Clive Cussler - Serpent

"The water is pure," Dr. Chi said. "The rainfall collects under the limestone and finds its way here and there to the surface through holes like this and underground caves."

Gamay sat on a low ledge. "You know this breed," she said. "What do you think they'll do?"

Dr. Chi was amazed at his companion's calm manner. He shouldn't be surprised, he reminded himself. She had shown no fear defending him and going after the man who attacked him.

"We have some time. They won't do anything until they confer with the traffickers who hired them about what to do with an American."

"Then what?"

He spread his hands. "They have little choice. This is a lucrative excavation that they won't want to abandon. Which is what they will have to do if they let us go."

"So it will be better for them if we disappear from the face of the earth. Nobody knows where we are, although they don't know that. People might think we'd been eaten by a jaguar."

He raised a brow "They wouldn't have been so free in showing us their loot if they thought we'd be around to tell anybody"

She looked around. "You wouldn't know a secret way out of here?"

"There are passageways off the main chamber. They either end or descend below the water table and are impassable."

Gamay got up and walked over to the edge of the water. "How deep do you suppose this is?"

"It's hard to say"

"You mentioned underwater caves. Any chance that this comes up someplace else?"

"Possible. Yes. There are other water holes in the area."

Gamay stood a minute at the water's edge trying to probe the depths with her eyes.

"What are you doing?" the professor called after her.

"You heard what that creep said. He wants a date with me." She dove in, breaststroked out into the middle of the basin. "Well, he's not my type," she said, her voice echoing in the chamber. And with a splash she disappeared beneath , the still water.

Nine Mile Hole, Arizona

19 FOR A TIME AUSTIN THOUGHT THE thunderstorm would hold off. Festering dark clouds that had been piling up all afternoon in ominous layers had snagged on a jagged peak. As Austin and Nina strolled around the edge of the ranch property they could have been a relaxed couple out for a walk, which was the impression Austin wanted to convey to any unseen watchers. They stopped under the bluegreen branches of a palo verde tree and looked off into the vast stillness. Rays from the lowering sun cast the wrinkled faces of the mountains in brilliant tones of gold, bronze, and copper.

Austin took Nina gently by the shoulders, encountering no resistance as he pulled her toward him, so close he could feel the heat coming off her body.

Are you sure I can't persuade you to leave?"

"It would be a waste of time," she said. "I want to see this thing through."

Their lips were almost touching, and at any other time the romance of the setting would have concluded in a kiss. Austin looked into the gray eyes flecked with orange from the setting sun and sensed Nina was far away, her mind with her murdered friends and colleagues.

"I understand," he said.

"Thank you. I appreciate that." She gazed at the darkening desert. "Do you think they will come?" she asked.

"There's no doubt in my mind. How could they resist the bait?"

"I'm not sure they're still interested in me.

"I'm talking about the Roman bust. A stroke of genius."

"It was a collaborative endeavor," Nina said with a smile. "We needed a model who looked like a Roman emperor. Paul's a wonder at computer graphics. He took a file photo, simply removed the beard, thinned the hair, combed it a la Julius Caesar, and substituted a breastplate for the blazer." Suddenly alarmed, she said, "You .don't think Admiral Sandecker would be angry if he knew we used his face for a model, do you?"

"My guess is that he'd be quite flattered. He .might have something to say about being memorialized as a mere emperor. And the expression is a bit too benign." He glanced at the blackening sky. "Looks like we're in for it after all."

The phalanx of dark clouds had broken free from the mountain peaks and was advancing swiftly in their direction. The mountains were now a deep umber. Faint rumbles echoed across the desert. The suns rays were frayed and faded.

After stopping to turn on the interior illumination of the two RVs parked near the shed, they made their way in the yellowing light toward the adobe nuns of the ranch house where Trout was manning the command post.

The Wingates, tired from digging and sifting, had returned to their motel early. Ned, Carl, and Zavala had taken up perimeter posts in outbuildings beyond the old corral. Their positions gave them a clear view of the desert stretching out to the horizon. The backup team would move in to secure the road when darkness fell.

A gust of wind kicked up sand, and giant raindrops slapped the ground as Austin and Nina ducked inside the ranch house. Trout was in the kitchen, the only part of the house that still had a roof. Rain leaked in through a few holes and rapidly created rivulets in the dirt floor, but otherwise the interior was relatively dry and sheltered. The ragged opening where the door had been looked out on the RVs. The gaps between the adobe bricks provided views in every direction like the peepholes in a castle wall.

The wind and rain were mere preliminaries. A desert electrical storm doesn't simply sweep in and let loose a few desultory bolts of lightning. It picks a spot and hovers over it, unleashing torrents of rain and crooked bolts of lightning seconds apart, or sometimes in multiples. It will pound away with a malevolence more common to humans, battering the earth like an artillery barrage whose intent is to eliminate the enemy or break his will.

The nearconstant stroboscopic light froze the slashing raindrops. While Trout made visual checks, Austin kept in touch with the guards with a handheld radio. He had to shout to be heard over the thunder boomers and the pounding rain.

The watchdogs had been instructed to call in at regular intervals or immediately if they encountered something unusual. The men on the perimeter identified themselves by their own names. The six men posted at the old gas station called themselves the A Team. The chopper crew, simply known as the B Team, was to listen and maintain silence.

Austin's radio crackled with what sounded like static but was really rainfall.

"Ned to base. Nothing."

"Roger that," Austin replied. "Come in, Carl.".

A second later. "Carl. Ditto."

Taking to heart Austin's warning to keep messages brief, Joe answered, "Dittoditto."

Then, from the road, "A Team. Negative."

The storm lasted most of an hour, and when it moved on the premature darkness it had brought with it lingered, broken only by lightning flashes in the distance. The fresh-scrubbed air smelled strongly of sagebrush. Patrol reports continued to come in. All was still quiet until a call came in from the road crew.

A Team to base. Vehicle coming. Taking positions."

The team's plan was to use two men to intercept the vehicle, two to cover them. One would watch the backs of the coverers, and the sixth would keep in touch with the others on the radio.

Austin went to the doorway and squinted toward the road. The headlights were pinpoints in the dark.

A minute later. "Car signaled to stop . . . stopping. Approaching cautiously"

Austin held his breath. There was no mason for anyone to visit the site this time of night. He pictured the men advancing from each side of the car with guns cocked. He hoped it wasn't a diversion while the real thrust came elsewhere. He quickly checked in with the other watchers. All was quiet on the desert side.

The road team reported in after several tense moments. A Team." The voice sounded more relaxed. "Base, do you know anybody named George Wingate?"