“Beats shivering to death in a cold, black cave,” Giordino said.
The two men kept the fire raging for nearly an hour before testing their thermal shock theory. Pitt filled the bucket with drinking water left by their captors, then flung the contents onto the boulder. The water struck the rock with a crackling sound, sending off a cloud of steam. But the boulder held intact. A few minutes later, a flat sliver cracked off and fell to the ground.
Pitt kicked at the small piece. “Not the avalanche I had in mind.”
“At least it proves your theory is working,” Ana said.
In the lantern light, Pitt saw she appeared sleepy, and her eyes were unfocused. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m just feeling very tired.”
“Why don’t you go sit with the others and keep an eye on the captain for me?”
Ana nodded, and Pitt guided her to the back of the cavern, where Stenseth and Mikel had been moved. The captain briefly opened an eye at their arrival, then drifted back to his labored breathing. Ana sat down next to him, thankful to be off her feet, and stared off into the fire.
Returning to the blaze, Pitt could see the cavern was filled by a hazy layer of smoke. The scent of burnt wood hung heavy in the air. He approached Giordino, who was dragging another timber toward the blaze. “We’ve got a problem,” Pitt said.
Giordino muscled the wood onto the flames, brushed his hands clean, and turned to Pitt. “Are we all out of marshmallows?”
“Yes. And we have a hefty dose of carbon monoxide to make up for it.”
“That might explain my pounding headache.” Giordino looked up at the small overhead opening, which was gathering most of the fire’s smoke. “Any kind of opening down here would aid the ventilation.”
Pitt eyed the massive boulder and frowned. “We need to make it happen fast.”
The two men redoubled their efforts, hauling timbers to the fire and dousing the rock with water at regular intervals. Standing close to the fire, they both experienced symptoms from the invisible carbon monoxide gas: dizziness, blurred vision, shortness of breath, and dull headaches. Willing themselves past the poisoning, they attacked the boulder for another hour.
Pitt used the Isotta Fraschini’s tire iron to chisel and pound at the rock. Small chunks split from the boulder, but the large mass remained intact. Pitt felt his strength ebb and he stopped and sat to catch his breath. He saw Giordino dragging a timber across the floor in a drunken stagger and he rose to help.
Barely able to stand, both men dragged and rolled the wood to the slowly dying fire.
“That’s the last timber.” Giordino gasped and fell to the ground, holding his hands to his aching head.
Pitt wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but he forced himself to carry the bucket to the crate of bottled water. He dug through dozens of empties before finding a full bottle. Like the timbers, it was the last one. He poured it into the bucket and staggered back to the fire. Every step seemed to magnify his dizziness, and he nearly tripped and fell onto the fiery rock.
He stopped in front of the rock and turned to Giordino. His old friend was no longer sitting upright but sprawled across the ground, his eyes closed.
Pitt turned back to the boulder and cursed. “Break, you bastard.”
With his last ounce of energy, he flung the bucket at the crown of the rock. The rusty pail clanged against the boulder, its contents spilling down the heated granite. Pitt stumbled back as a cloud of steam rose from the surface in a searing wave. He swayed on his feet, ready to collapse, as his burning eyes stared at the rock. “Come on!” he yelled, though his voice was raw and weak.
Above the crackling fire he heard something. It was a deep rumble that sounded far away. The sound grew in intensity, then fell silent. Pitt stood, still swaying, and looked up.
With a crack like a thunderbolt, the boulder gave way. Fracturing into a half dozen large chunks, the massive rock crumbled in front of him. The thundering collapse knocked him off his feet and doused the fire with a cloud of pulverized rock. The cavern grew deathly silent as the light was snuffed out and dust floated to the ground like snowflakes.
Coughing and rubbing his eyes, Pitt rolled over and pushed himself to his knees. He sat for a moment and waited for the dust to clear. Through the haze, he saw a large opening in the wall and smiled as a steady blast of fresh air blew over him.
60
The water surrounding St. David’s Island sparkled in the sunshine as the Antonov transport touched down on the single runway of L.F. Wade International Airport. The plane taxied to the cargo terminal and shut down its engines. A waiting ground crew had already filed a phony duty record with the local customs inspector and went to work offloading the Bulgarian flatbed truck, after ensuring its cargo was still concealed.
Vasko shook off a few hours of fitful sleep as he was escorted to a white pickup truck, which followed the flatbed off the airport grounds. The convoy crossed a causeway to Bermuda’s Main Island, then traveled a short distance to Tucker’s Town, a private enclave of imposing mansions where Hendriks maintained his beachfront estate.
Entering a high-walled gate, Vasko was duly impressed. After ascending a long winding drive, the vehicles arrived at a gleaming white house overlooking the ocean. The trucks drove past a fountain to a garage tucked away on the side, which matched the house with its high-gabled roof. As the trucks entered the garage, a drop-down door closed behind them and a bank of overhead lights flicked on.
Vasko could see the garage was a huge structure, much larger than it appeared from the front. It also contained a working laboratory. Rows of CAD/CAM stations stood across from stainless steel lab benches backed by racks of test equipment. Above one table hung a large drone aircraft, suspended by wires from the ceiling. Hendriks stood by a side door watching the trucks enter, accompanied by two older men. A handful of technicians in lab coats waited behind them.
Vasko jumped out of the pickup and approached Hendriks as he led his entourage toward the flatbed.