Krakowski managed to keep hold of the severed rope with both hands as he was sucked under. Struggling under the water, Carrington held on to him from behind. He too had kept his grip on the rope, with one hand. They were being swept along towards the whirlpool at the far end of the cave but surfaced just a few feet from the gaping hole. The icy water sent a bolt of searing pain racing through Carrington’s neck and shoulders to his brain, like tentacles trying to extinguish the struggling spark of life. Numbed, he almost let go of the rope.
‘There they are,’ Jana shouted, pointing down. Dr Rosen lent forward to look and almost fell over the edge.
‘No!’ bellowed Jack, grabbing her from behind. ‘Jesus, keep back!’
‘Hold on, Ben!’ Carrington yelled, gasping for air. The rushing water was dragging them relentlessly towards the abyss. Their knuckles turned white and, slowly, their hands began to slip, losing their grip in the icy water.
‘I can’t,’ shouted Krakowski, closing his eyes. For an instant, the pain disappeared and he felt calm and serene. I’m about to die, he thought, his mind racing. Then he heard his father reprimanding him: ‘You’re not dying, Ben, you’re losing. Fight!’ Krakowski opened his eyes. The pain returned, and so did the fear, giving him strength to hold on a little bit longer.
Carrington felt it first – the rope pulling him slowly, ever-so-slowly upwards, against the current and away from the dark hole snapping at his feet. Krakowski felt it too, and began to pray.
Jack, helped by Jana, was pulling the rope like a tug of war – man against current – steadily upwards. Terrified, the Protector of Secrets and the Keeper fell to their knees and began to pray.
‘He’s got a gun!’ shouted Professor Khalil. ‘Look out!’
At the edge on the opposite side of the chasm, stood Habakkuk aiming at the struggling pair in the water below.
‘Did you hear that?’ shouted Haddad, looking over his shoulder.
‘A gunshot?’ said Horst from behind. Pushing the surprised Guardian aside, Haddad pulled his gun from its holster and ran. ‘Come, quickly!’
Habakkuk’s first shot missed. As he took aim again, Haddad burst into the cave.
‘Drop it! Now.’
Habakkuk spun around and stared at Haddad in disbelief, but didn’t let go of the gun.
Looking over the edge, Haddad spotted Carrington and Krakowski hanging on to the end of a rope, their heads barely above water. As he took a step forward he was struck with an incense burner from behind and dropped his gun. When it hit the floor, the gun went off and then bounced over the edge. Before the monk could strike again, the commando following Haddad wrestled him to the ground.
Habakkuk lifted his hand, took aim and began to fire into the water below.
‘My God, it’s Haddad!’ shouted Jack, tightening his grip on the wet rope. When Jana looked across, she saw Haddad lunge at Habakkuk and tackle him from behind. The gun went off again, and Habakkuk and Haddad plunged into the dark water – intertwined like a pair of puppets in a deadly embrace – and disappeared.
‘No, God, no,’ cried Dr Rosen, pointing down into the boiling cauldron. For an instant, the water turned crimson where the torrent had swallowed the struggling pair.
Haddad surfaced first, trying in vain to kick Habakkuk off his ankle and keep his head above water. He was bleeding, but managed to grab hold of Carrington’s backpack. Haddad’s strong kick brought him face to face with Habakkuk – teeth bared, eyes bulging with hatred and fear.
Carrington, unable to support the extra weight, lost his grip on the rope. As he was sucked under by the current, his woollen cloak got snagged on a piece of wood wedged between two rocks. Exhausted, Haddad bent his knee and then kicked back as hard as he could, digging his heel deep into the side of Habakkuk’s face. Stunned by the blow, Habakkuk let go of the ankle. As he was sucked into the gaping swirl and inevitable oblivion, the Cardinal’s words rang in his ear: ‘You failed; damn you!’
Still clinging to Carrington’s backpack, Haddad could see Carrington’s cloak beginning to rip apart under the strain. ‘See you in paradise, my friend,’ he whispered. ‘Inshallah,’ and let go.
111
Krakowski marshalled all his remaining strength and managed to pull himself out of the water. Slowly, he crawled onto a narrow rock ledge – the portmanteau still wrapped tightly around his neck – and sat, mouth open, drinking in large gulps of air.
‘What are you doing?’ Dr Rosen shouted, as Jack climbed over the edge.
‘Marcus is drowning – can’t you see? I’m going down!’ Jack snapped back. Carrington’s body had gone limp and only his shoulders and backpack were being kept above water by the entangled cloak.
‘Don’t be crazy!’ Jana shouted, grabbing Jack’s arm. ‘I know how, you don’t. Give it to me!’ she said, trying to wrench the rope out of Jack’s hands. She threw off her cloak and pulled up her trouser legs. ‘You steady the rope from up here, I’m going down. Now!’
She’s right, Jack thought, and threw her the rope, which she wound expertly around herself and began to abseil. ‘And throw down the other rope when I get to him. Quickly!’
Horst rubbed his aching shoulder and watched Jana from the opposite side. The two monks – Habakkuk’s accomplices – were kneeling on the wet stone floor in front of the commando. The Guardian and the Keeper were pointing to Carrington in the water below, and talking excitedly to the other monks lined up along the edge. To get to Carrington, Jana had to move backwards, jump-by-jump down a slippery, almost vertical rock face until she reached the water’s edge and steadied herself, the burning rope cutting into the palm of her hand.
Taking a deep breath, she arched her back like a cat, reached down and pulled Carrington’s head out of the water by his hair. His eyes were closed, his mouth open; she wasn’t sure if he was still alive.
Jack threw down the other rope with one end still attached to the iron ring in the wall behind him. A piece of wood wedged between the rocks provided a narrow foothold just above Carrington’s shoulders. Jana crouched down low – her own rope wound tightly around her left leg and waist – and tried to slip the other rope under the shoulder straps of Carrington’s backpack. Jack held his breath as Jana, nimble as a trapeze artist, tried again. On the fourth go, she managed to secure the rope. ‘Now; pull!’ she called out to Jack. The body wouldn’t budge.
‘His cloak is stuck on the other side,’ Jack shouted back.
‘I can’t reach it!’
‘Try again.’
Ignoring the cramp in her shoulder, Jana extended herself as far as she could, but still couldn’t reach across. The pain grew unbearable.
‘It’s no use! I can’t hold on much longer.’
‘I’m going down,’ shouted Horst, turning to Zelelew. ‘Get me that rope over there, quickly!’ The severed rope from the bridge – also still attached to the iron ring in the wall – was too short. ‘We need something else.’
‘There’s nothing else.’
‘Use their cloaks.’ Horst pointed to the monks. ‘Tie them together; that should do it!’
Dr Rosen stood near the edge, and kept staring across to the other side. What is he doing? she thought, watching the man kneeling on the ground in front of the monks. Something about the man looked familiar. The way he ran his fingers through his hair reminded her of someone ... The man turned his head towards her; their eyes locked.
‘Horst?’ muttered Dr Rosen, surprise and disbelief clouding her face. ‘No ...’
Mouthing something, the man stood up, pointed down to Jana struggling at the water’s edge and held up a long piece of cloth.
‘Horst?’ shouted Dr Rosen.
Nodding his head, the man lowered the cloth into the water.
Jana had lost all feeling in her hand and her strength had ebbed away. This is what defeat feels like, she thought as large tears rolled down her cheeks. Carrington was slipping away from her.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse
of something hitting the water with a splash – a piece of dark cloth. Looking up, she saw someone holding on to what looked like a flag or a long curtain, being lowered down on the opposite side.
‘Hang on, I’m almost there,’ shouted Horst from above. Using the large knots as support, he slid down the improvised cloak ladder until he reached the water’s edge. There was nowhere to stand; the vertical rock was as smooth as glass. Horst had to lower himself up to his waist into the icy water before he could reach Carrington’s twisted cloak, entangled in a crack in the rock.
‘There,’ he shouted, ‘done. Pull him up.’
‘Hurry,’ shouted Jana. Slowly, Carrington’s heavy, waterlogged body began to rise out of the water. Jana let go of Carrington’s hair and looked across to Horst clinging to the cloak ladder on the other side. When Horst turned his head towards her, she almost lost her grip on the rope.
‘It can’t be,’ she whispered, certain she was hallucinating. Ignoring the pain and the little white stars dancing in front of her eyes, she began to climb back up.
Dr Rosen attempted mouth-to-mouth. Jana, kneeling on the ground beside her, began to cry. Jack draped his cloak around her shivering body and held her close. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she sobbed. Dr Rosen didn’t reply. Instead, she looked down at the body again and repeated the procedure.
‘Ssh,’ said Jack, trying in vain to comfort Jana.
Krakowski had made it to the top with the help of the monks. Coughing furiously, he was trying to get the water out of his lungs.
Dr Rosen put her ear against Carrington’s chest. Looking pale and defeated, she shook her head and stood up. Jana closed her eyes and began to stroke Carrington’s wet hair.
The Keeper pointed to Carrington lying motionless in a puddle of water. The monks walked over to him and began to lift him up.
‘What are they doing?’ Jana cried, holding on to Carrington’s hand. One of the monks pushed her gently aside.
Jack pulled her away. ‘Let them.’
The monks lifted Carrington onto their shoulders and carried him slowly into a dark passage. Leading Jana by the hand, Jack picked up one of the lanterns and followed them into the darkness. Krakowski limped after the others.
‘They’ve taken the tablets,’ Jana whispered, ‘did you see?’
‘I did,’ Jack replied calmly.
‘Can we trust them?’
‘Do we have a choice?’
‘Jack, tell me this is just a bad dream and it will all go away when I wake up.’
‘I wish I could.’
112
The passage narrowed and the ceiling was so low the four monks had to kneel down, their arms scraping against the wet rock. Without lifting Carrington off their shoulders, they moved slowly forward on their knees like repenting pilgrims hoping for salvation. Suddenly, the tunnel turned sharply to the right and they found themselves on a ledge overlooking a small, rectangular chamber. The monks staggered to their feet and followed the Keeper down six wide steps.
‘What’s that?’ asked Jack, pointing to the middle of the chamber.
‘A sarcophagus, I’d say,’ replied Professor Khalil, ‘chiselled out of solid bedrock.’
‘The legendary tomb of King Lalibela, you think?’ said Krakowski, his voice sounding weak.
‘Could be.’
The Keeper stood in front of the sarcophagus, praying. Holding an incense burner, he faced an alcove cut deep into the rock wall. Small, wispy clouds of frankincense drifted into the opening.
‘Look, over there,’ Jana said, pointing to the sarcophagus, ‘the tablets ...’
Lying side by side on top of the massive stone lid, the tablets glowed like two beacons showing the way into the netherworld. The monks lifted Carrington off their shoulders and placed him carefully beside the tablets. Bowing their heads, they stepped away. The Protector of Secrets walked across to the sarcophagus, picked up the undamaged tablet and handed it to the Keeper.
Krakowski reached for Dr Rosen’s hand, Jack put his arm around Jana’s shoulder and Professor Khalil leant forward to see what was inside the cavity behind the Keeper. Holding the tablet in front of him, the Keeper walked towards the alcove. Hands folded in prayer, the Protector of Secrets remained next to the sarcophagus. Two of the monks stepped forward, lifted up their lanterns and began to chant. The Keeper walked slowly past them, bowed his head and stepped inside.
Professor Khalil gasped and Krakowski squeezed Dr Rosen’s hand so hard she almost cried out. Jack stared in wonder; Jana held her breath.
On top of a polished stone plinth shrouded in frankincense stood a large object crafted out of solid gold.
‘The Ark,’ whispered Krakowski, tears streaming down his ashen face. The scent of frankincense became so overpowering that it made them all feel light-headed and dizzy.
Rubbing her eyes, Professor Khalil moved a step closer. ‘But this is an Egyptian shrine!’ she exclaimed, ‘just like the ones in my museum. Well, not quite ... There, look, can you see it?’
‘What?’ asked Krakowski.
‘The relief on the front; it’s a sun disk, that’s the symbol of Aten ... This is extraordinary!’
When the Keeper approached the golden chest, Krakowski saw a small door set into the side of the shrine. It was open, and the inside was empty. The Keeper lifted up the tablet and placed it carefully inside. Without turning his back to the chest, he stepped away, bowed his head and stood quite still.
‘Do you see what I see?’ said Krakowski, turning to Professor Khalil. ‘After seven hundred years the Tablets of the Law are returning home.’
‘To an Egyptian shrine?’ Professor Khalil asked, shaking her head.
‘Does that really make a difference?’
‘Perhaps not.’
The Protector of Secrets put the broken fragments of the second tablet back into the wooden box Carrington had carried in his backpack. Holding the box in front of him, he walked slowly into the alcove and approached the Ark just as the Keeper had done. After placing the box inside the chest, he closed the little door, stepped back and knelt down. The Keeper and the two monks holding the lanterns did the same. As the clouds of incense became denser, and the chanting louder, the sun disk began to glow.
‘Look, there,’ Krakowski cried out, pointing into the gloom. ‘Can you see it?’ A strange light had appeared on top of the golden chest.
‘What?’ Dr Rosen asked, barely able to speak.
‘The light ...’
‘What is it?’
‘A reflection?’ suggested Professor Khalil, holding up her lantern.
‘I wonder,’ said Krakowski.
‘What’s happening here, Jack?’ Jana asked, unable to stop shaking. ‘I feel ... as if ...’ She was interrupted by a faint moan coming from the sarcophagus below. Jana looked down. Carrington’s chest began to move; a very gentle but visible rising and falling. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘He’s breathing!’
‘I think you’re right!’ Jack replied.
Jana flew down the steps and reached for Carrington’s limp hand. She closed her eyes and began to pray in Polish. It was a simple prayer her adopted mother had taught her a long time ago:
Love is always patient and kind.
It is never jealous.
Love is never boastful or conceited.
It is never rude or selfish.
It does not take offence and is not resentful ...
When Jana opened her eyes again, she looked straight into Carrington’s smiling face.
‘Marcus,’ she whispered, bringing her lips close to his, ‘can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘Am I dreaming?’
‘Oh no; I am.’
‘I’m sure he wasn’t breathing,’ muttered Dr Rosen, looking confused. ‘It can happen you know. There was this strange case ...’
‘It’s all right,’ Krakowski interrupted her, stroking her hand. ‘You must stop thinking like a surgeon, Bettany. If we don’t believe in something greater than ourselv
es, we are destined to remain forever small. Remember?’
Two months later
Carrington pointed towards the entry to the Vatican Museum. ‘Hurry,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘They’re already lining up and the doors aren’t even open yet.’
‘What’s the big rush?’ asked Jana, trailing along behind.
‘I want to get there before all the tourists.’
‘You want to surprise me in private, is that it?’
‘That’s part of it.’
‘Let me get this straight. What you’re about to show me has only been on display for a short time, but we’ve both seen it before?’
‘That’s right. Look, they’re opening up.’
‘I’m intrigued. Any more clues?’
‘Definitely not. Come.’
Carrington pushed past the tourists milling around in the foyer and rushed to the stairs. ‘You must promise me to close your eyes when I tell you,’ he said, taking Jana by the hand.
Carrington’s excitement was rubbing off. ‘This isn’t like you, Marcus; you’re acting like a child,’ Jana said, laughing. ‘I really don’t know what’s got into you.’
‘Patience, we’re almost there. Now, close your eyes and follow me.’ With Jana’s hand firmly in his, Carrington entered a small annex at the back of the Egyptian section.
‘Oh ... this is unbelievable,’ Carrington whispered, squeezing Jana’s hand.
‘Can I open my eyes now?’
‘Not yet. Come, stand over here.’ Carrington guided Jana across the room. ‘Now.’
Jana opened her eyes and gasped. On a pedestal in front of her – illuminated by a shaft of sunlight from above – stood a black statue. The head was strangely elongated, the long face serene, the lips full. ‘Akhenaten,’ she whispered, moving closer. ‘There, look.’ Jana pointed to a hairline crack running along the bottom of the false beard. It was barely noticeable; the restorer had done a great job. ‘It’s him! Here? How?’
The Empress Holds the Key Page 46
