by David Wood
Slowly, like a sodden log drifting upward, Maddock rose up until his mask broke the surface of the water. He immediately looked for Meade, and felt the shock of cold surprise to see the sheriff facing them. Reflexively, he reached for his Recon knife, not that it would do any good at this distance, but, as his fingers closed on the handle, Meade turned away again.
The sheriff unhooked his radio and spoke into it.
“You boys awake out there?” So the boat crew was on his mind. Maddock couldn’t make out the garbled reply, but it must have been a question or a complaint, because Meade barked out a sharp retort. “It doesn’t matter if you haven’t seen anything. We’re keeping this place sealed tight.”
As the sheriff continued his tirade, Maddock seized the opportunity to turn on his waterproof flashlight and sink down beneath the water at the place where the stone vanished beneath the surface.
He saw nothing but mud.
Unwilling to give up, he scrubbed at the silt, stirring up a muddy cloud. He was about to give up when his fingertips scraped on coarse rock. He kept working until he had uncovered a stone, two feet square, with a cross carved in its surface. Remembering Matt’s accident, he inspected it closely. Unlike the seal on the booby-trapped opening he and Matt had found, this cross was sunk deeper in the stone and was wider on the inside than at the surface. It was like it was made to grip.
He considered for a moment. He was convinced this stone had to be removed in order to gain access to the passage shown on the map. But what if it was another trap? Somehow, he didn’t think so. This passage was marked on the map while the other was not, thus indicating that this one was the way in. The directions telling them which passages to take were likely the safeguard on this end. He’d have to take a chance.
Maddock had taken hold of the stone with both hands when Bones, who was keeping watch, grabbed him by the shoulder. He raised his head out of the water and looked around. Meade was still talking on his radio, but someone else was approaching. It looked like the same man they’d seen patrolling earlier.
They’d have to hurry. Meade might be useless as a guard but Maddock felt certain the other guy was of a higher caliber. Speaking in the lowest tone possible, he gave Bones a hasty set of instructions, and the two of them sank beneath the surface, took hold of the stone, and pulled.
It did not budge.
Maddock surfaced and stole a glance back toward shore. Meade had spotted the approaching figure and was walking in his direction. Neither had spotted the intruders in the swamp.
Submerging again, he made a corkscrewing gesture, indicating they should add a counterclockwise turn this time. They tried again, pouring all their strength into the effort. Maddock felt the burn from his hands all the way to the base of his neck as he strained against the rock. Finally, as if something had broken free, the stone rotated a smooth quarter turn and stopped with a hard knock of stone on stone. In the silence, it sounded like an explosion, and he dared another look above the surface.
“Fisher,” Meade greeted the approaching man. “Quiet night?”
“So far,” Fisher replied in an accent twin to Locke’s. “Of course, anyone could have slipped past while you were waffling on with your mates out there and we’d never have heard.”
Meade started to say something but, just then, a burst of sound that Maddock recognized as a drill filled the air. Locke and his crew were already trying to break through to the chamber. On the positive side of the ledger, the noise should cover any sound they might make removing the stone.
He and Bones set to the task, and worked the stone free of its socket just as the sounds of drilling ceased. This time there was no whooshing sound, as the passageway they had uncovered was already filled with water. They lay the stone aside and Bones forged ahead. Maddock was just about to follow when a glimmer of light up above caught his eye. Someone was playing a flashlight across the surface of the water directly above him! The mud and debris they’d stirred up made it impossible for anyone to see him, but it would be obvious, even to as dim a bulb as Meade, that something or someone was down here. And when they investigated, they’d find the underwater passageway.
The thought had just occurred to him when a bullet sliced through the water inches from his face. These guys weren’t messing around. Adrenaline surging through him, he plunged into the passageway, wondering what they would find, and how they would get out again.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Locke called as he trotted up to the shore of the swamp. Sheriff Meade leaned against one of the boulders that formed the so-called Oak Island Cross, staring down at Fisher, who was waist deep in the water, shining his light all around. “I heard a shot. Who fired?”
“It was your man here,” Meade said. “I don’t know how you do things at your museum, but we don’t take pot shots at everything that moves.”
In the reflected light of Fisher’s torch, Locke could see the sheriff’s scornful sneer.
“Remind me to put up a sign reading Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight,” Locke said. “Because that is precisely what will happen to anyone who invades my work site.”
“I’m the law around here, not you people.” Meade’s back was ramrod straight and his voice trembled with anger. “I don’t care who you’ve bribed. I will take you to jail.”
“Of course you will.” Locke gave the man a tight smile and turned to Fisher. “What concerns me is, in shooting at a muddy swirl and not a target, you might have alerted potential intruders that they have been spotted.”
“Nobody came out of the water,” Meade said. “It was probably a beaver.”
“A beaver.” Locke could not keep the sarcasm from his voice. “As a professional law enforcement officer, that is your assessment of this situation?”
Meade grimaced but had no reply. Just then, Fisher called out.
“I’ve found something. Hold my torch.” He handed the light to Meade, who shone it where Fisher indicated. Fisher took a deep breath and vanished beneath the dark surface, emerging ten seconds later clutching something to his chest. He staggered to the bank and set the object on the ground and Meade turned the beam of the torch onto it.
The circle of light revealed a stone disc with a Templar cross adorning its surface.
“God in heaven,” Locke whispered. “Someone has found it!” He produced his own torch and shone it on the boulder, where his sharp eyes immediately caught something Fisher and Meade had not noticed. “There’s an outflow of clear water coming up from underneath the stone. See what’s there.”
Fisher swam for the stone, vanished from sight, and resurfaced moments later.
“There’s an underwater tunnel down there,” he sputtered, water streaming down his face.
“You’re certain it’s a tunnel, not a chamber?”
“I think so,” Fisher gasped. “I couldn’t see well, mind you, but it looked like a long, narrow tunnel.”
“Good. I want divers down there immediately.” He rested his hand on the grip of his Browning HP Mark III. Meade noticed and frowned. “Sheriff, please put your people on high alert and resume your patrol. I will see to things here.”
Meade didn’t bother to argue. He returned Fisher’s torch, unhooked his radio from his belt, and walked away, barking orders as he went.
Locke gazed down at the Templar symbol. Finally, after centuries of searching, they were close, and no intruder was going to stand in the way...
...or live through this night.
Chapter 14
The darkness in the underwater passage was absolute, and Maddock moved forward cautiously, keeping one hand on either side of the tunnel. He wasn’t worried about running into anything in front of him; Bones would encounter any obstacle before Maddock did.
He estimated he’d gone twenty feet when a light blinked on in front of him. Now that they were well away from the entrance, Bones had turned on his dive light. Maddock followed suit, revealing a tunnel identical to the others they’d surveyed.
&nb
sp; He caught up with Bones and they swam side by side, following the passageway as it curved to the right and angled downward, gradually narrowing. Bones fell back, letting Maddock scout ahead. Just as the way was growing uncomfortably tight, they came to place where the main shaft continued forward, while a wide passageway branched off to the left and another, much narrower, broke off to the right. The first direction in the map had been “shaft south.” Maddock checked the compass on his dive watch, and confirmed that the tunnel to the right would take them south.
This passageway, though narrower than he would have liked, was straight and its walls worn smooth, and they made good time as they penetrated its depths.
Maddock’s confidence in the map’s directions grew as they came to a divide. One shaft led up and to the left, the other almost straight down.
Tunnel divides. Lower shaft, he thought as he took the lower passage. This tunnel corkscrewed at a dizzying rate before angling back up again. Now thoroughly confused, he checked his compass and confirmed they were once again heading east.
The first tunnel they passed branched off to their right, leading south. The next clue was “third tunnel north,” so they kept moving. It was odd, as the chamber they sought lay somewhere to the south. Maddock was suddenly grateful they hadn’t stumbled across the entrance to this chamber on their own. Without the directions, they’d be lost, and who knew if more booby traps could be found in some of the other shafts?
Soon they came upon three tunnels in a row on the north side of the passageway, and Maddock halted. Now they had a problem. Did the directions mean “take the third north-facing tunnel,” or did they mean “at the third tunnel, go north?” He looked at Bones, who shrugged, then pantomimed a coin toss. Maddock grinned, motioned for Bones to stay back, turned, and moved to the third tunnel.
He inched forward, looking for anything that might indicate the presence of a trap. The walls here were irregular, and his light cast deep shadows on the pitted ceiling. He drifted forward, fingertips touching the bottom in case he had to arrest his forward motion on short notice.
He had gone no more than ten feet when he caught sight of a row of dark, jagged rocks looming up above like the teeth of a giant shark. The beam of his light flashed across them and he realized they were not stone at all, but rusted iron points like spear heads. He grabbed onto the nearest outcroppings and pushed, trying to shove himself out from under the spikes.
One of his handholds was solid, but the other gave way, rotating forward with an audible clack. He yanked his hands back and twisted as the iron spikes crashed down. One grazed his forearm, tearing his suit and slicing through flesh. He was scarcely aware of the pain. Instead, he was imagining what would have happened had he been even a moment slower in getting out of the way. Being pinned to the bottom of the tunnel for eternity was not his idea of fun.
He felt a hand on his ankle and looked back to see Bones behind him. He gave his friend a thumbs up and crooked his finger toward the second tunnel; the one he’d passed up. Bones nodded and retreated from the passageway.
Maddock was about to follow when he had an idea. He took hold of the lever he had first mistaken for a stone, and pulled back on it. With a hollow grinding sound, the spikes slowly retracted into the ceiling. No need to narrow the choices for anyone who might follow behind.
The other tunnel, the one he’d bypassed, looped around and led south. This, Maddock’s instincts told him, was the direction in which the passage lay. Minutes later, they emerged in an underground cavern. As they shone their lights around, his heart lurched.
This was no simple underwater cave- it was a chamber of some sort. The walls on either side were carved with scenes of knights in action, and the vaulted ceiling was supported by ornate columns. Maddock had the feeling he’d seen carvings like this before, or, at least, carvings much like these.
Against the opposite wall, three steps led up to a small altar, behind which, six crosses in circles formed a larger cross on the wall itself.
Bones tapped him on the arm and directed his attention to the center of the floor. Bones’ light illuminated a great seal, ten feet across, showing a temple and encircled by the words “Cristi de Templo.” Now he understood.
The seal was one of the ancient symbols of the Knights Templar!
Bones shook his head, and Maddock knew what his friend was trying to say: No freaking way!
Maddock had to agree. He and Bones took out their digital underwater cameras and quickly took pictures of this strange room. As he worked, Maddock could not help but wonder what was the purpose of this place? It was reminiscent of a traditional Templar church. Had it been a center of worship which had to be abandoned when it flooded? But that didn’t make sense. There was no evidence that the Templars had ever lived here. Why build a church on the other side of the Atlantic? And how did the Money Pit fit in?
And then it hit him. There was another direction they had yet to follow.
Upper shaft.
Amazing as it was, this chamber was not the end of the journey. But there were no shafts leading out, save for the one through which they’d entered. Where to go now? Beneath the seal? That wouldn’t make sense.
He took another look around, searching for a clue. He looked at the walls, the columns, the altar, the cross...
The cross!
The circles that formed it were very much like the stone seal that blocked the entrance to the secret passageway. Furthermore, it was laid out in exactly the same proportions as the Oak Island Cross! He signaled for Bones to follow and swam to the uppermost circle.
Bones clearly understood what Maddock 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.
Maddock 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.
Fisher grimaced. 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 ha
d 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.
