by D C Macey
Sam moved steadily up the line, hand over hand, a constant pull, never jerking. Expecting the line to snap or cut on the jagged rock supporting it above at any moment, he finally made it to the lip of the tunnel mouth. Feeling the stress building in the rope, he instinctively reached out a hand and found the tunnel’s edge just as the line snapped. The broken ends dropped from above, trailing around him as he swung by one hand from the tunnel’s lip.
He gripped his fingertips against the hard stone, determined it wasn’t all going to end here, then swung his dangling hand up, managing to get a second hand holding on to the lip. His shoulder and arm muscles were strained to the limit from the effort it took to pull himself up, scramble over the lip and roll into the tunnel. He lay for a minute on his back, breathing deeply, happy to be alive.
Then he crawled back to the edge and looked down. Bill and Angelo were looking up. Their faces broke into broad grins, and all three cheered, punching the air. ‘You’ve still got what it takes, Sam Cameron!’ Bill shouted.
Sam took a moment to inspect the tunnel mouth. He caught his breath. This was weird. Not man-made at all. He flashed his torch down the tunnel, flicking the beam across the floor, the walls and the roof. The stone was rough, not smooth, but nonetheless quite constant, forming a tunnel about eight feet in height and twelve feet in width. The tunnel swept down and away beyond the reach of his beam. Amazed, he took an involuntary step forwards. This was an entirely natural construct. He’d been in such phenomena before, in America and Iceland, but he couldn’t recall hearing of one in the UK. A lava tube. He flicked off his torch and turned back towards the daylight.
‘Let’s get the bags up first,’ shouted Sam, waving the end of the stout rope he had brought up with him. He wrapped it around his waist as a precaution and began hauling up the bags.
With their kit stacked behind him in the tunnel, he took a moment to tie some foothold knots in the rope and lowered it again. Fixing it tightly around his arms and hands, he backed a little way into the tunnel and braced himself. ‘Okay, first man, come on up.’
• • •
Cassiter looked intently at the computer screen. The camera feed from Pilgrim’s Haven could not have been clearer. Things were working out perfectly. Cameron and his team had shown the way, now he could move in, take over, gather what Parsol wanted and commence exacting revenge on Cameron and the churchwoman. At last.
‘I want you to take us there, now,’ he said.
The captain had been watching the screen too. ‘No problem, sir. I’ll have you there in no time.’
Cassiter put in a call to Parsol. Things were moving at last. He had Cameron in his sights.
23
Saturday, January 25th - p.m.
Sam, Angelo and Bill sat together, just inside the mouth of the tunnel. Bill had peeled off his wetsuit and all three had towelled dry. They were now dressed in fresh clothes, laughing and passing round the whisky flask that Bill had produced.
‘That’s the first obstacle crossed. Now, Sam, tell me what we’re expecting to find at the end of this tunnel,’ said Bill.
‘I’m not sure. For all we know, somebody else already spotted the opening and found whatever’s meant to be in there.’
‘You think?’ said Bill.
‘I don’t think so. We knew to look and still only saw it by luck,’ said Angelo.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Sam. He produced the fourth medallion and looked again. He now knew for certain the engraved lines to one side of the medallion represented the inlet. He knew also that the tunnel mouth should have emerged at a place which, following the rockfall, no longer existed. Now he knew why the line leading away from the engraving of the cliff face ran so straight - it represented the straight run of a lava tunnel.
From the lines engraved on the medallion, it was clear that the tunnel they now stood in would eventually join with another. They were in one branch of a Y-shaped tunnel complex. And halfway up the other short branch, another cross was marked. Sam guessed that this was their goal. The stem from which the two branches sprouted seemed to only be there for positional context.
It was an easy to follow plan. Walk along their branch to the Y-junction, ignore the stem, turn and walk back along the other branch. ‘I don’t know what we’ll find ahead, but there’s only one way to find out.’
‘Let’s get going then,’ said Bill, and they all stood.
Angelo hesitated, glancing towards the daylight.
‘Are you alright with tunnels?’ said Sam.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. But when we come back, how will the last man get down?’
They all peered over the lip to the now dry rock below.
‘Good question,’ said Bill. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know yet. Let’s worry about it later. Come on, time to go.’
They coiled the rope and stowed it back among their kit. Each hefted a load on their shoulders and they set off down the tunnel. Sam led, his torch playing across the rock floor. Immediately behind him, Bill and Angelo kept their beams focused on the walls and roof to ensure any obstacles were spotted in good time. There were none. The tunnel continued in a straight, though steadily descending, line beneath the island.
‘What made this, Sam?’ said Angelo.
‘Looks like it’s been burnt through by some giant laser,’ said Bill.
‘You’re not a million miles from the truth there,’ said Sam.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe this is what’s known as a lava tunnel.’ He stretched out and slapped the wall. ‘All this is volcanic rock. Sometime in the past, a long, long time ago, there was a lot of volcanic activity in this area. Quite a few of the islands on the Forth trace their origins back to that. Now they’re all worn down to what we see today.’
‘So where’s my laser?’
‘Heat, not laser. Basically, a lava tunnel can form when a crust of rock cools over the flowing lava, enclosing it like an underground river. Eventually, when the lava flow stops, the molten lava in the tube drains back down, leaving a hollowed out space behind it called a lava tunnel. The primal forces of nature could and did construct things that are still well beyond the capacities of modern man.’
They walked on in silence for only a couple more minutes, following the tunnel on its downwards incline.
‘Stop! The tunnel junction is just ahead. This might be tricky.’
‘What’s up?’ said Bill as Sam edged cautiously forwards.
‘We’re in one branch of a Y-shaped tunnel and need to turn into the other branch. But the stem of the Y drops away quite steeply. I wouldn’t fancy tumbling down that slope. In fact, let’s rope ourselves together and get round one at a time. One long stretch step will get you round into the other branch. If anyone does lose their footing, we’ll have them securely tied in.’
Bill and Angelo joined Sam and studied the junction. ‘Yep, I agree. We should make that turn without any problem, but no harm in taking precautions. What do you say? Same as before? One man moves, swing the kit after him then the others follow.’
‘That’ll work.’
Bill shone his torch down into the Y’s stem and whistled. ‘I tell you what, Sam, you say, slope; I say, sheer drop.’
‘Well, let’s be careful.’
The three men roped up. Sam led and made it round safely. The kit was swung round then Angelo followed. Finally, Bill came round and they were all together again.
‘Looks like it’s up this time,’ said Sam, flashing his torch along the tunnel, the beam tracing a rising floor level. It was narrower than the branch they had just left, the roof slightly lower. ‘Single file for you two, behind me. Watch your heads too!’
• • •
Cassiter pointed a finger at the display screen. ‘Okay, captain. You’ve seen where they went and how they got up to that tunnel mouth. I need you to put me and my team there with the right equipment to do the job.’
The captain was silent for a long moment before
turning to look Cassiter in the eye. ‘The forecast has turned again; there is bad weather on the way.’
Cassiter tapped the screen and looked dispassionately at the captain. ‘I told you what I needed.’
Suddenly unnerved, the captain glanced away. ‘We can do this. I’ll get everything organised now.’ He looked at Cassiter’s stick. ‘I think we’ll need to rig some sort of hoist for you. Forgive me, sir, but I doubt you’ll manage even a rope ladder.’
‘Do as you think fit. I’ve put this task on your shoulders. But get it right.’
The captain turned away, unsettled by the emptiness in Cassiter’s eyes and the unspoken threat in his words. He reached for the intercom and called for his first officer.
• • •
After about two hundred paces, Sam had paused his group and referred again to the medallion, confirming that its design work included a tiny Templar cross, marked halfway along the engraved line that represented the branch tunnel they were following. He knew in his heart what the mark signified and was excited to see what lay ahead. ‘There’ll be something up ahead. I want you both to keep a look out for any kind of anomaly. We’ve dealt with Templar concealment before, and they have always been incredibly ingenious. I don’t know how far ahead it will be; there is no scale guide. Just be alert, otherwise we’ll overshoot.’
They resumed their upward march at a slow pace all eyes searching for something unknown.
‘Hello, what’s this?’ said Sam, coming to a halt. To the right was an opening, apparently as natural as the tunnel itself. He shone his torch into the space. It was another tunnel branch, much narrower, less than four feet across and six feet high. An arm’s length into the branch tunnel, his torch beam stopped. Sam whistled.
‘Somebody’s been busy; I don’t know how they got that here,’ said Bill.
‘Hard work for sure. Thing is, can we get past it?’ said Sam. He stepped forwards and looked closely. His hand traced across a heavy iron door that was set into an iron frame, sealing the branch tunnel completely. The door was further reinforced with crossbars.
‘No problem. If we had some explosives, I’d get it down in a minute,’ said Bill.
‘Thankfully, we haven’t,’ said Sam, continuing his inspection. He couldn’t see any hinges; they must be set behind the equally heavy iron doorframe. ‘It must hinge inwards. It’s got bolts and padlocks, and that main lock is the size of a Christmas cake. Short of Bill’s explosives, any suggestions on how we open it? In fact, let’s get some proper light on this now.’
Angelo rummaged in one of the bags and pulled out two lantern torches. He positioned one in the tunnel, the other close against the base of the iron door. He straightened up and looked more closely at the door and frame. ‘We have a doorframe like this in the original part of our church in Sardinia. I have never seen the door for it; it’s been missing for as long as I know. But the frame is the same as this. Thick iron and bolted to the walls. You will never move the frame.’
‘Okay, that’s useful. Thanks, Angelo. But I don’t do, never. Why was the door missing in your church? Where did it lead?’ said Sam.
‘I don’t know where the door went; I’ve never seen it. Inside was an empty room, a storeroom. I always thought, maybe it was once a strong room. Xavier would know.’
‘Yes, but we will never get a phone signal through all this rock. Can you remember where the hinges were?’
‘I have seen the hinge points in the frame many times. There were three hinges. I remember, because they were not how we place them today. One was at the middle but that was small. The other two were very near the top and bottom and much longer hinges, they each reached almost to the middle hinge.’
‘So, pretty well the whole door is supported by the hinges. No weak spot.’
Angelo gave a shrug and made a little tutting sound. ‘No weak spot.’
Sam returned his attention to the door, tracing his hand across its surface. He trailed it up, following the line where the door bedded against the thick frame. Then he traced it across the top and down the other side.
‘I hate to say this, it’s against every rule in the archaeology book, but we need to get through this door today, and it seems to me only violence will do the job.’
‘I’m all for a bit of violence, Sam, but that thing’s solid. You heard, Angelo. Even the frame will be bolted solidly to the walls. We don’t have the kit to break through,’ said Bill.
‘Maybe, maybe not. Look, here … see the metal of the door? See how it is pressing out against the doorframe. That’s the metal thickening as it rusts. Even the doorframe has expanded outwards. This iron door’s been standing in a tunnel for seven hundred years. The conditions are perfect for rust. The door and frame will have effectively bonded into one solid piece of iron.’
‘But that is no good for us,’ said Angelo.
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Bill, scrabbling in the kit bags. ‘Ever seen a hulk? An old ship, abandoned, its metal left unpainted, unprotected from the sea and weather?’
Angelo shook his head.
‘Well, stand back; I’ll show you what happens.’ Bill approached the door with a crowbar and hammer. He looked to Sam. ‘Can I?’
Sam stepped back. ‘Okay. But, Bill, slowly. We don’t know what’s behind the door.’
With a throaty chuckle, Bill moved into the branch tunnel’s mouth. He looked closely at the door and selected a point close to the frame, a foot or so above the middle line of the door. Placing the short-toothed end of the crowbar against it, he tapped the door lightly with the hammer, getting his eye and hand in. He turned to look at Sam, received a nod of assent, and hammered hard on the bar. Nothing happened. He hit again and a third time.
On the fourth stroke, the teeth of the crowbar punched through the iron rust and kept going as Bill hit it again. A further blow, and the bar was through the door.
‘Perfect, the whole thing’s corroded. It’s just a barrier of rust. There’s going to be a bit of hard work, but we can cold chisel our way through in no time.’ Bill began to work the crowbar free to repeat the process.
Sam, Bill and Angelo took turns attacking the rust sheet. Up, across, down, back and up again. Bit by bit, they cut through the door as though it were the lid of a giant tin can. Sam called a halt when they were left with only a foot-long strip of uncut door beside the middle hinge. He tried to peek through the cut gap, but it was too narrow to allow any sort of view.
The three men looked at one another - Bill, pleased he had been able to help out his old friend and comrade, Angelo, wishing his mentor Xavier could be there, and Sam, desperately hoping that whatever was on the other side of the door would bring an end to Cassiter’s mad run of killings, assaults and schemes. Please, let this be the endgame.
Sam rested a hand on the door, level with, but on the far side from, the uncut section. He applied a little weight. Nothing happened.
‘Put your back into it, Sam. Push!’ said Bill.
Sam pushed. Still, nothing happened. From behind him, Bill and Angelo leant forwards, each placing hands on the door, adding their weight. With a crinkling sound, the section of uncut rust bent a fraction.
‘It’s going,’ said Bill. ‘It’s going now!’
They pressed harder, and the uncut section of the rust door began to move slowly, creasing then folding back along its remaining uncut length like a tin can’s lid being levered open.
As the door continued its opening swing, small shafts of light from the lantern torches picked out glimpses of the interior, any more of a view was constantly blocked by the moving bodies of the three men.
With the door finally folded back on itself, Sam called out. ‘Okay, guys; now let’s be careful not to touch this door again. It seems to be holding, but rust is quite weak. Don’t bump against the door, or it may well come down on you.’
Sam switched on his little torch and swung the beam through the doorway. He flicked it all around, and from every direction, lights flickered
back at him.
‘What’s going on?’ said Bill.
Crossing himself, Angelo intoned a prayer.
‘Aladdin’s cave,’ said Sam. Any guilt he had felt over brutalising the iron door melted away in the dazzling rainbow reflections that responded to his torch beam. ‘Come on, let’s check this out.’
Sam carefully stepped over the doorframe’s rough-cut and rusty bottom edge. Bill and Angelo followed, each bringing a lantern torch that threw light up and around the chamber, a circular space, perhaps thirty feet across. Its walls rose dome-like towards a central point, rough, yet uniform in appearance, just like the tunnel outside.
It’s a lava cave,’ said Sam.
‘Great, only an archaeologist could think about the structure at a moment like this. What have we found, Sam?’ said Bill.
Sam looked around the room. The floor of the chamber was lined with rows of glittering piles. He stooped and looked at the nearest one. A neat heap of shimmering light glinted before him. There were gold and silver necklaces of linked gem chains. Yellow, red and green stones flashed and blacked in the changing light only to flash again. Each pile was corralled by a rusty collection of rectangular iron strips - iron strongbox bindings whose wood had vanished, disintegrated over many centuries of exposure to the moist, enclosed, subterranean environment.
He moved on along the row of more neat piles: bejewelled rings, signet rings, broaches, tiaras, pearls and pendants. The next row had more piles of similar bounty. The third row of piles had a different mix. Here were ornately worked gold and silver beakers and goblets, trays and platters, the gold colours still clear and full of lustre, the silvers darkened with tarnish, waiting patiently for a kind hand to burnish them back into life. There were knives, spoons and trinket boxes. In the rows beyond were fabulous ornaments of ships, birds and animals, all mingled with statuettes of warriors and naked girls, of gods and terrors. Sam struggled to take it all in.
‘How much is this lot worth?’ said Bill in a hushed tone that had previously only ever been heard during covert actions with the SBS. ‘I don’t believe it, Sam. You could buy the world with this lot.’
