Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

“Your light’s still working, isn’t it?”

Manny had a light affixed to his helmet. As he twisted slowly on the end of the line, the beam traced the pit’s circumference.

“It’s the only part of me that isn’t failing,” Manny answered. “My bowels are gonna be the next to go.”

“Hold on, Manny. Take a look around you. Is there a ledge you’d be able to stand on if you could get to it?”

During his next 360-degree turn, Manny replied, “Yeah. Over on the other side. Behind you. But I can’t reach it.”

“All right. Let’s see if we can get a little swing going, okay?”

“We need music for that, amigo .”

Sweat poured off Gabriel’s forehead beneath his helmet, ran over his brows, and stung his eyes. Another problem on the rapidly expanding list.

“Shut up, Manny, and see if you can swing over to the ledge. Slow and easy. I’ll try and get you started with my legs.”

Gabriel managed to grip the taut tether with the insteps of his boots. He then strained to wiggle the rope enough to send some movement down to his partner. At the same time, Manny flapped his arms and legs as if he were trying to fly—anything to propel himself back and forth in the air.

“You look real graceful,” Gabriel said through his teeth. It was becoming much more difficult to hold on.

“Not half as graceful as we’re going to look when we’re flat as tortillas on the bottom of the cave.”

Gabriel was glad that Manny was keeping his sense of humor. A good sign. But as his friend attempted the circus feat, the pickax started to squeak. As if it were about to come out of the rock. Gabriel needed to lessen the weight on his body in a big way. The sooner Manny got over to the ledge, the better.

He tugged on the rope with his legs some more and felt his partner’s momentum increase a little. Manny was now a human pendulum, swaying feet first toward the target ledge, back and forth at a twenty-degree angle . . . which soon increased to thirty degrees . . . and finally to thirty-five degrees. And then Manny’s boot touched the edge of the stone outcropping.

“Almost there, Gabriel!”

The pickax creaked again.

Manny swung back to the ledge and came close enough to push off from it with his legs. The maneuver gave him more speed and force—but it also placed much more strain on Gabriel’s wrists and the pickax. The metal lip at the bottom of the handle was deeply embedded in the flesh of Gabriel’s hands. Then the ax slipped a few millimeters with a painful wrenching sound.

“One more push and I think I can make it!” Manny announced.

Gabriel was unable to speak. He simply closed his eyes and willed his partner over to the other side of the pit.

Anytime, Manny, anytime . . .

Manny returned to the ledge and pushed off hard. He swayed so far to Gabriel’s side of the hole that he was able to touch the wall there. Then, on the way back to the ledge, he hurtled himself up and over—and fell onto the ledge with a smack .

“I made it!” Manny rolled and came to a sitting position. He panted for a few seconds and said, “Pardon me while I say a few Hail Marys.”

The subtracted weight relieved the pressure on Gabriel’s arms. He was now able to concentrate on the next problem at hand—saving himself. Manny was on the opposite side of the cave from where Gabriel hung and a couple of yards lower. The two men were connected by a fifteen-foot tether. Gabriel could simply let go, fall, and hope that Manny was able to pull him up to his ledge. But then they’d be stuck there. Most of the ascending equipment was back at the top, on Bat Guano Ridge.

No, wait .

He had some tools in his pack and in his trouser pockets. A few pitons. A couple of ascenders. A rappel rack.

Gabriel thought that if he could place an anchor in the rock face, he just might be able to attach his rope and a carabiner. He could then use the assembly to raise himself a few feet. Then he’d have to plant another . . . and another . . . all the way to the top. If he ran out, he could pull out one of the lower ones and reuse it. The trip would be slow going and painfully tedious . . . but it could be done.

Now if he could just grow another arm or two . . .

“So now what?” Manny called. His voice echoed in the well. “Dying from the fall would’ve been better than starving to death here.”

“Don’t be a pessimist, Manny,” Gabriel growled. “I’ll get us out of here. Trust me.”

He took a deep breath. What he was about to do required concentration.

Gabriel squeezed the ax handle harder with his right hand . . . and let go with his left. Hanging by only one arm, he reached back with his free hand and dug into his pack. His fingers found one of the pouches—he hoped it was the correct one—and wormed into it. He felt something cold, hard, and metallic. A piton! The angle was awkward, but he managed to grasp it. The next step was to pull it out of the pouch without . . . dropping it . . .

The piton fell into the darkness below.

He and Manny heard the clang when it hit bottom.

Gabriel rarely cursed, but he did so—loudly.

Let’s try that again . . .

Still clinging to the handle with a very sore right hand, Gabriel reached back to the pack a second time. He dug into the pouch and took hold of another piton. This time he made sure he had it firmly in hand before removing it.

His right shoulder and upper arm were killing him. The strain was becoming unbearable.

To hell with not damaging the rock .

With the piton in his left hand, he eyed the rock face in front of him. A small crack ran diagonally across the limestone. Aiming as best as he could, Gabriel jabbed the piton’s point into the crack. The first attempt only chipped some of the stone away. The second try created a small hole. With the third stab, the piton stuck.

Gabriel grabbed the ax handle with his left hand to relieve some of the tension on his right arm. Then, with his weakened but now free arm, he reached for the small hammer that hung on the right side of his belt. He succeeded in pulling it out of its sheath . . . but since the piton was to the left of his body, he now had to switch it to his other hand. He’d never be able to hammer it with his right hand.

Only one thing to do, and Gabriel knew he had only one shot to do it. There would be no second attempt.

Okay, the left hand is holding the ax. The right hand has the hammer. Let’s do it . . . Ready? . . . One . . . two . . . THREE!

Gabriel tossed the hammer into the air and grabbed the ax handle with his right hand while simultaneously releasing the handle with his left. The hammer had reached the top of its arc while he was making the exchange and was now plunging downward. Gabriel’s left hand shot out and snatched the hammer out of midair as it fell.

He had to stop and breathe for a moment after that little stunt. Compared to it, hammering the piton into the limestone was easy.

Still using one hand, he unwrapped the rope from his shoulder and stuck an end in his mouth. He gripped it with his teeth, and then dug a carabiner out of a pocket. It was yet another awkward operation to secure the end of the rope to the ’biner with a bowline knot one-handed, but he did it. He then hooked the carabiner into the eye on the exterior end of the piton. The rope was now fixed and safe to use.

Then his cell phone rang.

“What the . . . ?” He looked back at Manny. “You mean to tell me there’s actually service down here?” Gabriel took hold of the rope with one hand and his legs, let go of the ax handle, and hung there, suspended.

The phone rang again.

“You’re not gonna answer that, are you?” Manny asked.