Chang moved unhurriedly, touching this and that on the workbench, as if seeing things for the first time, and occasionally glancing at the fight-ready Max, who shifted his weight, turning slightly each time Shaka Chang moved, ready for an attack.

“You can put that down, Max. I don’t fight boys. I’ve got a couple of dozen men who can walk in here and take a beating before they truss you up like a turkey. You’ve done well, I admire you. No, no, I do, don’t look surprised.”

Max felt sure he hadn’t given away his reaction but Shaka Chang was a man who watched every flicker of emotion in a person’s face, and if Max’s ego had been stroked then the pupils in his eyes would have enlarged slightly at the subtle shift of pleasure from the killer’s comments. Max kept his eyes on Chang as he would a prowling lion. Chang was unconcerned.

“What might keep you and your father, your very stubborn father, alive is whether you have found the information that I need.”

Static electricity seemed to crackle through Max’s mind.

Shaka Chang still needed this evidence. And he would know if Max lied. He averted his eyes, looking at his father slumped against the wall-a perfectly natural reaction, but also a disguise. Max was really using his peripheral vision to look at Zhernastyn, half hidden behind Chang, who was moving in deceptively languid fashion.

A shadow of fear clouded Zhernastyn’s eyes.

Max knew.

Zhernastyn hadn’t told Chang about the computer. He was trying to save his own neck.

Max looked back at Chang, straight into his eyes, so he would know the truth. “I found it,” he said, knowing that if he had denied finding the disc, and with only hours to go before the dam gates were opened, their lives would be worthless, or Chang would torture his father in front of him until he confessed. Telling Chang might buy them only minutes of life, but those minutes gave hope, and if you had hope you could climb out of the darkest pit.

Shaka Chang stopped pacing and looked directly into Max’s face, a blast of power from those eyes. Max could see why people were so afraid of him. It wasn’t just the size of the man-his eyes were portals into a dark soul.

“Where is it?” The question had no more resonance than a breath being exhaled. But it was like a blade being dragged down Max’s spine. Almost supernatural.

Their eyes locked.

Did Shaka Chang see something inside Max? Could he see the shadowed place he traveled to when the BaKoko’s spirit entwined his own?

“I put it in the water. In the pump room. I dropped it through the grid.”

Chang didn’t have to work too hard to figure it out. “So that’s how you got inside Skeleton Rock. That’s admirable.” He paused. “Why into water? Why would you risk corrupting the disc? Ah! Of course. It had been hidden in water, or something similar. The fuel tank of the Land Rover? My men checked.”

“No, the water bag.”

“The water bag. How clever.” He looked at Max’s dad, who managed a smile. A small victory.

But Shaka Chang did not allow victories of any size. In one brutal movement he bent down and backhanded Max’s father, slamming him into the wall. In the instant it happened, Max, consumed by a frightening anger, hurled himself at Chang. He saw a blur of jade and gold as Chang sidestepped and swung an open hand, catching Max across the back of his head.

Max felt as though he’d been hit by a baseball. Down he went, right next to his dad, who had blood seeping from a split lip.

“Mr. Slye, get one of the men to retrieve the disc.” Slye melted back into the shadows, relieved to escape the turmoil and ugly violence. Better to be out of sight in moments of extreme conflict.

Max helped his dad prop his back against the wall. Father and son looked at each other; a brief, almost sad smile crossed Tom Gordon’s face. “I don’t believe in giving up, you know that, but there’s a time for everything. Even when it doesn’t work out the way you’d hoped. I’m sorry, son. I love you.”

“Me too, Dad.”

Max put an arm around his father and kissed him. He hadn’t done that since he was about eight. But it felt right. As he hugged him, Max pushed the ignition key into his palm.

It wasn’t over yet.

The wind, roaring its urgency, caught the mouth of the hangar, surged inside, then, beaten by the voluminous space, subsided into a whisper.

Out of the brewing storm two 4?4 pickups pulled in. The men, covered in dust, lowered a body to the floor. It was the unconscious!Koga. A line of dried blood was traced across the back of his head-the injury from the blow Max had witnessed on the television screen when they hunted the Bushman boy down. Blood leaked from his right ear.

Shaka Chang nodded to one of the men nearby, who whistled the hunters to bring the boy’s body closer.