Read Online The Third Gate by Lincoln Child - Free Book Online Page A

hours. It seemed almost unbelievable: here he was, in a vast complex of platforms, connected by walkways, shrouded by canvas and mosquitonetting, and everything floating atop a dismal swamp, hundreds of miles from anywhere.…
    Five minutes later he was fast asleep, dreaming that he was standing atop a pyramid, alone and marooned, surrounded by an endless sea of heaving, steaming quicksand.

9
    The following morning passed in a blur of activity. Logan met Rush for breakfast, as agreed. Afterward, Rush led him back to Green, where he was officially processed, issued an ID card, and given a twenty-minute orientation by a no-nonsense woman with a Home Counties accent. The entire process was efficient and clinical, with an almost military precision: clearly, this was a machine oiled and streamlined over many previous missions. At the end of the orientation, he was asked to hand over his cell phone, being informed he’d get it back at the conclusion of his stay. Once you’re on board with the project, you might find it hard to get calls out with any degree of certainty , Rush had written in his introductory e-mail. Now Logan understood why: Stone and his fanatical obsession with secrecy. Although it seemed unlikely that anybody’s cell phone would get a signal in such a remote wasteland.
    “You’ll be meeting with Tina after lunch,” Rush told him as they stepped back out into the narrow corridor.
    “Tina?”
    “Dr. Christina Romero. She’s the head Egyptologist. She’ll fill in the rest of the blanks, get you up to speed. She can be a bit prickly at times, and she has very strong opinions about looting grave goods, but she’s the best at what she does.” He hesitated a moment, as if about to say something. “Meanwhile, I thought you might like to see the work in process.”
    “Sure,” Logan replied. “Especially if it’ll give me some idea what I’m doing out here.”
    The two made their way past more offices, labs, and equipment sheds. Logan quickly became disoriented in the mazelike interiors. They passed lab-coated scientists, a machinist in coveralls, and—surprisingly—a burly, bearded man sporting boots and a cowboy hat.
    “Roustabout,” Rush said, as if that explained everything.
    They crossed through another pontoon-supported walkway, encased in Mylar and mosquito netting, floating just inches above the surface of the swamp, and the doctor pushed past another makeshift wall of vertical plastic panels. Logan followed suit—then stopped abruptly. Beyond lay a vast room. Along one yellow wall was a rank of lockers, perhaps two dozen, painted battleship gray. Along the opposite wall was a bank of instrumentation: rack-mounted servers, oscilloscopes, what appeared to be highly sophisticated depth finders and sonar devices, and a dozen still-more-exotic pieces of equipment. Leads, power cables, and data conduits snaked underfoot, all converging at the center of the huge space, where a large circular hole had been cut in the floor. This well-like hole was surrounded by a railing and more instrumentation.
    “This is Yellow,” Rush said, waving a hand, a note of pride in his voice. “The face of the dig.”
    He led the way toward the center of the room. Logan followed, picking his way carefully over the sea of cabling. Several people were arrayed around the central hole: some monitoring instruments, others in dive suits sitting on benches and conversing in low tones. Awoman in a nurse’s uniform sat at a small medical station, typing on a laptop.
    Logan approached the hole and peered in gingerly. It was at least eight feet in diameter. He could see the brownish-green surface of the Sudd not eighteen inches beneath his feet. Its miasmic vapor rose like a fetid breath to his nostrils. Two ladders descended into its murky depths, along with several thick cables.
    Rush nodded toward the hole. “Our interface with the swamp. We call it the Maw.”
    “The Maw?”
    Rush smiled grimly. “Rather appropriate,