Blaine hit the floor hard and rolled, out of range of what he felt certain would be a countermove. But the giant was still struggling to get his balance back. He was in pain and breathing hard. McCracken, though, held no illusions he could finish the beast even on these terms. He was just too big and too strong. And Blaine had suffered too many injuries to generate the kind of blows that were required. The Minotaur swiped wildly at him once more and McCracken ducked under the blow and rushed back into the Labyrinth.
He knew the monster was giving chase, knew it even as the pain exploded through his sides and back. He could feel the warm blood soaking him everywhere. He realized he had lost his shoes back there, and he started to feel dizzy. He wavered as he ran, crashing into a wall.
No! Release! Release!
He fought to recall all of Johnny Wareagle’s lessons. What would he do faced with the same predicament? Probably rip out the Minotaur’s throat with his bare hands. Blaine had no doubt he could do it. Without Johnny’s superhuman strength, Blaine would have to find another means.
Release!
His breath came more easily, and he negotiated the twisting turns and corners with surprising ease, only once turning into a dead end.
Wait! A dead end was just what he needed, a corner the Minotaur would have no choice but to follow him into. Through all the blood and pain, McCracken concentrated on something he had noticed about the structure of the Labyrinth. The top of the inner walls had a space of an inch or so between them and the ceiling, indicating the ceiling itself must be false. The panels snapped into steel girders and would be removable. Yes, that was it!
The Minotaur’s labored breathing was around the corner from McCracken. Just a few more turns to negotiate!
Blaine scaled the wall, virtually running up it until his fingers locked on the ridge between partition and ceiling. His feet against the wall enabled him to raise one of his hands, knock aside a ceiling panel, and grab one of the steel girders. He pulled the rest of his frame upward, legs hoisted high to his chest, prepared to spring. His hands held fast, feet pressing hard against the side wall for leverage. If the darkness was sufficient, he would have one chance to pull off what he planned. One chance …
The Minotaur turned the corner and headed down the corridor just far enough to see that the dead end did not reveal his quarry. He swung around.
McCracken dropped upon him, pushing his legs out hard to cover the distance. In one swift motion he had grabbed hold of the bull’s-head mask by the horns and yanked it off. Then he fell to the floor as, disoriented, the giant reeled backwards, bellowed and charged him with both spiked gloves raised overhead.
He never saw McCracken drive the bull’s-head mask forward horns first, into the rippling flesh of his abdomen. The Minotaur’s insides spilled outward — blood and flesh pooled with steaming intestines — and the giant collapsed in a heap.
Breathing hard, McCracken slid back against the wall. The bloody headpiece fell to the floor. God, the pain racked him, but he had beaten Fass’s damn monster.
Still the Greek would have seen it all on the monitors. Even now his guards would be heading into the Labyrinth to finish the Minotaur’s job for him. Blaine needed a way out, and it had to be now!
The Minotaur would have been able to use more than one entry from the subterranean tunnels, but how could he find these entries? Where were they?
Blaine could hear the heavy footsteps of Fass’s guards charging into the maze. Their pursuit would be slowed considerably by the twists and turns which would provide some time for him. He had to make it enough.
McCracken dropped to his hands and knees, the motion sending bolts of pain through his wounded sides and back. His hands probed the floor beneath him as he crawled in search of a slight space indicating the presence of a passage from below.
The heavy boots were almost upon him when he found it. Blaine wedged his fingers tight into an opening and lifted upwards. The trapdoor came free. Beneath him the darkness was total. McCracken started to lower his frame in and then dropped down into the blackness.
Chapter 17
“What do you mean he’s not there?” Megilido Fass demanded from the safety of his office. “I saw him drop into the passageway myself! I have it on tape!”
“We have searched everywhere and found no sign of him,” the captain of the guards reported.
“Impossible! Bring him to me or I’ll cut your throat instead!”
“I cannot deliver that which is no longer here.”
“He couldn’t have escaped! He couldn’t!”
“Sir,” the captain said as placatingly as possible, “please don’t forget that the Labyrinth was constructed over several ancient entrances to the Sfakia caves. McCracken could have found one of these entrances before we arrived and plunged into it to escape.”
“Impossible, I tell you, impossible!” Fass persisted, his tone one of panic.
“So was defeating the Minotaur … or that was what we thought until today. Rest assured that the man is out of miracles, though. Once in the maze of caves underlying this area, no man could ever find his way out again.”
“I want you to send teams into the caves just to be sure.”
“Sir,” the captain begged, “it is too easy for them to lose their way. They might never make it out again.”
“Tell them to take along a spool of wool,” Fass joked madly, but the humor was lost on the captain.
Night fell with the passing of hours. Fass’s guards searched the underground chambers beneath the Labyrinth again and again; team after team of men emerged dirty and frustrated. Several groups were ordered into the maze of caves, connected to their entrances by ropes that permitted entry up to three hundred yards. The lighting was insufficient, the air stale and dank. By nightfall, it seemed hopeless and the search was called off. Somehow Blaine McCracken had found a way to elude them. Fass insisted that the guards around the villa compound be doubled. The captain agreed, knowing in his own mind that there was no way a man like McCracken would ever return so soon after leaving.
In fact, though, Blaine had never left. The pain from his wounds convinced him he was in no shape for anything but rest. But tending his wounds would have to wait. For now, all that mattered was survival.
He was betting that Fass would have moved to alert his guards as soon as he saw Blaine drop through the entrance. Fass would not be paying close attention to his monitor screens. So upon landing, Blaine counted to five, climbed back up into the Labyrinth, and ducked safely behind another partition just as the guards reached the trapdoor he had left propped up. Later he had moved deeper into what he judged to be the center of the Labyrinth. The guards would never think to check it. There was clearly no reason to, since he had been seen escaping.
In the ensuing hours, Blaine cared for himself as best he could by ripping his shirt into strips for bandages and tourniquets. Without medical supplies, all he could do was stay still and let the wounds close naturally. It took three hours for the pain to subside and another one for exhaustion to give way to sleep. When Blaine awoke, night had fallen. His built-in clock told him it was between eight and nine o’clock. Any sounds of men searching beneath him were gone.