Shock Wave. Dana MentinkЧитать онлайн книгу.
in this bag.” He followed it up with a water bottle. “Drink sparingly, I’ve only got two.”
Sage took the bottle and swigged some, her eyes closing in pleasure. He watched the fine muscles of her slender throat, pale and delicate, as she swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him. He took a quick gulp and recapped it before they went inside.
The walls of the tunnel were brick, relatively intact except where the mortar had begun to crumble. Here and there the floor was littered with chunks that had fallen away, and they had to move slower than he would have liked. He figured they were trekking south toward the rear of the theater, but as the tunnel turned and turned again, he could not keep his bearings.
Their combined light did not make substantial inroads into the darkness. He felt the familiar prickle, the tension about enemies lying in wait, and he was carried back to the day his team had done a routine sweep of a small village and walked right into a well-planned Taliban ambush. His memory reverberated with the rumble of tracer rounds, punishing machine-gun fire, the wail of a woman when she’d learned of her son’s courageous death, their platoon medic who’d shown valor well beyond his years. So much death, so much fear. How unfair that it had followed him home. And her, too.
Sage must have been in the grip of her own anxiety because he noticed she pressed close to him, her hand brushing the small of his back at first, and then clutching a handful of his shirt. Trey stopped and beamed his light down at the floor. At the juncture where the floor met the wall was a small rectangular grate, no bigger than a shoebox, covered by an iron grille. A strange noise emanated from the spot, a thin whine. He dropped to his knees and peered in.
Sage knelt next to him. “What’s in there?”
Trey flattened his body to the floor and pushed close until his face was practically touching the rusted metal. Now a mournful howl filled the tunnel and a tiny black nose pushed through the gap.
“It’s Wally,” Trey said. He curled his fingers around the grate and pulled.
Sage took the flashlight from Trey so he could use both hands. “How did he get there? I thought Fred was taking him.”
“Don’t think he got the chance. Wally’s not too obedient. There must be a parallel tunnel or something,” he grunted, yanking so hard on the metalwork that his teeth ground together. The bars did not give the tiniest bit. Wally continued to whine, louder. “I’ll get you out, boy. I promise.”
Trey returned to the outer room and retrieved the iron rod he’d used to pry his way through the tunnel doors. He sat down and began to heave at the bars.
Sage shook her head. “It won’t work. We have to go on, Trey.”
“I’m not leaving the dog,” he said, gasping with the effort.
“He can find his way out.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed the hammer from his pack and a small chisel and tried to work at the corner hinges. When that proved unproductive he determined to use the last resort tool, brute force.
“Trey, this is ridiculous.”
He ignored her and began to smash away at the edges of the grate with a hammer, sending bits of brick flying in all directions, hoping he didn’t give the poor dog a heart attack.
“You need to stop.” Sage gripped his shoulder midswing and he stood to face her.
“I’ll be through in a few minutes if you’d quit interrupting.”
Her mouth tightened. “We cannot waste time like this. Antonia is somewhere in there, and if there’s someone after us, you’re leading them right to our location.”
He kept his voice level over his rising anger. “I told you, this will only take a minute. I’m not leaving this dog here.”
“Trey,” she snapped. “Big picture. We’re trapped. Antonia may be hurt.” She stabbed a finger at the grate. “That’s a dog who can probably take better care of itself than we can.”
The tide of anger burst through his reserve. “Listen up, Sage. I know it’s a dog. And guess what? It’s still a life and a precious one and I spent enough time with dogs in Afghanistan who risked their own safety to get us guys out of the pits we dug for ourselves.”
“But...”
“And,” he finished, his voice dangerously tense, “dogs are more loyal and selfless that some people I’ve met.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction but threw himself on the floor and took up the hammer again, drowning out any response she might have made with the ringing of steel on rock.
* * *
Sage leaned her back against the rough brick behind her, feeling like a child who has been taken to task. More selfless than some people... He would never understand that her mission in Afghanistan wasn’t for her own personal comfort and enjoyment. And wasn’t she paying the price for her time there? Emotionally crippled, caged by fear. He had no right to go ballistic on her for putting Antonia’s life over the dog’s.
She would go on without him, find her own way through the corridors. Six steps into the blackness and her skin began to prickle, her nerves jumping uncontrollably. Come on, Sage. You’re not afraid of the dark. The truth rang mockingly in her head. She was, down to the depths of her soul, too scared to venture into the belly of the opera house on her own. Where was the intrepid woman she’d been? That woman had been slain right next to Luis in a split second of horror that now stretched out into a lifetime. She steeled herself against the tears that threatened.
Hating herself and the cowardice that shivered through her body, she returned just in time to see Trey slide the grate away from the wall and flatten himself in front of the hole.
“Wally,” he called softly into the void. “Sorry about the noise, buddy. Come on out. It’s okay now.”
At first there was no sign of movement and Sage wondered if his efforts had been futile. It would serve him right and prove she was smarter than he gave her credit for. But something in his optimistic tone and the gentleness with which he shoved his big hands into the darkness made her hope that she was wrong.
Long minutes ticked by. Trey got to his feet and brushed off the knees of his jeans. “I think I scared him.”
She wanted to put her arms around him, to forget the condemnation she’d heard in his tone a moment before and soothe the small grief that slumped his broad shoulders. “Dogs are clever,” she said brightly. “Didn’t you tell me that your brother wanted to be a kennel master in the marines?”
Trey nodded as he packed up his tools. “Yes, but that didn’t pan out.”
“Why?”
Trey’s expression changed suddenly. He looked at the ceiling. “He got hurt.” He cleared his throat. “Because of me. And that ended his chances to be a marine.”
When he finally met her gaze she saw a world there in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, maybe hadn’t allowed herself to see. She reached a hand to him, to bridge the gap that seemed to have narrowed with his admission. “I...”
A scrabbling noise drew their attention. The rubble around the grate hole began to vibrate as if some determined gopher was tunneling in from the other side.
“Rats?” she said.
Trey grunted. “Oh, man, I hope not. I hate rats.”
The rubble suddenly erupted in a shower of grit and Wally’s tiny wedge of a head popped through the opening. He shook his head, ears flapping wildly as he looked around.
“Hey, Wal,” Trey shouted, crouching to snag the little animal. The rest of Wally emerged, all long legs and whip of a tail, his sides heaving rapidly.
Trey tried to wipe the grime off the dog, but Wally would settle for nothing short of a complete tongue bath of Trey’s cheeks. “All right, all right,” he laughed, waving away