Here, the silence was absolute, the only sounds those of their own making. With the manhole closed, the air moved, but much more slowly, and the only smell was the dank odor of ancient rock. In this place unmarked by the rise and fall of the sun, the tides, the seasons, time ceased to have meaning.

With a thud and a scrabble, Holden Tillman joined her at the commencement of the passage. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Neat."

"This is nothing. Wait till we get in the cave."

Iverson ducked into sight from beneath the arch. Something in the cast of his features, the set of his shoulders, had changed subtly. The unhitched movement of his joints had tightened up, become smoother. Responsibility wrapped around him, tying up all the loose ends. He radiated competence.

"Frieda and her team are on what is usually a two-day trek-maybe a day and a half. It'll be at least that hauling her out. Traveling fast, I figure we can get there in seven hours. Maybe a bit less. We've been over this before, but we're going to go over it again. I can make it. Holden can make it. If you don't feel up to it, Anna, now's the time. No loss of face. We leave all testosterone topside. Heroes are a pain in the butt down here."

"I'm okay with it," Anna said, wondering at the ease with which she kissed off her last chance.

"If you get too tired, start getting stupid or scaring yourself, let me or Holden know. We'll take a break, eat a bite, swap some stories. Can't leave anybody by 'emselves down here. Hodags'll carry 'em off."

"Cave spirits," Holden said solemnly. "Mischievous little beggars."

"Got it," Anna said, relieved she'd never be left alone in the vast gullet of New Mexico with only her own brain for a playmate.

After a couple hundred yards the passageway came to an abrupt end, the floor dropping unceremoniously away into a pit so deep that light was lost.