The Trespass(109)

He crept on. Eventually the roof of the passage lifted away and he found himself in an open cavern. Dracup caught his breath. Now he could see the water source: a sparkling cascade ran from a hidden opening high in the cavern ceiling. He felt an inward exultation. This is it. He took out his mobile and selected the media messages menu. In the photo Natasha was standing just at that point over … there. The waterfall fell directly into a pool, hewn out by years of erosion, bouncing on the mossy rocks and bubbling over into a narrow stream. Where now? The stream ran from one side of the cavern to the other, disappearing into a narrow channel on one side and a vertical shaft on the other. Dracup scoured the area. Hidden places? What hidden places?

He examined the waterfall. Wait. There was something. Through the spray, the shadows darkened at one point near its base. Dracup waded into the stream, drawing his breath sharply as the freezing water numbed his legs. He scrambled up the lichen-covered rocks, slipping back twice as his fingers failed to grip the surface. He was soaked through by the time he hauled himself onto the other side and sat, gasping for breath, by a black space in the waterfall bed. He peered into its depths. Surely not? But there were protrusions that would serve as footholds – for the careful climber. This is crazy. She could be anywhere.

As he hesitated he heard the sound of footsteps. Running. A shouted command. Potzner? Panic and freezing hands made him clumsy; he missed his footing and fell awkwardly, throwing his hands out to save himself. Through the screen of moving water he heard a cry and knew he had been spotted. He heard a popping noise, like multiple corks being sprung from a bottle, then a blow to his arm sent him spinning backwards, sprawling over the wet rocks. He sat up, shocked, and saw with horror a spreading red stain creeping through his jacket sleeve. Oddly, he felt little pain. A shadow fell across the waterfall, then another.

Dracup lay panting, clutching his arm. A face appeared; dark, bearded, unkempt hair tamed by a purple bandana. A bandolier was slung casually over the man’s shoulders and his hands expertly clicked a new magazine into place. A contemptuous grin played about his lips. He raised the automatic and Dracup closed his eyes. He heard a muffled crack. A heavy weight crashed onto his legs and he opened them again. Someone was wading across the stream.

“Professor Dracup? Are you okay?”

He let out his breath in relief. Farrell.

The American stepped around the waterfall and crouched at his feet. “Should have got to you a little earlier – sorry about that. Let me take a look at that arm.”

Dracup winced and peeled off his jacket. He was only mildly surprised to see Moran join Farrell at his side. Shadows hovered in the background. US marines, supporting. The DCI holstered his pistol, nodded curtly and prodded the dead man with his toe. “Al-Qaida. It’s all happening here, isn’t it, Professor?”

Farrell finished applying a field dressing to Dracup’s arm. “Just clipped you, Prof. You okay to walk?”

“It’s my arm, Farrell, not my leg – thanks, I’ll be fine.”

“I see you have my parcel.” Farrell pointed his gun at the box, lying askew at Dracup’s feet.

“Don’t try to take it from me, Farrell.” Dracup clenched his fists. “I’ll kill you before I let you do that.”

Farrell raised both hands. “Cool it, Prof. We’re on your side.”

“Are you?”

“You weren’t thinking about going down there without a map, were you?” Moran pointed to the uninviting gash in the rock.

“Without a –?”

Moran reached into his trouser pocket and flourished a folded piece of paper. “This,” he smiled, “is going to come in handy.”

Farrell grabbed it out of the Irishman’s hand. “Where did you get this?”

Moran’s eyes almost twinkled. “Well, that would be telling.” He gave Dracup an odd look. “I borrowed it from a little bird back home.”





Chapter 39





A shower of pebbles alerted Sara to the presence of intruders in the funnel. Jassim? She nudged Natasha awake and pulled the girl into the shadows. Natasha looked up, fear etched across her face. The girl was pale and thinner, but she had a resilient streak that reminded Sara of her father.

Natasha was pulling on her cardigan. “Are they coming to kill us?”

“No. Of course not.” She smoothed a hand over the girl’s forehead. “Just stay here and I’ll go check it out, okay?”

The girl chewed her lip. Her cheek was streaked with grime and her hair was badly in need of a wash. “Ruth’s dead, isn’t she?” Her large eyes watched Sara intently, daring a lie.