He had no idea where he was going but took some comfort from the fact that the angle of the floor was taking him higher rather than lower into the depths of the earth. Nevertheless, he knew he was running further into the latticework of tunnels and roughhewn passageways which for one reason or another had been abandoned centuries before.
“King!” West’s voice echoed down the corridor from behind. “Give me the case and I’ll let you live!”
King ignored him and continued his sprint. Ahead, part of the ceiling had caved in but a gap had been formed on the ground which looked just wide enough to squeeze through. With none of the caution he and Raine had displayed on their trek down here, he dropped to his belly and tried to wriggle inside but his helmet banged against barrier of earth.
“Damn,” he cursed, quickly ripping the helmet off. The air was stale and thin, filled with musty dampness which caught at the back of his throat. He pulled the torch from the helmet, having left his hand torch in the treasure chamber, and then burrowed into the hole.
It was tight, his broad shoulders rubbing along the walls and the ceiling pressing against his back, sharp stones digging in painfully. The ground beneath him was slick, a puddle half an inch deep which he had to put his face into in order to squeeze through. He pushed the case containing the Moon Mask in front of him but it obstructed the torch beam, preventing him from seeing how far he might have to claw his way through like this.
A hand suddenly grasped his ankle and yanked him back sharply. The roughness of the assault scraped his body along the walls, ceiling and floor and his felt his suit tear and his skin rip. He had the foresight to release his hold on the case and push it forward as hard as he could. Then he scrambled futilely along the ground, digging his fingernails into the mud in an attempt to escape West. But it was no use. With a final, savage thrust, West yanked him free of the hole. The blinding light of his rifle-mounted light glared in King’s eyes.
“Where’s the mask?” he demanded but realised the answer immediately. He pulled the trigger and in a desperate move, King lunged at him. The gun barrel swung to the side and the bullets pounded into the wall as King threw West backwards. But West struck out with the heavy stock of his rifle and slammed it into the side of King’s head. With a searing bolt of agony, he dropped to the ground and was defenceless as West took aim on the centre of his skull.
The gun blast was deafening in the confined space but King watched as the bullet slammed into West’s shoulder, spinning the soldier around before he had a chance to fire.
Down the far end of the corridor stood a ghostly figure, a black silhouette illuminated only by a torch beam.
Raine.
West opened fire on fully automatic in Raine’s direction, the hailstorm of bullets racing down the corridor. Raine vanished, presumably diving for cover. King’s head swam and he felt nausea threaten to overcome him, the blow to the head harder than he had expected. He wanted to move, to help Raine but found that his body would not respond to his demands. All he could do was watch helplessly as West emptied his magazine then discarded his useless weapon.
Raine reappeared, firing his handgun but West dropped to the ground, seemingly oblivious to the bullet hole in his shoulder, and shimmied quickly into the hole where King had left the Moon Mask.
“Gibbs,” Langley shouted into his satellite phone. The team leader’s voice came back, faint.
“Sir?”
“West isn’t coming back your way,” he explained urgently. “Get back above ground now.”
“He’s got to come this way. There’s no other way out.”
“Just do as I say,” he ordered, hanging up and dialling a different number immediately. He didn’t even let the young woman who answered finish her greeting. “I need to speak to the base commander immediately.”
“Captain Robertson isn’t available at—”
“This is Ambassador Alexander Langley calling from the U.N. Headquarters. Now, you find Captain Robertson, young lady, and you tell him that he has a Russian terrorist running about on his base. Then see if he’s available to take my call.”
“Uh… okay,” was the feeble response. On the other end of the line he could hear rapid footsteps as the young officer ran off to find her C.O. Behind that, he could hear the thunder of jet engines as planes paraded through the sky to the delight of the spectators at the Air Day. The voice of a man giving a commentary over a loud speaker system cut through the drone of the airplanes and helicopters.
He looked at his computer screen again, feeling anxiety building. “Come on,” he pleaded quietly.
The schematics on the screen showed a network of wide sewage tunnels that had been built during Victorian times to service the seafaring towns littering the south Cornish coast. Five hundred feet below ground, it had been blocked off when the Royal Navy had built their base above it to prevent any ingress into the camp. But access could still be made into the system through manholes inside the base. And the main tunnel, Langley saw, passed very close to the chamber where Raine and King had found Kha’um’s treasure.
“This is Captain Robertson, C.O.,” a flushed voice suddenly erupted over the phone, breaking into Langley’s thoughts.
“Captain,” Langley cut in. “Listen to me very carefully.”
“Benny!” Raine rushed to the fallen man’s side and helped him sit up. Blood dribbled from a nasty looking gash on his forehead, not dissimilar to the wound on Raine’s own skull. He had removed his smashed helmet in the treasure chamber and hurried after West despite the world spinning around him in sickening circles.
“You alive?” he enquired.
King squeezed his eyes tightly shut in an effort to focus, then opened them again. “I think so,” he replied.
“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna kill you,” Raine hissed angrily. “But first, let’s get that bastard.”
He spun around and dropped onto his belly to shimmy into the narrow chasm. He moved with far more speed and agility than King had managed to and was even able to gripe at him as he did so.
“I can’t believe you still don’t trust me,” he grumbled as he pulled himself out the other side and shone his torch around. West was nowhere in sight. Nor was the Moon Mask. “You must be the most paranoid man I know!”
He helped pull King out of the chasm and to his feet.
“What do you expect? Everyone keeps trying to kill me!”
“I’m not,” Raine said. “At least, not yet.” Then he broke into a sprint, dashing up the tunnel. The incline grew steeper and despite King’s fitness he had trouble keeping up with the military trained Raine. “Come on,” he called back.
“Just go, get the mask!” King shouted at him, knowing he was slowing him down. Raine didn’t need to be told twice. Somehow he managed to increase his speed further still and was soon way ahead of King. The mine tunnels widened slightly as they drew closer to the surface and then King noticed something bizarre. Ahead, the roughhewn, rock-cut tunnel wall on the left gave way to an orange brick-built structure. An old sewer, he guessed. A hole had been smashed through it, the old mortar crumbling easily under the assault of a sledge hammer that had been discarded nearby.
Raine vanished into the hole.
West climbed the metal rungs of the ladder which stretched up from the Victorian sewer to ground level, the lead-lined rucksack strapped securely to his back. He heard running footsteps below and knew that Raine wasn’t far behind. The bastard didn’t know when to give up.