Gabriel Hunt - Hunt at The Well Of Eternity

Gabriel drifted back through the shadows to the others. He explained the situation to them. “If we can rush them and take them without a lot of commotion, we’ll have that fifty caliber on our side and still have the element of surprise with us.”

“I’ll do it,” Fargo said. He pointed to half a dozen men who swiftly assembled in a circle around him. The men armed themselves with makeshift bludgeons, chunks of broken rock they picked up from the floor as they went. Following close behind Fargo and Gabriel, darting from pillar to pillar, they approached the terraced steps and came up behind Esparza’s men.

The moon was rising over the mountains now, flooding the valley with silvery light. Pausing just inside the arched entrance to the palace, Gabriel and Fargo looked at each other and exchanged a nod. Then Fargo raised an arm and swiftly swung it down, signaling his men to charge.

Gabriel and the general were in the lead as they rushed out. Esparza’s men were talking and laughing among themselves, and they didn’t hear the slap of hurrying feet on stone until it was too late. Gabriel swung the butt of the automatic weapon in his hand and crashed it into the back of a man’s head. The others struck right behind him. Esparza’s men fell under the unexpected attack, slumping to the steps one by one.

Now the prisoners had eight more automatic weapons—and the machine gun. Gabriel moved among the men, quickly demonstrating how to use the weapons. He picked out a couple of men to handle the machine gun. It would have been helpful if they could have practiced with the weapons before having to use them, but you couldn’t ask for everything.

He found the man who had seen where the rifles had been taken and said, “Take some of the men and get to that infirmary. Arm yourselves and spread out, but stay out of sight until the shooting starts. Then pick off as many of Esparza’s men as you can.” He turned to the machine gunners. “You can see Esparza’s camp over by that pyramid from here. When all hell breaks loose, hose it down good.”

The men looked to Fargo for confirmation of the orders. The general nodded. “All of you do as Mr. Hunt says. I believe he has the makings of a good field officer.”

Gabriel grinned. “I don’t know about that. There are too many rules in the army for me.”

“Only ever been one rule that counts in any army,” Fargo said. “Win your battles.”

Once the other group had stolen off into the shadows, Gabriel, Fargo, and the rest of the former prisoners made their way toward a ring of portable lights Esparza had set up around the Well.

“General Jackson was a master of splitting his forces at the proper time,” Fargo said in a low voice. “I hope that works out here as well.”

“We talking about Stonewall Jackson?” Gabriel said.

“Some called him that,” Fargo said. After a moment, he asked, “Are we going to give Esparza an opportunity to surrender?”

“Absolutely not,” Mariella said. “He should be shot on sight. He doesn’t deserve any better.”

“I’m a soldier, my dear, not a murderer,” the general said. “If Esparza is willing to order his men to throw down their arms, we will accept his surrender.”

Gabriel suspected it was a moot argument—Esparza wasn’t going to throw down his arms.

They were too close for talking now. Gabriel and Fargo used hand signals to tell the people of Cuchatlán to spread out. The men armed with the machine pistols were posted at intervals along the line. The others had only the chunks of rock they had brought with them from the ruined palace, but those rocks could be deadly enough at close quarters, as they’d already demonstrated back on the steps.

After motioning for Cierra and Mariella to stay with them, Gabriel and Fargo looked at each other and exchanged a nod. They stepped up to the edge of the big circle of light cast around the Well of Eternity by the bright, generator-powered lights that had been set up.

For the first few seconds no one noticed them. That gave Gabriel a chance to take in the scene. A thick hose extended down into the Well and was attached to a pump. Hoses led from the pump to several metal barrels that were being filled by Esparza’s men. Esparza, Podnemovitch, and the turncoat Hector stood beside the pump, watching the operation.

This was not a man to content himself with turning samples over to scientists—he was pumping water out by the barrelful, as fast as it would come. Mariella had said that the people of Cuchatlán had pack mules that had been trained to cross the rope bridge. Esparza had to be planning to pack the water barrels out by mule and then take them to wherever he had left his trucks. From there they could be taken back to Mexico City, where he could do with it as he pleased: analyze some, sell the rest, always setting enough aside, of course, to keep Esparza himself alive for centuries. That would be the plan anyway. What a laugh, when he discovered that, with the water’s diminished potency, all these many barrels wouldn’t buy him more than a few extra weeks or months of youth at most.

So why not let him take it? Because he’d surely kill the people of Cuchatlán before he left, and destroy the valley—and because there was always a chance, however slim, that his scientists would find a way to restore the water’s potency. His were simply too dangerous a pair of hands to leave that power in.

Gabriel raised his voice and called out: “Esparza!”

Podnemovitch reacted first, spinning around and reaching for the revolver holstered on his hip. He stopped, with his lips twisting in a snarl, as he saw the guns aimed at him from every direction.

Esparza turned more deliberately. He glared at Gabriel and said, “Is there no end to your troublemaking, Hunt?”

“This is the end, sir,” Fargo said, his deep voice booming. “I call upon you and your men to lay down your arms and cease hostilities. If you do, there will be no more killing.”

“You think I fear a bunch of creaky old men?” Esparza shook his head. “You possessed the power toremake the world, and what did you do with it? Nothing! You hid here at the end of the earth like cowards!”

“We lived the lives we chose,” Fargo replied, still holding his head high, his expression a model of pride and dignity.

“You disgust me,” Esparza said. “Power is to be used, or it is nothing.”

“Should we kill them, Vladimir?” Podnemovitch asked. The fact that Gabriel and the others had the drop on him and his allies seemed to mean nothing to him.

Esparza hesitated. If he gave the order to shoot, his men would open fire. But Esparza himself might be caught in the crossfire. He didn’t want that.

Gabriel saw the doubt in the man’s eyes and tried to tip the balance. If he thought there was no longer anything to fight for, he might be more inclined to surrender.

“Have you ever asked yourself, Esparza,” Gabriel said, “why everyone in Cuchatlán is starting to look so old?”

“They are old, Hunt. They’re the oldest people on the planet.”

“But they didn’t used to look this old, Esparza. That’s new. They explained it to me. The Well is wearing out. Its power is fading. The water doesn’t work anymore.”

Esparza’s eyes widened as the implications of Gabriel’s words soaked in. His head jerked toward Hector, and he snarled a curse.

“Did you know this, you worm?” Esparza said. “Is it true?”

Hector stammered, “I…I don’t know…”

“You led me down here for nothing!”

Hector held his hands up and started to back away, saying, “No, señor, no! I…I swear, the water still has its power—”

Esparza yanked a knife from the sheath at his belt and shouted, “Kill them, Alexei! Kill them all!” as he lunged at Hector and plunged the blade into the traitor’s belly. Hector screamed as the knife sank deep into his flesh.