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Villanueva's eyes sprang wide when he saw what she held in her palm. "Careful with that."
"What is it?"
"Plastic explosive. Let me see it."
"Explosive?" She handed him the cellophane-wrapped block of clay.
He flipped the package around. "This insignia stamped into it… it's German manufacture."
"Why would…?" She glanced at the sleeping man. "As a geologist, maybe he thought he might need to explode some sections to get to samples."
The SEAL shook his head. "I was briefed. I would have been told if someone had plastique. This is obviously contraband. Pass me his pack."
She held her breath, and a thousand thoughts bounced around her head as she passed him Khalid's pack. She now recalled how guarded he was at times when anyone handled his pack. How odd some of his expressions were when anyone asked about his past. But she also remembered his strong hand pulling her up steep slopes and his kind words of encouragement.
Villanueva closed the pack. "There's twelve packages in here. Enough to bring the entire volcano crashing down on us." He reached for her pistol, but his injuries prevented him. "Give me your gun."
Instinctively, she started to obey, but with her hand on the pistol grip, she froze, suddenly unsure what to do.
With a rattling snort, Khalid coughed himself awake. He pushed the cloth off his face and sat up. "What are you…?" His eyes shifted from Villanueva with the pack to Linda with the gun. His brows drew together, lowering over his eyes. His accent became thicker. "What the hell are you doing with my pack?"
His words were directed at the SEAL, but the heat of his anger scorched her too. Embarrassed, words flowed from her. "We were just looking for a cigarette and-"
Villanueva cut her off. "What is your game here, Khalid? Who sent you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. Give me back my pack."
The SEAL shook his head. "Go to hell."
Linda backed a step away from the combatants. Her gun hung limply in her fingers. She kept staring at Khalid. He was the same man who had shared his canteen with her. The same man who had pulled her free when she was trapped in the narrow crack.
Her motion attracted Khalid's eye. He spoke to her, pointing a thumb toward Villanueva. "Is he feverish? Is it the fungal poison? Why is he acting like that?" He waved her away from the SEAL. "Be careful. He may be dangerous."
Numbly, she watched as her feet started stepping toward Khalid. "He's fine. It's just that he doesn't understand why you have explosives."
"Get away from him!" Villanueva struggled to stand but was too weak and unstable. He toppled back down. "Don't trust him. Give me the gun."
Khalid turned to her. "Don't. He'll kill me."
She glanced toward the SEAL.
Villanueva's lips were a cruel line. "And what did you have planned for us with all these explosives?"
Khalid lowered his head. "Linda, let me explain. He's twisting it all around. I'm not some Arab terrorist. He's letting his prejudice delude him."
"Khalid…?" She took a single step toward him, now only a few feet between them.
"Watch out!"
Villanueva's words were too slow. Much slower than the sudden speed of Khalid's leap. He was upon her before she could gasp. He held her in a tight hug. One hand reached down and freed the gun from her trapped hand.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. "It wasn't supposed to be like this." With the gun in his hand, he released her.
She stumbled a few steps away, tears pooling in her eyes.
He pointed the gun at Villanueva.
"So now what, Khalid?" he said with a sneer. "How do you think you're gonna get out of here?"
"By lightening the load." He pulled the trigger twice. Villanueva's head bounced back, two small holes appearing in his forehead. His body slumped to the floor.
Linda screamed. Covering her face, she dropped to her knees, sobbing, expecting at any moment to feel bullets ripping into her too.
A hand touched her shoulder. No words.
She cringed from his touch and continued crying. The hand did not try to touch her again. Eventually her wracking cries dissolved to a simple flow of tears. She glanced up.
Khalid sat on his haunches, hanging his head. The gun still rested in his hand, as comfortable and easy as a pen. He must have noticed her look.
She sniffed. "Why?"
His words were dry, unemotional. "I was assigned this mission." Khalid shifted to face her. "Blakely was naive. News of his discovery of a huge diamond statue reached many ears. A South African diamond cartel approached my employer. If the source of such huge diamonds were ever discovered, it would destroy the diamond market. Current prices would plummet. I was assigned to find the source of the diamonds, then sabotage the site. Explode the entire system."
She lowered her head. "All those deaths just for money."
He reached over and tipped her face toward him, his fingertips warm from the hot gun. "No," he said. "I accepted this assignment from the South Africans for another reason too. One closer to my heart. Like the diamond market, if this continent should open up as a major oil competitor, it could devastate the Middle East economy. Oil is my country's lifeblood. Before oil, my country was poor. No education, no health care, no way out of the sand. I will not see that happen again. Not after so much progress." A flash of pain in his eyes. "I care for my country as much as you do yours. Would you kill to save your country?"
Unsure herself, she did not answer, only turned her face away.
Releasing his grip on her chin, he stood up. "I need to head back up. Complete my mission." He walked to Villanueva's body. "He had to be killed. His knowledge was a threat to my mission. But… you… I need. Another pair of eyes, another pair of hands. It's a long journey back up."
She allowed herself a moment of hope.
"I have my mission and won't fail," he said. "You could stay here… or you can come with me. But you must understand. If you come along and betray my secret, then I will be forced to kill again." He held a hand out to her. "Can I trust you?"
Linda stared at his calloused palm. To go with him, he might turn on her as swiftly as he had turned on Villanueva. But to stay alone down here, unarmed, meant certain death.
Wrapping her arms around her body, Linda ignored his hand and made a decision. "I'll go with you."
Thank God, Michaelson thought, as Ben stopped in front of him. He steadied himself with a hand on the Aussie's shoulder, the crude splint on his ankle biting into his calf. The half-assed contraption had been hurriedly slapped on his leg after climbing back to the nest area. Walking was possible, but slow and wobbly. Michaelson winced when he saw how far they still had to go to reach the nursery's exit.
