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"About what?"
"The statue. For now, it is not that vital to know in which direction the statue was facing. Sometimes I get so fixated on the details that I miss the bigger picture. And when you brought this to my attention, I lashed out. I'm sorry."
"Hey, you were under a lot of pressure. Besides, I like people who speak their mind."
She smiled.
"People like you," he said in a whisper.
"Thanks, Ben." They rounded a Quonset hut, and a black gash split the ground ahead. To the left, a lighted bridge crossed the gorge.
As soon as they stepped into the lighted area, a guard called to them from the bridge. "Stop right there." The gun pointed toward them punctuated his statement. "This area is restricted."
"My, my," Ben whispered in an aside to her as a second guard approached. "I can see why everyone thinks this is a romantic spot."
The stone-faced guard checked their identification cards. "You're clear." He turned to the other guard by the bridge and gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Sorry for the scare, but we're tightening security."
"Why?" she asked.
"Sorry, ma'am. That's classified information." He turned and proceeded toward the bridge.
Ashley turned to Ben. "What do you make of that?"
He shrugged. "Who can figure the military? Bunch of buffoons."
"I know. I wouldn't mind pushing the lot of them into that damned chasm."
"Hey, what do you know? We do have something in common." He spun on a heel, very militarylike, to head back to the dormitory. He offered his arm.
This time she took him up on his offer.
Blakely stretched, leaning away from the console. He glanced at a clock on the wall. A few minutes after midnight. Now, that was cutting it down to the wire. The team would be leaving in nine hours.
"All green lights," said a voice behind him. "Finally."
He turned to the head of communications, Lieutenant Brian Flattery. "I knew those new circuit boards would do the trick," the doctor said. "With the communications net intact, we'll be able to communicate to my team anywhere on the planet."
"That's good," said Flattery. "But still…"
"Don't fret. This time it'll be different."
Flattery glanced at the floor. "We never found Wombley's body. Only that splat of blood."
"I know, I know."
"And there's still no word from the other team. It's been four months. And what about the recent disappearance of the guard by the chasm?"
Blakely held up a hand. He had heard similar rumblings across the camp. "We're prepared this time. We'll be in regular communication."
"Shouldn't this group be forewarned of the risk they're taking?"
Blakely shrugged. "Major Michaelson and his two men know. That's what's important. I guess I'm going to have to give the rest of the team some details, but they don't need to know everything. This time we're proceeding with foreknowledge of the risks. We're properly armed."
"We don't really know that."
Blakely squinted at the line of green lights on the communications console. He tapped one light that fluttered. It stabilized to a steady green. "Nothing to worry about."
BOOK THREE
Chutes and Ladders
TEN
THE PACK WAS HEAVY, THE CUSHIONED STRAPS CUTTING into Ashley's shoulders. She shrugged it off and set it down at her feet. Heavy, but manageable. She saw Linda grimace as she tried to adjust her own backpack over her shoulders. Ashley reached over and tugged the bag higher on Linda's back. "Carry it like that and it won't be so bad."
Linda smiled, but creases of worry still etched her brow. "Thanks. I just have to get accustomed to it."
Ashley nodded. We all do, she thought.
Ashley led Linda toward the group clustered near the team's radio. Blakely was explaining its operation to Ben, Khalid, and Major Michaelson. "Our web of receivers and transmitters operates at an ultra-low frequency. They're buried and spread out, so we will be able to communicate through hundreds of miles of rock in all directions."
Major Michaelson hefted the radio, testing its weight. "Sort of like the buried transmitters that guide our submarines."
"Exactly the same principle. Low-level reverberations. The system has been tested and checks out fine."
"How often do we establish contact?" Ashley asked as she stepped up.
"Three times a day. At the designated hours," Blakely responded. He pointed at the radio. "This is the most important piece of equipment you'll be carrying."
Major Michaelson tapped his pistol at his waist. "This is my most important piece of equipment."
Ben snorted. "You're both wrong. Shows your lack of caving experience." He pointed to his belt with its ring of batteries. "This is your most important piece of equipment. Without batteries, you have no light. Without light, you can't see what you're shooting at and no radio in the world is going to guide your ass out of a hole." He gripped his battery belt. "This is your lifeblood down here."
Everyone was staring now at Ben. "Of course," he said, pulling out a roll of toilet paper from his pack, "this is right bloody important too."
Ashley smiled, and Linda suppressed a giggle. Ben did have his moments; she had to give him that.
"What about water?" Khalid asked, standing up from where he had been hunched over the radio. "Dehydration is a major danger, isn't it?"
"Sort of. But most major cavern systems have abundant pools of potable water. Just conserve your canteen between watering holes."
Ashley gritted her teeth. Radios, guns, batteries, water. Lack of any of them could incapacitate the mission. Too many variables for her tastes.
The remainder of their pack contents was then explained. Freeze-dried food in tinfoil packets, electrolyte replacement fluid, collapsed air mattresses for sleeping, a first-aid kit, a small box of toiletries, and coiled on top of it all a thick spool of rope. Besides the backpack, each member had a lightweight climbing harness with a chalk bag to dry one's hands, and a helmet with a carbide lamp.
Ben's pack contained additional climbing equipment: carabiners, quick draws, and anchoring bolts. The need for this equipment was obvious to Ashley. Major Michaelson's pack, however, frightened her. It contained four more pistols, a collapsed rifle, and boxes and boxes of seal-cloth-wrapped ammunition.
If that wasn't enough, the team had finally been introduced to the two other members of their expedition-Major Skip Halloway and Major Pedro Villanueva. The insignia of an eagle gripping a trident on their shoulders advertised their expertise. Navy SEALs, the elite. They wore weapons at their waists, and each hefted a double pack. A heavy load, but they looked like muscled machines, workhorses with weapons.
