Outlanders 20 Prodigal Chalice, page 30
"I know, but I can't do it any other way. Not and keep it clean."
Grant nodded. "We'll do it your way. Whichever way it goes, we'll handle it."
Kane crawled back to the hole in the ground. Then he raised his voice. "You men down there!"
Instantly, the seven men took cover behind the stalagmite thrust up from the rocky shelf, as well as the water-warped crates.
"Who the hell are you?" one of them demanded.
"It's not important," Kane replied.
"What do you want?"
"The submarine," Kane answered. "You people get clear and we'll let you go."
"Fuck you!" the man yelled back. "We already declared salvage rights to this son of a bitch!"
Grant glanced at Kane. "Ain't nothing left to do but take this one the hard way. Unless you want to walk away."
Kane considered that option only briefly. The dreams and Balam's information had left him little choice in the matter. Before he could say anything, a humming drone echoed through the air above. He glanced up.
A crimson-lacquered air wag shot by overhead, the wings tilting slowly as the pilot scouted the ground.
"Wei Qiang's people," Grant said. "They're taking a hand in this."
"Why?" Kane mused.
"They spy on everybody," Grant replied as the air wag heeled around out over the sea to the east. "Mebbe they already knew about Lindstrohm's hunt for the chalice."
"But why come here now?"
"Mebbe they found out about us leaving," Grant said.
Kane turned that over in his mind for a moment, then shook his head. "They followed Lindstrohm. He must be somewhere behind us." He turned and gazed back to the west, where the road lay that had led up to Tulum.
"That means we got two groups bearing down on us," Grant said. "Getting on toward a one-percenter here."
Kane watched the plane circle around and head back to the west.
Abruptly, machine-gun fire sounded in the distance, echoing over the hills. The little crimson air wag turned away, skirting a section of the jungle.
We could go back," Grant said. "There's a good chance we can get around Lindstrohm's people in that jungle. Or just hide out until they're gone."
"Not without the chalice," Kane said. He grabbed the coil of rope and started tying it around his feet. "If Balam is right about that being part of the manna machine, I can't allow it to stay here." But there was more, he knew, although he didn't tell Grant. There was also the promise he'd made to the dying king, and to the lady. Maybe he would tell Grant at a later time, but he wasn't going to say it now. "Secure the line to the tree."
"You're going to rappel down into that cave?" Grant asked in disbelief.
"You saw the ropes alongside the cave opening," Kane said. "That's a steep grade. If we try to go down that way, they're going to pick us off." He finished tying a quick- release knot that held his booted feet together. "Drop me halfway to the water."
"And how far is that?"
"Twenty, twenty-five feet should do it." Kane pulled himself to the edge of the opening. "I'll need to use your Copperhead."
Grant tossed over the weapon.
Kane sat up, peering briefly down into the cavern below and hoping that the sides were as straight as he thought they were. Otherwise the cavern walls were going to beat the hell out of him. He held the Copperhead in one arm, checked the magazine and accepted the bandolier of spares that Grant handed across. He snapped the security strap on the .45 at his hip.
Grant finished hauling the other end of the rope around a nearby tree, making certain he could control the rope easily. "I've got you secured."
The sound of wag engines in the distance came closer.
Kane glanced west again and spotted dust plumes rising from the trail above the jungle canopy. "We're not going to have much time to pull this off."
"Less, if you keep talking," Grant told him.
"If it comes to it," Kane advised, "leave me below and get clear."
"If I have to," Grant agreed.
Without another word, Kane placed his back to the opening to the cavern and toppled inward, falling like a rock.
The gunners below started shooting at once.
Chapter 26
"Wei Qiang is trying to fuck us over," Harry Lindstrohm declared angrily as he stood in the wag's rear deck and swung the .50-caliber machine gun around to track the crimson air wag cleaving through the air to the south. The rounds thundered through the machine gun, sending spent cartridges into the brass catcher.
None of the rounds appeared to touch the air wag, and it continued on its way serenely through the blue, cloudless sky.
"Son of a bitch!" Lindstrohm roared. He released the machine-gun trigger and slapped the weapon angrily.
"Mebbe they're only watching," Narita Vasquez suggested.
Lindstrohm remained standing, watching as the air wag disappeared in the distance. "This might not be the first pass through for those air wags. They could have already spotted Tulum. Wei Qiang's people, Ren or one of the other Tone, commanders could already be en route."
"Then we'll deal with them," Vasquez stated calmly. "It they think they can take us here, they've made a fatal mistake."
Lindstrohm didn't say anything. He shifted his weight till consciously as the wag rumbled over the uneven road.
"The gates are too narrow to get a wag through," Tillman said from the rear seat next to Vasquez.
"Not for long," Lindstrohm said. They hadn't seen the wag that Ka'in had taken, and he couldn't help hoping that tin man had gone another way and encountered more trouble than they'd had while trying to make up lost time.
The driver halted a hundred yards from the entrance to the ruins.
"Johnson," Lindstrohm ordered, "make me a door." He swiveled the machine gun around to cover the entrance. Other men in the rest of the wags did the same.
One of the men from another wag ran forward and pushed a plas-ex satchel charge on either side of the entrance. He trotted back to the wag.
"Ready," Johnson called.
Lindstrohm gazed back to the west, the way the air wag had disappeared, and saw it appearing again on the horizon. There was also a smudge of dust clouds hanging over the jungle canopy. He had no doubt that the Tong had managed to put together a ground-assault team, as well.
"Bastards," he snarled to himself. This far out from the bay, there was no way to set off the radio signal that would destroy the floating oilrigs. But the last laugh would be on them if he didn't make it back. If he wasn't back in twenty-four hours, the timer was set to automatically send the signal
"Baron," Johnson prompted.
"Do it," Lindstrohm ordered.
KANE FELL, keeping his legs loose as the bullets from his opponents chopped the air around him. His eyes raked the upside-down view of the cavern to orient himself.
Ile kept his body loose, hoping not to get hurt in any way when he reached the end of the rope around his ankles. He glimpsed the dizzying array of stalactites and stalagmites twirling around him, the crystal-clear water below him, which looked like up in his present frame of reference.
The men on the rocky shelf scrambled to new positions.
If Grant hadn't been busy manning the rope, Kane knew he could have picked off two or three of the men guarding the submarine while they were in motion.
Then the rope drew tight around Kane's ankles. Grant handled the rope expertly, working it so the drag didn't stop suddenly and take a chance on yanking Kane's legs out of the sockets or whipping his back.
As he slowed to a halt, hanging at least forty feet down from the cavern roof and now another thirty feet above the underground lake, Kane let the Copperhead fall into position at the end of one arm, then secured it with the other.
He fired controlled 3-round bursts, catching two men in the center of the bodies with not even a heartbeat between the two actions. Their bodies spun to a halt on the rocky shelf. Bats suddenly fluttered from among the stalactites, their dawn slumber disturbed by the riot of noise.
Bullets from the sec men's weapons scoured sparks from the cavern roof.
Kane drew a bead on a man behind one of the warped wooden crates. His line of fire ripped splinters from the fragile wood, then he adjusted and targeted the sec man's head, which erupted in a rush of ruby blood and gray-pink brain matter.
Three, Kane told himself, keeping track. His thoughts swung constantly to the location of the final piece of the manna machine. This was the chalice, the part the king had promised the lady in exchange for the luck and aid she'd given him during the years.
Kane scattered more shots among the surviving sec men, driving them to cover and keeping them stirred up as he swung at the end of the rope. His motion through the air made it more difficult for him to acquire targets, but the surprise maneuver had netted him three confirmed kills.
He roared through the rest of the clip, blazing rounds across the rocky shelf and aiming at the cavern wall just behind one of the men taking cover behind a crate.
The bullets ricocheted from the limestone wall. Not all of them struck their target, but enough of them hit the man that they slapped him to the ground. He lay twitching, dark red blood suddenly staining the limestone.
Then the Copperhead blew empty, and the sudden silence of the roaring automatic weapon was at once noticeable.
The three survivors took heart in Kane's apparent helplessness while dangling at the end of the rope. They stood and took more deliberate aim at him
Kane transferred the assault rifle to his left hand. He bent at the waist with effort, having to overcome the weight of his upper body, as well as gravity, and grabbed the loose rope he'd left in the knot. "Clear!" he shouted.
"Clear!" Grant responded immediately.
Kane yanked the rope; loosing the knot. He plummeted toward the crystal-clear water below, angling his body so he'd go deep. If he remained near the top, the three survivors would shoot him easily.
Then he hit the water, finding it only slightly chilly. It closed over him, drowning out the sharp staccato reports of his opponents' weapons as they searched for him. Bullets zipped through the water, leaving visible contrails thanks to the light coming from the hole in the earth above.
Kane swam, knowing the gunners could easily see him.
THE EXPLOSION THAT BROKE through the western wall of Tulum caught Brigid Baptiste off guard. She'd been intently watching the sky, spotting the crimson air wag in the distance as it came back around.
As the blast filled the air with broken rock and flying debris, Brigid dived to the ground behind a line of boulders. Rocks shattered against the boulder with sharp cracks, and outliner rocks rained down around her like grapeshot from a cannon.
Domi cursed, her words unrecognizable but the tone unmistakable.
Lifting her head from the ground, covered with dirt and debris, Brigid looked back at the western wall. A huge hole had been blown through the stone bulwark. Dust swirled in the opening, obscuring it for a moment, but there was no mistaking the wag that suddenly roared through the gap in the wall.
The vehicle jumped and jerked as it rolled over huge chunks of stone and mortar.
Domi reacted instantly, lifting her .357 Magnum blaster in a two-handed grip. She fired as quickly as she could, aiming at the driver's side of the wag. The windshield glass chipped, showing holes as the bullets punched through. One of the trees in front of Domi took two direct hits, leaving white pulpy scars in their wake.
The wag rolled to one side and slammed into a tree, coming to a reluctant stop.
Brigid recognized Harry Lindstrohm pushing himself up on the rear deck of the wag. The man fit himself behind a .50-caliber machine gun and started raking the jungle with heavy fire.
Other wags roared through the opening in the wall and spread out.
Brigid's immediate guess was that at least forty men were aboard the wags. The rising dust cloud skimming along in the valley that held the road leading to Tulum told her that even more were on the way.
She turned to Grant and yelled at him.
"I see them," Grant growled, eyes raking the situation. "Well, it's a damn fact that we're not going back the way we got here."
Brigid glanced at the yawning mouth of the cavern near Grant's position. "From what Kane said that Balam told him, there's another opening in that cavern system."
"That's a hot zone down there right now," Grant said. Brigid look back at the advancing line of men. "It might be safer there than here."
Without warning, the first crimson-lacquered Tong air wag was joined by a second. Both of them streaked toward the inner courtyard of the ruins, locking into an attack path.
KANE SWAM underwater as long as he could. By the time he surfaced, his lungs begging for air, bright pinwheels spun in his vision. He came up behind the bulk of the listing submarine, using it as cover from the hostile guns on the rocky shelf.
"Fucker's behind the boat!" one of the men yelled.
Running footsteps spanged off the limestone, echoing within the cavern. But that sound was partially masked by the roar of the explosion from above.
Kane kept himself focused with difficulty. Evidently, Lindstrohm and his squads had been closer than any of them thought. He crowded up against the submarine, working hard to tread water in his boots and clothing. He slipped a magazine from the bandolier Grant had given him and rammed it home into the Copperhead.
Three men—at least, he reminded himself, because that had been how many he'd been able to visually confirm—still remained in the cavern with him. His bruised chest hurt as he breathed, and the air inside the cavern seemed thick, hard to get into his lungs.
Bats fluttered against the cavern roof, darting in between the stalactites and shadows where the natural light didn't touch even after being reflected from the limestone surfaces. Kane knew none of his opponents could hide up in the stalactites, but the movement kept pinging his point man's radar.
"Did we get him?" another man yelled.
"We fuckin' filled the air with rounds," the first man said. "If we didn't get him, the fucker's got all the luck a man would ever need."
The statement wasn't true, Kane knew. None of the shooters had tried to lead his plummet into the water. They'd all shot where he'd been, and even at the distance and factoring in the speed of the rounds, he hadn't been there when the hands had arrived. He'd counted on that for survival. A scared man always tried to catch up, never taking a split second and working ahead of a situation.
"Cover the ends of the boat," a man yelled. "Bastard will probably try to come around if he's still alive."
Kane felt something bump into his left leg at mid calf and jerked in the water, thudding up against the submarine. He glanced down, his hand already streaking for the combat knife in his boot.
A fish as long as his arm looked up at him briefly, then turned and darted away, disappearing in the crystal-clear water.
Kane forced himself to breathe out. Machine-gun fire echoed into the cavern from the battlefield above. Brigid, Domi and Grant were seriously overmatched.
"He's still over there," a man said. "I heard him." "Gonzo, climb on top of that fucking boat and see if you can get a bead on that bastard."
"Fuck you," another man said. "I ain't climbing up there."
"It's the high ground, you fuck. You'll get him for sure." "You get him then," the man replied.
Kane spotted movement at the forward end of the submarine. He lifted the Copperhead, letting the water drain from the muzzle so he could fire without worrying that it would jam.
A small outboard drifted into view. A rope tied it to the prow of the submarine. The gentle current that swept through the water trapped in the cavern system had pulled the out board around the front of the sub. No one was aboard it.
"Stupe bastard probably drowned," one of the men said, "That's why we ain't seen him no more. Musta hit his head on a rock when he went into the water."
"That water's over a hundred feet deep."
"Fuck it. Mebbe he was so weighted down he just didn't come up again."
Kane tried to figure out where the three men were from the sound of their voices, but it was almost impossible in the rolling echoes of the cavern. He took a few deep breaths to charge his lungs, then took a final breath and submerged.
The water was so clear that even in the half-light he had no problem seeing the bottom below. White powdery sand caught the light there, as well, illuminating the lower reaches of the water. He didn't know if it was really a hundred feet deep; the refraction of the water made it impossible to guess, but he supposed it was possible. The size of the caverns was impressive as hell.
The water didn't carry the salt of the ocean, either. It was pure and clean, but had smelled strongly of minerals when Kane had been on the surface. He kept his eyes open in it easily. He swam to the bottom of the submarine, feeling the pressure tighten in his ears and bruised chest, knowing he was going deeper than he realized to get around the German vessel.
He trailed his free hand above him, following the curvature of the submarine's outer hull. He didn't see any real signs of damage aboard the boat and guessed that whatever damage had been inflicted had popped open seams that had let the sea in and dragged it to the bottom 250 fifty years ago. The vessel was surprisingly intact for having shifted around in the sea for all that time.
His lungs near bursting again, not able to get fully acclimated to the humid air trapped in the cavern, Kane felt relieved when he finally reached the apex of the hull and started up again. The submarine lay next to the outcrop the men had camped on. Less than six feet separated it from the outcrop's edge.
Kane swam up, already tracking the movement of two men in front of him. While swimming, he pulled the Copperhead over his shoulder, leaving the muzzle pointed down. With the angle involved in shooting up, he knew he might not be able get the barrel clear of the water in time to use it. He fisted the .45 at his hip.
He came up out of the water quietly, hardly making any noise that could be heard over the crash of gunfire and explosions coming from overhead. The first of the men was only ten feet away, standing behind the cover of a stack of crates that contained machinery parts.
