by James Becker
“Fair enough. I’ll fish out some hammers and crowbars and stuff for your demolition job.”
Mallory wrapped the end of the climbing rope around the tree. In fact, he wrapped it twice around the tree and then tied it using a clove hitch and two half hitches, a totally secure knot that he knew would neither slip nor loosen. Then he walked back to the hole, estimated its depth by eye, added a couple of feet for good measure, and then tied the rope around his own waist using a bowline.
“They both look secure,” Robin said, walking back from the tree trunk where she’d inspected the rope and looking critically at the knot Mallory had just tied. “Anything I can do at the moment?”
“Just pass me the tools once I’m back in the hole,” he replied, and lowered himself into it. “I’ll try using a crowbar first.”
The spade was still in the hole, and before he did anything else Mallory cleared all of the soil away from the layer of stones that now formed the bottom of his small excavation. What was revealed was not fine masonry, by any stretch of imagination. The stones were all about the same size and shape, each about a foot long and eight inches wide, but the tops had been left rough and unfinished.
“I suppose they didn’t bother about what the outside of the tunnel looked like,” Robin said, “because the structure was obviously going to be buried once they’d finished it.”
Mallory nodded, then jammed the end of the crowbar into the cement layer between two of the stones, working the tip of the tool in and sideways to provide a surface that he could lever against. He put pressure on the stone as soon as he was able to do so, but with no result whatsoever: as far as he could tell, the stone didn’t move at all.
“It might not look very pretty,” he said, glancing up at Robin, “but they built this to last.”
“The other problem we’ve got,” she replied, “is that you’ll probably find the stones are tapered, so the lower surface will be smaller than the surface you’re looking at. I think you’ll have to shift all the cement or whatever it is from around one of the stones before you’ll be able to move it. And once you’ve levered that one out, there’s a pretty good chance that some of the stones around it will fall straight to the floor of the tunnel, so it might be a good idea if you weren’t standing on them when that happens, rope or no rope.”
“That kind of was my plan,” Mallory said, kneeling down and chipping away at the exposed cement that marked the boundaries between the individual stones. “This stone is more or less in the middle, so I’ll try and shift this one. I’ll also need that long-bladed screwdriver to shift all of the cement.”
The cement or mortar that the tunnel builders had used was hard and brittle with age, and much of it came away in chunks. Mallory worked his way methodically around the stone, using the screwdriver and the end of the crowbar, and after a few minutes he could see that the stone was moving very slightly in response to what he was doing.
“Just a suggestion,” Robin said, “but you might find that if you shift all the cement the stone might actually drop further down into the cavity, and you’ll have to do the whole thing all over again with a different stone.”
“So you think I should try and lift it out right now? Yes, that does make sense.”
Mallory rammed the straight end of the crowbar into the gap he had opened up at one end of the stone and levered as hard as he could. With a protesting squeal, the stone shifted perhaps half an inch. He kept the pressure on, trying to lever the end of the stone out of the tunnel roof. Once it had lifted, he held it in place with the end of the screwdriver while he changed the position of the crowbar to increase the leverage. And slowly, painfully slowly, that single stone began to emerge from the roof of the tunnel.
With a final shove of the crowbar, the end of the stone came clear. Again, Mallory slid the screwdriver blade under the stone to stop it from falling back, then changed position and grabbed at the block with both hands to lift it clear. As he did so, he reeled backward slightly as a waft of foul, musty air reached him.
“What is it?” Robin asked.
“I just got a whiff of seven-hundred-year-old air,” Mallory replied, struggling with the weight of the stone, “and it’s not the nicest thing I’ve ever encountered. It smells as if something died down there a long time ago.”
“It’s probably just the result of no ventilation for the better part of a millennium. Now, be careful with that,” Robin said, reaching out to take part of the weight of the stone as Mallory lifted it clear of the hole.
Slightly unexpectedly, although now deprived of a measure of support, the other stones showed no immediate signs of moving.
“I’ve only removed one stone,” Mallory said, “so each of those left still has support on three sides. That’s probably why they’ve not fallen yet.”
He took the crowbar again and began the same process of shifting the cement from around the end of one of the stones that bordered the hole, then applied leverage to the same end of the stone. Almost immediately, the heavy stone shifted, but before Mallory could lift it out of position, it simply fell into the darkness of the tunnel to land with a dull and heavy thud somewhere below. And that was immediately followed by four other stones that tumbled from the roof and into the tunnel.
Mallory carefully stepped back onto what he hoped was firmer ground, tossing the crowbar and screwdriver out of the hole as he did so. Then he used the rope and clambered out and onto the grassy slope, Robin grabbing his arm as he emerged.
“We’re going to have to be careful going down there,” Mallory said. “One of those stones could kill you if it fell on your head.”
Before they did anything else, Mallory retied the bowline around his chest, shortening the length of the rope as he did so to prevent himself from falling, then resumed his position in the hole and stamped as hard as he could on the remaining stones, both to increase the size of the hole and, more importantly, to try to dislodge any that might be loose and likely to fall. Two more stones tumbled out of position, but as far as he could tell the others were still securely in place.
“Right,” he said. “Now we can find out what—if anything—is down there.”
• • •
The vantage point Vitale had found didn’t offer anything like as clear a view as the previous one, because the site where the English couple was now working was partially screened by bushes and vegetation, so he was unable to see everything that was going on. As before, the other Dominican enforcers under his command had moved closer to the location to be ready when the order to kill or capture Mallory and Jessop was given. It was possible that some of the men had a better view of the site, but Vitale had forbidden them to talk or use their mobiles for fear of alerting their quarry. Instead, he had rationalized, he thought he could see enough of the location to be able to tell whether the two people he had been following for so long had actually found what they were looking for. Or if this place, just like the first spot they had investigated, would yield nothing to their digging.
Through the partial screen of bushes he could see both of them moving around, but his view was sufficiently obstructed that he couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing. That didn’t bother him, for one very simple reason: he knew that Mallory and Jessop had driven to the site in Mallory’s Porsche Cayman, and if their quest was going to be successful, that was completely the wrong vehicle to be using. If they did discover the long-lost treasure of the Knights Templar, at the very least they would need a large van to haul it away. Possibly more than one van.
So, from Vitale’s point of view, he didn’t need to keep the two of them under constant observation. All he had to do was wait until they had found what they were looking for, then kill them and make his own arrangements for the removal of the treasure.
“I’ve lost sight of them,” Toscanelli said.
Vitale resumed his scan of the digging site through his binoculars and came
to the same conclusion.
“Perhaps they’re both in the hole, digging deeper,” he suggested, “and that’s why we can’t see them.”
But after three more minutes, Vitale was beginning to worry.
“Call one of your men,” he instructed, “and tell him to confirm that their car is still in place. And pass me that map.”
As Toscanelli held a brief conversation with the Dominican who had the clearest view of the place where the Porsche was parked, Vitale studied the appropriate section of the topographical map they had brought with them.
“The car hasn’t moved,” Toscanelli said, ending the call, “and Carlo cannot see the digging site from where he is.”
“Wait,” Vitale snapped, his entire concentration directed at the map in front of him.
After another few seconds, he nodded and turned to his companion.
“I know where they are and why we can’t see them,” he said. “I should have realized earlier.”
“I don’t understand.”
Vitale pointed to two faint parallel dotted lines marked on the map.
“That’s where they are. That’s a tunnel, and they must have dug their way into it through the roof. And if this map is correct, that same tunnel runs all the way over to Rosslyn Chapel. There have been lots of stories and legends about what may be concealed in hidden chambers below the building, and for a number of reasons this part of Scotland is one of the most likely locations for the lost treasure.”
“So they may well have found it?”
Vitale nodded.
“They wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of digging their way into the tunnel unless they were reasonably certain that they were close to it. And according to this map, that tunnel is the only possible way to get into the chambers under Rosslyn Chapel. This really is the end of the quest.”
“So we need to get into the tunnel after them, as quickly as possible,” Toscanelli said.
Vitale smiled bleakly.
“There’s no hurry,” he said. “Mallory and Jessop are caught like rats in a trap, and they’re not going anywhere. Tell your men to get over to the place where they were digging and to wait for us there. It’s time to finish this once and for all.”
• • •
Mallory had checked the security of the rope knotted around the trunk of the nearby tree, then tossed the end of the rope into the hole in the roof of the tunnel. That was going to be their way into—and more importantly their way out of—the tunnel, and because they were going to be climbing up and down it, they needed to take as little equipment with them as possible. Torches and spare batteries were obviously essential, and Mallory took only a small crowbar with him to open any chests or anything else that they found. Apart from that, they each had a paper mask to cover their mouths and noses to keep out the dust that they expected to find in the tunnel, and a plastic helmet that might stop them from being brained if a stone fell from the roof.
“What about the pistols?” Robin asked.
They still had the Browning Hi-Power and the Beretta that Mallory had taken from the wounded Dominican back in Templecombe near the church.
“I think all we’re likely to encounter down there are a handful of dead rats and some very old spiderwebs, so I doubt if we’ll need them. The Browning pistol is in the Porsche, under the driver’s seat.”
“Okay. Your choice. Now let’s go.”
Mallory went first, dropping the crowbar into the tunnel before climbing down the rope, hand over hand, until he was able to stand up. He stumbled slightly over one of the fallen stones, then switched on his torch and checked his surroundings.
The tunnel was about eight feet wide and ten feet high at the apex, the roof curving down to meet the walls. The interior surfaces of the stones were much smoother than the outsides, the masonry finished properly and professionally. The stones were dark brown, almost black, in color, and in the light from his torch Mallory could see a number of wall-mounted metal sconces, clearly designed to hold burning brands that would illuminate the space, in both directions, up and down the tunnel. And apart from those, and the half dozen or so heavy stones lying on the floor beside him, the tunnel appeared to be completely empty.
He slid the fallen stones away from the point where the end of the rope lay on the ground, to prevent Robin from tripping on any of them, then waited for her to follow him down the rope.
“So, what we seem to have here,” she said when she, too, was standing on the floor of the tunnel, “is a whole lot of nothing.”
“That’s not too surprising,” Mallory said mildly, “bearing in mind that the tunnel’s over four miles long. If it was full of treasure, that’d be enough to pay off the American national debt with plenty left over. My guess is that the treasure, assuming that it still exists, will be in a chamber near one end or the other of this tunnel, and most likely somewhere near Rosslyn Chapel.”
“Then we’d better get moving. From what I remember of the map, we’re just over a mile from that end.”
They had no idea how long they would be underground, and although they had spare batteries for the torches it obviously made sense to conserve them, so Robin kept hers switched off and they headed down the tunnel toward Rosslyn, their way illuminated by the light of only Mallory’s torch. Once they’d moved well away from the hole they had carved through the tunnel roof, he switched off the torch for a few moments. The blackness was total, not even the faintest glimmer of light showing anywhere.
Robin shivered involuntarily.
“I wouldn’t want to be down here without a light,” she said.
“It’s like the old expression,” Mallory replied, turning on the torch again. “It’s as black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat. Which might be quite appropriate, bearing in mind we’re now quite deep underground, I think.”
The tunnel was largely featureless, very dark brown stones forming the walls and roof, though in places it ran through what was obviously a natural cavern or part of a cave, where the stones were replaced by bedrock still bearing the marks of chisels and hammers wielded centuries earlier. But the floor was consistent: flagstones apparently cut from the same dark rock that had been used to fabricate the tunnel itself, and that provided a level and even surface to walk along.
There were cobwebs, large gray masses covered in dust, that clung to their faces and hands as they pushed past them, but the spiders themselves had obviously been dead for hundreds of years. They didn’t even see any rats, or any live ones, though the occasional collection of small bones on the tunnel floor shone white in the torchlight. But that was all they saw, at least until they’d been walking for almost twenty minutes, by which time Mallory calculated they’d covered almost a mile and had to be getting quite close to Rosslyn.
For the most part, the tunnel had been fairly straight, with only the occasional gentle bend, but they were then confronted by a more serpentine section of the tunnel, bending left, then right at irregular intervals.
And then, as they walked around a gentle bend in the tunnel, they saw something in front of them that defied belief.
They came to a sudden and involuntary halt and simply stared at what was illuminated by the powerful beam of Mallory’s torch. He could actually feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck, and his body suddenly felt cold with fear.
52
Midlothian, Scotland
“You were right,” Toscanelli said, peering down into the rough-sided hole that Mallory had cut in the Scottish hillside. “That’s obviously a part of a tunnel system.”
Vitale nodded, then stepped to one side.
“It looks like it’s over two meters to the tunnel floor, and I’m too old to start clambering up and down ropes. You,” he said, turning to one of the Dominicans, “take a car and find me a ladder from somewhere. Buy one or steal one—I don’t care—but just get back here with it as soon as you
can.”
The man nodded obediently and trotted away.
“So, what do we do now?” Toscanelli asked. “Just sit here and wait?”
“That’s exactly what we do. The only way into or out of that tunnel is through the hole that’s right in front of us, so Mallory and Jessop aren’t going anywhere. As soon as we have a ladder, we’ll get down there after them and finish the job.”
The man Vitale had dispatched returned in only about fifteen minutes, much faster than any of them had expected.
“There’s a farm only just up the road,” he explained, lowering a rigid aluminum ladder, about ten feet long, to the ground. “I saw this leaning against a building in the yard as I drove past. There was nobody about, so I stopped and put it in the car.”
“It’s about three meters long,” Toscanelli pointed out. “How did it fit?”
“I opened the passenger-door window and the rear window diagonally opposite, and it fitted quite neatly from one side of the car to the other.”
“It doesn’t matter how he got it,” Vitale said impatiently. “It’s only important that he did get it. Lower it into the tunnel so that we can end this. Make sure you’ve all got torches and batteries,” he added.
The ladder made everything very easy, and in less than three minutes the entire group had climbed down it to stand on the tunnel floor.
Then Vitale had an idea.
“Carlo, climb back up the ladder, untie that length of rope from the tree, and bring it down here. When you’ve done that, we’ll lower the ladder into the tunnel out of sight of the hole above us. We don’t want to be disturbed.”
That took only a couple of minutes.
“So, which way do we go?” Toscanelli asked.
“Both,” Vitale replied. “We don’t know what final clue Mallory and Jessop deciphered, so we don’t know which way their path will have taken them. So we split up. You two”—he pointed at two of the Dominicans—“head northeast, and the rest of us will go toward Rosslyn Chapel, because I think that’s most likely the right way.”
