Holtz now glanced up at him in shock. ‘Why?’
‘That’s why we’re here, Barbara. We’re hoping you can tell us,’ Harker replied, making his way over to her and staring down at the phone. ‘Do you know what it says, and what that symbol of a bag means?’
Holtz said nothing but used her fingers to zoom in on the writing.
‘We believe it’s cuneiform. Or some form of it anyway,’ Doggie added, joining the group huddle, ‘but not one we recognise.’
Holtz’s lips now quivered as she read out each line in no more than a mumble, and as Doggie opened his mouth to say more, it was Harker who deterred him with a subtle shake of the head.
For over a minute they both stood as Holtz traced her finger across the text, line by line, until she reached the end of it. Then her eyes trailed away from the screen, clearly now in deep thought.
‘You really think Michael and Marsouk were murdered?’
All Harker wanted to know was what the text actually said, but he realised the woman was now displaying a fragility he had never witnessed in all the time he had known her. ‘Honestly? I’m not sure, but yes… maybe.’
There was now genuine concern in Holtz’s eyes.
‘What does it say, Barbara?’ Harker urged gently, leaning in towards her ever so slightly. ‘What do you know?’
She glanced back at him ashen-faced, then she walked over to her desk, plonked herself down in the seat and placed his phone on the table in front of her.
‘Three months ago, Michael and Marsouk invited me onto a dig which was being privately funded. Marsouk left a few days later without giving a reason, but not before putting me in charge of the project. Michael and I have been working on it together, but a few days ago’ – Holtz began to bite her lip anxiously – ‘we had a disagreement over the direction the project was taking, and he chose to take a few days off to consider his position. Then I heard he had committed suicide. I honestly didn’t know what to think. Michael always seemed tightly wound-up at the best of times, but I’m now beginning to think it could have been something to do with what he and I were at loggerheads about.’
Holtz was obviously feeling serious regret about something and Harker placed his hand softly on her shoulder. ‘Barbara,’ he asked in a gentle tone, ‘what’s going on here?’ He then glanced over at Doggie, who was still lost in thought, probably mulling over any potential value to the university the text may offer more than anything else. ‘Barbara?’ he said again.
Holtz slowly looked up at him and her finger began tapping on the table nervously. ‘I’m not meant to say… I signed a non-disclosure agreement.’
Harker could see she was truly uncomfortable and he now gently picked up the phone. ‘Two people are already dead so I think it’s time you signed a new nondisclosure agreement, with us.’
Holtz’s eyes dropped down to the table for a moment, then with a deep breath she looked up at him. ‘We found something at the dig. Something… exquisite… along with that same text.’
Her response was as vague as it was intriguing, and Harker now began to push a little harder. ‘What exactly did you find?’
She continued to appear unconvinced, as if fretting over whether or not to say any more. But then she suddenly slapped her hand down on the table and rose to her feet. ‘I think it’s best that I show you.’
Before Harker could say more, she was heading for the door, only glancing back to give them a beckoning jerk of the head before stepping out into the morning sunshine.
Harker and Doggie scrambled through the doorway to find her gazing towards the blue expanse of the Strait of Gibraltar, her nose raised as she sniffed the air.
‘So where is this dig site?’ Harker asked, clasping his hands in anticipation.
Holtz offered him a weak smile, then raised one hand out towards the water. ‘Right there.’
Doggie was squinting dramatically, darting his head back and forth in an attempt to gauge exactly where she was pointing. He had not yet clocked on when Holtz turned to face Harker.
‘Tell me, Alex,’ she said with a smile, appearing relieved to speak at last about the secretive dig site, ‘how are your scuba-diving skills these days?’
Chapter 8
The water was far colder than it looked. Harker flipped backwards off the small dinghy into the calm brine of the Strait of Gibraltar and immediately pumped his fists in an effort to warm them. The wetsuit he had been provided with was doing its job, and although the diving spot was no more than thirty metres offshore, the morning sun had heated the neoprene somewhat during the brief trip, offering additional comfort. Wearing a wetsuit, especially one as thick as this, felt as if your whole body had been wrapped in multi-layered cellophane. On land it felt restrictive – every movement announced by the creaking of stretched plastic fibres – but still yielding to his movements. The tank, on the other hand, was another thing altogether. Heavy and cumbersome, like a backpack full of weights that could easily throw you off balance – and even topple you to the ground if your attention lapsed. Fortunately, once underwater, that all changed. The feeling of weight vanished and the tanks helped to keep one straight and level due to their streamlined design, and although the wetsuit could feel sluggish at times, it also offered a sense of protection, like a cocoon keeping you safe.
Of course, this was merely an illusion and the blade of an engine propeller would cut through it like butter, so when Harker noticed the underbelly of a boat streaming past in the distance, he began to get moving.
With a kick of his black fins he swam over to join Barbara Holtz, who was just below the surface and grasping the thick nylon shot line descending from an orange buoy into the darker water below. The addition of a full-face mask, with two-way radio incorporated into it, was crucial so far as Harker was concerned, and he was glad that this equipment had been provided. The reception could be crackly at times, and the noise of air being sucked in and out a distraction, but it was essential as it allowed the divers to converse underwater.
‘You OK?’ Holtz asked as he joined her and grabbed hold of the nylon cord as well.
‘It’s like riding a bike – you never forget,’ Harker quipped confidently, even though it was almost five years since his last dive, and he was feeling a bit twitchy about the prospect. It was an odd thing because, despite suffering from mild claustrophobia since childhood, his diving had never been affected. Locked in a small room, the sense of the walls closing in on him was difficult to stave off, but out here in the water, surrounded by a vast expanse of hazy blue ocean stretching in every direction, there was only a sensation of freedom and complete free will to go wherever one chose. Or, more accurately, wherever Barbara Holtz now chose to guide him.
‘Good, let’s begin the descent,’ she replied before letting the air out of the jacket, to descend at a slow pace. ‘If you feel the need for stabilisers, then let me know. That’s nothing to feel embarrassed about.’
Quite how the analogy of bicycle stabilisers could be applied here was lost on Harker, but he understood what she meant as he began following her down the rope into the dark blue depths and the buffeting motion of the surface overhead disappeared from view.
‘I’m surprised it’s been such a while since you last dived. You were always a keen one when I last knew you.’
‘Just haven’t had the chance,’ Harker replied, his voice crackling through the two-way radio. ‘The last few years have been… busy.’
‘Well, at least you’ve got more spirit in you than Tom.’
Upon hearing that the dig location lay under almost fifty metres of water, Doggie had immediately opted to sit this one out. His offer to keep an eye on things topside had not come as a surprise, because his only experience of diving was in the deep end of the local swimming pool. He therefore chivalrously offered to take refuge in a bistro restaurant overlooking the water nearby, declaring that it would allow him a complete view of the area – for their own safety, of course – and this had nothing to do with the
excellent cuisine and fully stocked bar.
‘A prawn cocktail followed by pan-fried seabass is the closest I like to get to the sea, Alex,’ had been his parting words as Harker had joined Holtz on the rubber dinghy. And it wasn’t a bad thing either, for a fifty-metre dip was considered a deep dive by anyone’s standards, and a lack of experience at such depth could quickly turn into tragedy at a moment’s notice. It was not an environment for the timid or uninitiated.
‘It’s really not his cup of tea,’ Harker explained, ‘and given you won’t tell us exactly what our destination is, I can’t blame him.’
‘Like I said, Alex, you have to see it with your own eyes. But trust me, it’s worth it.’ Holtz’s voice crackled and the radio sounded more muffled the deeper they went, which was likely due more to the pressure in Harker’s ears than any interference.
He offered an acknowledging grunt as they moved hand over hand down the rope, settling into a steady rhythm with one another. He had forgotten how exposed one could feel when descending through an open body of water, with nothing to ground you but the rope in your hand. All around him was just misty blue water, with only twenty or so metres of visibility. It was a sensation similar to that most first-timers felt, and which with further dives quickly turned into excitement and a sense of freedom. Unfortunately, Harker’s five-year absence had him tumbling back now to the feelings of his first dive, and as something began to loom out of the shadows below him, he felt a pang of nervousness.
‘What’s that?’
Holtz gave no reply as they continued descending, and then, like an old fuzzy analogue television screen that gets ever clearer as the reception grows stronger, the object began to emerge from the hazy gloom.
The outline of a small shipping vessel came into view beneath them. A row of viewing windows ran along its sides and at the top was a captain’s cabin with another, larger set of windows and one seamless steering window at its front. The hull had been painted a dark blue and was peppered with limpets and other crustaceans that had made it their home during its service life. In contrast, the top half was plain white, and the front portion of its bow was partially dug into the rocky shoreline, no doubt as a result of the impact, and this was only a short distance from a shelf edge which plunged into the darker depths of the strait itself. Its final resting place might have been fortunate, but the long gash through its side was anything but. The build-up of green algae on the ship’s upper half suggested it had lain down here for quite a time, and it shone with an array of green flecks as the available light from above reflected off its slimy surface.
‘It’s the HMS Veritas,’ Holtz explained as they continued slowly down towards the bow of the sunken wreck. ‘It’s a passenger ship which collided with a container ship just two months ago. Everyone was saved but, as you can see, the vessel itself was unsalvageable. The Gibraltar government agreed to leave it down here while we conduct our work.’
‘That’s the dig site?’ Harker asked, surprised not only that this ship was such a source of interest but that the government had allowed a wreck to remain here, given the heavy traffic passing above it on a daily basis.
‘It’s not the ship itself we’re interested in.’ They continued deeper, down past the looming bow and towards the circular lead weight their shot line was connected to on the seabed. ‘It’s what it crashed into.’
Harker said nothing but instead scoped out the expanse of sunken metal. To some the whole sight might be daunting, and approaching an object so much bigger than oneself could make you feel naked and unprotected, but personally he was finding it invigorating. It also helped that no one had died in the accident, because frankly that would have creeped him out. As they reached the grey muddy seabed, he now had a view of what lay on the other side of the vessel, despite the swirling muck disturbed by their presence. There was barely a crack between the bow itself and the rock forming the shoreline and he now struggled to control his breathing as he gazed upon the sight. The ship’s impact on hitting the limestone rock had left a scattering of jagged rubble below, revealing a sight that was as unnerving as it was fascinating. A large elliptical eye, four metres across, stared back at him. Although at first glance it appeared to have been engraved directly into the rock, it soon became evident that it was a separate structure embedded within the shoreline itself.
‘Is that Egyptian?’ Harker exclaimed in astonishment as he gazed at the huge eye and noted the shape reminiscent of a pharaoh’s death mask such as adorned the numerous sarcophagi he had examined in the past.
‘Not quite. Follow me,’ Holtz replied, the radio’s crackling now becoming more intense, and she began making her way around the left side of the ship to a secondary nylon rope which led directly inside the deep gash running the length of the sunken wreck. She waited for Harker to join her, then pointed inside. ‘It’s a bit tight here, so be careful.’
Holtz pulled herself effortlessly through the metre-wide gap and Harker followed, even as a feeling of dread started to take hold of him. He had never made a wreck dive before, and as he approached the dark opening, he was relieved to see a row of vacuum lights illuminating their way. The hull had been fully ripped out and appeared to be empty apart from a few scattered pieces of machinery and engine parts.
‘We decided to cut through the hull so as to gain access,’ Holtz explained, as they approached a square-shaped opening, its edges disfigured by the telltale drip marks from a welding torch. ‘There was concern that we’d bring the whole thing crashing down if we attempted to pull the ship away from the rock.’
‘What thing?’ Harker asked, his breathing becoming heavy.
‘This thing,’ Holtz replied, coming to a stop by the square opening.
As Harker reached her, he could see what she was referring to. Past the cut-away hull a long stone corridor led deeper into the rock, constructed from individual rectangular blocks now visible due to the additional lighting that had been laid along the floor for the length of the corridor, like landing lights. The passageway itself rose a massive eight metres high and was some four metres across – it could have offered a truck easy access, had it not been underwater.
Holtz swam into this spacious opening and, without any need of instruction, Harker followed her dutifully. As they began to make their way along the mysterious, rectangular passage, he began to notice some sections covered in a tan-coloured plaster. The yellow light from the guiding vacuum bulbs gave the surface a slightly green tint, and the strange symbols covering it looked black in colour. They were like nothing Harker had ever seen before and he stopped to hover alongside them, attempting to recognise similarities with anything he already knew of.
‘Keep moving,’ Holtz urged him, glancing back. ‘This is the least interesting part, believe me.’
Harker pulled himself away from his inspection and continued to follow her down the gloomy corridor, with only the yellow vacuum bulbs beneath them for guidance, since the sheer size of the space prevented their light from reaching the ceiling. It was like following a lit-up road, with no sense of the walls or ceiling.
After another twenty metres or so they reached the last vacuum bulb, where Harker could see a set of hefty, wide, stone-slab stairs leading upwards. He came to a halt as Holtz repositioned herself.
‘We’re coming out here,’ she announced and Harker watched the bubbles from her respirator rise upwards and disappear through a silvery separation of water above. He then watched and waited as Holtz disappeared through it, before following her. With a kick of his fins he surged upwards and broke the surface to see her clambering shakily up the last few steps. Then she sat down on one, unclipped her gas tank and deposited it on the stone floor next to her with a clunk. She then pulled off her mask, placed it over the canister’s nozzle and finally grinned down at him. ‘Don’t worry, the air’s good here.’
With a nod Harker followed suit and, feeling the weight of the tank returning, crawled up the steps and sat down next to her, where he unclipped his tank
and gently laid it on the top step, glad to be rid of its burden. Then hesitantly he slipped off his mask and drew in a deep lungful of air. It was musty and cold, like the inside of a mine shaft. Holtz stood up and placed both hands on her hips.
‘Congratulations, Alex, you’re one of the first people to enter this place in several thousand years.’
As Harker strained to see anything around them, Holtz moved over to the left and began fiddling with something. He heard a clicking sound and then the red glow of light filaments started to warm up, brightening the area before them. The bulbs gradually illuminated the walls they had been set against, and like during a briskly cresting sunrise, shadows and outlines he had not been able to make out began to slowly take shape. The glinting of the walls was the first thing he noticed, with the reflection of the yellow bulbs dancing off their shiny surfaces before giving way to an intense light.
Harker’s heart began to beat ever more quickly in sheer awe, and he stood up as the entire room became flooded with the light reflecting off every surface.
Two gigantic ten-metre-high statues loomed before him. Their eyes were strangely elliptical in shape, and although the facial features were basically human, they were longer at the cheeks, with thick, unusually protruding foreheads. The necks were far thicker too, with their muscles extending halfway along the shoulders, and while the midriff was in proportion, the legs were far shorter and thicker than in an average human being. Each statue held a large bag with handles clenched in one palm, which was stretched out in front of it in a gesture of offering. The figures’ complexions were not the shade of a standard gold bar, but an orange, almost honey colour, and the light reflecting off them seemed to fizzle in the yellow light as if it had a life of its own, sending a spattering of sparkles down onto the glossy surface of the floor below. The stone carving was masterful, with both muscles and skin appearing to possess weight, and there were even wrinkles at the bottom of the bag each statue clasped, indicating the weighty items they might contain.
The Shadow Conspiracy Page 7
