Almost too shocked to react, Dirk let go of the tank and kicked through the hole. The surface was only ten feet away. He stroked upward and broke into the blinding sunlight with a rush, gasping and sucking at the fresh air. He floated in the water for nearly a minute before the oxygen was replenished in his blood and his breathing eased. Trying to relax, he stared at an empty sky, ignoring something in the water that brushed at his side. When his breathing slowed, he turned to see what was nudging him.
It was the body of Dr. Torres.
19
Dirk reacted quickly, swimming to a small rock outcropping and towing Torres’s body behind him. Once on land, he noted the three bullet wounds in the professor’s chest.
Dirk looked up toward the van and shouted Summer’s name. There was no reply. Then he saw a small cloud of dust wafting over the ridge. He ditched his mask and fins, fumbled through Torres’s pockets for the keys, and sprinted up the hill. He saw the frayed rope tied to the vehicle and knew someone had come for the stone. Glancing with fear at the water below, he saw no sign of Summer’s body. She must have been abducted.
Disregarding its four flat tires, Dirk started the van, turned it around, and mashed on the gas. The van lurched ahead, its flattened tires thumping against the wheel wells. Despite the uneven traction, Dirk coaxed the vehicle to the top of the ridgeline. Far below, he spotted a white Jeep driving north on the old dirt road.
He fought the urge to turn down the ridge and follow the Jeep. It would be impossible to catch it in the van’s disabled state. He’d already lost one of its shredded tires. Assuming the van reached the road, the many patches of soft sand would surely snare it for good.
From his review of the topo map, Dirk knew the road wound around several hills along the base of Lomo del Torro before curving west and leading across the Zimapán Dam. The dam spanned a narrow gorge at the ridge’s far end. If he could coax the van along the top of the ridgeline, he would cut off a mile or two and possibly catch the Jeep before it crossed the dam.
He punched the accelerator and rumbled across the ridge’s rounded peak. One by one, the remaining tires shredded off. The steel wheels let out a grinding wail, and every bump and dip rattled through the chassis. Dirk felt like he was riding a jackhammer. In the side mirrors, he could see a trail of sparks erupt whenever the wheels scraped over solid rock.
The ridgeline gradually narrowed, forcing Dirk onto a side ledge that held level for a short distance. The ledge narrowed, then vanished altogether in a jumble of small boulders. Dirk swerved up the slope but struck a patch of soft sand. Feeling the rear wheels start to bog down, he had no choice but to turn downhill to maintain momentum. Narrowly missing one boulder, he slid into a tight ravine. The van heeled to its side, nearly toppling over before an opposing rut rocked it back upright. The van thumped over some smaller rocks, then again found even ground.
Dirk feathered the throttle as the ridge began to taper. Ahead and below him, he could discern the narrow Zimapán Dam. He drove hard down the increasingly steep slope, then slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel. The bent and pitted wheels skidded, digging ruts through the hard-packed surface before the van rocked to a halt. Dirk climbed out and peeked past the hood.
Just three feet in front of the van, the ridgeline dropped away in a sheer cliff. A hundred feet below was the dam’s western approach. An aged asphalt road ran across the top of the concrete structure, curving up another ridge on the opposite side. It was easy to see why the dam had been built here. The steep, narrow gorge was easily obstructed.
The thought was of little consequence as his eyes followed the road to the east. The white Jeep was just seconds away.
20
Summer sat still in the backseat, but behind her back her hands worked furiously. The rope around her wrists was still damp from immersion in the lake. The moisture lubricated her wrists while making the rope more tensile. With every bounce of the Jeep, she flexed and pulled, stretching the binding a millimeter at a time.
Already growing tired of guarding her, Summer’s backseat captor reached over and locked her door and then holstered his gun. Nevertheless, he stared at her with suspicion, or perhaps it was attraction. She countered with a verbal bombardment of questions. From the obvious—“Where are you taking me?”—to the frivolous—“Where did you buy that scarf?”—she harangued the guard. Each query was met with stony silence. The chattering worked as he ultimately turned his head away from her and stared out the window.
Summer eased back the commentary. No point pushing her luck. The gunmen hadn’t hesitated to kill Torres and easily could do the same to her. She was encouraged that the three thieves still kept their faces masked despite the heat. If she could stay calm until they reached a town, maybe she could leap from the car and find refuge. But first she’d have to work free of the rope binding.
Her wishes came true sooner than she hoped. The road gradually improved until the Jeep’s tires met pavement. They’d arrived at the dam, where the road narrowed as it wound across the top of the structure. The driver sped up, then suddenly cursed and stood on the brakes.
As the Jeep shuddered across the pavement, all four occupants shot forward. The hard braking worked in Summer’s favor. Her left hand slipped loose, and as she fell back into her seat, she quickly worked the rope off both wrists. She hadn’t seen the reason for the sudden stop. As she peered out the side window, she gaped in horror.
The green university van had shot off the side of the cliff directly overhead and was descending toward them like a Tomahawk missile. The van arced past the Jeep, striking the edge of the road ten feet ahead, where it smashed nose-first before tumbling hard onto its roof. The compressed vehicle slid another dozen feet before coming to a rest — blocking the roadway — amid a pool of leaking engine fluids.
The Jeep was still skidding when Summer unlocked her door and flung herself out. She hit the pavement running and sprinted to the van, shouting her brother’s name. As she approached the flattened vehicle, her stomach clenched in a knot. Nobody inside could have survived the impact.
She approached the inverted driver’s-side window and crouched to peer inside. There was no one to be seen. The knot in her stomach instantly released.
She had no time to react as she felt the van move. The Jeep had pulled up and the driver was attempting to nudge the wreck aside. Summer stood as the van slid a few inches past her only to find her backseat companion approaching with his gun drawn.
She meekly raised her hands while scanning for signs of Dirk. The sun was in her eyes, but the cliff looked too steep for someone to descend. Seeing no movement on the road they had taken, she glanced in the opposite direction.
They were positioned atop the dam, the reservoir’s blue waters lapping at its concrete face twenty feet below her. Oddly, the terrain on the other side of the high, narrow dam appeared completely dry. There was no powerhouse or any sign of water releases into the steep, tight gorge called El Infiernillo Cañones.
Summer looked back at the guard. With an angered expression, he motioned for her to return to the Jeep. She nodded and took a half step forward when an impulse for survival kicked in. It may not have been her best chance at escape, and perhaps it was no chance at all, but she went for it all the same. With a quick sidestep, she lunged to the guardrail and leaped. The guard reacted instantly. Reluctant to fire his weapon after his earlier tongue-lashing, he grabbed at her with his free hand, just snaring the cuff of her pants. Caught off balance, he was pulled to the rail. He refused to let go of her but couldn’t halt her momentum with his faint grip. As his legs clipped the rail, he plunged over the side.