They waited. An escalating grumble coalesced into a conversation of raised voices. The slap of sandals on stone was close now, almost on top of them.
“Daddy?”
He put his finger to Natasha’s lips and shook his head.
“I want to get something,” she whispered. “Maybe Sara will be there,” she added brightly.
Dracup frowned and pressed a finger urgently to his lips, flabbergasted at the carrot his daughter had used to entice him. Good grief — and she’s only eight…
A group of men passed the passage entrance, close enough to touch. Dracup pressed his back against the wall. The voices were harsh and argumentative, sparring in animated conversation. A tang of acrid cigarette smoke wrinkled his nostrils and was gone. The regular metallic clank of some loose piece of equipment receded with their unresolved discussion.
“Daddy, please.”
“Quiet, ’Tash.”
“We’ll give it five,” Jackson whispered hoarsely. “There may be more suckers on the way.”
Moran blew out his cheeks. “Jihadis.”
Dracup frowned. “How can you be sure?”
“They’re not the guys who took a pop at you earlier. I’d guess they were some kind of internal security. These—” Moran waved vaguely in the direction of the departed group, “are definitely in a different league. Look at the clothing, for a start. Isaaba. Standard Al-Q action garb. Did you catch the hardware as well? That was a mortar.”
Jackson chewed his gum and nodded silently. “Just keep it down. If they suss us out we’re dead. Period.”
Dracup squatted to take the weight off his feet. His mouth was furred and dry. He racked his brains to remember the last food that had passed his lips, and failed; he remembered ’Tash’s first reaction on seeing him: You’re thin. He smiled. Succinct, to the point. Just like Yvonne. The thought jarred. He wished he had some way to communicate Natasha’s safety.
Moran was admiring the marines’ armament. He listened as Cannon described the customisations he’d made to his weapon. Cannon flicked a switch; a red dot appeared on the ceiling, some way down the passage. “It’s a laser sight,” Cannon explained. “You can’t miss with this baby.”
Moran looked suitably impressed. “And this?” the DCI asked, pointing to another rocker switch situated above the magazine.
“Remote operation,” Cannon told him. “I can even fire this sonofabitch from around a corner, provided I can get a clear view.”
“How?” Moran was all ears.
Jackson showed his wrist. “With this,” he said. “Radio controlled. Effective up to distances of two hundred metres. First button switches on the sights, second fires ten, twenty, thirty rounds. Depends on how you set it up.”
“Daddy. Please can we go to my chamber?” Natasha repeated her request.
Dracup thought quickly. It might be his only chance to get away. “’Tash wants to collect something from the room they kept her in,” Dracup said to Jackson. “It’s close by — that okay with you?”
Jackson looked Dracup up and down. “No way.”
Natasha appeared between them. She gave Jackson her best smile. “Please?”
“Uno momento, young lady,” Jackson said, visibly weakening. He placed his hand gently under her chin and tilted her head up. “You’ve been here a while, ain’t you? Okay, just hold on a little longer.” They watched him creep to the junction and peer round the corner. He returned with a resigned expression.
“All clear,” he shrugged. “Go with them, Cannon — pronto.” Jackson waved them on. “And hurry.” He looked at his watch. “Two minutes max.”
Cannon led them along the corridor. They passed two or three recessed doorways; other Korumak residences, Dracup assumed. He marvelled at the efficiency of this underground community. They had the basic commodities: light, heat, water. He was puzzling over the fourth, food, when Natasha gave a small noise of recognition. And then stopped in her tracks. “Here.”
Cannon turned. Dracup looked over Natasha’s shoulder. “What is it, ’Tash?” And then he saw.
A woman lay spread-eagled on the floor, her sightless eyes gazing at the ceiling. Natasha was staring at the body. “Ruth.” She stretched out her arm and took a hesitant step forward.
Dracup grabbed her. “Don’t look, ’Tash. Come away.” He pulled Natasha back. She shook him off and pointed to an alcove, where a spread of furs and an intricately embroidered wrap lay partially concealed behind a fine, silken curtain. On the wrap lay a pile of carefully folded clothes. Dracup recognised Natasha’s school uniform. There was also a dolly dressed in a bright blue pinafore.
Dracup stepped gingerly around the body, retrieved the uniform and dolly and ushered the girl out. His heart was thudding in his chest as they rejoined Moran and Jackson at the junction. Moran looked at Dracup and frowned, but the question died on his lips as a burst of machine gun fire broke the silence. Dracup instinctively ducked as it was followed by another staccato fusillade. A bullet hit the ceiling above the junction, raining down a small shower of loose shale.
Jackson cursed. “Sons of bitches have doubled back. How in hell did they know we were here?” He inspected his helmet; a burnt scar showed where a bullet had come close to finding its mark.
Dracup frowned. “’Tash. Give me the doll.”
Natasha handed Dracup the toy. His probing fingers found a small, round disk beneath the dress. As he carefully extracted it, it gave a faint red pulse. He held it up for Jackson to see. “That’s how.”
“Woah,” the marine whistled. “GPS tracking device.”
Cannon took up a position at the bend. “You all right, Jacko?” He glared at Jackson with an accusing look, clearly rattled that his CO had nearly had his head blown off.
Jackson was reloading. “I’m cool.”
“Where to?” Moran’s face was grim.
“Sure ain’t gonna be this way.” Cannon clipped off a couple of rounds.
Dracup bent and held Natasha gently by the shoulders. “’Tash. Is there a way out past your room? Can you remember where this passage leads?”
Natasha pursed her lips. “If you follow it all the way it comes out at the big stairway. All the corridors in this level do. Then you can climb up right to the top — if you want. To his chamber.”
The words sent a chill down Dracup’s spine. “You mean to the top of the ziggurat — the pyramid?”
“There’s a staircase. A big one.”
Moran was poring over the map. “She’s right — I think. Look.” He traced out Natasha’s suggested route.
Jackson nodded grimly, peering over Moran’s shoulder. “We’ll be out in the open a while—”
“We’ll be full of freakin’ holes if we stay here,” Cannon called back over another burst of fire. “Open sounds good from where I’m standing. Get going. I’ll cover you.”
Jackson nodded tersely. “Okay — two minutes only,” he told Cannon. “Then get the hell out of here.”
Dracup took Natasha’s arm and followed Jackson and Moran past the room where the woman — Ruth — lay stiffening in death. He wondered briefly what had happened to her. He also wondered at the absence of other Korumak. And then, remembering his encounter with Jassim, a thought occurred to him. He’s started to evacuate them. That’s why the place is deserted. But where would he take them?
The noise of gunfire faded as they raced along the passage, which instead of widening as he had supposed, grew more constricted as it turned sharply to the right towards what Moran had identified as the central stairwell. Dracup’s side was aching, his lungs straining for breath. Without warning the passage abruptly ended. Dracup stopped with an exclamation.