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/* /*]] */ /* /*]] */ /* /*]] */ d12 The wind had become a full-blown gale, howling like a cemetery banshee
Ryan paused, blinking the ocean spray out of his eye, and stared upward. He could see only a few feet ahead, but he made out the sharp edge of concrete only a half-dozen rungs above his head.
Drained by the struggle of leading the others into unknowable blackness, Ryan finally heaved himself over the rim and collapsed on hands and knees onto smooth stone. Krysty joined him a moment later, her breath surging harshly.
“I’ve done easier things, lover,” she panted. “Hope the others can make it.”
“Only one way. Can’t go down,” he replied, feeling the strength already seeping back into his body.
Ryan moved to explore the rear of the platform and found a small iron door covered with lichen. He pushed, and the door swung easily open. His eye winced at the brightness of light, startling after the long blackness.
But he could see enough to make out a slackly grinning mouth and shadowed eyes and the twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun.
A GOLD EAGLE BOOK FROM WORLDWIDE
TORONTO NEW YORK -LONDON PARIS AMSTERDAM STOCKHOLM HAMBURG
