The River (17 page)

And they stopped.

They had to. It was a dead end.

The tunnel ended in a cave, roughly the size of an average family room. The walls were solid rock, with no visible exit. On each side of the cave, two strips of large, sharp, sapphire-like crystals ran down the walls, from ceiling to floor. They gleamed, casting an eerie blue glow over everything and everyone.

She shuddered.

This can't be the end of the underground river.

"Very unusual," Hawk said, staring at the light.

Jake nodded. "I've never seen anything like it."

Del marched forward, determined to find a sign.

Jake's arm snaked out. "Wait!"

She raised a hand, warding him off, then strode toward the far wall. She made it halfway across the room when the air shifted around her. She stopped.

There has to be something!
Schroeder wouldn't lead us here for nothing.

She stepped forward, between the two strips of crystal.

And something weird happened.

The blue light of the crystals flared…
alive.

Jake pulled her back. "Don't go any closer, Del. It's not safe."

His blue eyes pleaded with her, but she shook her head, ignoring him. Her father needed her. She was his only hope. And there was no way on earth that she had come this far only to give up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter heave a frustrated groan. He muttered something beneath his breath, then stumbled between the crystals.

"Peter!"

Frozen with fear, she gulped in a huge breath as two slender trails of metallic sapphire light crawled down the cave walls toward him. The tentacles of light slithered across the floor, colliding at his feet. Inch by inch, they wrapped around his legs, throbbing to the beat of the alarm. Within seconds, he was enveloped in a strange liquid mercury radiance.

"Oh my God,"
she whispered.

Peter's jaw dropped and his eyes widened, terrified. Bit by bit, his entire body disintegrated―each molecule separating, stretching grotesquely. He slowly became…
dust.

In a flash, Peter Cavanaugh was gone.

Del knew that there were times when a decision must be made, and made fast―regardless of the possible outcome. A decision of fate. Or destiny.

Catching Jake's eye, she threw him a beaming smile. Before he could stop her, she stepped between the crystals, welcoming the sapphire light that skimmed icily up her body.

Jake's mouth opened in horror. "No, Del!"

She dissolved into an infinite number of particles…

PART THREE

Underworld

When you arrive at your future,

will you blame your past?

~
Robert Half

Thirteen

H
ans VanBuren sat his spacious―although windowless―executive office, trying to find a way to creatively and secretly siphon more funds into his offshore account before he had to hand over his carefully adjusted financial report.

It was due in a week.

And damned if it wouldn't be ready before then.

He picked up a coffee mug and drained the last drop.

Where was Faith? She knew he liked a fresh pot at midnight.

His eyes fastened on the glaring warning that flashed on the bottom right-hand corner of the computer monitor.

Intruder Alert!

Suddenly, he heard footsteps pounding past his office door. His mouth twitched nervously, then he leaned back in the leather chair, forcing himself to relax. Clasping his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling…waiting.

He didn't have to wait long.

The door opened.

Faith, his lovely blond-haired receptionist with her barely-there breasts, poked her head inside.

"It's time, Mr. VanBuren."

He savored the sight of the silver ankh on her ID tag that marked her as his. He'd give anything to drown himself in her.

A sly smirk spread across his face. With a flick of his hand, he motioned her forward.

Faith hesitantly stepped into the room.

"Lock the door behind you."

Barely out of her teens, the young girl shifted uncomfortably, then did as he ordered. When her eyebrows rose in question, he shrugged and unzipped his pants. Standing tall and erect, he faced her.

"Faith," he chastised. "I always have time for you."

He could sense her awkwardness, but he didn't care.

He said nothing.

A heartbeat later, his silence was rewarded when she slowly began to remove her blouse and skirt, dropping each piece on the floor, just the way he liked it.

With eyes like pools of liquid jade, she released a trembling breath. "I'm ready, sir. You look wonderful."

On the wall across from him was a simple silver-framed mirror.

Hans smiled slowly, admiring his handsome face and muscular body. Faith was right. He did look wonderful.

In fact, he had never looked better.

Bending the girl over the desk, he held her down with one hand, and with a groan of anticipation, he plunged into her for the second time that day.

I always have time for a little faith.

A guard in his mid-twenties stood outside the entrance to the tunnel, weapon raised, vigilant. Blazing warning lights flashed overhead but the man remained frozen in place, unblinking.

Justin Blackwell, chief of security, strode toward the guard.

"Are they back?"

The guard shook his head slightly. "Not yet."

"Blackwell!"

Justin cursed under his breath, turned and hid a frown.

Hans VanBuren, with his long, sleek, white-blond hair, did not look happy. Judging from the angry, curled lip, Justin suspected that the man had been interrupted.

Probably torn away from one of his many dalliances.

As VanBuren approached, his mandarin-styled jacket gleamed softly, the silver satin fabric rippling under the flashing light. The man had expensive taste in everything from clothing to wine and seafood.

Justin gave him a quick nod.

He was about to compliment VanBuren on his jacket when the man raised a hand.

"I want to know one thing and one thing only."

"What's that?"

VanBuren's ice blue eyes were steel. "How did this happen?"

Justin knew damned well that anything he said would not be well received, so he settled for the truth.

"Honestly, I have no idea."

The glint in VanBuren's eyes made Justin shiver.

"Aren't you paid to know?"

There was a deadly threatening tone to his words.

"Paughter understood the risks―"

"Paughter's an idiot!" VanBuren hissed between clenched teeth. "The plan was to lead them
away
―sabotage their efforts so they'd have to turn back. Why in God's name did he go in the first place?"

"To keep an eye on Hawthorne's daughter―and because the Director ordered it."

VanBuren gave him a look that said
shut the hell up
.

"For Christ's sake, Blackwell! You're in charge of damage control. I want this mess taken care of. Do you understand me?"

As VanBuren spun on his heel and stormed away, Justin released a pent-up breath and ran his tongue nervously across his bottom lip. If the man wanted it taken care of, that only meant one thing. Heads would roll.

Thank God it wouldn't be his.

Hans strode purposefully past the receptionist cubicle.

When Faith started to say something, he glared and her mouth instantly closed.

"I'll be in my office," he barked. "I'm not to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

Her voice was muted and submissive.

The way it should be.

Alone in his office, he slumped on the couch.

The Director was not going to be happy. Not one bit.

Hans clicked off the lamp.

Sitting in the dark, he ran a quivering hand through his gelled hair, his facial muscles tightening with frustration as a barrage of thoughts plagued him.

Since Paughter's authorized
defection
, the Centre had become an efficiently oiled machine, running smoothly under his control. He only had one problem. The doctor. Hawthorne had grown increasingly difficult. It wasn't until the Director threatened to harm the man's daughter that Hawthorne had become more compliant.

Hans scowled.
But we still don't have the files!

Hawthorne swore that they had everything―everything that Blackwell and his team had stolen from Bio-Tec's lab a few years back. They had cleaned out Bio-Tec's mainframe and obliterated all of Hawthorne's files after making copies of everything. They had even taken his laptop in hopes that the hidden file was somewhere on the hard drive.

Hans reached for a decanter and poured himself a drink.

"There's a hidden file. I know it!"

Somewhere, Hawthorne had concealed the DNA coding that they desperately needed to complete Project Ankh and make it flawless…eternal.
Currently, the project had one drawback.
A drawback that meant death―to everyone concerned.
But Hawthorne would certainly be more productive after he discovered that his precious daughter was about to join them.

Hans rose abruptly, tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of the couch, then flipped on the lamp. Unable to resist, he stole a peek at the small chrome-faced refrigerator that was built into the oak wall cabinet across from his desk.

It called to him.
Hans…

He strode over to it.

Opening the door, he reached in and grabbed a fresh syringe and a vial of pale yellow liquid. He inserted the syringe into the protective cap of the vial, then he drew it back, the liquid trickling into the belly of the syringe.

"Ah…nectar of the Gods."

He sat down at the desk and quickly pushed up his shirtsleeve. Tying a thin strip of amber hose around his upper arm, he used his teeth to pull it taut.

Then he glanced at the clock on the wall.

He had almost an hour before anyone would disturb him. That would be more than enough time.

Holding the syringe to the light, he flicked it. With a deep breath, he slid the sharp tip beneath the tender skin of his arm.

The familiar burn was overwhelming.

His eyes watered and glazed over. He gritted his teeth, struggling not to bite his tongue as he pulled off the tourniquet. As the serum rushed through his body, a thought flashed in his tortured mind.

Is it worth this excruciating pain?

He studied his reflection in the mirror. It wavered slightly, but he glimpsed the vibrantly healthy thirty-year-old staring back at him.

Damn right, it's worth it!

The room began to spin. His head lolled to one side and hit the desk, hard and fast. The last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness was the precious vial of serum.

Project Ankh…life in a bottle.

Del awoke with a jolt.

Where am I?

She swallowed and the coppery taste of blood lingered on her lips as an icy chill vibrated through her bruised body. Wherever she was, it wasn't the cave. The last thing she remembered was the glowing crystals and a blinding light, followed by a thunderous, sucking sound.

She sat up slowly, her eyes darting everywhere.

It took her a moment to realize that she was actually on the shore of the Nahanni River, sprawled on the ground, with both legs trailing into the cold water. But it wasn't part of the river she knew.

Nothing was familiar.

She stood shakily, crying out as a piercing pain shot through her left ankle. Hobbling in a slow circle, she cupped one hand to her eyes and surveyed the area.

"Jake!"

Her head ached and she rubbed it tenderly.

It felt like someone had clobbered her with a tire iron.

This is not good. Not good at all.

To calm her nerves, she breathed deeply and slowly limped along the shore. In the shadows, she caught sight of something lying near the water―a day bag.

Mine?

She scooped it up, unzipped the bag and let out a triumphant shout. It
was
hers. And inside it was the journal, the Nahanni guidebook, a flashlight, some snacks…

And a half-filled water bottle.

Relieved, she stumbled toward a piece of driftwood. Sitting on the weathered trunk, she took a sip of water, then flicked on the flashlight and shone it on the journal. Using Miki's theory, Del scribbled the translation of one of the first lines of numerical code.

233253 = 3132218142!

She gasped. "
CEL = DEATH!"

Twisting around in desperation, she swatted at the tears that pooled in her eyes. Her throat burned as she tamped down the terror that crept into her thoughts.

This was not the time to break down.

She had to remain tough, stay strong. Jake and the others had to be nearby. They must have followed her.

Wait! Peter went through first. Where is he?

"Peter!"

There was no reply.

With the flashlight guiding her, she followed the river, calling loudly for the others. Resting on a rock at the river's shore, she removed her boots and socks, then gently eased her feet into the cool water, hissing in a loud breath. High above her, the moon peeked from the clouds while the river trickled by, innocent and inviting. Not far upriver, the Nahanni took a sharp bend between two towering rock walls. An odd slab of rock stood like a sentry, blocking her view of the river.

Where am I?

She pulled out the guidebook that Hawk had given each of them back at Rabbitkettle Lake. A third of the way in, she found what she was looking for.

A photograph of The Gate―a narrow, winding pass.

That's where she was!

She stared at a peculiar rock formation.

Pulpit Rock
, according to the guide.