* * *
A narrow staircase led down from the office into a dusty storeroom that was haphazardly piled with equipment and hazily lit by a fluorescent lamp that flickered and buzzed. In the blue glow, Reilly could discern an arc-welding set, butane gas bottles, an oxy-acetylene burning rig, and, in the far corner, a heap of diving gear.
He left it to Tess to sort through them, and, as she hefted each piece of equipment, it seemed like she knew what she was doing.
"It's not state of the art, but it'll do," she said, shrugging.
She hadn't been able to find a dive computer, though, which they'd have to manage without. She saw a dive chart on the wall and asked Okan how deep the lake was. He told her he thought it was a hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty feet deep. She consulted the chart and frowned. "We won't have that much time at the bottom. We'll need to start our dive right on top of the village." Turning to Okan again, she asked him if he had anything that showed its location.
The little man's brow furrowed, pondering the matter. "You must talk to Rustem," he finally said.
"He lived in the village before it was flooded, and he never left the area. If anyone knows where the church is, he will."
Reilly waited for Okan to step outside the room for a moment before turning to Tess. "This is crazy.
We should bring in some pros."
"You're forgetting something. I am a professional," she insisted. "I've done this a hundred times."
"Yes, but not like this. Besides, I'm not too happy about having both of us down there without anyone keeping an eye topside."
"We've got to give it a shot. Come on, you said it yourself. There's no one around. We've beaten Vance to it." She leaned into him, her face lit with anticipation. "We can't stop now. Not when we're this close."
"One dive," he relented. "Then we make the call."
She was already heading for the door. "Let's make it count."
They carried the gear up the staircase and piled everything into the back of the Pajero. Okan invited Tess into his rusty white Fiat, asking Reilly to follow him with the old man. Reilly looked at Tess, who winked conspiratorially before folding her legs into the small car to the obvious delight of the engineer.
The Pajero followed Okan's car along an asphalt service road for about half a mile until the engineer pulled off and stopped beside a chain-link compound inside which were piled concrete blocks, drainage pipes, and dozens of empty oil drums; all the usual clutter left over at the end of any building project. Inside the compound, an old man in traditional headdress and robe was pottering around. Reilly guessed that a littie bit of private enterprise was in operation here and wasn't at all surprised when Okan introduced the recycler, Rustem, as his uncle.
Rustem smiled toothlessly at them, then listened intently as his nephew rattled off some questions before answering with lots of arm waving and enthusiastic nodding.
Okan turned to Tess and Reilly. "My uncle remembers the remains of the village very well. For many years, he brought his goats to this place. He says only parts of the church still stand." He shrugged, interpolating a comment of his own. "At least, that's how it was before the valley was flooded. There was a well close to the church, and he remembers a . . ." Okan frowned, searching for the words. "The dead root of a very big tree."
"A tree stump," Tess said.
"Stump, yes, that's it. The stump of a willow tree."
Tess turned to Reilly, her eyes blazing with anticipation.
"So, what do you think? Is it worth a look?" he deadpanned.
"If you insist," she grinned.
They thanked Okan and the old man who drove off, the engineer flashing a reluctant last glance at Tess and, before long, she and Reilly had pulled on their wetsuits and lugged their gear to the water's edge, where Rustem kept a couple of small rowboats. They clambered aboard, then Rustem pushed them off and scrambled in himself. Picking up the oars, he began to row with the easy movements of someone for whom this had been a lifelong practice.
Tess used the ride out to remind Reilly of the routine procedures he vaguely recalled from his only previous diving experience, during a short holiday in the Cayman Islands four years earlier.
Rustem stopped rowing when they were roughly halfway between the east and west shorelines and about three-quarters of a mile from the dam. Muttering to himself as he squinted first at one nearby hilltop, then at another and another, he used one of the oars as a paddle to make a succession of careful positioning movements. As he did this, Reilly reached over the side and swirled both of the masks in the water.
"What do you think is down there?" he asked.
"I don't know." She looked solemnly at the water. "Right now, I'm just hoping it's there."
They stared at one another in silence, then realized that the old man had stopped and was displaying his gums in a triumphant beam. He pointed downward. "Kilise suyun altinda," he told them. The words sounded similar to those used by the frail man from the restaurant.
"Siikmn" Tess said.
"What did he say?"
"Damned if I know," she replied as she climbed onto the edge of the boat before adding, "but I'm pretty sure kilise means church, so I guess this must be it." She cocked her head at him. "You coming or what?"
And before he could answer, she had pulled down her mask and let herself roll backward into the reservoir with barely a splash. After a glance at Rustem, who raised a thumb in a decidedly modern gesture, Reilly followed her, far less gracefully, into the dark water.
Chapter 58
A s they descended into the cold gloom of the lake, Tess was overcome with a familiar rush, one that she craved badly. There was something almost mystical in knowing that she may be about to see things that had not been seen by human eyes for many years. It was already a heady feeling on land, closing in on the remnants of long-lost civilizations that lay hidden beneath centuries of sand and earth. When the site was buried under a mountain of water, the exhilaration was even greater.
This dive, though, trumped them all as far as she was concerned. If most excavations or dives at least began with the promise of some great discovery, they more often than not proved disappointing. This one was different. The trail of clues that had brought them to this lake, the nature of the coded message, and the lengths to which people were prepared to go to get to it all pointed to her being on the verge of an archaeological discovery of far greater significance than anything she had ever realistically expected to make.
They were now twenty feet down and descending slowly. Between the cold and the anticipation, it was as if every last pore on her body had suddenly come alive. She looked up at where the sunlight dappled the surface. The bottom of the old man's boat was suspended serenely above her, the water gently lapping against it. The water clarity was good considering they were basically in a blocked-up river, but the darkness was quickly closing in around them.
There was still no sign of the bottom. Tess switched on the light rig she held, its high-intensity discharge light taking a few seconds before reaching its full output and illuminating the eerie blackness ahead of her. Small particles danced in the water before her, slowly gliding by in the current, heading for the dam. She glanced at Reilly sinking down beside her as a small school of trout weaved in curiously before darting away into the dark.
She noticed Reilly gesturing below and saw the bottom of the lake slowly coming into view. It was disconcerting at first: even with the years of silt and settlement since the dam had been built, it didn't look like the seabeds she was used to. In fact, it looked just like what it was: a submerged valley, strewn with rocks and the bare trunks of long-dead trees. Thick, dark algae covered most of it.
They swam side by side, spiraling out, scanning the bottom, then her trained eyes spotted it first.
The old man had been true to his word; there, barely noticeable in this otherworldly landscape, were the ghostly remains of the town.
At first, all that she could make out were clusters of eroded stone walls,
then gradually she began to get some sense of shape and purpose and could see how the stones formed uniform, linear shapes.
She led Reilly down further and now she could make out a street and some houses. They glided ahead, looking down at the remains of the old village, suspended over it in the stygian darkness like explorers hovering over an alien land. It was a surreal sight, the leafless branches of dead trees swaying in the faint current like the beckoning limbs of captive souls.
A sudden movement swung her eyes to the left. A school of small fish that had been feeding off clumps of algae were scattering into the shadows. Turning back, she noticed that the houses gave way to an open space. Pushing toward it, she saw the black stump of a huge tree, the spindly remains of its rotted branches barely swaying. There it was: they had found the willow. She unconsciously let out a burst of air, a small cloud of bubbles coursing out of her regulator and racing up to the surface. Her eyes feverishly scanned the surroundings. She knew it had to be close. As Reilly joined her, she spotted it: the crumbled remains of what must have been the well, a few yards upstream from the stump. She pushed forward, the beam from her light penetrating the wall of darkness beyond the well. And there, just beyond, rising upward with a kind of melancholy grandeur, were the walls of the church.
She glanced at Reilly. He was floating beside her, taking it all in, clearly as much in awe of it as she was. She kicked ahead, swooping down on the looming structure. Silt had built up against its sides, buttressing its walls. Its roof was badly gutted. As she played the light across the walls, she could tell that the condition of the church was so bad that it was most certainly in a much worse state than it had been seven hundred years ago, when the Templars had found it.
With Reilly following her, Tess dropped down and, like a bird swooping into a barn, she swam through the church's portal, where a massive door hung lopsidedly. Inside now, hovering fifteen feet above the church's floor, they moved along an underwater gallery of columns, some of them collapsed. The walls had prevented too much silt from piling in, which bode well for finding the gravestone. They advanced in tight formation, the light creating a kaleidoscope of shadows in the deep recesses to their sides.
Tess looked around, recording every macabre shape and shadow while trying to keep her racing heartbeat under control. With the portal now swallowed by the darkness behind them, she signaled to Reilly and dropped down to bottom. He followed. A huge smashed stone slab lay there, which she guessed had been part of the altar. It was smothered with algae; tiny crawfish were skulking all over it. She checked the time and gave Reilly a ten-finger signal. They had to start their ascent in as many minutes; there hadn't been enough air in the tanks to allow a long decompression stop.
Tess knew they were now close. Gliding inches from the bottom of the church, she brushed the silt off the floor gently, trying not to create too much of a cloud. There was no sign of any flagstones.
Just small debris and more silt, through which eels slithered. Then Reilly nudged her. He said something, his voice a garbled, metallic sound amid the bubbling water that escaped from his mouthpiece. She watched him reach down and whisk away some of the silt and stones off a small alcove. The floor revealed some faded carved letters. It was a grave marker. She was breathing fast now. Tracing the lettering with her finger she made out the name: Caio. She looked at Reilly, her eyes ablaze with excitement. His eyes smiled back. Laboriously and carefully, they cleared sand away from more stones. Her heart was now hammering deafeningly in her ears as, letter by letter, more names appeared. And then, through the silt, it appeared: Romiti.
Aimard's letter was real. The decoder built by the FBI had been accurate and, most gratifying of all, her assumptions were correct.
They had found it.
Chapter 59
Moving quickly now, they began clearing debris and sand from all around the gravestone.
Reilly tried to edge his fingers into the crack and pry it open, but the poor lever and his own buoyancy prevented him from being able to apply enough leverage. Tess checked her watch; five minutes left. Looking around frantically for something to use as a tool, Tess spotted some twisted pieces of metal sticking out from one of the columns. Swimming up to it, she tugged on the protruding rod until it came loose in a cloud of tiny particles of stone. She swam back down as fast as she could and, back on the floor of the church, Reilly took it from her and slid one end into the crack around the stone. Together, they heaved downward on the free end.
Suddenly, there was a creaking sound. Not below them, but above. Looking hurriedly upward, Tess saw small pieces of debris falling from where she had dragged free die ironwork. Was it just movement of the water, or was the upper section of the column sliding off its base? She looked urgently at Reilly. He jabbed his finger at the rod, signaling another attempt to pry the stone loose.
She nodded and grabbed hold of it; again, they applied all their strength to the lever. This time, the grave
marker moved. Ever so slightly, but it moved, though not enough to get a hand underneath.
Again, they heaved on the iron bar. Once more, the marker moved, then tilted upward, allowing a huge air bubble to burst out at them. It brushed violently past them before escaping upward and disappearing through a hole in the rotted ceiling.
From above came another creak.
Looking up, Tess saw that the upper section of the leaning column was definitely inching off its base. The iron bar she'd hastily dislodged had somehow unhinged the column and loosened the precarious structure. Above her, puffs of dust burst in the water like silent explosions. She turned back to Reilly, who was struggling with the stone marker and was pointing down. She saw that there was now enough space for her hand to sneak through. She reached down, cringing as she flashed back to an old movie where a diver's hand had been grabbed by a ferocious eel. Forcing the picture from her mind, she plunged her hand inside the grave. She felt around desperately, shutting her ears and her mind to the echoing cracks and the precariousness of the ancient walls around her.
Then her fingers felt something. It felt bulky. Her eyes pleaded at Reilly, urging him to lift the marker even more to make room for it. He slid his hand around the bar for a better grip and let out a huge burst of bubbles as he strained to widen the opening. Tess tugged at the object, trying to squeeze it through the hole without damaging it.
Reilly gave it a final pull, and the stone lifted enough to allow the object to slide through. It looked like a leather pouch with a long strap, around the size of a small backpack, bulging with something that was solid and seemed heavy As Tess pulled it through the gap, the iron bar suddenly snapped and the gravestone slid down, narrowly missing the pouch as it slammed against the cavity in a dull echo and kicked up a cloud of silt. From above, another creak was followed by the sound of stone scraping against stone as the top section of the column edged slowly off its base, the roof caving in above it as it fell. Tess and Reilly exchanged urgent glances and headed for the portal, but something pulled Tess back. The pouch was stuck, its strap caught beneath the stone.
As she desperately pulled on the strap, Reilly's eyes scoured the bottom, looking for something else to use as a lever, but found nothing. Debris was now raining down on them, floating down in an ever-thickening cloud of silt. Tess tugged on the strap some more. Reilly's alarmed eyes met hers, and she shook her head. It was useless. The church was about to collapse around them, and they had to get out of there, but that would mean leaving the pouch behind. Her fingers were still clasping the battered leather. She wasn't about to give it up.
Reilly moved quickly. He sank back down and ran his fingers along the edge of the slab, then positioned his legs on either side and pulled at it in a last-ditch attempt to free the strap. A large rafter floated down, landing inches from his leg. With a supreme effort, the rock moved imperceptibly—but it was enough to free the strap. He let go, pointed at the portal, and he and Tess headed for it, kicking furiously as bits of the roof plunged down around them. Avo
iding them, they weaved in and out through the pillars and falling stone until, at last, they raced through the portal and emerged into clearer water.
For a few moments, they floated there, watching as the church collapsed on itself, huge chunks of masonry and stone crashing down in a balletic flurry of cloudy, bubbling water. Tess's heart was still pounding furiously. She concentrated on slowing her breathing down, conscious of the limited supply of air they carried and of the long, slow ascent ahead of them. She glanced at the pouch, wondering what it contained, wondering if it was still intact after all these years, hoping the exposure to the water hadn't ruined it. As she took a farewell glance at the well, her mind briefly drifted to Aimard and to that fateful night. Not in his wildest dreams could he have possibly imagined, seven hundred years ago, that the valley would be flooded by a man-made barrage and that his secret hiding place would end up submerged under a hundred feet of water.
Reilly was watching her. Their eyes met. Even through the distortion of the mask, her elation was clear. She checked her watch. Their tanks would be running out soon. She jabbed her finger upward. Reilly nodded his agreement and they began the slow ascent, making sure they rose no faster than the smallest bubbles breaking out from their regulators.
Around them, the water slowly cleared as the swirling dust clouds were left behind. The climb seemed to take forever until finally, the light started to break through. Looking up to where the sunlight streamed downward, Tess's blood drained from her face as she suddenly noticed that something was different. Reaching out her free hand, she seized Reilly's arm, but from the tension in his muscles, she realized that he had seen it, too.
Above them, instead of the shadow of one rowboat, there were now two shadows.
Someone else was there, but there wasn't much they could do as their air supply was about to run out. They had to resurface. Tess's eyes hardened. She knew who it must be. And as they broke surface, she saw that she was right.
The Last Templar ts-1 Page 26
