Okay, lichen . . .
“Some phosphorescent species. And look across the chamber!”
The pond they knelt in was shaped like a crescent moon, its horns hugging a small peninsula of sandstone jutting out into the water from the far wall. Atop the surface, a dense field of buttery-white growths sprouted about six inches tall. From bulbous bases, stalks formed thick flat-topped umbrellas, with fine filaments draping from them. They gave off a slightly sulfurous smell that hung in the still air.
“LUCA,” Bukolov murmured, awed.
As they shifted closer, Tucker felt the cracks in the floor under his knees, sucking at the cloth of his pants, marking drainage angles for this pool. The smell also grew worse.
“It is okay to be breathing this?” Tucker said.
“I believe so.”
Tucker wanted to believe so, too.
“They’re exactly like the sketches from the diary,” Bukolov said.
He had to admit the renderings by De Klerk showed a masterful hand.
The doctor splashed farther to the left. “Come see this! Look at where the field of bulbs and growths meet the wall.”
Tucker leaned to look where he pointed. The bulbs and the edges of the mushrooms that touched the wall were a brownish black, as if burned by the glow of the lichen covering the wall.
“I think the lichen is producing something toxic to the LUCA.” Bukolov swung toward Tucker. “Here might be the secret of the kill switch.”
Tucker felt a surge that was equal parts relief and worry.
Bukolov continued. “It’s what I had hoped to find here. Something had to be holding this organism in check down here. It couldn’t just be the isolation of the environment.”
“Then collect samples of everything and—”
Bukolov knelt back and brushed his fingertips across the roof, causing the glow to darken where he touched. “You don’t understand. We are looking at a microcosm of the ancient world, a pocket of the primordial history. I have so many questions.”
“And we’ll try to answer them later.” Tucker grabbed Bukolov by the elbow and pointed from the collection kit over the man’s shoulder to the field of growth. “Get your samples while you still can.”
A sharp bark echoed to them—followed by a second.
Kane.
“Get to work, Doc,” he ordered. “I’m going to find out what’s going on.”
Hurrying, he slid and crawled his way through the field of artillery shells and back to the waterfall chamber. He hauled himself out of the hole, and Christopher helped him to his feet.
“He just started barking,” Christopher said.
In the pool of light cast by the single LED lamp, it appeared Anya hadn’t moved. She was still tied securely. Kane stood next to her, but he was staring toward the twin shotgun tunnels.
“What is it?” Christopher asked.
“I don’t know. Kane must have heard something.”
Tucker remembered his earlier sighting of the Russian soldiers.
Anya called over to them. “It seems we owe you some thanks, Captain Wayne. We wouldn’t have thought of this method without you. Upon your example in Russia, we decided to add another weapon to our arsenal.”
She was staring at Kane.
Tucker suddenly understood her veiled implication.
Damn it, Anya, you are good.
The thought had never occurred to him. Barring technology, what was the best way to track someone?
Kane glanced back at him, clearly waiting for the order to pursue whatever he had sensed.
Tucker turned to Christopher. “Stay here and be ready to help Bukolov.”
“Is there trouble?”
Isn’t there always?
He pointed to Anya. “She moves . . . you shoot her.”
“Understood.”
Working quickly, Tucker crossed to their gear and prepared for the storm to come. He grabbed two spare magazines for his rifle, along with a red flare, stuffing them all into his thigh pockets. He then slung the AR-15 over his shoulder and picked up the Rover’s plastic gas can.
Once ready, he headed for the tunnels with Kane on his heels.
It was time to test these old Boer defenses.
11:55 P.M.
Reaching the Cathedral, Tucker hurried across the stalagmite maze to the series of sandbag walls at the far end. He hurdled over the first two with Kane flying at his side—then he skidded to a stop at the third wall and dropped to his knees.
Echoing up from the crooked tunnel ahead, he heard a faint barking.
No, not barking—baying.
The enemy had come with hounds.
Kharzin must have sent his main body of troops, along with the dogs, straight to where he had hid the booby-trapped Range Rover. The other Russians—the ones he had spied upon earlier—were likely a smaller expeditionary force sent here to canvass the side trail as a precaution. No wonder they had seemed so lax and casual. But now that Tucker’s trap had been sprung and his ruse discovered, Kharzin had returned here, bringing all his forces to bear.
But what was Tucker facing?
Only one way to find out.
He pointed to the tunnel. “QUIET SCOUT.”
Kane jumped over the sandbags and dove into the shaft. Using his phone, Tucker monitored his partner’s progress. Once Kane reached the straight corridor, Tucker touched his throat mike.
“HOLD. BELLY.”
Kane stopped and lowered himself flat, well hidden by rubble.
Right now the corridor appeared empty with no evidence of trespass. The pile of rocks blocking the way outside looked untouched. So far, the hounds hadn’t found this back door to the cavern system—at least not for the moment. But they would.
Through Kane’s radio, the baying already grew louder.
Hurrying, Tucker began removing sandbags from the middle of the barricade. After creating a sufficient-sized hole, he wedged the gas can into the gap. He then replaced the sandbags, taking care to hide any trace of the can.
All the while, Tucker monitored the phone’s screen, using Kane to extend his vision. Movement drew his full attention back to the screen. In the gray-green glow of Kane’s night-vision camera, the slivers of light at the far end of the corridor began to break wider. More light blazed through as rocks were pulled away.
Shadows shifted out there.
They’d been discovered.
Tucker whispered to Kane, “QUIET RETURN.”
The camera jiggled as the shepherd belly-crawled backward. After retreating for a spell, Kane finally turned and came running back. Moments later, he emerged and hurdled the sandbags.
Good boy.
After rechecking the placement of the gas can, Tucker pulled out a flare and jammed it between a pair of sandbags near the bottom. For now, he kept it unlit.