bodies would be diced against the heavy-gauge wire like cheese through a grater.
He staggered the last steps into the substation and allowed the torrent to sweep him off his feet so that he and Red were carried into the elevator and pinned to the floor. From there, Mercer clawed his way to his knees, his throat aching from swallowing so much water, his eyes stinging from the salt. He slapped his palm against the UP button and fell back so he was facing the tunnel. The car began to lift, water sieving through the floor. Mercer barely noticed. Far down the drive, he saw the lights strung along the walls begin to wink out as they vanished behind the rampaging flood. Two hundred feet. One hundred. Fifty.
The elevator had risen only three-quarters of the way above the tunnel.
The tidal wave exploded into the wider substation, filling every corner as it sought freedom. As if sensing an outlet, the wall surged toward the elevator shaft. The carriage had just climbed clear when the water hit the back of the vertical passageway and geysered through the floor. Mercer and Red were lifted bodily, slammed against the mesh roof and pinned there for many long seconds until the elevator lifted them clear of the water’s grip. Both dropped to the floor, lying in pitiable heaps, bruised and dripping and unable to believe they were alive.
Below them water thundered into the sump in a solid curtain that ran clear and green. A subterranean Niagara Falls.
“You okay?” Mercer asked through labored gasps.
Red needed a moment to answer. “Cracked my head, busted some ribs and I think my wrist is too. Yeah, I’m fine. Ken?”
Mercer needed a moment to come to grips with losing one of his men. As much as he hated it, Ken Porter wasn’t the first he’d lost underground, and as long as he stayed in the business he probably wouldn’t be the last either. That was the nature of the work. “He’s paying the butcher’s bill.”
Red held up two fingers and then three and then gave a thumbs-up. Two out of three was damn good considering what they’d just endured. “Question for you,” he said, palming water from his hair. “You notice this tastes exactly like seawater?”
Mercer nodded in the darkness, then answered when he realized Red couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“You got an explanation?”
This time Mercer just shook his head as the elevator climbed for the surface.
THE LUXOR HOTEL LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
B ecause everything had to be trucked to the mining camp, including fresh water, showers had been strictly regulated to five minutes under a limp drizzle. So for the first time in nearly two weeks, Mercer relaxed under a pounding spray in his tiled bathroom, the steady beat of the near-scalding water working into his shoulders and back, loosening knots deep in the muscle. He’d already gone through the complimentary shampoo and lathered himself so much that only a sliver of soap remained.
His image in the vanity mirror opposite the shower stall was merely a watery outline hidden in banks of steam.
An hour after emerging from the flooded mine, Ira’s promised helicopters had arrived. One took off immediately with Red Harding, whose injuries were a lot worse than he’d led Mercer to believe. The crack he’d taken to his head had left a fist-sized depression in his skull. And while most of the men, including Mercer, had been ferried to one of the Boeing 737-200s the government used to shuttle workers between Area 51 and Las Vegas, two additional Blackhawks were dispatched to the mine area to search for Donny Randall. He had returned to the command trailer while Mercer and his team had gone to place the seismograph, but no one had seen him since. Most of his clothes were still in his room, but enough were missing to make it clear he’d made a run for it. Not that Mercer needed this further evidence to be convinced of the link between Randall and the misfiring of the explosives that caused the flood. He also
He staggered the last steps into the substation and allowed the torrent to sweep him off his feet so that he and Red were carried into the elevator and pinned to the floor. From there, Mercer clawed his way to his knees, his throat aching from swallowing so much water, his eyes stinging from the salt. He slapped his palm against the UP button and fell back so he was facing the tunnel. The car began to lift, water sieving through the floor. Mercer barely noticed. Far down the drive, he saw the lights strung along the walls begin to wink out as they vanished behind the rampaging flood. Two hundred feet. One hundred. Fifty.
The elevator had risen only three-quarters of the way above the tunnel.
The tidal wave exploded into the wider substation, filling every corner as it sought freedom. As if sensing an outlet, the wall surged toward the elevator shaft. The carriage had just climbed clear when the water hit the back of the vertical passageway and geysered through the floor. Mercer and Red were lifted bodily, slammed against the mesh roof and pinned there for many long seconds until the elevator lifted them clear of the water’s grip. Both dropped to the floor, lying in pitiable heaps, bruised and dripping and unable to believe they were alive.
Below them water thundered into the sump in a solid curtain that ran clear and green. A subterranean Niagara Falls.
“You okay?” Mercer asked through labored gasps.
Red needed a moment to answer. “Cracked my head, busted some ribs and I think my wrist is too. Yeah, I’m fine. Ken?”
Mercer needed a moment to come to grips with losing one of his men. As much as he hated it, Ken Porter wasn’t the first he’d lost underground, and as long as he stayed in the business he probably wouldn’t be the last either. That was the nature of the work. “He’s paying the butcher’s bill.”
Red held up two fingers and then three and then gave a thumbs-up. Two out of three was damn good considering what they’d just endured. “Question for you,” he said, palming water from his hair. “You notice this tastes exactly like seawater?”
Mercer nodded in the darkness, then answered when he realized Red couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“You got an explanation?”
This time Mercer just shook his head as the elevator climbed for the surface.
THE LUXOR HOTEL LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
B ecause everything had to be trucked to the mining camp, including fresh water, showers had been strictly regulated to five minutes under a limp drizzle. So for the first time in nearly two weeks, Mercer relaxed under a pounding spray in his tiled bathroom, the steady beat of the near-scalding water working into his shoulders and back, loosening knots deep in the muscle. He’d already gone through the complimentary shampoo and lathered himself so much that only a sliver of soap remained.
His image in the vanity mirror opposite the shower stall was merely a watery outline hidden in banks of steam.
An hour after emerging from the flooded mine, Ira’s promised helicopters had arrived. One took off immediately with Red Harding, whose injuries were a lot worse than he’d led Mercer to believe. The crack he’d taken to his head had left a fist-sized depression in his skull. And while most of the men, including Mercer, had been ferried to one of the Boeing 737-200s the government used to shuttle workers between Area 51 and Las Vegas, two additional Blackhawks were dispatched to the mine area to search for Donny Randall. He had returned to the command trailer while Mercer and his team had gone to place the seismograph, but no one had seen him since. Most of his clothes were still in his room, but enough were missing to make it clear he’d made a run for it. Not that Mercer needed this further evidence to be convinced of the link between Randall and the misfiring of the explosives that caused the flood. He also
Similar Books
