The passage was nothing like the others. Instead of opening immediately into a closed off chamber, the tunnel continued deeper into the surrounding rock, gently turning and descending in places as it went.
“It looks like you’re in a lava tube,” Aleman told her after a few minutes of travel.
“Does that mean we’re headed toward the volcano?”
“Volcano?” Rook echoed. “Wait, what?”
“It’s unlikely. Not Lengai, anyway. This tube was probably created by a much older, extinct volcano. The whole cave system had to have been formed before Lake Natron. You’re probably safe.”
“We’re safe,” she told Rook. “Probably.”
“Just another ordinary day then,” he muttered.
As the lava tube continued deeper into unknown territory, Queen began to reconsider the appraisal. It was not the threat of volcanic activity that concerned her. The water temperature remained constant, and was perhaps even a little cooler than at the surface. Rather, it was the sense of being on a journey with no end. There was no evidence of human activity in the tunnel, and the further they went from ‘the mall’ the less likely it was that they would discover anything more. At some point they would have to turn back, and the further out they went, the longer the return trip would be.
“I’m calling it,” she said. “Time to head back.”
“No arguments from me,” Rook replied.
He placed a hand against the side of the tunnel and pivoted around. Queen did the same and started kicking back the way they’d come.
Rook hesitated. “Ah, Queen, I think we’ve got a problem.”
She glanced back over her shoulder and saw him still poised along the side of the tunnel, not swimming. He was, however, still moving, sliding further down the passage. She felt a surge of panic even as he stated the obvious. “There’s a current here.”
The flow of the water was gentle enough that, when swimming with it, she had not even felt herself being drawn deeper into the passage. Now, however, there was no mistaking the inexorable pull of the current. In the brief instant that she had stopped to look, it had erased what little progress she had made and pulled her past where Rook was dragging along the wall.
“Damn it.” She resumed kicking, adding powerful overhand strokes, but it was like running in place.
“Grab the wall,” urged Rook.
She did, placing her gloved palms against the curving side of the lava tube and pressing her body against it to create a sort of friction brake. She could still feel the current softly tugging at her, and saw immediately that this would only be a stopgap measure. She couldn’t swim and hug the wall at the same time.
“Okay,” she said, not quite able to entirely mask her rising trepidation. “I’m open to other crazy ideas now.”
“Only one way out of here,” he replied, sounding uncharacteristically grim. “We swim like hell, and hang onto the wall when we—”
Queen didn’t hear the rest. Her grip on the wall failed and the current caught her. She careened along the wall for a few seconds, then the abrasive lava snagged the drysuit and scratched at the casing of her rebreather.
“Queen!” Rook’s light stabbed through the water, searching for her.
He can’t see me.
She fought to get reoriented, but the rush of water and the buffeting impacts with the wall had exponentially increased the difficulty of maneuvering. She tried reaching for the wall again, but in the short distance she’d been swept, the current had gotten stronger. She glimpsed a junction in the passage overhead, another lava tube joining the tunnel like an arterial branch, and as she was drawn under it, she felt a much stronger current take hold of her. She was swept away like a leaf in a hurricane.
36
In 1877, Henry Morton Stanley set out from the junction of the Luabala and Congo Rivers, just below the series of waterfalls that would bear his name for a time. He traveled by boat on a four-week-long, thousand mile journey that brought him to another waterfall, which he named Livingstone Falls, in honor of his other great achievement. The beginning and end of this journey, the longest navigable section of the Congo River, would become Leopoldville in the west, a name later changed to Kinshasa, and Stanleyville — renamed Kisangani — in the east. No road connected the two, and driving between them required a circuitous detour through the country’s southern region. Nearly a century and a half later, the river remained the most direct route of travel between the two cities. The length of time required to make the journey by boat had improved somewhat. Now, a cargo barge, the most common vessel to be found plying the river route, could make the downriver trip in about two weeks. It took slightly longer going upriver, against the current, from Kinshasa to Kisangani.
“I need to be there before dawn,” King had told Mabuki, just eight hours earlier.
He had no doubt that Favreau would head for Kisangani, the seat of General Velle’s rebellion. Although the Red Queen had been forced to flee Kinshasa, King did not believe for a moment that the civil war had been averted, especially now that Joseph Mulamba was dead. If he was to prevent bloodshed on a colossal scale, it was imperative to separate Favreau from her backpack nuke. Rescuing the hostages, which included the man who was now legally the President of the DRC, placed a close second on the list of urgent priorities. Both objectives would require a covert trip into the enemy headquarters in Kisangani, and there wasn’t a minute to waste. As far as Favreau knew, Mulamba was on his way back to reclaim control of the government. When the truth about his death was finally revealed, General Velle would realize just how valuable his hostages were.
The urgency of the situation was not the only factor compelling King to move quickly. He was by nature a patient man. He could not have survived 2,800 years without learning how to be long-suffering. But there had been a few times in his life where he had felt the need to do something — anything — to keep from going completely insane. He felt that way now.
Asya had nearly died, and while the doctor at the university hospital had said the outlook was promising, she wasn’t out of the woods yet. As her brother, King knew he should have been at her side. In fact, he wanted to be at her side, and that was exactly why he knew he had to get moving, to get away from Kinshasa and his stricken sister as fast as possible. If he didn’t — if he didn’t get moving, didn’t stay busy — then the rest of the world would go to hell and he would have to live with the knowledge that he could have done something to make a difference but chose not to.
He could have waited for Crescent II. Queen and Rook were on their way back, and although they were headed for Tanzania, it would have been a simple thing for the supersonic stealth transport to pick him up and take him where he needed to go. But that would mean staying the night in Kinshasa, staying at Asya’s bedside and letting his worry and guilt erode his resolve. He needed to be in motion.
But what he needed and what was possible were two very different things.