Then they were gone.
Rynason moved back from the head of the stairs and leaned wearily
against the stone. His left arm was beginning to tingle with returning
circulation now; he rubbed it absently with his good hand and wondered
if they would try the sheer walls on the other side of the Temple. He
had scaled one of these ancient walls, but would they try it? Certainly
they stood little chance coming up the stairs, unless they gathered for
a concerted rush. And who would lead such a suicidal attack? These men
were vicious, but they valued their lives too.
Yet he couldn't watch the black walls. Leaving the stairway unguarded
would be the most dangerous course of all.
In a few minutes the hand-radio, forgotten on the stone floor behind
him, flashed an intermittent light which caught his eye in the dusk.
That would be Manning.
Rynason slid the radio over to the head of the stairs and switched on
there, keeping an eye on the stairway.
"Lee, do you hear me?"
"I hear you." His voice was low and bitter.
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