by David Wood
Bones clearly understood what Dane was thinking because he immediately set his fingers into the grooved edge of the cross and turned. The circle spun but, this time, did not come free. Instead, it rolled sideways into the wall, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.
Dane and Bones exchanged glances. He imagined they were thinking the same thing. What if it closes behind us... or on us? Nothing they could do about it. He shrugged and entered the tunnel.
There was no sign of them. Fisher cursed the minutes they had wasted getting prepped for the dive. Worse was Locke’s ire at Fisher letting someone slip past him and into the swamp. He knew it would do no good to point out that the sheriff had been guarding the swamp, with more of his own people anchored just offshore, so he held his tongue. The only thing that would make this right would be for him to find the intruder, or intruders, and take care of the situation.
He held his pneumatic speargun at the ready. Thirty centimeters long, it could be carried in a holster and fired double-barbed steel shafts with deadly power and accuracy at short range. It could not be purchased on the open market, for it was not made for fishing, but for killing. He swam with reckless abandon, eager to put his weapon to good use. Behind him, Baxter, Penn, and Hartley followed, all armed and ready.
They came to a place where the tunnel split into three. He made a quick signal and the divers fanned out. Hartley shot up the left passage. He was, perhaps, the most enthusiastic of their group. He was always spouting his theory that Francis Bacon was the true author of Shakespeare’s plays, and the proof lay hidden beneath Oak Island. Baxter, a tall, lean fellow took the narrow shaft in front of them, and Penn took the one on the right.
Hartley was the first to return, shaking his head and making a dismissive gesture. One dead end.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a dull rumble sounded from the passage in front of them, and a cloud of debris spewed forth. Fisher didn’t need to look in order to know what happened, but he had be sure.
Twenty meters down, the tunnel ended in a heap of rubble. Only Baxter’s foot, swim fin dangling from it, jutted out. Fisher reached out and gave the foot a squeeze, but no response. Baxter was gone. His mood grew blacker at the loss of a good fighter, even if the man did crap on a bit too much about how much he loved Russell Crowe movies.
Retreating from the cave-in, he and Hartley took the tunnel Penn had scouted. They caught up with her at another split. Here, one tunnel went up, the other down. Hartley took the upper passageway, this time with a touch more caution after Baxter’s accident. Penn took a similar approach to the lower tunnel.
Seconds stretched into eternity as Fisher fretted over their slow progress. And what if their quarry had gone down the passageway that was now caved in? What if they found a way out on the other side? He was just ruminating on this new, unhappy thought, when he heard a sound like a bowling ball rolling down the lane. The sound grew louder and, with a thud, a massive stone ball lodged in the entrance of the passage Hartley had taken. Fisher tried with all his might to dislodge it, but the rock held fast. He thought of Hartley trapped in the tunnel, and hoped there was a way out on the other side.
His heart beat like a snare drum and the blood coursing through his veins set up a roar like a hurricane in his ears. Now he knew the truth. What happened to Baxter had not been an accident. This place was a death trap, and he had no choice but to try and make it through.
Once again, he followed behind Penn. The woman was a zealot, perhaps a bit too blindly devoted to Morgan, though he’d never say that aloud, but she either had good instincts, or was very lucky. Perhaps her good fortune would help them carry the day.
This passageway took him round in a descending series of circles before ending at a juncture where a single tunnel broke to the right. He frowned. Penn should have stopped here and waited for him, but she was nowhere to be seen. He decided to continue along the main tunnel a little farther, eyes peeled for traps. A bit farther down, he came upon a series of shafts leading off from the main tunnel. No sign of Penn. He was about to go back and investigate the first tunnel he’d passed when something caught his eye— a trickle of something dark drifting out of the last shaft. Heart sinking, he went to investigate. Two meters down the shaft, he found Penn.
She lay pinned on the floor by thick iron spikes. Her arms and legs were contorted in a grotesque tableau. She had lost her mask, and her eyes stared blankly upward, her face frozen in a mask of agony.
A black rage descended on Fisher. He no longer cared for booby traps, treasure, or Locke’s wrath. He wanted revenge.
This tunnel opened into a smaller chamber, circular, like a turret. A double-line of repeated symbols spiraled down from the peak of the domed ceiling, where an odd, wedge-shaped pattern was carved, running all the way down to the floor. The seal at the center of this room showed two knights riding a single horse— another Templar seal. To their left was the trap that had injured Matt’s arm. To their right stood another stone altar, but this one was not empty.
A wooden casket, two feet long, sat atop the altar. As Dane swam closer, he could see it was coated with some sort of resin that gave it a glossy sheen and had protected it from who knew how many years of immersion. Like many ancient caskets, it was shaped like a split log: wide and flat at the bottom, rounded on the top half. Its hinged lid appeared to be sealed with lead.
Dane reached out and gently took hold of it, fearing all the while that the wood would crumble at his touch. It did not. Emboldened, he lifted it. It was deceptively heavy. Either the casket was lined with lead, its contents were extremely heavy, or both.
Despite the dim light and the dive mask, he could see excitement shining in Bones’ eyes. They were about to solve the riddle of Oak Island. He put the casket in a mesh bag and hooked it to his belt as an added precaution, though he’d have to carry it. Now, to get out of here unseen and unscathed.
He turned to make for the exit tunnel, hoping it had not closed behind them, when a beam of light sliced through the water. Someone had caught up with them.
Chapter 15
Dane and Bones drew their Recon knives, extinguished their dive lights, and moved to either side of the passageway that led back to the underground church. Any small ember of hope that the unseen person did not know they were there was doused when something silver flashed through the water and embedded in the limestone wall. Whoever was out there had a spear gun.
Their only hope was to take their pursuer unaware as he entered the chamber. Of course, they’d need to be quick and luck would have to be on their side. The intruder’s dive light cast a faint glow— just enough that Dane could see Bones swim to a spot above the passageway and cling to the wall Spider-Man style. Good thinking. Their adversary was likely to to the sides and down before looking up; an instinct honed by life outside the water.
They waited in near-darkness and absolute silence. Energy coursed through Dane, every nerve on edge. It was amazing how alive he felt when possible death was near. Danger brought everything into focus.
Seconds passed, then minutes. Nothing. The guy was waiting for them to make a move, and who could blame him? He had the projectile weapon and the full length of the tunnel to take shots at them. It would be like a carnival game to him— Dane and Bones were sitting ducks.
Dane glanced up at Bones who shook his head and tapped his pressure gauge. Their supply of air was limited. Right now they had sufficient reserves, but it wouldn’t last forever, and only a fool let his tank get close to empty. They were screwed.
He racked his brain for a possible solution. Going down the tunnel was out of the question unless they had something they could use as a shield, which they did not. He wondered if the top of the altar would work, but dismissed the thought immediately. He couldn’t get anywhere close to it without placing himself in the line of fire. Besides, it wasn’t wide enough to provide suitable cover. What they needed was a way out.
And then he remembered the booby-trapped shaft he and Matt ha
d discovered. If they could get through, they could make their way out to the shore, and to open water. He swam to the blocked shaft, turned on his light, and inspected the space closely.
The shaft was three feet square and sealed off by a solid stone block. He already knew it couldn’t be pried up, but he remembered the iron spike trap they’d encountered and the lever that sprang and released it. Besides, he had to believe that whoever constructed this chamber would have left themselves a secondary exit in the event that the tunnel leading to the temple collapsed.
The ornate bands carved in the wall angled past on either side of the shaft. Dane gave them a close look, all the while wondering when their stalker would show up and start shooting. He pressed on anything that resembled a button, but to no avail. And then his hand passed over a carving of a chalice. This particular image was raised farther than those surround it, and the top of the cup was scooped out. Dane hooked his fingers inside and pulled.
The chalice tilted forward and, with a scraping sound made to seem all the louder by the silence in the chamber, the stone block rose.
He signaled to Bones, who swam over. Dane released the chalice and the stone remained in place. But would they trigger the trap again by swimming through? He inspected the shaft, searching for anything that would spring the trap, but he saw nothing.
Without warning, the block fell again with a resounding crash. Bones held up ten fingers and shrugged. Ten seconds? Keeping one eye out for the man with the speargun, Dane pulled the lever again and watched the stone rise. He counted down and, twelve seconds later, the trap sprang.
So that was the trick. You could open the trap from the inside, but you had twelve seconds to make it through. The shaft was only a couple of feet. They could do it.
Just then, the light in the tunnel winked out, followed an instant later by the pink of another spear against the wall. Their pursuer’s patience was at an end. He was coming for them.
Bones brandished his knife and made to swim for the tunnel to meet the attack, but Dane grabbed him by the arm. Bones understood the reason a moment later when another projectile sliced through the water. The man wasn’t taking any chances.
Dane pointed to Bones, then to the tunnel as he yanked down on the lever. Bones knew him well enough not to argue, but dove through before the stone came crashing down.
Time was almost up. Dane turned out his light, plunging the chamber into inky darkness. He pulled the lever and, relying on instinct and sense of direction, shoved the casket through the shaft as the stone was still rising.
A light blinked on behind him and another spear whizzed inches past his face. He knew it would take the man a few seconds to reload, but he was already on his way through. He felt Bones take hold of his arm and yank him through as the trap fell again. Something yanked at his foot as he tried to swim down the tunnel. For a moment, he thought his foot was trapped, but then he realized his fin was caught. He wasted no time working his foot free and swimming down the passage with the speed and grace of a one-legged frog. Bones, carrying the casket, was well ahead of him.
Dane figured it was only a matter of time before the lever that released the trap was discovered, but their enemies would be waiting for them to emerge in the swamp, not on the shore. He hoped.
A small circle of light swam into view overhead. This was the spot where Charlie’s crew had tried to pump the water out of the tunnel. Charlie’s crew! They had sealed up the end of the tunnel before beginning the pumping. He and Bones had almost found themselves in a dead end.
He flicked his light on and off to get Bones’ attention, and pointed to the opening. It was their only option. Bones stared for a moment, then seemed to catch up with Dane’s train of thought.
Dane went first, wondering what he’d find waiting when he stuck his head out of the hole. He treaded water, listening for any sound that would warn of danger, but he heard nothing, not even the rattle of the drill. Locke’s crew must have stopped working when they became aware of his and Bones’ presence. Figuring there was no time like the present, he hauled himself out onto solid ground.
No one was about. Breathing a sigh of relief, he helped Bones out of the hole and, breathing the sweet, night air, they crept into the trees, moving away from the work site and the swamp.
On the north side of the island, they hid in the shadows beneath an ancient oak tree and assessed the situation before hitting the water. By the time they came ashore more than a mile away from the island, they were both spent.
“It’s been a long time since our training days,” Bones panted as they made their way to the place, far from shore, where they’d arranged to meet Angel and Avery.
“I can’t say I miss the six mile swims,” Dane said. They emerged on a hill overlooking a dirt road. Down below sat Avery’s car.
It was empty.
Chapter 16
It took every ounce of Locke’s self-control to keep from pacing. He waited at the edge of the swamp, impatience battling with eagerness. More than once he considered putting on dive gear and going in himself, but that would not do. He was in charge and needed to act like it.
He consulted his watch for at least the tenth time. What was keeping Fisher and his team? Having only begun operations the previous evening, they’d not yet had the opportunity to investigate the warren of tunnels beneath the island. For all he knew, his people were navigating a veritable maze. And then there were the intruders. Who were they? Were they armed? There was too much he didn’t know.
He was about to check his watch again when Fisher appeared. To Locke’s surprise, he didn’t emerge from the swamp, but from the direction of the drilling operation. The look on his face told him the news was not good.
“Report,” Locke snapped, his harsh tone a concession to his mood.
“It’s a death trap down there. The tunnels are like a honeycomb and whoever built this place added a few nasty surprises. I lost everyone.” He took a deep breath and looked away.
“Tell me the rest.” The back of Locke’s neck warmed with his rising anger.
“There is a church down there, clearly built by the Templars. Behind it, I found a hidden chamber.” He paused, stiffened, and swallowed hard. “The intruders got there first. Whatever was in that chamber, they took it.”
“How did they get away?” Locke bit off every word. Calm on the outside, his insides quaked with rage.
“I thought I had them trapped, but the Templars built in an exit. The lever that opened it was hidden and I had to search for it. By the time I made it through.” He shrugged.
“Where are they now?”
“They made it to the surface. I tried to track them, but they left little sign. I finally found a few tracks on the north side of the island. I think they swam for it.”
Locke grabbed his radio, ordered his men to scour the island, and instructed the sheriff to send both of his boats to the island’s north side. It was clear from Meade’s tone that he did not appreciate taking orders from a civilian, but Locke couldn’t care less. Even as he put his forces in motion, he knew it was too late. He would have to admit his failure to Morgan.
Who could have done this? Who had the skill to infiltrate the island, move like shadows through armed and alert guards, navigate the underground tunnels, and swim to freedom? Almost as soon as the question crossed his mind, he had the answer.
Maddock!
A commotion coming from the direction of the causeway drew him from his thoughts and he looked up to see two of his men escorting a handcuffed woman toward him. Two of Meade’s people, White and Boudreau, followed closely behind.
“This is our prisoner!” Boudreau shouted. “You can’t just take her. We want to see the sheriff about this.”
“Who is she?” Locke asked as he looked the prisoner over. She was an athletic-looking woman, dark of skin, eyes, hair, her lovely face at odds with the stream of vulgarity she spewed as she yanked at her bonds. She managed to land a kick to the knee of the man who held her, almos
t sending him to the ground.
“Our people picked her up along the coast road. We were told to be on the lookout for anything suspicious,” White explained. “She was looking out over the water like she was waiting for someone. She had a car parked nearby.”
“I wasn’t waiting for anything,” the girl snapped.
“You were just sitting on the shore, in the middle of the night, doing nothing at all?” Locke took a step closer. “Or were you waiting for someone? Dane Maddock, perhaps?”
“Who the hell is that?” She looked like she wanted to bite his face off.
Now he could see she was Native American, and something clicked into place.
“You are with that fellow who was running the operation here before we took over.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about you poncey...”
Fisher stepped forward and drove a fist into her gut. Surprisingly, she absorbed the blow and grinned.
“Is that all you got?”
Fisher tensed, but Locke put a stop to his foolishness with a wave of his hand.
“Enough.” Everyone fell silent, even the Indian girl. He turned to the deputies. “Something of value was stolen from the island tonight, and I suspect this woman is an accomplice.”
“We’ll take her to the jail.” Boudreau took a step toward the prisoner but Fisher blocked her. “Step away from me.” Her hand went her weapon but, just then, Sheriff Meade returned.
“What’s this now? We have a prisoner?”
“You do not have a prisoner, Sheriff. I do.” Several of his men had gathered round. All were well-armed and obeyed orders without question. As the Sheriff and his deputies became aware of their presence, Locke could see the fire in their bellies flicker and die. “Get my helicopter ready. We’re leaving.”
