Holding his kukri in a two-handed grip, he chopped down at a section of the floor near the corner where the door met the wall. The impact rang through the steel blade and vibrated in his hands, but there was a dimple in the floor at the point of contact. He changed his grip and tried a different technique, stabbing downward with all his weight behind the blow. The tip of the kukri pierced the sheet steel to a depth of nearly three centimeters.
Yes!
He worked the blade back and forth. While the metal was nowhere near molten, it seemed softer somehow, almost brittle. He twisted the knife and forced it deeper until it abruptly peeled back like a piece of tin foil.
A blinding white light burst through the hole and Kismet drew back involuntarily, He had punched through right on top of a blazing strip of magnesium. But the initial shock of the revelation was quickly swept away by the deeper implication of what he had discovered: there was a hollow space under the floor.
He shoved the bottle of ammonia into the void, then quickly decanted the iodine into it. The jug overflowed, spilling the remainder of the iodine down the outside of the glass where it either dripped down into the fire or sizzled away to nothing on the floor, leaving behind a rust-colored residue. As soon as the bottle was empty, he sprinted back toward his companions.
“Get down!”
They stared at him in disbelief. Was he actually suggesting that they trade their temporary island for the infernal touch of the steel floor? He didn’t pause to explain, but leaped onto the cages and swept them off, one in each arm.
To yield the maximum explosive energy, iodine crystals, distilled from the liquid solution of which the element composes only about four percent, would need to steep in pure ammonia for a full day, yielding a brown sludge known as NI-3—nitrogen tri-iodine — one of the most volatile substances known to man. As long as it remained moist, buffered by the liquid ammonia, it would be relatively safe, but once the crystals dried out, any sort of impact would trigger a tremendous blast. Kismet did not have the time to harvest the crystals or slow brew the NI-3, but he was gambling on the extreme temperatures within the laboratory to expedite the process. If he was right, the liquid would boil away within a few seconds, and when the heat cracked the glass jug, with a little bit of luck, it would blow a hole in the corner big enough for them to escape.
If he was wrong….
The next thing he remembered was laying on the scorching floor, struggling to draw a breath. His ears were ringing and he felt as though he had just been hit by a truck. The imperative need to get away from the heat stimulated him to action before he could fully grasp what had happened, but it took only a glance to see that a dramatic change had occurred in the lab. Everything not bolted down had been blasted to the rear of the enclosure and every piece of glass that had survived the thunderous closing of the door had been pulverized. More importantly though, a section of the floor and lower wall had bulged outward, opening a narrow crack to the outside.
His companions were also just beginning to recover from the concussion, unconsciously writhing on the burning hot surface. Kismet pulled them up, and without waiting for their full cooperation, began dragging them toward the door. Marie regained her senses first, and upon realizing that escape was actually possible, lent herself to the effort of pulling the dazed Hussein across the lab. It was a ten second journey through hell.
Stripes of red metal, where the steel was closest to the magnesium fires, outlined the walls and floor like the ribs of some terrifying dragon, viewed from within its belly. The heat was staggering, sucking their will and vital energy, and turning the very air they breathed into a poisonous wind that seared their lungs, but somehow, they made it.
“You first,” croaked Kismet.
Marie looked as though she might demur or protest that Hussein should be the first out, but the logic of his request was unassailable. As the smallest member of the trio, she was guaranteed salvation in a situation where every second mattered. She clenched her teeth against the expected agony of contact with the edge of the doorframe and the portion of the wall that had bulged outward, and then plunged through the gap. A moment later, her blistered hand appeared beseechingly in the opening. “Send him through!”
Kismet bustled the still unresponsive Iraqi toward the hole, but it was plainly obvious that he was not going to pass through as easily. He gripped Hussein’s shirt and started shoving. It was plainly obvious that Marie was exerting all her strength from the other side, but Hussein seemed to be wedged in place. He redoubled his efforts, shouting at the top of his lungs for Marie to pull.
Hussein’s shirt, and the flesh beneath it, tore free of the metal spur that had held him in place. He emitted a harsh cry, suddenly coming alert, and then was gone, pulled through the hole in Marie’s grasp. Kismet didn’t wait for encouragement. He plunged head first into the opening, his arms extended above his head like a diver, and pushed off with his feet. By wriggling his shoulders, he was able to squirm through the narrow gap, but it was nevertheless like escaping from a fiery womb. The torn metal sheets and the crumbled rock of the cavern wall formed a rough circle that tore through his shirt and dug long furrows into his flesh, but through it all, he felt Marie’s grip, stronger than he would have imagined, around his wrists, drawing him relentlessly on. As soon as his upper body was clear, he pulled free of her grip and scrambled clear of the hole.
It was like diving into a mountain lake. He hungrily gasped fresh air into his tortured lungs, and as he lay on his back, all he could do was savor the touch of cool stone against his skin. Marie huddled at his side. Her hands were bright red and blistered from second degree contact burns, and her face was similarly suffused with scarlet beneath a cap of lank, distressed hair, but she appeared otherwise intact. Hussein, though on his feet, did not appear to be doing quite that well. His gaze was unfocused as he meandered away from the blasted laboratory. Kismet tried to call to him but his starved lungs refused to yield the breath necessary to utter a sound. Looking into Marie’s grateful eyes, he decided that it could probably wait a few minutes. After the hellish struggle to survive the laboratory, his relief at being alive overwhelmed even his desire to comprehend Chiron’s betrayal. That too could wait, at least until they were done rejoicing.
Suddenly a noise like a string of firecrackers bursting in rapid succession rattled between the walls, and he knew the celebration was over. Marie gasped in alarm and instinctively pressed close to the wall of the cavern, intuiting that the sound was indeed gunfire. The young Iraqi stood frozen in place out in the open, neither looking nor moving in any purposeful way, but Kismet noticed that he had his hands pressed to his abdomen in a vain attempt to staunch a deluge of crimson. Then another burst erupted from the unseen sniper’s weapon, and nearly tore Hussein Hamallah in half.
Thirteen
For a fleeting instant, he thought that Rebecca must have left some of her force behind to ensure that no one would escape to tell the tale of Chiron’s vile betrayal. But the throaty roar of an AK-47 was an unmistakable sound, and he figured Rebecca and her cohorts for something with a little more finesse. Who did that leave?
The shots had come from the direction of the tunnel leading to the cavern where the helicopter was hangared, but from his vantage, the mouth of that passage was eclipsed by a protruding section of cavern wall. If he could not see the shooter, then it stood to reason…
“Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll try to draw their fire.”