by Davis Bunn
“And a hole in the top of the middle one,” Storm finished.
“Right. Only these lines aren’t waves. And the peninsulas don’t stick into the sea.” Harry pointed to where the peaks rose in the harsh afternoon light. “Every afternoon the clouds come rolling in. An hour after sunrise, the heat burns the clouds away. What I saw at dawn was, the top of every mountain was cut off. Standing there in the monastery chapel, looking out what was left of their front window, I saw these three stubby peaks. And the clouds were streaked by the sun rising behind them.”
“Streaked like waves,” Storm said.
“Those monks sat in the chapel and stared out windows every dawn, and watched the hidden cave take shape in the sky.” Harry slung his pack. “Let’s hit the trail.”
The track was so steep Emma occasionally used her hands to pull herself forward. Gradually the slope gentled somewhat, and they passed a herd of goats. The bells sounded like chimes in the rarified air. Then the slope steepened once more, and they left the animals behind.
Ahead of them, Harry appeared to skip from rock to rock. Storm came up beside Emma and panted, “Is that man actually humming?”
Which was exactly what Harry was doing. The guy was just legging off, leaving them in the dust. Humming.
Storm looked a little stunned by the climb and by the altitude. But still able to grin. “How can you not love the guy?”
Very easily was the answer, if logic played any part. Which, truth be told, it didn’t. Not just then. Not fresh from an assault on a foreign military base, one that ended in gunfire. Granted, it had been pistol shots at maximum range. But still.
Yet here she was. Climbing a hill in the same nation that had probably put out an all-points alert. In the company of a treasure dog. And thinking about the future. Together. Wondering what it might be like, to hive off from the Washington bureaucratic mayhem every now and then, clear her mind with a little adventuring. Join a certain salvage expert for a few weeks of exploration and treasure. Then return to the day-to-day life. Restored in her soul. Just like now.
Which was what had left her legs weak and her lungs struggling to find a decent breath.
Up ahead the trail appeared to crest another plateau. She figured her legs just might hold out that long.
Then the world just dropped away.
Emma was so shocked by the sudden change in scenery she fell to her knees. Storm made the final rise and gasped so hard she started coughing. Harry was instantly beside Emma, gripping her arm. He helped her sit and kept hold of her arm. “Steady. Take a deep breath. That’s good. Scope out the clouds. Don’t look down.”
But Emma couldn’t help it. She’d never seen anything like that drop. The steep pasture simply came up a final rise, and ended. On the other side, the world was gone. Like a giant had slammed an ax into the mountain and left a precipice that dropped away to forever.
“The good news is, the spot we’re after is on this side of the chasm. We’ll take a breather, then rope up.”
Storm said, “I know that tone. There’s bad news coming.”
“Here. Have some more water.”
Emma drank. “Okay. Hit me.”
Harry said, “The trail follows the chasm’s leading edge.”
Both girls moaned. Emma finally asked, “How far?”
Harry rose to his feet. “Until the other side drops away, too.”
IF ANYONE HAD EVER ASKED her if she could survive such a trek, which no sane person would ever attempt, Emma would have replied, “Not if I were drugged, blindfolded, and stretchered across.”
Yet here she was, last in line, walking a dirt track maybe twenty inches wide.
And nothing but empty air and swooping drops to either side.
She could see Storm’s legs trembling from ten feet away. Emma was surprised to discover she had enough breath to say, “Steady.”
“Almost there,” Harry called back. “Another thirty feet. Less.”
The drop was spectacular. Their path ran atop a limestone precipice carved by eons of wind and rain. Emma made it by focusing down so tightly on the next step that the yawning drops to either side blurred somewhat—not a lot, but enough.
She only knew they’d made it when Harry said, “You ladies can go ahead and faint now.”
Storm just went down, like the big hand in the sky had suddenly let go of her strings. Emma teetered forward a couple more steps, intent on making it to where he stood grinning. “I’m a pro. Pros don’t weep from sheer terror. It’s in the manual.”
Harry’s arms had never felt so good. “You’re tops in my book. Both of you.”
She listened to the steady thumping of his heart and felt her own nerves ease. “Weren’t you the tiniest bit scared?”
“Right out of my size sixteens.”
She struck his chest. “Liar.”
Storm teetered over. Harry made room in his arms for her as well. Storm tucked in her elbows, put her hands up under her chin, and made herself munchkin small. “Will you carry me back?”
“I figure we’ll all be floating on the way home.” Harry took a huge breath. “Smell that?”
Emma sniffed. She tasted sage, eucalyptus, wildflowers, creosote, dust, all the flavors of highland desert. “What?”
Harry lowered his head until his breath teased her ear. His whisper sent shivers through her entire frame.
“Gold.”
FORTY-THREE
THE HILLS FORMED A U-SHAPED enclosure around their highland ledge. Harry and the ladies rested on a shelf that jutted out from about two-thirds up the peak. A narrow lip of rock extended from the wall across from where they had just entered, sweeping around the rim. Harry studied the way ahead, trying to hide his impatient two-step. Emma passed Storm the water bottle and said to Harry, “Oh, go ahead before you explode.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Storm watched him almost skip across the ledge, round the corner, and disappear. “How does he do it?”
“I doubt he even saw the drop.”
Harry came swinging back around the bend. “There’s no cave.”
Storm cried, “Are you kidding me?”
“Calm down.”
“We came up here for nothing?” Storm reached toward Emma. “Pass me your gun.”
“We came here for a lot. Ease up a notch and come give me a hand.”
But Storm was not really done until her stomping fit carried her too close to the edge and she stared straight down. “Oooh.”
Harry was instantly there, gripping her arm. “Steady. We’re almost there.”
“I never knew I hated heights until right now.”
“It’s not far.” He led her back to the wall and retied the rope around both the ladies. “Grab the rocks. Eyes on the wall. One step at a time.”
There were actually two outcroppings, both about eight inches wide. One at chin height, the other Emma did not dare to look down at. They rounded the rim, one baby step at a time. Then, “This is it.”
This time, Harry did not let either lady go down. They stood upon a second ledge, this one oval and eight feet wide. He guided them to the verge and faced them almost directly west. “Take a good look.”
Beside Emma, Storm moaned.
“This is important. Okay. There’s the military base, the flags, the front gates, the statue. Follow the cliffs around, see where the trees thicken, there’s the monastery.”
Emma thought her gut was completely numb from what she’d just been through. But looking out and down was good for another wingless swoop. She swallowed hard and made herself focus. The monastery was a tiny square of pebbles, set in a postage stamp of green. “I see it.”
“So do I.” Storm walked back to stand in front of the rock face. “But there’s no cave.”
“No.”
“So this must be the wrong place.”
“This is it. The dark indentation over your head there was what I saw from below.” He pointed at the cliff face above them. “I’ve been aimi
ng for this point where it splits like a zipper coming open. Which is right here.”
“But there’s just an empty ledge!”
Harry walked back to the edge and dropped to his knees. “It’s got to be here somewhere.”
“What?”
“We’ll know when we find it. Start looking.”
Storm and Emma exchanged a look. Emma said, “Don’t ask me.”
Harry started brushing the earth. When he had exposed one segment of rock, he moved over a fraction and started again. “Look around and tell me what you see.”
“Mountains.”
“Mountains and caves. Hundreds of caves.”
Emma had been so spooked by the climb she’d missed that entirely. But Harry was right. The surrounding mountains were riddled with caves. Like a hive of giant rock-eating worms had spent centuries going to town. “So?”
“So how come we’re directed to the only place in sight with no cave?” Harry slid over another fraction. “Storm, take the rock face. Emma, start on the floor over by where we just came in. Work your way toward me.” He scrambled in his pack, came up with a T-shirt, handed it to Emma. “Protect your hands.”
Vines grew up the left side of the cliff, emerging from a crack where the ledge met the face. Storm pulled a sweatshirt from her pack, tucked her hands in the sleeves, and started clearing the rock.
Emma said, “Tell me what we’re looking for.”
“Something unnatural. Something man-made.” Harry brushed clear another area, the clean bit covering maybe a couple of square yards now. The dirt formed too thin a covering to permit much in the way of weeds or grass. Harry’s hands worked in a steady sweeping motion, hurried yet gentle. Like he’d done this a thousand times before. Emma knelt where they had arrived and began.
There was a skill to this work, along with dogged determination. She mimicked Harry’s actions. Sweeping, blowing, inspecting, moving, doing it all again.
“Hang on a second.”
Both ladies turned around.
Harry started working at a feverish pace. Muttering between blows over the dust, “Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy.”
Harry blew and rushed and blew. Then stopped and leaned back. “This is better than Christmas.”
A crude fish symbol was carved into the rock face. The head pointed out over the cliffs.
Harry said, “I saw a smaller version of this cut into the chapel’s window frame. It was pointed directly at this ledge.”
Emma said, “And you’re telling us about this now?”
He traced a finger around it, as though making sure it was real. “I wasn’t certain that it meant anything until this moment.”
Storm said, “So it’s a sign. Find this and…What?”
Harry’s finger slipped into a shallow indentation at the tail. He bent over, blew, inspected it, and asked, “Can I have your pen?”
Emma did not realize her hands were shaking until she had trouble unzipping the pack’s side pouch.
“Thanks.” Harry fitted the pen into the hole and used it to swab out more dirt. He ran his finger out in a straight line, beyond the head of the fish, hunting. And stopped. He leaned forward and began clearing a second hole. “Do you have a second pen?”
“No.”
Storm stepped away and came back with a straight section of vine. “Will this do?”
“Great.” The branch was thicker than the hole, so Harry had to jam it in. He lay down prone on the earth and leveled the pen with one hand, the vine with the other.
He crawled back. Motioned to the ladies. “Tell me what you see.”
Storm said, “You first.”
Emma also lay prone and lined up the two implements like oversized rifle sights. “Oh, wow.”
Out in the lavender distance, where the afternoon sunlight joined the sea with the cliffs and the cliffs with the sky, rose the rocky islands they had seen from their seaside campsite. In the middle of the closest cluster rose a conical peak, almost like a minivolcano.
The sights pointed straight at the peak.
THEY RACED THE DWINDLING LIGHT back down the hill. Harry did not push them to move faster only because both women were on the verge of dropping. Returning over the precipice went marginally better than the ascent, but not much. Fear as much as fatigue kept the ladies stumbling and their lungs gasping for their next high-altitude breath. So Harry kept the pace easier than he wanted and murmured things not even he heard very clearly.
They lit the final segment of path by flashlight. When they reached the Suzuki 4WD, Harry pretended not to see how they dribbled water down their fronts, trying to gasp and drink at the same time. He fed them the last two energy bars and loaded their gear and resisted the urge to do a wild highland jig around the car.
The car remained utterly silent on the ride back to the cottage. It was a risk returning there. But the only other places open to them this time of night would be hotels, and going there would heighten the threat of being located by the growing number of wrong people. When they parked in front of the cottage, Harry started to run through the hundred things that needed saying and doing before the next dawn. But he watched them drag their packs along the walk, their shoulders slumped, and knew he was just going to have to wait. He followed them inside and entered the kitchen.
Storm lay on the living room floor, spread-eagle. She moaned with the pure pleasure of not needing to go anywhere, at least for a few moments. Emma asked, “First bath?”
Storm used one finger to wave her forward.
The cottage was filled with the sound of a ringing phone.
Emma called from the back, “That’s yours, Storm.”
She groaned, rolled over, fished the phone from her pack, said, “What.”
Storm listened a minute, then snapped the phone shut and sent it skittering across the floor. “Talk about hitting a girl when she’s down.”
Emma reappeared in the bedroom door. “Who was it?”
“Boucaud.”
Harry froze in the process of chopping vegetables.
Emma said, “And?”
“Noon tomorrow. Saint Hilarion’s castle.”
Harry resisted the urge to stab his knife through the counter and shout his frustration at the night. He stood staring down at the pair of clenched fists. Just one thing after another, the whole world trying to stand between him and his treasure.
His treasure.
Storm made it to her feet and staggered over. She leaned in the kitchen door. Emma closed in behind her. “What do we do?”
Harry did not look up. “We’ll do this thing. Then go for the treasure.”
He tried to tell himself he had no choice in the matter. But his gut was screaming otherwise.
FORTY-FOUR
HARRY WOKE UP IN THE middle of the night with a raging thirst and burdened by a half-remembered dream. On his way to the kitchen, he found Storm in the living room. She was seated by the rear windows overlooking the slope and the city’s lights and the ink-dark sea beyond. She held Sean’s Bible. Not reading. Just sitting and staring at the night.
“Is everything okay?”
The lady remained as she was, her legs tucked up into her oversized T-shirt.
“Storm?”
She said softly, “Sean should be here. With us. For this.”
Harry walked over and squatted on the stone floor beside her chair. “I’ll tell you how it feels, finding you here. Like you’re not letting him go. Not his business, not his Bible, not his search. It’s his legacy and you’re going to keep that alive.”
“That’s right,” she said softly, “I am.”
“In that case, I’m pretty sure Sean would tell you that he is not just here, but complete.” He reached over and stroked her hair. “You’re his girl, all right.”
EMMA DRIFTED UP THROUGH CRYSTAL-CLEAR waters. In her dream Harry held her hand, but she could not see him. His presence offered an amazing sense of both comfort and exhilaration. He was sharing his world. It was the finest declara
tion of love she had ever known, all without saying a word. Light cascaded about her, a billion lances that shifted and flowed in orchestral precision. She paddled gently, knowing she had to surface, yet sad this incredible moment had to end.
She opened her eyes.
Storm snored quietly in the other bed. Emma rose and padded into the kitchen to find coffee simmering on the machine and a note propped on the pot. Outside her window, the morning light brushed the Kyrenia plain with a rich copper glow. The note repeated what Harry had said to them over dinner the night before, which was to get up and get ready. He was headed out to buy some last-minute supplies and then to scope out the castle. He’d return to the cottage at ten, and they needed to be ready to rock and roll.
Emma checked her watch. She set down her mug and went in search of her phone. Then Storm’s. She rang Harry’s number. When the recording popped on, she carried both phones into the bedroom. “Storm. Wake up.”
“Not yet.”
“Something’s wrong.”
Her head untangled from the pillow. “What?”
“Harry’s fifteen minutes late.”
It sounded silly, raising the alarm for a quarter of an hour. But Storm flung back the covers. “Not Harry. Not today.”
“Exactly.”
Storm went into the bathroom and emerged wiping the water from her face. “You’ve checked your phone for messages?”
“And yours. Harry isn’t answering.”
When the phone chimed, she started so hard she almost dropped it. “Harry?”
“I’m in major-league trouble.”
“Where are you?”
“The road to Saint Hilarion. I’ve been rammed by a cop car.”
Emma said to Storm, “He’s been in an accident.”
“It was no accident. Here they come. They’ve got their guns drawn. Emma, I just want you to know how much—”
The phone went dead.
HARRY HADN’T SEEN THE POLICE CAR.
He had bought their supplies from several places on the outskirts of town, doing his best to get all they might need while avoiding anywhere they’d been before. Then he headed into the hills. Scoping out the Saint Hilarion Castle took longer than he’d expected. Yves Boucaud had chosen well, especially if it was to be the ambush Harry expected. Saint Hilarion’s was the largest of the three castles built by King Richard the Lionhearted as a staging post for his assault on Jerusalem. The ruins rose and fell along the ridgeline, covering several acres inside the outermost walls. Harry went through all the nooks and crannies, working out where he and Emma might station themselves, stomping all the while on his rising impatience.
