I moved forward and the darkness closed around me. It was surprisingly cold, surprisingly damp. Like the way you"d imagine a dungeon would feel. Clammy and wrong. Immediately, a part of my mind said, f.u.c.k this.
Seriously, I wanted to turn right around and run the h.e.l.l out of there.
Yeah, I said run.
Understand something here-I don"t spook easily. Usually when something"s weird and violent and mysterious, I want to go grab it by the throat, wrestle it to the ground, and wail on it until it makes sense. A somewhat Neanderthal approach, I grant you, but it"s worked for me in a lot of very bizarre situations. This one, though, had a different feel to it.
I didn"t get the impression that a mixed group of Taliban and al-Qaeda thugs were lurking behind a rock ready to spring on this blue-eyed, blond-haired agent of the Great Satan. Nor did I have the feeling that Doctor Doom or Lex Luthor was watching me on video cameras from the safety of a secret lair, one hand stroking a white cat, the other holding a detonator that would send Mama Ledger"s favorite son to see Jesus on a mushroom
cloud.
Without understanding a single thing about what was going
on-or what was inside that cave-I knew for sure that this was
not going to be anything I"d faced before. Don"t ask me how I
knew that. But I was absolutely sure.
And that scared the living s.h.i.t out of me.
Icy lines of sweat trickled down my back and my mouth kept
going dry.
I moved deeper into the cave, leaving all traces of daylight
behind. We"d brought night-vision gear with us, but the electronics on that were as fried as the computers and radio. The path was more obstructed than I expected, with rocks
thrusting out over the sandy walkway and a few unexpected
deadfalls.A man running in the dark would be in serious trouble. Sweat stung my eyes and I dragged a forearm across my face. And that"s when the voice spoke.
"You won"t find what you"re looking for."
15.
echo teAm I spun and crouched, bringing the pistol around in a two-handed grip.
A figure stood five feet behind me.
"Freeze!" I bellowed. "Show me your hands . . . show me your f.u.c.king hands!"
The figure slowly raised its arms to either side, standing cruciform in the stark white of my flashlight.
It was the boy.
Dressed in the same clothes, with the same small bloodstain over the heart and the same kaffiyeh on his head with the scarf wrapped all the way around so that I all I could see were his eyes.
But that"s not what was making my heart pound like thunder in my chest.
The voice hadn"t been a boy"s.
It had been the voice of a woman.
An old woman.
"Turn around!" I snapped. "On your knees! Now!"
The figure-boy or woman, in this light I could no longer be sure-did not move.
I took a single threatening step forward. "Turn around, or so help me, I will kill you."
"You must listen to me, Captain."The words were spoken in a whispery and uninflected English. No trace of an accent.