The Thieves of Faith by Richard Doetsch

Author:Richard Doetsch
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thrillers, Fiction
ISBN: 0440242894
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2006-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 36

Michael watched in horror as Susan disappeared, literally, down the drainpipe. Violently yanked into the darkness.

Without thought, Michael tied back onto the guide line and released himself from the safety line. He did not bother with the descender brake, allowing himself to be sucked with the current down the pipe, the tube walls whizzing by his periphery. He kept his body stiff, his feet pointed for aerodynamics like a luge rider as he raced down the line. His chin remained tucked into his chest to light the way with his helmet lamp but all he saw was darkness. He knew that his line stopped at two hundred and fifty feet—which was one hundred and twenty feet from the cistern entrance. The hash mark lines at ten-foot intervals blurred by. He wasted no time thinking about the what-ifs, only focusing on getting to the end of the line in time to save Susan.

And then, up ahead, he saw her, pinned against a mass of white sticks and stones. Her body quivered against the current, her regulator out of her mouth, whipping around her body like a headless snake, her right hand frantically trying to grab it. Michael snatched his kernmantle line with his descent brake, slowing himself to a stop inches above her. He grabbed his backup octopus regulator and stuffed it in her mouth. He looked in her panicked eyes as she gulped for air. As her breathing slowed, he caught the regulator that whipped around her head and handed it to her. He held up his hands, motioning calm. He began patting her body, checking her for injuries, and that’s when he noticed them. She was laying on two lifeless divers, their bodies pinned against what he thought was a mass of sticks, but they were not sticks; they were bones, hundreds of them, layers and layers. Tibias, femurs, skulls, all caught against what must be a grate at the end of the pipe. They were stripped clean of flesh and clothing, many of the bones worn down by the constant current. Michael couldn’t imagine how many bodies there were but whoever was sucked down here had no means of escape, held under by the incredible force of the suction.

Michael turned his attention back to the divers, their eyes glazed in death, their air tanks depleted. A thin rope, an end frayed, danced about next to the bodies as if mocking them in death. Michael’s fear factor went through the roof, not because of where he and Susan were, not because they were in the presence of death, but because he recognized one of the men. It was Lexie, Fetisov’s nephew. Around his waist was a saddlebag, bulky and torn from impact on the pile of bones. It wasn’t a large tear but it was enough for its contents to reflect Michael’s helmet light. It was filled with gold. Michael pulled it off Lexie and squeezed it into his own dive bag.

Susan slowly turned her head; her body tensed as she realized what she was touching.

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