Newton’s Fire

by Will Adams

  ‘What now?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘One of us goes down, of course,’ said Pelham. He gave Luke a pointed look. ‘I can’t think who.’

  ‘Hey,’ grinned Luke. ‘I’d pay for the privilege.’ A brass reflecting telescope was on display at the foot of the main staircase, roped off to discourage children from using it as a fairground ride. The rope was a ceremonial crimson, but it looked strong enough. Luke untied it and carried it to the well. He knotted one end around the winch, tugged it to make sure it would hold.

  Rachel winced as she watched. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, tossing the rest of the rope down into the shaft. It uncoiled as it went, its end splashing into the dark water. The torch had a wrist strap, but he needed his hands uncluttered. There was a ball of string in the toolbox, so he cut off a length, fed it through the strap, and knotted it around his neck like an outsized medallion. He sat on the rim with his legs over the edge, grabbed the rope with both hands, gave it another tug. The winch’s moorings creaked a little, as if to remind him they were mainly decorative. He looked down into the shaft, black and forbidding, turned to Pelham. ‘If this thing starts to give, you’ll grab the rope, right?’

  ‘I’ll certainly give it my fullest consideration,’ said Pelham.

  ‘That’s all I ask, mate.’

  Luke tightened his grip then committed himself, swinging across the shaft like the clapper of a bell, hitting the far wall harder than he’d expected, the cold rough brickwork scraping his shoulder and his side. The rope creaked and yawed, but it and the winch both held. He made circles with his right leg, twirling the rope around it before clamping it between his feet, allowing him to take weight off his hands. He began to lower himself. The torch banged off his chest and elbows, casting uneven light on the walls. The stonework at the top had recently been cleaned and repointed; but soon it became blackened with decades or maybe even centuries of neglect. He glanced upwards and was taken aback by how far he’d already come, the mouth closing above him like the gullet of some prehistoric beast.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Rachel, her voice strangely thickened and deepened by echoes.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ asked Pelham.

  ‘Not yet.’ The rope was swinging more gently now, only occasionally nudging him against the sides, dislodging occasional pieces of grit that fell in soft whispers to the water beneath. He took his full weight on his feet again, the better to inspect the walls. Behind the moss and damp, the stones were granite grey, large as farmhouse loaves, shaped to fit into a ring. But he reached water without discovering a hint of falseness or abnormality.

  ‘Come back up,’ called Rachel. ‘We need to rethink.’

  ‘On my way.’ He began to haul himself upwards. Foolish to rush. The rope creaked and twisted; his torch bumped against his chest, casting eerie shadows, painting faces in the moss and lichen. And was his mind playing tricks, or did the wall here bulge very slightly? If so, it was subtle enough that he’d missed it on his descent. He placed his palm on it. The stone was clammy, cold and unwelcoming. But there was no question: it bulged. There should be earth and hardcore on the other side, packing these stones tight together. For it to bulge like this, there surely had to be some kind of flaw or cavity behind.

  ‘What is it?’ called down Olivia.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Luke. ‘Probably nothing.’ He set his back against the opposing wall, placed his soles on the bulge, tried to push. Nothing. He tried until his calves and thighs ached. Still nothing. His hands were tired. He shouldn’t waste energy like this, not with the ascent still to complete. But then he remembered the shriek of the metal detector, the stunned look on Rachel’s face. This wasn’t some crazy figment. There really was something down here.

  He set his feet against the bulge for a third time and gave it everything he’d got. And was rewarded by the tiniest scrape of noise as the stone gave just a fraction. He allowed himself a few moments rest before he heaved again. It ceded even more this time, perhaps a full inch. Another effort and it gave up the struggle altogether, tumbled backwards. Both his feet vanished into the created space so that he swung wildly across the shaft, fighting to hold on to the rope. He recovered himself, pulled out his feet, reached his torch inside, illuminating an open space hacked out of bedrock, like some smuggler’s burrow.

  ‘Well?’ asked Rachel. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Hard to tell,’ said Luke. ‘Maybe a passage.’ The opening was too small for him, but he’d already loosened the neighbouring stones and he soon had them out. No question now. A passage of some kind. He set the torch on the floor and wriggled in after it, buffering his fall with his elbows and knees. He stood, looked around, anchored himself inside, leaned back out. ‘It’s a passage,’ he called up. ‘I’ll check it out and come straight back.’

  ‘Be careful,’ said Rachel.

  Luke laughed softly as he looked into the ancient darkness. ‘Count on it,’ he said.

  EIGHTEEN

  I

  Rachel heard scraping and scuffing for a few moments after Luke vanished into the passage, but after that there was nothing, not so much as a glimmer of light. Staring down, she was taken aback by how anxious she felt on his behalf. She tried to tell herself that this was normal fellow feeling, but she knew in her heart it was more than that.

  At one time, Rachel had enjoyed a string of boyfriends. But then Bren had returned broken from Afghanistan, and she’d put men to one side. Romance had struck her as selfish and frivolous, somehow, even disloyal. Having fun while her brother suffered. And her life these days was scarcely set up for it. She worked all the hours god gave, saved what money she could. But suddenly she realized how much she missed that kind of friendship.

  ‘What’s the deal with Luke?’ she asked Pelham, keeping her voice low lest the acoustics of the well somehow carry it to him.

  ‘The deal?’ asked Pelham.

  ‘Something bad happened at his university. You both know about it. What was it?’

  ‘If Luke wants to tell you, he’ll tell you.’

  ‘But he doesn’t want to, does he? And if he’s got skeletons in his closet, they could have ramifications for us. I have a right to know.’

  Pelham glanced at Olivia. Olivia nodded. ‘You won’t tell him I told you?’ Pelham asked.

  ‘On my word,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Okay,’ said Pelham. ‘But please bear in mind that I don’t know the full story myself. He hates to talk about it.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Right, then. There was this woman on the cleaning staff of his university. Gloria, I think. Congolese and lovely.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Rachel.

  ‘No,’ said Pelham. ‘Luke was with one of his fellow lecturers at the time. Maria. They were thinking of getting hitched. It was his Vice Chancellor who couldn’t keep his hands off Gloria.’

  ‘My old friend Charlie,’ said Olivia. ‘The oiliest, nastiest man you could imagine. Born to privilege, never for one moment doubting that it was deserved.’

  ‘I know the type,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Gloria’s usually nothing but sunshine,’ continued Pelham. ‘Suddenly she turns overcast. Luke says something to cheer her up. She bursts into tears. He asks her what’s going on. She won’t say. He insists. She breaks down, spills everything. She’s not illegal, exactly. She’s one of the forgotten, lost between asylum and immigration. Charlie had found this out somehow and had bullied her into his bed.’

  ‘His brother’s a high-up at the Home Office,’ said Olivia. ‘He really could have had her deported.’

  ‘Anyway, she fell pregnant,’ said Pelham. ‘She didn’t have money for a kid, and abortion was against her faith. So she went to Charlie and he went crazy. He denied it all, threatened her with the first plane to Kinshasa if she ever breathed a word. All this now comes pouring out. Luke loses his rag. He charges off to confront Charlie, shocks him into a confession and a promise to support Gloria and
her kid. Gloria’s over the moon. Luke thinks it’s job done. But then he doesn’t see her any more. He asks about her; her colleagues won’t meet his eye. And now Charlie denies the whole thing, threatens to have him fired.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ said Rachel. ‘What did Luke do?’

  ‘He keeps looking. He hears word she’s been taken to a camp for expedited deportation. He drives straight over, demands to see her. They deny she’s there. He sees her at a window. They still deny it. That’s when he loses his head, tries to force his way inside. They hold him back. He makes threats; he pushes a guard. All of it caught on CCTV. So they charge him with assault and some absurd offence under the new Terrorism Act. First offence, good character, he gets a suspended sentence. But that’s still enough for Charlie to have him fired and made unemployable. And then he forced Luke’s girlfriend to choose. She chose her career.’

  ‘And Gloria?’

  Pelham shrugged. ‘We tried private detectives. But there was no record of her leaving the UK or arriving in the DRC. No official evidence she ever even existed. Unless you believe Luke, that is.’

  Rachel nodded. She looked down. It was a while since she’d climbed a rope, but it felt like one of those skills that stayed with you. She rummaged through the toolbox, found an old battery lamp, strapped it around her wrist. Then she sat on the edge of the well and gripped the rope tight.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ asked Olivia.

  ‘Luke’s on his own down there,’ said Rachel. ‘I think he deserves some help.’

  II

  The desert night was fabulous with stars, now that they’d left Be’er Sheva behind. And the road was almost empty of traffic, nothing but sand and rock either side of them until the Red Sea.

  Avram Kohen glanced at his nephew Uri, his brow slightly furrowed as he concentrated on driving, on not letting himself be lulled by the relentless uniformity of the landscape. There was something so childishly serious in his expression that it provoked an unexpected pang of fondness in Avram. He’d never been tempted by fatherhood, but he did enjoy being an uncle, taking promising young men into his Jerusalem home, helping them find their true selves. Mostly, like Uri, they had some measure of blood-kinship; but all that he really asked was that their hearts and minds were open to the Lord, praise His Name. It was one of the most rewarding parts of his life, but it could break your heart when it went wrong.

  In the darkness, it was hard to see the turning. He kept checking the odometer to see the distance travelled. Any moment now. The road rose sharply, kinked right. He motioned for Uri to slow. ‘There,’ he said, pointing to a delta of tyre marks in the sand. They bumped and lurched along a desert track for fifteen minutes, Avram pointing out silvery acacias, gaunt rocks and other minor landmarks for Uri to remember. They pulled up by a pair of boulders at the foot of a small hill. ‘From here we walk,’ said Avram. They went around back, took a flashlight and a pack each. They crossed a rocky ridge and descended a steep escarpment into a sandy valley. Avram unzipped the packs and handed Uri a shovel. ‘That’s it,’ he said, pointing to the spot. ‘Dig.’

  They took it in turns, working by starlight, now that their eyes had adjusted. The sand was soft and dry and kept trickling back into the growing pit. It was Uri who struck steel. His excitement was obvious as he cleared the trunk’s lid then tried unsuccessfully to open it.

  ‘It’s padlocked,’ said Avram, tossing him the keys.

  Uri stood back to lift its lid. He shone down his torch then looked in puzzlement up at Avram. ‘It’s empty,’ he said.

  Avram took out his handgun and aimed it down at his nephew. ‘Not for much longer,’ he told him.

  NINETEEN

  I

  The passage had proved broad but not quite tall enough for Luke. He’d had to crouch his way along it, holding his torch out ahead of him both for light and to break the cobweb veils before they caught in his face and hair. The floor was so thick with dust that his shoes left moonwalk prints in it. After fifteen paces or so, the passage kinked left and he found himself at the top of a flight of steps that led down into a square chamber with a vaulted roof. But there was no sign of any iron, let alone gold.

  Both sides of the chamber were hewn from bedrock, but the facing wall was brick. The mortar had dried to a crumble over the centuries, making it strangely satisfying to pick away. He jiggled a brick like a milk tooth until it came free. He set it down and shone his torch into the space, only to find another wall directly behind it.

  A noise behind him made him jump. He’d become so engrossed in his work that he’d forgotten about the others. ‘Hey,’ said Rachel, coming down into the chamber. ‘What have you found?’

  He stepped aside, the better to let her see for herself. ‘There’s another wall behind,’ he said.

  ‘A dead end?’

  He shrugged. ‘Why brick up a dead end?’

  Rachel gestured at the passage. ‘I promised I’d let them know you were okay. I’ll be straight back.’

  He returned his attention to the wall, soon had a second and then a third brick out. There was still no sign of Rachel. He was beginning to wonder what was keeping her when finally she reappeared carrying a pair of white plastic bags. She set them down on the floor, pulled out a digital camera from one, snapped off a shot of him by the wall. The flash in the small chamber made him blink. ‘For posterity,’ she said, as it began the mosquito whining of a recharge. ‘Olivia insists we document everything.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Luke. He checked her bag for other goodies. A claw hammer and a chisel, some chocolate bars from the gift shop and two large bottles of water that made him realize how dry his mouth had become. He swilled and spat some out, then drank so thirstily that it splashed down his shirt. He grabbed the claw hammer and went back to work, quickly revealing some kind of recess behind.

  Rachel held up her lamp and peered. ‘Is that wood?’ she asked.

  ‘Looks like it,’ said Luke.

  ‘A door?’

  ‘Let’s find out.’ He freed another brick, provoked a creaking, splintering sound. Rachel grabbed his arm and dragged him tumbling backwards as the whole wall collapsed in a noisy heap, throwing up clouds of choking dust. Luke got to his feet, coughing violently, his eyes raw and streaming. He grabbed one of the bottles of water and followed Rachel up the steps and along the passage to clearer air. He uncapped the water and gave it to Rachel, took it back after she was done, gratefully swilling out his mouth. His torch had broken in his fall, so Rachel held up hers. Dust had turned their hair and faces prematurely grey. ‘The future, huh?’ he smiled.

  ‘Granny and granddad,’ she agreed.

  It was the most offhand of remarks, yet somehow it struck Luke with unexpected force, almost with the power of prophecy. For the blink of a moment, he pictured them together fifty years hence, fulfilled, happy, still in love. His disaster with Maria had numbed his appetite for romance ever since she’d made her choice, but suddenly he felt hungry again. Suddenly he felt ravenous. He looked hurriedly away before Rachel could read his face.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said, clearing his throat for effect. ‘Just all this damned dust.’

  They gave it another minute before heading back. The air was still ticklish, but their curiosity wouldn’t wait. There was indeed a door behind the false wall. A pair of them, in fact, with great brass rings for handles and rusted iron hinges that suggested they opened out towards them. Rachel snapped off photographs while Luke cleared space for the left-hand door. Its hinges had stretched over the centuries so that its bottom screeched across the stone, but he pulled it far enough open for Rachel to squeeze through, and for himself to follow. He had the lamp in his trailing hand so that they were both in darkness for a moment before he brought it inside. Then he held it up to reveal what they’d discovered.

  ‘My God,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  II

  ‘Uncle,’ said Uri
in bewilderment. ‘What are you doing? What’s going on?’

  ‘I took you into my home,’ said Avram. ‘I gave you shelter. I treated you like my son. What was mine was yours for the asking. And this is how you repay me? By going to the police? By telling them about my plans?’

  ‘No, Uncle. No. I’d never have-’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No! I swear.’

  ‘Did you really think that you could trust them?’ asked Avram. ‘Well, now you know better. They’ve been boasting to the Americans about infiltrating our group. Boasting about having an informer inside the ringleader’s house. Unfortunately for you, we have Americans on our side too. Unfortunately for you, we’ve known of your treachery for months.’

  ‘No,’ said Uri desperately. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. You have to believe me.’

  ‘We haven’t got it wrong, Uri. They even had your name.’

  ‘They’re trying to drive us apart. That’s all. It’s lies, misinformation. You know the games they play.’

  ‘It’s not lies, Uri. We both know it’s not lies. But you’re still my sister’s grandson. You’re still my blood. Come clean, tell me who they are, what they know and how you communicate with them and I give you my word that I’ll try to find a way to let you live.’

  ‘This is crazy, Uncle. I haven’t told anyone. I swear I haven’t.’ Uri began to weep. He got down onto his knees in the metal trunk and clasped his hands in prayer. ‘I swear it to the Lord.’

  ‘This is your last chance,’ said Avram.