River of Ruin Read Online Free PDF Page B

from the heavy rains had swept away much of the human waste generated by the millions above. Still, the stench rising from the channel in the center of the tunnel was overwhelming. Mercer’s lungs began to burn after only a few paces.
    The bottom of the tunnel had silted up with a clinging morass that sucked at his shoes. He vaulted up to the ledge that ran along the side of the passage. Overhead, he could hear raw sewage coursing through the two-foot-wide pipes that were bolted into the vaulted ceiling. Strings of offal drizzled from poorly fitted seams. At least here there was an occasional lightbulb along the roof of the tunnel.
    Had his lead been greater, Mercer would have climbed one of the ladders he came across that presumably led to manhole covers on the street, but he guessed the gunmen were only a minute behind. He continued to run as hard as the fouled air would let him. He paid no attention to the dozens of rats or the jaunty porcelain street signs placed at each intersection. He simply chose a direction and continued on, realizing that the flow of water in the tunnel increased the farther downstream he ran. He rounded a sharp corner and suddenly was knee-deep in water. A snarl of tree limbs had created a dam across the tunnel, and back pressure was quickly filling the gallery.
    Mercer clambered over the pile and fell into the water that drained from between the limbs. Clearing sewage from his face, he flicked aside a dead rat that had become entangled. Through a small opening in the mound he saw the gunmen as dim shadows behind their probing lights. He was certain he could take one and hoped that he would get both. If he didn’t, the downstream side of the dam was much shallower and he would be able to gain a few minutes on the survivor. The Beretta came up and he was surprised to see that his aim held steady.
    Either alert for an ambush or extremely well trained, the gunmen split up as they approached the dam. One held far back, covering as his partner took up a position behind a huge valve. Realizing he’d never get both, Mercer concentrated on the closer assassin. The range was about twenty feet, an easy shot for him, but the gun was unfamiliar and he suddenly began to shake from the cold water.
    No sooner had the gunman started to edge from around the valve than Mercer pulled the trigger. The gun jammed and the unnatural sound carried over the liquid whir of water sieving through the dam. Mercer didn’t have time to clear the pistol’s fouled breach before return fire raked the makeshift obstruction. He wiggled out of his burrow and ran through the ankle-deep water behind the dam, his loafers kicking up small clots of unidentifiable filth.
    He reached a four-way intersection and turned the corner as a bullet destroyed a chunk of brick near his head. Dust scoured his already tearing eyes. The water grew deeper. Rather than leap onto the catwalk, Mercer pushed aside his revulsion and dove in. By feel, he cleared his jammed gun and dug his heels into the silt on the bottom of the channel. His case was wedged under his legs. Polluted water surged around him and unspeakable things brushed past him in the current. His lungs began to protest the foul air he’d drawn and he could taste the water on his lips as it tried to invade his body.
    What was that old joke Harry had mentioned once? If Moscow is full of Muscovites, wouldn’t Paris be full of Parasites? This part was, he was sure. Through force of will, Mercer remained on the bottom, waiting in an ambush the Chinese couldn’t possibly anticipate.
    His chest began to heave involuntarily as it used up the last of the oxygen, and behind his tightly closed eyes, sparks shot across his lids. Still he waited, knowing that he could draw this out for another few seconds. A gnarled branch hit his shoulder and bubbles dribbled from his lips, becoming a rush as his lungs emptied. He came to the surface, shielded partly by the few leaves remaining on the limb. His