by Kitty Sewell
‘Please be patient,’ said Carlo. ‘We’re in dire need of a French-speaking guide and I’m trying to train Mohammed, but he has a lot to learn.’
‘So I’m right, my presence is more of a nuisance,’ Sebastian insisted. ‘I don’t mind in the least. In fact I would prefer to get Mr. Molina to take me some other time. If you don’t mind, I’ll find my way out. I’ve got a good sense of direction.’
Carlo stood up abruptly. It was obvious that his vanity had been pricked. ‘You’re not a nuisance,’ he insisted. ‘Molina will be indisposed for some time and it will be at least October before we reinstate the tours.’
Sebastian vacillated, torn between his unease and his reluctance to give up on this fascinating warren of passages. ‘Well, whatever it is you’re telling Mohammed, perhaps you could share it with me? I’m very interested in everything to do with the tunnels.’
‘Of course. I appreciate your interest. Believe me, this is just the start.’ Carlo hesitated a fraction of a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ve got the time. Why don’t I show you something that was only recently discovered?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Have you heard of Operation Tracer?’
‘No.’
Carlo shone his torch down a side passage. ‘The place I’m going to show you is strictly out of bounds. Are you prepared for a long hike?’
‘Where is this? How long are we talking about?’
‘Two, three hours; perhaps more.’ Carlo peered at Sebastian with a gleam in his eye. ‘Eva is not expecting you home for Sunday lunch, is she, because your mobile won’t work in here?’
He disliked Carlo’s referring to Eva with such familiarity, but his curiosity about this out-of-bounds area had been stirred. ‘What’s Operation Tracer? What’s it got to do with the tunnels?’
‘Operation Tracer was a top-secret British spying mission that was only to be implemented if Hitler captured Gibraltar.’ Carlo had begun walking, Sebastian and Mohammed followed on his heels.
‘It’s a hidden chamber that has taken on an almost mythical status. The chamber was meant to be the location for the spying mission and was well documented, but almost everyone connected with this project has died. Nobody knew where the chamber was and it was even rumoured that it was a hoax to attract tourism.’
‘Are you saying you found this chamber?’
‘No,’ Carlo admitted reluctantly. ‘The Gibraltar Caving Group found it by pure accident in 1997. They were in here sniffing around and felt an unusual gust of wind in a tunnel. So they began searching the walls, looking for the source of the airstream. They found a small fissure in a wall which led them to begin to excavate. They soon broke through to a thick brick wall, which in turn led into what turned out to be a series of chambers. These had never been used and had remained totally sealed and hidden for over fifty years.’
Sebastian needed no more encouragement. If this story was true, he sure as hell wanted to see these chambers. ‘So they’d sealed the chambers to hide what from the Germans? Equipment? Arms? Documents?’
‘Not equipment or documents…people. If Hitler had invaded, six men were to be sealed inside the chambers and left with supplies to last them upward of seven years. The volunteers were two doctors, three signalmen and their leader. They would run this as an observation post with two 12 x 6-inch slits to the outside of the cliff, one looking due east out over the Mediterranean and the other west over the Strait of Gibraltar and the harbour. The team would then wire back all military and shipping movements to the British Admiralty.’
Mohammed, who was walking at the rear, spoke up for the first time. ‘Seven years? Were they to stay there all that time…sealed up?’ Sebastian noted how good his English was, but the strong French accent pointed to him being either Algerian or Moroccan.
‘That’s right,’ said Carlo. ‘Before they volunteered they were told there would be no way out and anyone who died within the chamber would have to be embalmed and cemented into the walls. Only if Germany was defeated would they be released. If Germany took power over the Rock, these men would have to live out their lives entombed in the chamber. They would live as long as their supplies lasted. They had a sizeable water tank with a constant flow, probably water filtering through from some catchment higher up.’
‘But why did they have to die?’ asked Mohammed with a note of anguish in his voice. ‘They could have come out and just been made prisoners of war.’
‘No, this observation post was never to be revealed to the Germans. These heroic men volunteered to be entombed and pledged to die in the chamber if necessary. Anyway, they were to be sealed in such a way that they wouldn’t be able to dig their way out. The mission was top secret, as similar secret lookout posts were being prepared throughout the world in the event of future wars.’
‘What a terrible fate,’ said Mohammed quietly.
‘Indeed! They took great care in choosing the men who could endure the mission. Firstly, they had to consider the emotional and psychological aspects of being entombed, then the physical aspects, everything like food, drugs, exercise, sanitation and clothing.’
‘Incredible,’ Sebastian murmured. ‘How did they generate power, for light and for the transmissions?’
‘Believe it or not, with a battery powered by a stationary bicycle. It was equipped with a leather belt to avoid the noise a chain would make, and gave the chaps their exercise at the same time. They were told to always talk in muted voices, and the floors were laid with cork tiles to absorb sound.’
They were now walking along a narrower tunnel, clearly meant for pedestrians or troops. It had intermittent downward steps. As they descended, Carlo went on with his account of Operation Tracer, now in his stride to show that Jose Molina would have been a lightweight in comparison. Sebastian was totally absorbed by the story, but he made a point of noticing where they were going. He wondered why they were going downwards and not up, but decided not to ask. Surely an observation post would be quite high up, but then, being inside a mountain felt like what he imagined was the weightlessness of space, where up and down could become confused.
Carlo continued to talk as they walked, torches bobbing; throwing light around the rough walls of the tunnels. ‘Extensive trials of the equipment began in January 1942 under the eye of an MI6 radio expert and the full team was in place by the end of summer, their cavern fully equipped and ready for occupation.’
‘How far down are we going?’ Mohammed asked. ‘I have to be at the—’
‘Just listen up, Mohammed! This information is vital for a guide to know,’ Carlo interrupted. ‘The operation had become a bit of a myth until the discovery of papers at the Public Records Office in Kew, and in 2006, they actually traced one of the volunteer doctors, living in the UK, who by this time was ninety-two years old. What was interesting was that this man’s description of the chambers differed considerably from the ones which had been discovered, and pointed to the existence of a second hideout, deeper inside.’
‘A second chamber?’ Sebastian asked. ‘Somewhere else in the Rock?
‘Well, yes,’ Carlo said.
‘Has this been verified?’
Carlo seemed not to have heard his question. ‘In the end, Operation Tracer was never put into operation as Hitler turned his attention towards the Eastern Front.’
‘But this other hideout,’ Sebastian insisted. ‘Have they found it?’
Carlo hesitated for a moment. ‘No, but there were quite a few such tandem operations in other locations during the war.’
‘Is anybody looking for it? I mean have they any idea where…’
‘No,’ said Carlo curtly.
‘Well, that is truly fascinating. Perhaps you can point me to someone who knows more about it.’
Carlo stopped abruptly and turned around. ‘I know more about this subject than anyone in Gibraltar or elsewhere for that matter, so you can direct all your questions to me.’
Sebastian was taken aback by the force in
his voice. ‘Okay, Carlo. I will.’
‘I told you I was going to show you something that will fascinate you.’
‘But surely a lookout post would be higher up the Rock?’ Sebastian said reasonably.
‘I didn’t say we were going there. When I said I was going to show you something interesting, I didn’t mean the chambers of Operation Tracer. Only authorised MOD personnel have leave to enter those.’
Sebastian and Mohammed glanced at each other.
‘What I’m going to show you is much further down. Until I discovered it, not one living soul has been there since 1773.
He turned his back on them and began to walk quickly downwards.
Sebastian tapped Mohammed on the shoulder and whispered, ‘How do you feel about this?’
Mohammed frowned but looked resigned. ‘We must follow Mr. Montegriffo. I would not like to offend him.’
‘Well, if things go wrong I can find the way out of here,’ Sebastian reassured him. ‘I’ve got an internal compass.’
Mohammed nodded, then bounded down the steps to catch up with their leader. The young man was right; better not offend a man who knew his way inside a mountain. He quickened his step to join the two men in the dim light ahead.
Mimi
She walked towards Landport Gate – the gateway to medieval Gibraltar – where the sea once sloshed against colossal stone walls. Crossing the wooden drawbridge, she entered the tunnel that passed through the wall itself. Coming from the harsh July sunlight it was pitch black, as there was a kink in the middle of the tunnel. The cool of the interior felt exquisite on her sunburned arms and she slowed her pace to enjoy it. A hauntingly beautiful sound came from further down the passage. People pushed past her, walking in both directions, to and from Casemates Square. Some were obvious tourists; the rest were Yanitos leaving work to go for a drink, or Spanish workers hurrying home to their families across the frontier. The locals were always the most confident, jabbering proudly in their quirky language. She’d begun to pick up some of the strange words, Spanish and God knows what else, randomly intermixed with English.
She pushed up her sunglasses to see better in the dim passage and followed the sound of the music. Right in the middle of the tunnel, a young man sat leaning against the tunnel wall, playing softly on what looked like a flying saucer. It was an angelic sound, spiritual…what was the word? Transcendent! She dug in her bag for some coins so that she could justify standing there a while.
He smiled at her and nodded, happy to have an audience – a paying one at that – and his music took on even more loops and circles. He was good looking, she decided, though skinny as a rake. His shorn head sported a couple of lone dreadlocks sticking out from his neck.
A gang of local teenagers walked past. They ignored the musician but looked at her. She’d noticed how the gradual ditching of her bad-ass gear had softened the faces of strangers; cashiers, waiters, even walkers-by sometimes smiled at her for no reason. Guys looked her over with an interested gleam in their eyes, rather than the blank or even hostile looks she used to attract.
After a while she noticed that the kid with the heavenly music was playing just for her. Finally, he stopped playing and started to gather up his stuff. A skinny dog sleeping in some blankets got up with ill grace. She crossed the path of pedestrians.
‘I really enjoyed that.’
He gave her a humble smile.
‘What on earth is that weird instrument?’
‘It’s a sound sculpture,’ he said. ‘You can touch it if you want.’
She tapped it with her fingers and it rang for several seconds. ‘Wow, I’d like one. Where can you get one?’
‘Ah,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Have you got a rich daddy?’
He started making a rollup. The dog stretched and farted loudly. She looked into the little bowl on the ground. Apart from her two pound coin, it just had some paltry coppers in it.
‘I couldn’t score a joint off you, could I? I’ve just quit the fags,’ she said, thinking it would be nice to get high for a change.
‘I have a stash, so if you want more…’
‘How about ten quid’s worth?’
‘Let’s go,’ he said.’
He picked up his stuff and they walked out of the tunnel with the dog lumbering at their heels. Standing in a corner by the vaulted entrance into Casemates Square they did the exchange.
‘Have you got any food, by any chance?’ He sized her bag up, and she felt ashamed. Some people actually went hungry, even in the western world.
‘No, sorry,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go and buy yourself some grub?’ she said pointing to the pocket into which her tenner had disappeared. ‘Or you could come to my place and I’ll fix you a sandwich or something. I live with my brother.’
He hesitated. ‘Is he going to be cool about it?’
‘Why not?’
‘With my dog and all.’
‘He’s on a tour of the tunnels today.’
‘Okay then. Yeah, alright.’
She led the way up Main Street, then dipped up Horse Barrack Lane, followed Cornwall Lane and City Mill Lane, panted up Hospital Steps, Fraser’s Ramp and Shakery’s Passage. He carried a backpack with the rolled-up blankets, his sound sculpture in a scuffed case and the dog following listlessly behind.
‘How do you find your way around here? I’ve never seen a place like this.’
‘It’s right out of Dickens,’ Mimi agreed. ‘You should see the inside of some of these places.
The sun was still hot and the climb onerous. The dog wheezed as though it were breathing its last while the musician seemed used to physical hardship. Mimi herself was getting fitter from all this city mountaineering, and quitting the fags had helped.
‘Have you got a name?’ he said after a while.
‘Imogen. What’s yours?’
‘Horst,’ he said.
‘I think my bro would like seeing me with someone my own age.’ Having said it, she very much doubted that Sebastian would like the look of the travelling musician. But he’d made such a fuss about her relationship with Carlo, having her drag this young guy home ought to bloody well reassure him.
Sebastian
They’d been walking through ever narrower and lower tunnels for the best part of three hours, taking countless turns. He knew there were over fifty kilometres of manmade tunnels within the Rock, but apparently there were more that had not been recorded or explored.
It felt like being deep in water – in fact they were probably well below the level of the sea – but he was used to diving, so he didn’t mind it in the least. The further down they went, the better he felt physically. It made him realise how his mind and body lacked substance on the surface of the world. He was forever floating off, coming unstuck. Here, in the depths of the earth, he felt solid and supported. Anchored was the word for it. Also, his superb sense of direction had always been three-dimensional – four-dimensional actually – telling him their approximate location
Psychologically, however, he felt vulnerable. He could see that Mohammed felt the same. The young man was sweating copiously. Carlo occasionally stopped to consult some kind of map, but he seemed to be quite confident where he was taking them. Sebastian asked no more questions, his curiosity now seemed inappropriate.
Something told him not to voice his ability to find his way around in any space. He didn’t want to unsettle Carlo Montegriffo in any way. If the man thought that either of his charges could find their way back to his treasured find, he might decide he would not let them come back up… especially after what Sebastian had done to him in the apartment. The mystery of what had really happened there kept coming back to him as they walked. How could Montegriffo have risen from his death bed? Or how could he himself have been so mistaken? Dead was dead, no pulse, no breath.
‘Watch your head,’ Carlo said, interrupting his thoughts.
They were turning into a tiny sliver of an opening, and began to scramble
downwards through what seemed more like a crevice than a manmade opening. The rock walls were jagged and uncut. There was little to hold on to and alongside the footholds were black plunging voids. Twenty minutes of this was hard work, and dangerous. Twice he had to steady the Moroccan boy, who was clearly getting distressed though trying his best to hide it.
When they finally reached the bottom of this downward climbing feat, they were standing on the flat surface of a large natural cave. The torches had been growing dimmer, and Carlo groped in his rucksack for batteries.
‘Let’s rest for a moment,’ said Carlo. ‘We need to keep up our strength.’
They sat on the smooth rock floor and he offered them a handful of nuts and raisins from a bag and gave them each a bottle of water.
‘Are you ready for this?’ he said, cryptically.
He directed them towards the far end of the cave. Down at floor level was a half-metre-wide horizontal slit.
‘The only way to get in through there, is to lie down and push yourself through,’ said Montegriffo. He turned to Mohammed, ‘You go first.’
‘What’s on the other side?’ asked the boy.
‘That which I want to show you,’ said Montegriffo impatiently. ‘When you get there, just turn your light off and stay put.’
