James Rollins - Subterranean

"My, my," Ben whispered in an aside to her as a second guard approached. "I can see why everyone thinks this is a romantic spot."

The stone-faced guard checked their identification cards. "You're clear." He turned to the other guard by the bridge and gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Sorry for the scare, but we're tightening security."

"Why?" she asked.

"Sorry, ma'am. That's classified information." He turned and proceeded toward the bridge.

Ashley turned to Ben. "What do you make of that?"

He shrugged. "Who can figure the military? Bunch of buffoons."

"I know. I wouldn't mind pushing the lot of them into that damned chasm."

"Hey, what do you know? We do have something in common." He spun on a heel, very militarylike, to head back to the dormitory. He offered his arm.

This time she took him up on his offer.

Blakely stretched, leaning away from the console. He glanced at a clock on the wall. A few minutes after midnight. Now, that was cutting it down to the wire. The team would be leaving in nine hours.

"All green lights," said a voice behind him. "Finally."

He turned to the head of communications, Lieutenant Brian Flattery. "I knew those new circuit boards would do the trick," the doctor said. "With the communications net intact, we'll be able to communicate to my team anywhere on the planet."

"That's good," said Flattery. "But still…"

"Don't fret. This time it'll be different."

Flattery glanced at the floor. "We never found Wombley's body. Only that splat of blood."

"I know, I know."

"And there's still no word from the other team. It's been four months. And what about the recent disappearance of the guard by the chasm?"

Blakely held up a hand. He had heard similar rumblings across the camp. "We're prepared this time. We'll be in regular communication."

"Shouldn't this group be forewarned of the risk they're taking?"

Blakely shrugged. "Major Michaelson and his two men know. That's what's important. I guess I'm going to have to give the rest of the team some details, but they don't need to know everything. This time we're proceeding with foreknowledge of the risks. We're properly armed."

"We don't really know that."

Blakely squinted at the line of green lights on the communications console. He tapped one light that fluttered. It stabilized to a steady green. "Nothing to worry about."

THE PACK WAS HEAVY, THE CUSHIONED STRAPS CUTTING into Ashley's shoulders. She shrugged it off and set it down at her feet. Heavy, but manageable. She saw Linda grimace as she tried to adjust her own backpack over her shoulders. Ashley reached over and tugged the bag higher on Linda's back. "Carry it like that and it won't be so bad."

Linda smiled, but creases of worry still etched her brow. "Thanks. I just have to get accustomed to it."

Ashley nodded. We all do, she thought.

Ashley led Linda toward the group clustered near the team's radio. Blakely was explaining its operation to Ben, Khalid, and Major Michaelson. "Our web of receivers and transmitters operates at an ultra-low frequency. They're buried and spread out, so we will be able to communicate through hundreds of miles of rock in all directions."

Major Michaelson hefted the radio, testing its weight. "Sort of like the buried transmitters that guide our submarines."

"Exactly the same principle. Low-level reverberations. The system has been tested and checks out fine."

"How often do we establish contact?" Ashley asked as she stepped up.

"Three times a day. At the designated hours," Blakely responded. He pointed at the radio. "This is the most important piece of equipment you'll be carrying."

Major Michaelson tapped his pistol at his waist. "This is my most important piece of equipment."

Ben snorted. "You're both wrong. Shows your lack of caving experience." He pointed to his belt with its ring of batteries. "This is your most important piece of equipment. Without batteries, you have no light. Without light, you can't see what you're shooting at and no radio in the world is going to guide your ass out of a hole." He gripped his battery belt. "This is your lifeblood down here."

Everyone was staring now at Ben. "Of course," he said, pulling out a roll of toilet paper from his pack, "this is right bloody important too."

Ashley smiled, and Linda suppressed a giggle. Ben did have his moments; she had to give him that.

"What about water?" Khalid asked, standing up from where he had been hunched over the radio. "Dehydration is a major danger, isn't it?"

"Sort of. But most major cavern systems have abundant pools of potable water. Just conserve your canteen between watering holes."

Ashley gritted her teeth. Radios, guns, batteries, water. Lack of any of them could incapacitate the mission. Too many variables for her tastes.

The remainder of their pack contents was then explained. Freeze-dried food in tinfoil packets, electrolyte replacement fluid, collapsed air mattresses for sleeping, a first-aid kit, a small box of toiletries, and coiled on top of it all a thick spool of rope. Besides the backpack, each member had a lightweight climbing harness with a chalk bag to dry one's hands, and a helmet with a carbide lamp.

Ben's pack contained additional climbing equipment: carabiners, quick draws, and anchoring bolts. The need for this equipment was obvious to Ashley. Major Michaelson's pack, however, frightened her. It contained four more pistols, a collapsed rifle, and boxes and boxes of seal-cloth-wrapped ammunition.

If that wasn't enough, the team had finally been introduced to the two other members of their expedition-Major Skip Halloway and Major Pedro Villanueva. The insignia of an eagle gripping a trident on their shoulders advertised their expertise. Navy SEALs, the elite. They wore weapons at their waists, and each hefted a double pack. A heavy load, but they looked like muscled machines, workhorses with weapons.

Ben nudged her. "Bloody lot of firepower we're dragging with us."

She nodded. "I don't like it."

"I heard about those SEALs. Never go anywhere without a wicked arsenal."

Ashley chewed her lower lip. "Why do you think-"

Blakely interrupted, "From here, Professor Carter will be in charge. Her word is my word."

Ashley noticed a smirk from the redheaded Seal, Skip Halloway. He elbowed his buddy, whose expression remained stoic. Black-haired and black-eyed, Pedro Villanueva was as difficult to read as a slab of marble.

She sighed. Great, two more macho men to keep under her thumb. She noticed she wasn't the only one checking out the newcomers. Khalid's face was clouded with an especially dour expression as he studied the SEALs. His lips then curled up at the corners in an unpleasant manner. He turned away to whisper something in Linda's ear. She smiled, covering a laugh with a small hand.

"So," Ben said, "are you ready to lead this ragtag band of adventurers into the heart of the world?"

"Right now I'm just hoping there's no mutiny."

Ashley crossed toward the small opening in the south wall of the cavern. She eyed the tiny tunnel. Called a wormhole, it looked more like a sewer drain to her. The black entrance stood only two and a half feet high. She crouched and shined her hand lantern down the tube. With a backpack on, she estimated, it would be nearly impossible even to crawl through these holes.

To answer this riddle, the final piece of their equipment was introduced. Blakely handed her a wheeled plastic board.

"A skateboard?" Ashley spun a wheel across her palm.

"I prefer to call them transport sleds," Blakely said.

"Specifically designed for these chutes. Here, let me show you." He picked up another of the seven fluorescent-colored boards. He slapped the surface of the board with the flat of his hand. "We already devised aluminum motorized sleds, but they are too bulky to carry. These, on the other hand, are high-impact plastic, both the board and the wheels. The ball bearings are composed of a corrosion-resistant titanium. Perfect for the terrain and the dampness. Just release this latch. Like so. And the board expands to the length of your upper torso, supporting chest and pelvis, and allowing the rider to ride belly down, using gloved hands and feet for propulsion and braking."