in the catacombs' floor. She was up to her crotch in muck, and the Ukrainian policeman was strutting toward her.
It was only when he neared her that she realized just how frightened he was. Maybe he'd lost a brother or a daughter to the catacombs, who knew? In any event, it was clear that he was all too aware of the multiple dangers that lurked in every corner of the tunnels. He saw her now where he'd been imagining himself ever since he'd been ordered inside.
"For the love of God, please help me!"
The policeman, as he approached the edge of the pit, played the beam of light over her. She had one arm in front of her, the other behind her back.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"I'm a tourist. I got lost down here." She began to cry. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll drown."
"A tourist, no. I've been told who you are." He shook his head. "For you and your friend, it's too late. You're both in too deep." He drew his gun, leveled it at her. "Anyway, you're both going to die tonight."
"Don't be so sure," Soraya said, shooting him through the heart with the ASP pistol.
The policeman's eyes opened wide, and he fell backward as if he were a cardboard target on a firing range. He dropped the light, which rang onto the floor and immediately went out.
"Shit," she said under her breath.
She stowed the ASP back in its shoulder holster. She'd drawn it the moment she'd regained her equilibrium, had been holding it behind her back as the policeman approached. Now her first order of business was to reach his feet. She lowered her upper torso into the muck, trying to splay herself out horizontally. This maneuver also had the effect of moving her closer to her objective.
Float, she thought. Float, dammit!
She let her legs go slack, using the strength in her upper body only to inch forward, arms stretched out in front of her to their farthest extent. She could feel the muck sucking at her, reluctant to release her legs and hips. She fought down another wave of panic, set her mind firmly on moving one inch at a time. In the darkness, it was more difficult. Once or twice she thought she was already under, already dead.
Then her fingers encountered rubber: boot soles! Squirming another centimeter or two brought her enough purchase to grasp the policeman's boots. She took a deep breath, hauled with all her might. She didn't move, but he did. His feet and legs angled down into the pit. That was it, though; his huge body wouldn't budge another millimeter.
It was all she needed. Using his corpse as a makeshift ramp, she slowly but surely pulled herself hand-over-hand up his legs until she could grasp his wide belt with both her palms. In this way, she slowly pulled herself the rest of the way out of the slurry pit.
For a moment, she lay atop him, feeling the thunder of her heart, hearing the breath sigh in and out of her lungs. At length, she rolled away, onto the damp floor of the catacombs, and regained her feet.
As she feared, his light was beyond repair. Wiping off her own, she prayed that it still worked. A feeble beam flickered on, off, on again. Now that she had more leverage, she was able to roll the policeman into the pit. She scuffed at the floor, kicking dirt and debris over whatever blood had leaked from him.
Knowing the light's batteries were running down, she hurried into the left-hand fork, heading toward the access point nearest Dr. Pavlyna's house.
At the second refueling stop, the plane carrying Martin Lindros took on a new passenger. This individual sat down next to Lindros and said something in the Bedouin-inflected Arabic of Abbud ibn Aziz.
"But you are not Abbud ibn Aziz," Lindros said, turning his head in the way of a blind man. He still wore the black cloth hood.
"No, indeed. I am his brother, Muta ibn Aziz."
"Are you as good at maiming human beings as your brother is?"
"I leave such things to my brother," Muta ibn Aziz said rather sharply.
Lindros, whose sense of hearing had been honed by his lack of sight, heard the note; he thought he could exploit the emotion behind it. "Your hands are clean, I imagine." He sensed the other studying him, as if he'd just stumbled upon a new species of mammal.
"My conscience is clear."
Lindros shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me