Holding the torches before us, as shadows scuttled over the uneven floor like fleeing mice, I noticed the tunnel was noticeably cooler than the others, as a small wind meandered over our skin, groping us with phantom hands.

  The wind blew louder, howling and I instinctively slowed the pace. It was a good thing, because the stone floor suddenly disappeared into total blackness. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, a straight drop to an unknown depth. I was able to stop in time, teetering on the ledge. A small pebble, kicked by my boot, plummeted over the edge, and I never heard it drop. Maybe it was still falling. The professor, however, bumped into me. I grabbed hold of the old man, and held on. When we untangled ourselves, Caesar moved cautiously forward and held his light near the edge of the pit. “My, God. It’s almost invisible. As if it’s man-made.”

  “No time for conspiracy theories, professor.”

  I leaned out over the pit, careful of the loose rock around the lip—and breathed a sigh of relief. The kid was down there, sprawled on a narrow rock shelf, which had saved him from falling farther into the pit. His torch lay next to him, extinguished. Although I couldn’t tell if Wally was breathing or not, at least his neck didn’t appear broken.

  “He’s down there,” I said, “but it doesn’t look good.”

  Caesar called down to the boy, a note of hysteria in his voice, but there was no response. I quickly removed my jacket and flannel shirt, tying the sleeves together. I told Caesar to do the same. The nylon jackets were thin, designed exclusively to repel wind and rain. Still, the material should be strong enough to hold a man. And the flannel shirts were well-made and thick, and time would only tell if they would hold up.

  I glanced down into the pit. We needed another five feet of material, at least. I removed my boots, then pants. Working in my long underwear, I put the boots back on, knowing I looked ridiculous as hell, but also knowing that I would need the boots for traction.

  There was an amused sparkle in the professor’s eyes. “Cute,” he said.

  “You’re next, professor. Come on, hand them over.”

  With our pants tied together, we had enough material. I studied the great hole in the floor, which stretched from wall to wall. There was no way around the pit, from one side to the other, unless there was a vine hanging from above and I was Tarzan of the Apes. Near the side wall, however, there was an upthrust of rock that could be used for leverage.

  “How are you with heights, professor?” I asked.

  “Better, if I wasn’t half naked.”

  ***

  Braced against the rock, the tow of clothing wrapped around my back in a classic single rope belay, I eased Caesar over the lip and down into the pit. The material was tied between his legs and around his waist, in a sort of harness.

  “All you have to do is sit there and hold the torch,” I said. “And pray.”

  The edge of the pit was worn smooth, preventing any friction. I eased the professor down a foot or so at a time, grunting with the effort as my quads burned like hell, for they were in fact doing most of the work. I did this until Caesar hollered up that he was down. Indeed, the weight suddenly slackened, and I stopped myself from shooting back into the wall behind me.

  I caught my breath, stretched my aching fingers. Silence surrounded me. Occasionally I could hear Caesar grunting in the pit as he worked to secure the limp form of Wally. I wondered how long until the silence behind me turned into insane Kurds with machine guns.

  The line of clothing jerked in my hands, Caesar’s way of telling me the kid was ready.

  The knots, interspersed from sleeve to sleeve and pant leg to pant leg, provided perfect handholds. Like catching a marlin, I leaned forward, gripped the material, and leaned back as far as I could. I repeated the process until my legs quivered, as if made of rubber. Clenching my jaw, I wondered if my teeth would shatter in my mouth.

  And then I saw Wally’s inert form appear above the pit. I leaned forward and gripped the kid under an armpit and pulled. He spilled over the rim in a heap of elbows and knees and other sharp body parts.

  I spent a minute catching my breath, alternately slapping Wally in the face. I wasn’t sure how effective slapping Wally in the face was, but it sure seemed to make me feel a hell of a lot better. The kid didn’t respond, but he appeared to be breathing fine. Finally, I dragged him off to the side, away from the pit, giving me room to haul up the professor.

  My only solace was that the professor wasn’t dead weight. He would help when he could, although the walls were sheer and smooth, like a frozen waterfall, and impossible to climb solo.

  I tossed the clothing down to the professor, who had been waiting patiently in the pit. He caught hold of the material and spent some time tying it between his legs and around his waist, holding his torch in his mouth, the flames inches from his gray beard. Finally, he gave me the thumbs-up sign.

  I grabbed the first knot and pulled hard. My arms shook like powerlines in a storm. I had the sensation that I was reliving the same nightmare. Nevertheless, I pulled with relentless doggedness, pausing only to catch my breath. The chain of clothing piled slowly around me. Too slowly.

  I paused again, but it was a long pause, my chin resting against my chest as the weight of one man hung from my fingertips. Sweat poured from my brow, burning my eyes, wetting my lips.

  Just a few more pulls—

  And then Wally appeared behind me, shaking his head as if kick-starting his brain. He gripped the line of clothing. He braced his huge feet against an out-cropping of rock, and leaned back. He could have been pulling an oar for his college row team. Together, we worked until Caesar’s pale hand appeared over the ledge. And when the old man scrambled over the side, I lay back exhausted in a pool of my own sweat.

  Chapter Forty-three

  We untied the clothing and got dressed. Wally had a purple goose egg on his forehead, rising rapidly, ready to hatch. When the kid finally stood, he swayed on his feet as if he were on board a sinking ship.

  To see if he was still playing with a full deck, I asked him his name, and he said Waldorf Krispin. The kid didn’t look like a Waldorf, although Wally seemed to fit nicely. I asked for his mother’s maiden name. Richmond.

  I turned to the professor. “Is this true?” I asked him.

  Caesar shrugged. “I suggest you stick with answers you can verify.”

  “Good point.” I turned to Wally. “What color are your eyes?”

  “Hazel.”

  I thought they were green, and told him so. Wally became indignant and said he should know the color of his own eyes. I suggested that he had hit his head harder than he thought. Caesar stepped forward and arbitrated. “Wally’s eyes could appear hazel when wearing green or blue, but other than that, they’re green. So you’re both right.”

  Next, I told the others about the erect pile of stones found in the center tunnel. They agreed the stones could be a clue; either that, or evidence of primitive man’s obsession with his own penis.

  ***

  As Caesar had had the foresight to bring up Wally’s torch, the three of us each carried a light as I led the way back through the middle tunnel, once again contorting my body around the many rock protrusions. Unfortunately, as the professor’s body hadn’t contorted in many decades, he needed a helping hand. Wally, however, was a natural at picking his way through the tunnel, knees and elbows casting sharp shadows along the walls and ceiling. He looked like a praying mantis.

  Shortly, we passed the pile of stones. It hadn’t changed since the last time I’d seen it.

  We moved deeper into the heart of the mountain. The rock walls were cold to the touch, as if made of ice. Sand covered the floor, and the ceiling arched high above. With each step into the tunnel, Faye seemed further and further away.

  The tunnel climbed and narrowed, and our breaths came quicker and harder, echoing off the surrounding stone. We made a sharp left and the professor immediately groaned.

  “This can’t be good,” he said.

  The tunnel had become nothing more than a ledge, narrow as a breadboard. The ledge wound along the side of sheer granite wall. A swirling, icy wind billowed up from below, and the torches danced in our hands as if to silent music.

  “What do we do, Sam?” Caesar asked.

  “We continue forward. There’s no turning back.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  The torchlight did little to penetrate the darkness. It was hard to conceive that such a massive cavity existed within the mountain. I concluded it either had to be a massive cavern, or a bottomless pit to Hades.

  I led the way forward, inching along the narrow rock shelf. The wind was cold as ice, thundering over our ears. Now I knew what an airport runway felt like. As if a cruel practical joke had gotten crueler, the ledge narrowed further yet, and I hugged the wall like a lost lover.

  A blast of icy wind suddenly pried me loose from the wall. My heart slammed in my chest as I clawed wildly at the smooth surface until my fingertips found a tiny fissure and pulled myself forward and pressed my face against the cold stone of the wall, sucking in great gulps of air.

  As I waited for my hammering heart to slow down, the wind came again, and suddenly all three torches winked out of existence. We were instantly plunged into total darkness. The cruelest joke of all.

  “Oh God,” said Wally.

  ***

  I fought to control my own panic, taking deep breaths, trying my best to visualize how the narrow ledge continued along the granite wall. Then again, I tried to visualize myself on a beach in Cabo, but that didn’t seem to work. In as calm a voice as possible, I said, “The way before us angles to the left. Keep that in mind. Move very slowly, do not place your full weight on your front foot until you’re sure there’s secure footing.”

  The darkness was complete. The silence overwhelming.

  The wind came again, howling like a malicious demon. I leaned into the wall, hand splayed over the smooth rock surface. I closed my eyes, not daring to move. After an unknown amount of time, the wind subsided; however, it continued to moan, which was a bit unsettling.

  “Maybe we should hold hands,” Wally suggested, voice trembling. “You know, in case one of us slips, or something.”

  “Sounds like a good idea, for safety reasons, of course,” concurred Caesar immediately.

  I understood the others’ need for human contact, and so I gripped the professor’s shaking hand, which was cold and callused. I could smell the sharpness of his sweat, mingled with the stench of my own.

  Soon we were inching along in complete darkness, holding hands, the wind tugging us with invisible fingers. We continued like this for either minutes or hours, as time seemed lost to us completely.

  Suddenly, the toe of my boot found nothing but empty space.

  “Hold on, guys,” I said.

  I reached down with the tip of the dead torch and discovered that three or four feet of the ledge was missing. I told the others.

  “So what do we do?” asked Wally.

  I took a breath, wondering if things could possibly get any worse. “We jump.”

  “And how are we to land in pitch darkness on a shelf that’s no wider than my ass?” said Wally. “What kind of plan is that?”

  “Granted, it’s not the world’s safest plan, but it will have to do. I’ll go first.”

  And I did, flying through the inky blackness. I landed safely, stumbling slightly. Luckily, the ledge was a bit wider than Wally’s ass.

  Caesar was next. He jumped without reservation, like the first jump of Spring into a freezing swimming pool, and landed next to me. I caught hold of his groping hands and kept him safely on his feet.

  Wally needed some coaxing, and if I listened closely, I could probably hear his bony knees knocking together. Finally, Caesar commanded the boy to jump, or risk suffering a B for the course.

  Wally jumped—

  And landed well short. He screamed, and in a feat of luck, I caught hold of one of his windmilling hands. I pulled him forward, and he spilled across the narrow ledge. The smacking sound I heard was Wally kissing the rock shelf.

  We waited a few minutes for Wally to regain his composure, if that was possible, then moved on. Thankfully, the ledge widened, and shortly we slipped around a tight corner and stepped into what I assumed was the confines of a narrow tunnel, as our breathing once again echoed off surrounding stone walls and the wind mercifully subsided.

  “Thank God,” Caesar said.

  I removed my flannel shirt, and tore free a small section of sleeve. I next searched in the darkness with my hands and found a suitable hand-sized rock. With the steel blade of my pocketknife, I soon produced a blazing drop of liquid sun, which caught in the flannel. I fanned the spark into an orange flame.

  The narrow tunnel exploded to life. Surrounding us were dark walls and a low ceiling. I wrapped the burning cloth around the end of my torch, lit the others, and we moved on.

  Chapter Forty-four

  They moved quietly through the complex of narrow tunnels. Ten men and one woman. Beams of light played across the rough stone walls, boots muffled in the thick carpet of sand.

  Faye marched silently behind the massive form of Farid Bastian. Hungry, thirsty and cold, she wondered if she had ever felt worse in her life. She didn’t think so. Earlier, they had all slid on their bellies through a narrow opening in the cave wall, breaking most of her nails in the process. She had also managed to scrape her chin. Sweat from her brow stung the abrasion, attracted to the wound like iron filings to a magnet.

  Farid checked on her often, his concern enough to calm her nerves. She suspected that Farid was the only thing separating her from the animal Kazeem—who was directly behind her—and for that she was eternally grateful.

  They were marching quietly down a long and twisting rock corridor when the lead soldier suddenly raised his hand, halting the search party. Faye soon saw why. A rock wall blocked their path. Two small tunnels opened before them. Neither looked particularly inviting to Faye.

  The soldier consulted the laminated map, and spoke rapidly to Omar. Finally, the prince summoned Faye.

  “We appear to have a problem,” he said when she stepped before him. He spoke in short gasps through his open mouth. Sweat dripped from his pale face. “According to your father’s map, there should be three tunnel choices.” He motioned with a skeletal hand. “As you can see, there are only two.”

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked. “The map could be wrong.”

  Omar removed a pistol from his hip and leveled it at her face. “Make it right, or I will shoot you between the eyes.”

  She stared down the dark barrel. She couldn’t breathe, was unable to move. Farid moved forward quickly, gently eased the emir’s arms down.

  “She does not need to be threatened, emir. She will comply.” Farid looked at her and said gently, “I suggest you agree to his terms.”

  Faye nodded dumbly, still unable to find her voice. Omar exhaled through clenched teeth and re-holstered the weapon.

  Faye thought: Christ, he was going to shoot me!

  “Good,” said the emir, voice quivering with adrenaline. “Now, I expect immediate results.”

  “I-I’ll need the map,” she heard herself say. Her voice echoed weakly off the dank stone walls.

  Omar spoke rapidly and Al Sayid, eyes wide with anticipation, handed her the laminated map. The little professor also gave her his flashlight. A soldier suddenly trained his automatic weapon on her as if the flashlight made her more dangerous.

  Farid eased back into the shadows, silent as a shade.

  Faye breathed deeply, amazed at what had just transpired. Then again, she knew Omar Ali was a desperate man and would do anything to save his project. She tried to focus her thoughts and control her shaking hands.

  She looked down at the map and almost grinned. Her father’s child-like renditions of the ark and tunnel entrances were hilarious. The man may have a brilliant mind, but he drew like a chimp.

  She felt herself relax and was beginning to think clearly again.

  Had her father erred in his research? She didn’t think so. The man approached the research of Noah’s ark the same way a demolitionist wired a building: very carefully.

  Then where was the third tunnel?

  Faye stepped toward the two tunnel entrances and scanned the corrugated wall, which looked like a frozen waterfall, with many vertical shadows. It was difficult to distinguish the shadows from the cave openings. She moved closer.

  Then she thought she saw something—

  A faint stirring of cobwebs from within a particularly deep shadow, followed by a cool wind. She was confident this was in fact the mysterious third opening, obscured by a vertical outcropping of rock that gave it the illusion of deep shadows.

  Closer.

  The cobwebs appeared to have been recently parted, now hanging to the side like discarded clothing. She was certain this was the route her father had taken. Faye was also certain she had little choice other than to cooperate fully. Or be killed.

  “I believe this is the third tunnel entrance, emir,” she announced.

  Omar was suddenly behind her, peering carefully into the opening. A tiny grin touched the corners of his small mouth. He had manipulated the truth out of her, and he was obviously pleased.

  “You’ve just extended your life, my dear” he breathed. He motioned for the others to follow, and the procession eased through the narrow rock opening.

  Chapter Forty-five

  We came upon another fork in the tunnel.

  Unfortunately, there was no erect pile of stones to point the way. No pun intended. However, Caesar’s rowboat depiction of Noah’s ark was off to the right of the map. Whether or not we were supposed to make a left now, and then a quick right later, was impossible to tell with the cannon-ball sized hole in the map. I proposed we go right, and the others concurred.