Tunnels 06 - Terminal

point and snapped, the loud twang could have been a sound effect from a cartoon. It might have been funny if the consequences weren’t so dire.
    Jiggs yelled ‘INCOMING!’ at the very top of his voice as the loose ends of the cable whipped away on either side of the channel. Drake didn’t seem to hear the warning under his poncho.
    With instincts honed through countless deployments in areas where anti-personnel devices were an everyday hazard, Jiggs reacted in a fraction of a second. Ramming the throttle on full, he yanked the outboard over, steering the launch into the middle of the channel, as far away from the sides as he could get.
    He was praying that the Styx sappers had been intending to catch anyone travelling in the opposite direction – down to the deep-level shelter – and not up from it. It made a world of difference to where the explosives would be planted. It made all the difference as to whether he and Drake were going to escape with their lives.
    As the explosives detonated, Jiggs was crouching and trying to protect his head. The surge of water threw the launch up the river, and the tunnel behind was thick with smoke and a cascade of flying stone.
    Jiggs knew at that moment the tripwire had been set for boats going in the opposite direction. ‘Thank you, God,’ he shouted. He was still offering up his gratitude as reports of the blast echoed back and forth in the tunnel. Then, as he followed a bend in the channel, there was just the sound of theoutboard and the gushing river again.
    Drake stirred, his head peering tortoise-like from under the poncho. ‘You want something?’ he asked. ‘You nudged me.’
    ‘No, not me, and everything’s fine. Just get some rest,’ Jiggs replied, trying not to laugh.
    After another ten hours, they broke the journey to stop at one of the way stations along the route. Here Jiggs stocked up with fuel from the rusty storage tanks on the quay, while Drake took respite from the constant freezing spray of the speeding river.
    They resumed the journey and, many hours later, finally pulled into the long harbour that lay below the disused airfield. Jiggs tied up the launch and helped Drake onto the quayside. After a change of clothes and a hot drink he went off to investigate.
    ‘I’ve cleared the booby traps,’ Jiggs told Drake when he eventually returned. ‘There were three trips on the way to the exit.’
    Drake nodded. ‘I’m amazed they left the river unprotected. If it had been me, I would have planted one there for sure.’
    Jiggs just nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘Yes, me too,’ he agreed. ‘Odd, that.’ Then he helped Drake to his feet, and they set off.

    The interior of the tower reminded Will of a modern cathedral he’d once visited with his father. It might have been the way that their footfalls were reverberating through the large space, or perhaps because the interior with its plain walls and ceiling, all of the same grey material as the exposed pyramid, gave the impression of both solemnity and majesty.
    Of power.
    Will was beginning to think that there was something in what Elliott had been saying. Maybe he was sensing it too now.
    And adding to this impression were the two large columns directly opposite the entrance. As he moved towards them across the dusty floor, it felt to Will as if he was approaching an altar. His eyes swept over the peculiar spiky letters that were inscribed across both of them over twenty feet up.
    ‘Does that writing make sense to anyone?’ he enquired.
    ‘No, I don’t recognise it,’ Jürgen replied. ‘Those letters don’t share any characteristics with the scripts or the glyphs I’ve been studying.’
    ‘And you?’ Will asked Elliott coldly. He still hadn’t quite forgiven her for the way she’d ignored his advice before they entered the tower.
    As she shook her head, Will indicated the twin cylinders. ‘There’s no sign of any doors, but you don’t suppose those things are lifts, do you?’ He chuckled because this building, which had just been thrust out of the ground, had to be many millennia old, and it felt like such an odd question to ask.
    ‘That would make sense, given the height of the structure,’ Jürgen suggested, but he was already making his way over to the bushman, who was standing by what appeared to be a circular flight of stairs that began to the far left of the columns and continued up behind them.
    ‘Why don’t you ask Woody what this place is? … Ask him