Neither of them had put it into words and yet it lay between them like a sword. The unspoken, undeniable fact that they were finished. That there was no hope left.
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The darkness settled upon them with a weightless pressure. Something seemed to move through it in a soundless wave and a strange, sibilant whispering echoed through the cave as if someone had sighed and the sounds were moving on for ever like the ripples in a pool.
Kane shivered and pushed the thought away from him. It was unhealthy to give way to despair too soon. He had to keep his mind active. He had to think of something other than this box of darkness.
He started to think about the past, letting his thoughts drift back, examining each milestone in his life, the good and the bad.
Only once before had he been in such a hopeless position. Second pilot on an Army Air Corps DCj flying to Guam in the Pacific. They’d come down in the Pacific, ten people, including passengers, and one life-raft. Sharks nosing around within an hour. By the third day they were down to four, by the seventh day two, and just when he’d thought he was about to die there’d been a droning noise in the sky. He’d looked up and there it was, a Catalina coming in to land. Twice in his life Catalinas had been significant. One had saved him, the other he had destroyed.
And then home. He remembered that first day, flying into La Guardia and seeing New York again. But where was home? Was it an apartment overlooking Central
Park? Was it his father’s farm in Connecticut? It was neither of these places. It did not exist in fact, but only in the heart, and he had searched for a long time, never finding, always seeking.
Marie’s face seemed to flame out of the darkness at him and he laughed softly. At least one good thing had come out of all this. He knew now that she was important to him – more important than anything in his life. The thought of her was warm and comforting, rather like the kiss she had given him earlier, but he would never be able to tell her these things now.
He got to his feet to stretch his aching limbs, and a cold finger of air from the passage touched his flesh, and he shivered.
It was a moment before its exact significance struck home and he dropped on his knees and searched in the darkness for the lamp. Cunningham blinked in the sudden glare. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘There’s a current of cold air blowing from the tunnel,’ Kane told him.
Cunningham frowned. ‘That’s impossible. Where could it come from?’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Kane said.
He explained the situation to Jamal in Arabic and then followed Cunningham along the passage to the spot where they had finished work earlier in the day.
The Englishman dropped to his knees in front of the pile of rubble and stone that blocked the passage and cried out at once, ‘You’re right, Kane, I can feel cold air on my body.’
Kane dropped down beside him and was at once aware of the pressure of air against his bare chest. ‘One thing’s for sure,’ he said. ‘Muller was wrong. Whatever else it might be, this isn’t the entrance into a rock tomb.’
‘Then where the hell does it lead?’ Cunningham demanded.
Kane grinned. ‘To a better hole than this – that’s for certain.’
Jamal had gone for the tools and now he returned, and Kane and Cunningham started to dig. The space was confined and, after a while, the Somali pulled them out of the way to manhandle a large stone with his bare hands. A hole appeared and air came through in a sudden rush. Jamal carefully lifted several other stones out of the way and then he was on his belly and crawling forward. Kane held the spot on him and he and Cunningham watched the Somali vanish.
After a short time his head appeared and his mouth opened in a huge grin. He beckoned to them and Cunningham dropped to his stomach and crawled forward, followed by Kane.