The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,140
the bronze landing.
He crashed through old bones and struck the wall.
Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .
Out in the lake, a wave surged toward him, led by a churning mass of snaking vines. He cringed, expecting to be snagged and dragged back in. Instead, the tendrils snapped taut, their tips waving at the pool’s edge, apparently the extent of their reach. With their prey escaped, they sank back into the depths.
Kowalski grabbed the large bronze wheel and hauled himself up on shaking legs. He paused long enough to flip off the swamp creature and set about turning the stubborn wheel, cranking the valve with all his remaining strength. His arms trembled with the effort. His vision narrowed. Finally, he felt something clank and vibrate the wheel. It would not turn anymore.
Hopefully that’s enough.
Because he had nothing left.
Still hanging by his arm, he twisted around and slumped with his back to the wall. He sat atop the bones and didn’t care. He dropped his arm, his hand coming to rest on a skull. He patted it.
Yeah, you and me both.
As he gasped, the wall vibrated behind him. He glanced up to the gold device welded to the wall. It had pipes running down from it and through the bronze apron, likely into the pool below. A large gold disk above it started to turn, tick by tick.
That can’t be good.
Motion drew his gaze forward. Thick plates of bronze, hinged at the bottom, tilted out from both sides of the room. Chains lowered them until the edges met in the middle with a loud clang, sealing the toxic pool below under this new floor.
Kowalski stared across from one landing to the other. He leaned his head back with an exasperated sigh.
You couldn’t have done that earlier?
8:07 P.M.
“What’s the number?” Gray asked Mac.
The climatologist retreated from the crack in the door and stared down at the Geiger counter. “With the pool sealed, the levels are down ninety percent in there. Which is still hot, but it should be safe if you’re quick.” Mac waved at Gray’s soaked clothes and body. “Of course, a little extra protection never hurt.”
Gray nodded. “Everyone else stay back around the corner.”
Bailey stepped forward. “I’ll go with you. You may need help with Joe.” He lowered his voice so Maria couldn’t hear. “He looks in bad shape.”
Gray didn’t argue. The priest was already anointed in the black oil. “C’mon.”
He hauled the door wide enough for them to slip through, then closed it behind them. Across the way, Kowalski noticed their arrival and lifted a trembling arm—then promptly dropped it.
Gray ran forward, his boots ringing off the bronze floor. Bailey kept at his heels. When they reached Kowalski, the priest dropped next to him, looking ready to perform Last Rites. But the big man had some fight left in him.
Kowalski rolled his head toward the device on the wall. “That’s your problem.”
Gray understood and faced the ticking gold clock of Hunayn’s fail-safe. He noted a circle of Arabic inscribed on it. “Can you read this?” Gray asked.
Bailey helped Kowalski up and squinted over at the writing. He tilted his head in order to read it as the clock face slowly turned a tick at a time. “It says I grant you enough time for your final prayers. So Allah will accept you with merciful grace.”
Gray had already roughly estimated how much time that entailed. From the circumference of the clock, from the pace of its rotation, he calculated how long it would take to reach the silver mark on the gold dial.
Less than fifteen minutes.
Gray shifted his attention down to a wide gold box that likely housed the fail-safe mechanism. For any hope of disarming it, he had to get it open. He searched its sides but found no means to unlatch or remove the cover. He grabbed the edges and tried lifting it off. He managed to shift it—but that was a mistake.
Even Kowalski noted it as he leaned on Bailey and groaned.
The clockwork dial snapped forward a full third, trimming their time by the same amount. Cursing Hunayn’s cleverness, Gray backed away. The device had been booby-trapped against tampering.
“How long?” Bailey asked.
Gray pointed to the far door.
“Less than ten minutes.”
45
June 26, 8:08 P.M. WEST
High Atlas Mountains, Morocco
Elena fled through the burning forest.
Behind her, cedars exploded into torches. Hot smoke shrouded everything. Fires roared all around. She stumbled onward, seeking some refuge, some escape. Her eyes watered, her breath gasped.
Charlie kept next to her, clutching her hand. The woman’s face