The Third Gate Part 13

Logan thought back to his meeting with Jennifer Rush, to the private sorrow he'd sensed, to the still-unexplained storm of empathetic emotion he'd felt when he shook her hand. No gift, indeed, he told himself. Years before, he had known a deeply talented telepath. The man had fallen into increasing despondency, ultimately killing himself. Doctors had labeled him mentally deficient, had ascribed the voices in his head to schizophrenia. Logan knew differently. He himself knew the downside of possessing a gift you could not turn off. Now he felt like even more of an a.s.s for the way he'd spoken to Jennifer Rush.

"So at first," Rush said, breaking Logan's train of thought, "Jen was brought here simply to get sensations--fleeting pictures or glimpses of past events that might help locate the tomb. But then Fenwick March and Tina Romero managed to pinpoint the site more precisely, and the original reason for her presence became less important. Besides, by that point ..." Rush hesitated. "By that point, everything had changed."

"You mean, she'd made contact with an actual ent.i.ty from the past," Logan said.

For a moment, Rush did not respond. Then he nodded, ever so slightly.

Logan felt a thrill course through him. Even he found it both incredibly exciting--and hard to believe. My G.o.d, could it really be true? "Does Stone know?" he asked.

Rush nodded again. "Of course."

"What does he think?"

"It's like I've told you--he'll do anything, try anything, to get what he wants. And Jen has demonstrated her psychic powers in enough ways that I know he wants to believe." Rush stared at him. "What about you? What do you think?"

Logan took a deep breath. "I think--no, I know, because I've sensed it myself--that certain very strong personalities, life forces if you will, can linger in a place long after the corporeal body has died. The stronger, the more violent, the personality and the will, the longer it will persist--needing only an unusually gifted mind to sense it."

Rush slowly ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced at Logan, looked away, glanced back. This whole development has him agitated, Logan thought. This isn't what he expected to happen--at all.

"Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"March and Romero, for sure. One or two others, maybe ... then again, maybe not. You know Stone. And this isn't exactly charted territory."

"And what does your wife think?"

"She doesn't like it. It's foreign and strange and, I think, frightening."

"Then why go on with it? If she was brought here to help find the tomb, and the tomb might be located any minute--why stay?"

"Porter Stone's express request," Rush replied, his voice still lower. "Two reasons, I think. First, we haven't yet found the tomb--and with his belt-and-suspenders mentality, he's not going to release a potential a.s.set until he's certain it's been located."

He fell silent.

"That's one reason," Logan pressed.

It seemed a long time before Rush finally answered. "Her mission here was altered when we received ... certain data."

"Data?" Logan asked. Rush did not reply--he did not need to.

"You mean the curse," Logan said. Now he, too, was almost whispering. "What, exactly, has Narmer--or whoever it is--been saying through Jennifer?"

Rush shook his head. "Don't ask me, please. I'd rather not talk about that."

Logan thought for a moment. The feeling of excitement, of otherworldliness, hadn't left him. So the curse is bothering Stone, too. That was the only explanation he could think of for altering Jennifer Rush's a.s.signment. Stone doesn't know what he's going to find when he reaches the tomb. He wants to be as prepared as possible to meet any eventuality--and he'll accept any help he can get his hands on ... even from beyond the grave.

"Would you talk with her, please?" Rush suddenly asked.

For a moment, Logan did not understand. "I'm sorry?"

"Would you speak to Jen about all this--about these, um, crossings she's been doing, her feelings?"

"Why me?" Logan asked. "I've only met her once--and then only briefly."

"I know. She told me about it." Rush hesitated. "It sounds funny, but I think she would trust you, might even open up to you. Maybe it's your unusual line of work; maybe it's just something in your manner--you made a good impression." Again he hesitated. "You want to know something, Jeremy? Jen never, ever talks about her NDE. Everyone else won't shut up about going over, about what they've experienced. She never has--not even for data collection sessions at the Center. Oh, we talk about the sensitivity it's given her, we measure and try to codify her special gifts--but she never speaks of the experience itself. I was wondering if ... well, if perhaps there was a way you could get her to share it with you."

"I'm not sure," Logan said. "I can try."

"I wish you would. I just don't want to push it any further myself." Rush plucked at his collar. "I put up a brave front, but the fact is, I worry about her. I can't pretend that things haven't been a bit strained between us since her accident, but I've tried to give her a lot of s.p.a.ce. All I can tell you ... All I can tell you is that we once had about as close a relations.h.i.+p as two people could have." He stopped. "We still love each other very much, of course, but she's had, um, a hard time interacting with the world in the way she used to. And since arriving on site--well, she wakes up sometimes in the middle of the night, trembling, bathed in sweat. When I ask her about it, she just brushes it off as a bad dream. And now, with these crossings Stone is insisting on ..." He looked away.

"I'd be happy to do anything I can to help," Logan said.

For a minute, Rush didn't look back. Then, with a deep sigh, he met Logan's gaze, pressed his hand briefly, and gave a mute smile of thanks.

28.

When Logan entered the cafeteria for his usual breakfast of poached egg and half an English m.u.f.fin, he found Tina Romero sitting by herself in a far corner, hunched intently over an iPad.

"May I join you?" he asked.

She gave a grunt that might have been either yes or no. Logan sat down, then peered at her iPad. Romero was doing a New York Times crossword puzzle.

"What's a four-letter word meaning 'small box for holding scissors'?" she asked, eyes on the screen.

" 'Etui.' "

She entered the word, then looked up. "And just how the h.e.l.l did you know that?"

"The Times crossword is one of my guilty pleasures. They use that one all the time."

"I'll remember that." She put down the iPad. "So. I heard you were doing your Hamlet imitation yesterday."

"What? Oh, you mean the skull."

Romero nodded. "I overheard March complaining about it to one of his minions. Get any bad vibes from the thing?"

"I didn't get any vibes at all." Logan cut into his egg. "But I was surprised at how good a shape the skull was in. Only some scoring across the top and in one of the eye sockets."

"Eye sockets?" Romero repeated.

"Yes."

"Which one?"

Logan thought a moment. "The left. Why?"

Romero shrugged.

Logan thought back to Dr. Rush's request the night before. "What did you think of Jennifer Rush's performance back in the staff lounge?"

"I've been thinking about that. Can those cards be faked?"

"Only if you've got a partner handling them."

"In that case, it was remarkable."

Logan nodded. "She seems to be a rather remarkable woman."

Romero took a sip of coffee. "I feel sorry for her."

Logan frowned. "Why?"

"Because it just isn't right--dragging her out here after all she's been through."

"You think she didn't want to come?"

Romero shrugged again. "I think she's too kind to deny him anything."

Him? Logan thought. Did she mean Porter Stone--or her husband?

Romero took another sip of coffee. "This kind of job can bring out the worst in anyone. I've seen people come to digs with the c.r.a.ppiest of motives." She lowered her voice. "I don't know. Maybe Ethan Rush is doing the greatest work in the world. But it sure seems to me that Jennifer is a guinea pig."

Logan stared at her. Was she actually implying Rush was exploiting his wife--using the terrible experience of hers for his own gain? The truth was, he knew very little about the Center for Transmortality Studies. And yet, Rush seemed to care deeply for his wife. I put up a brave front, he'd said just the night before, but the fact is, I worry about her. Was he worried for her--or for her importance to his Center?

There was the beep of a two-way radio. Romero reached into her bag, pulled her radio out, pressed the transmit b.u.t.ton. "Romero here." She listened for a minute, her eyes widening. "Hot d.a.m.n! I'll be right there."

She dumped the radio back into her bag and stood up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. "That was Stone," she said as she scooped up her iPad and bag. "They've found the mother lode!"

"The cache of skeletons?" Logan asked.

"Yup. And you know what that means? We're practically sitting on top of the tomb entrance. Stone's put all the diving teams online. I'll bet you a round of drinks in Oasis that we find the tomb itself within ninety minutes." And with that she left the cafeteria, Logan practically running after her to keep up.

29.

Tina Romero was off by seven minutes. It was just over an hour and a half later that dive team five reported finding what appeared to be a natural fissure at the bed of the Sudd--forty-three feet below surface level--that had been completely filled in with large boulders. Leaving a single archaeological dive team at the site of the skeletons, to be overseen by Fenwick March, Stone ordered all the other teams to five's location. From the Operations nerve center, Logan watched the drama unfold on huge flat-panel monitors, their video feeds ch.o.r.eographed by Cory Landau, a phlegmatic figure even amid such palpable excitement.

The images from the videocams attached to the divers' headgear were grainy and distorted, but just staring at them made Logan's pulse race. Narrow flashlight beams, lancing through the black mud and silt of the Sudd, traced the opening in the igneous rock: some eight feet tall and four feet wide, shaped like a cat's pupil, packed solid with large rocks. Teams of divers had tried to dislodge the boulders but without luck: their weight, the gluelike muck of the Sudd, and the pa.s.sage of years had fused them into a nearly solid ma.s.s.

"This is Tango Alpha," came the disembodied voice from forty feet below. "No joy."

"Tango Alpha, understood," came Porter Stone's voice from somewhere else on the Station. "Use the juice."

The radio crackled again. "Tango Alpha, roger that."

Logan turned to Romero, who was standing beside him, also glued to the screens. "Juice?" he asked.

"Nitroglycerin."

"Nitro?" Logan frowned. "Is that wise?"

"Don't leave home without it!" Romero cackled. "You'd be surprised how often Stone's had to employ nitro in his various digs. But not to worry--one of our divers is an ex-SEAL, an artist with the stuff. It'll be a surgical strike."

Logan continued listening to the radio chatter. As one of the divers at the tomb site released a marker buoy, Stone--apparently monitoring the action with Frank Valentino at the Staging Area--dispatched the diver with the nitro. Logan and Romero watched the screens as the man gingerly arranged the high explosive around the boulder-sealed entrance--four marble-sized pouches of black rubber, joined by lengths of det cord--then retreated to the rest of the divers, who were hanging well back.

"Charges in place," radioed the diver.

"Very well," came Porter Stone's voice. "Detonate."

There was a moment in which the entire Station seemed to hold its collective breath. Then came a low whump that made everything around Logan shudder slightly.

"Redfern here," came another voice over the radio. "I'm in the Crow's Nest. Marker buoy sighted."

"Can you get an exact fix?" Stone asked.

"Affirmative. One moment." There was a pause. "One hundred and twenty yards almost due east. Eight seven degrees relative."

Romero turned to Logan. "It's going to take some time for that s.h.i.+tstorm of mud down there to clear again," she said, indicating the monitors. "Come on. I think there's something you're going to want to see."

"What is it?" Logan asked.

"Another of Porter Stone's miracles."

She led the way out of White, through Red, and then, via the serpentine corridors of Maroon, to a hatch whose window overlooked the unbroken vista of the Sudd. Opening the hatch revealed a stairway that rose on stiltlike legs to a narrow wooden catwalk that circ.u.mscribed the entire outer extremity of Maroon's domelike tarp. Logan followed her up the stairway, and then--from that vantage point--paused to look around, first at the h.e.l.lish tangle of the Sudd, then at the miniature city that housed their expedition. Rising above Red was a tall, narrow tube, topped by a small railed perch and a forest of antennae. A man stood on the perch, binoculars in one hand and a radio in the other. This, Logan realized, must be the Crow's Nest.

He turned back to Romero. "It's quite the view. What am I supposed to be looking at?"

She handed him a tube of bug dope. "Wait and see."

But even as she spoke, Logan heard the rumble of engines. Slowly, from the direction of Green, appeared both the large airboats, each eighty-foot vessel now equipped--bizarrely--with what looked like a combination of snowplow and cow-catcher. These had been fixed to the bows, each bristling with an a.r.s.enal of chain saws and long, hooked spikes that stretched forward like bowsprits. The two vessels were followed by a veritable armada of Jet Skis and small boats. As Logan watched, the large craft maneuvered into position directly in front of them. Men and women ran across their sterns, shouting instructions, as cables were attached to heavy cleats on Maroon, Red, and Blue.

Logan glanced over at one of the smaller boats. It was busily pulling in yet another cable from the depths of the Sudd, reeling it over a capstan. Sticks, plant tendrils, and thick muck clung to the cable like roots.

Logan nodded at the boat. "What's it doing?"

Romero smiled. "Raising anchor."

There was a flurry of shouted orders. All of a sudden the engines of the two big airboats roared in tandem, and they started slowly forward. For a moment, Logan was aware of an unusual sensation he couldn't immediately identify. Then he understood. They--the entire Station, with all its barges, pontoons, catwalks, methane scrubbers, and generators--were moving.