‘Patient,’ replied the Patient, looking with curiosity at the palm offered to him. ‘Without immediate recourse to sanitising products I would prefer—’
‘We should hurry,’ interrupted Ruby. ‘Looks like someone’s coming.’ She pointed at two men walking purposefully from the marina car park towards the floating docks. ‘It might be nothing, but just in case.’
‘Shit,’ said Scabies, wiping his hand on his backside. ‘Forget the sandwiches. Everyone on the gin palace.’
‘Hey!’ shouted one of the men, now running towards the yacht that they had yet to steal. ‘What are you doing?’
The Patient busied himself with a set of wires he had extracted from the cockpit panel. Ratty untied every mooring line he could find. In seconds the yacht began drifting in the light breeze away from the dock at a tangent that created a gentle impact with its neighbour. Considering the slow speed of the collision, the two yachts created a deafening screech as their fenders proved inadequate and the hulls stressed and scraped against each other.
‘Stop!’ shouted the angry man, now standing on the jetty just feet away from the drifting boat. ‘That’s private property!’
The other man jumped onto the neighbouring vessel and ran around to a point from where he could jump aboard the stolen craft.
‘I say, Patient chappy, any joy with those engine thingummies?’ called Ratty.
In lieu of words, the Patient replied with the sound of cranking engines that quickly began to tick over smoothly. As the man on the neighbouring boat steadied himself for the leap, the Patient pushed the twin throttles to half power and the yacht surged away from the dock. The man had committed his momentum to a point of no return and found himself hurtling into the frothy sea that the yacht had, only moments before, occupied. The passengers steadied themselves against forces that tried to topple them as the Patient lurched the boat into a tight turn and accelerated towards the open sea and the rapidly setting sun.
‘Good work, Patient chappy,’ said Ratty. ‘So you deduced that this craft has all the fuel we need to take us to the land of baguettes and body odour?’
‘I did not,’ replied the Patient. ‘I estimate that we do not have enough to take us even half way, but I also deduced that leaving the marina swiftly was more important than waiting to be caught. However, I can take us back if you prefer.’
The calm shore lights shrank behind them and the sea loomed dark and lumpy before them. The Patient weighed up his options, sensing that no one else had a clue which way to go. Returning to the marina was pointless, but they needed fuel. All other marinas would be alerted to the boat’s theft and hence they wouldn’t be able to obtain fuel anywhere. They couldn’t reach France in this boat and they couldn’t refuel it. The answer became obvious.
‘An offshore sailboat mooring,’ he announced. ‘We need to find a sailing boat moored to a buoy and transfer ourselves over from this yacht. Then we can sail to France and glide silently to a remote beach.’
Ratty, Ruby and Scabies shrugged. They were out of options. The evening air was freshening and the wind was picking up. In the distance a helicopter cut through the sky towards them.
‘That the police?’ asked Scabies.
‘Let’s not hang around to find out,’ replied Ruby. ‘Full speed ahead, Captain Patient.’
‘I recommend the opposite,’ he replied. ‘Abandon ship. Everyone into the tender.’
‘Why do you keep changing your mind?’ Ruby asked.
‘Because if that is the police coming after us it may well be the case that this yacht has an automatic alarm and tracking device fitted. The police will know our location all the time we are on board. If we launch the tender, we will be untraceable. Of course, the helicopter might be nothing to do with us, but I do not think we should wait to find out.’
***
‘Well ain’t this nice,’ said Winnifred. ‘Decided to defect, huh?’
‘Put the knife down,’ whispered Justina.
‘Right, so we’re suddenly all friends and these guys who we know nothing about are just gonna forget about the bodies we put in the crypt beneath our feet? I don’t think so.’
‘I’m Charlie,’ the obese young man stated, offering a sugar-encrusted hand in welcome, seemingly oblivious to any threat Winnifred might pose to his safety.
‘Fuck you, fatty. Come on Justina. Get your shit together. We gotta deal with these guys and get back to work.’
‘I told you we’re splitting. We’re not partners any more.’
‘Well that’s just a bit too damn convenient, ain’t it? Let me remind you of something. You brought me here on the promise of a half share of enough treasure to buy me a goddamn island. We break into one crypt and already you want to quit? Well that’s not acceptable. We’re a team, and we stay a team until we find what we came for. If killing these bozos makes you uncomfortable, we can tie them up in the dungeon and make use of any information they can give us.’
Charlie stepped forward, putting his vast bulk between Winnifred and Justina.
‘Careful, Charlie,’ said Rocco from the back of the tiny room. ‘She’s got a knife.’
‘That’s not a knife,’ chuckled Charlie.
‘Don’t get cocky, Charlie. This isn’t a movie,’ Rocco continued. ‘You haven’t got a bigger knife so don’t even think about going there.’
‘Sure, I haven’t got a bigger knife. That’s true.’ He reached inside his trousers and produced a gleaming sword three feet long. ‘This is better than any knife, I reckon.’
‘Where the hell did you find that?’ asked Justina.
‘It was on the wall in the museum. I think it’s a Templar sword or something. I didn’t think they’d miss it.’ He thrust it menacingly towards Winnifred.
Winnifred backed off and closed the door between her and the others. ‘How do you know you can trust them?’ she shouted from behind the door. ‘It only takes one of them to call the cops and we’re screwed. They might even be cops. We can’t take that risk!’
‘And how can I trust you? You’re turning crazy, Winnifred! You scare me!’
‘Can I offer a suggestion, ladies?’ asked Rocco.
‘Shut up in there!’ Winnifred called.
‘No,’ said Justina, ‘go ahead.’
‘We are in a tricky situation,’ Rocco explained, speaking loudly so that Winnifred could hear him on the other side of the door. ‘I understand that. Circumstances dictate that mutual trust is a problem, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to solve it. As I’ve already explained to you, I’m a scientist. That means solving problems is what I do. So this is what I think. If we fragment and fight, it can only harm our prospects. Treasure hunting is difficult as it is without having someone trying to sabotage our work. It’s even harder when we’re worried that someone is trying to kill us. It therefore follows that if we can find a way to work together, we will have a better chance of success. All of us. Pooling our ideas and energies and talents will get us to Saunière’s secrets faster than working against each other. Think about this, Winnifred. I have no desire to spend my time in France giving evidence to the police, spending months talking through a translator in a trial, trying to get you locked away for what you did. Horrific though it was, it wasn’t my business.’
‘Horrific, huh?’ asked Charlie.
‘You don’t want to know,’ replied Rocco. ‘I propose that the four of us work together until we find what we’re looking for, or until we decide that the time has come to give up. Only then will we go our separate ways. No one will talk to the police in that time, or afterwards. We can only benefit from this approach. Any other course of action will harm the interests of us all. Think about it. I broke into the chateau in the first place. Reporting your crimes will only incriminate me, too. Charlie stole a sword and probably anything else that wasn’t bolted down in the museum. Why would he go to the police? We’re all potentially in trouble with the law, to greater or lesser degrees. The more we dig the more trouble we�
��ll be in. That puts us all on the same side – the wrong side of the law. That’s why I think we can work together. So Charlie, you put that sword away. Winnifred, you put your knife down if you haven’t already. I’m going to open the door and we’re all going to shake on our four-way partnership.’
Rocco squeezed past Charlie and turned the door handle. He pushed it a little, enabling him to peek at the other side to check if Winnifred was still holding the knife with intent to harm them.
The knife was absent.
He pushed the door further.
Winnifred was also absent.
‘You must have bored her, dude,’ said Charlie. ‘I knew you should have left her to me.’
‘Shit,’ said Rocco. ‘I thought I had resolved the situation. You think she heard any of that?’
‘Guess not,’ said Justina. ‘I hope you can remember that speech because it sure would be helpful if you can get Winnifred to listen to it. But until she does, we’re in danger. We should go somewhere she can’t find us.’
‘How about we find a tunnel that goes close to the other crypt?’ suggested Rocco.
‘Close? Isn’t there one that takes you all the way into it?’ Justina asked.
‘Probably not any more. Obviously I think Saunière had access to it via a tunnel, but there’s nothing showing up on the scans. I think he filled it back in with the same type of rocks and soil as the surrounding area. That’s why I couldn’t see it. People have dug separate tunnels since Saunière’s day, but we’d need to find the best one and finish it. We’re going to get dirty.’
Charlie and Justina stared at Rocco’s filthy attire. There was no need to comment on the irony.
‘Where do we find the best tunnel to start from?’ asked Justina.
‘Follow me,’ said Rocco, leading them out of Saunière’s secret room and into the gloom of the church, keeping an eye out for Winnifred all the while.
Outside, they walked along an unlit street to a souvenir shop. It was filled with books about Saunière’s life and legacy, DVDs, and pamphlets about the Templars and the Cathars, esoteric and new age trinkets and novelties, postcards and branded pens. With no customers inside, the manager – an elderly woman sitting on a stool at the rear of the shop – was beginning to cash up for the night.
‘The best tunnel is under the floor of this gift shop,’ said Rocco, pointing inside. ‘I’m going to ask if we can see inside it.’
‘You can’t go in there,’ said Charlie. ‘Look at you!’
Rocco looked down at the blood and excreta that stained his clothing. Charlie was right.
‘Can I wash in the back of your van and borrow some clean clothes?’
‘I guess,’ said Charlie, handing him the keys without enthusiasm. ‘The water tank is full. Just don’t touch anything until you’ve got that shit off you.’
‘We’ll wait inside the gift shop until you come back,’ said Justina. ‘It’ll be safer than hanging around on the street.’
Rocco joined them ten minutes later smelling fragrant and wearing clothes that would have better suited a hippo. ‘You have a tunnel under this floor,’ he said to the shopkeeper.
‘It is just there beneath your feet,’ she replied in a heavy Languedoc accent. ‘I’ll put the lights on. You’ll be able to see it better.’
They looked down at the thick glass plate on the floor. Beneath it a rocky passage had been hewn vertically into the ground. It made a pleasing novelty feature for the shop, a reminder of the chaotic history of the village.
‘May we see inside your hole?’ asked Rocco.
Charlie sniggered like a kid.
‘You already can,’ the shopkeeper replied.
‘I mean, I would like to go down there. Would you mind?’
‘It’s not possible,’ she replied. ‘You need a torch and a rope, and in any case when you get to the bottom there’s nothing there.’
‘If we could provide our own ropes, would you mind if we go down there?’ asked Rocco.
‘It is still not allowed.’
Rocco reached into his wallet and produced twenty Euros. ‘Would this help?’
She adjusted her reading glasses and leaned in close to look at the money before commencing a fit of gesticulation and shouting. ‘What are you doing? You are a crazy man! You cannot bribe me! Get out!’
Rocco put the money back into the wallet and headed for the exit. As Charlie started to follow him, Justina called out, ‘Hey guys! Where are you going?’
‘She will not permit us to go down into the tunnel,’ replied Rocco. ‘Didn’t you hear her?’
‘Sure. But what I heard was the opening bid of her negotiating strategy. She’s waiting for you to come back with a higher offer, dumb ass!’
‘You think so?’
‘A hundred Euros,’ Justina said to the woman.
The shaking of the shopkeeper’s head was less manic this time.
‘Two hundred if you could turn a blind eye to any chiselling noises,’ added Rocco, extracting his wallet again.
The head-shaking continued, though it seemed to Rocco and Justina to be reducing in vigour.
‘Two-fifty if you close the shop and leave us alone,’ said Justina, picking out some notes from her wallet and counting them out along with some of Rocco’s.
The old woman looked at the money on offer. It was more than she would have expected to take in a typical day, and she was about to close for the night anyway.
‘Plus,’ she said, making a sign with her hand to indicate that a higher number was needed. Justina produced enough cash to double the offer. The shopkeeper stared at the money as if in a trance. Then, without a word, she walked to the door and closed it from within, and turned a sign from ‘Ouvert’ to ‘Fermé’. Returning to Rocco and Justina, she took the money.
‘You must not say anything to anyone about this,’ she whispered. ‘You must not touch my stock. If you are injured in the tunnel I have no liability. This is your own risk. I will say that you broke in. I will go home and have nothing to do with it. Keep the door closed and don’t get dust on the books. You must be gone before I open tomorrow. Understand?’
Rocco nodded. The old woman locked the till and walked out.
‘Charlie?’ asked Rocco. ‘Would you mind collecting the chisels, ropes and flashlights from the van?’
Charlie exited the shop and waddled across the car park. His VW camper van was not strictly allowed in the village. As the mystery of Rennes-le-Château had become more famous in the last decade, parking restrictions had been put in place during the summer months to prevent camper vans from clogging up the narrow streets and taking more than their fair share of the limited parking spaces. But Charlie had a particular attitude towards rules: they applied to other people. It was an approach that he always found to work in his favour.
The van was his home but also his mobile archaeology unit. Not that he ever played by the rules when doing archaeology, either, finding it more efficient to take artefacts from museums rather than bothering to dig them out of the ground. But he did carry certain tools just in case there was ever the need to indulge in a bit of manual labour. He had shovels, trowels, a metal detector, torches, ropes and sample bags. He opened the door and noted that there was a sample bag on the floor containing Rocco’s contaminated clothes. He took it to the nearest public bin before returning for the items Rocco requested.
Back in the souvenir shop Rocco and Justina had already removed the glass cover over the hole and were peering down into the narrow abyss. Previous explorers had drilled metal rings into the rock at the top of the tunnel, so attaching the safety rope was unchallenging. It dangled securely, dropping all the way down to a point where it disappeared behind a bend. There was no question of sending Charlie down there: he wouldn’t get more than his legs into that space. Rocco took it upon himself to tie a second rope around his chest and anchor it to Charlie’s waist. Charlie would feed the line out as Rocco descended, taking his weight with the first rope. Justina kept
watch for any sign of Winnifred. In a village as small as this, it would not be possible to avoid contact for long.
‘How close does this tunnel get to the crypt?’ asked Justina.
‘From the satellite scans it seems to be almost touching. The tunnel appears to be an L-shape: straight down and then straight along, right up to the crypt. The remaining gap is so thin, they were so unfortunate not to find it. Just a little more digging and they would have broken through.’
‘Sucksville,’ said Charlie. ‘Go finish their job and we can be out of here before the restaurants close.’
Rocco lowered himself into the hole. The space was so tight that his shoulders scraped against the sides. When he breathed in, he sucked in dust from the jagged wall. It would have been impossible to dig such a tight tunnel by hand. He deduced that tiny quantities of explosives would have been the most effective method of blasting down a few centimetres at a time. Sadly the days when dynamite was readily available in the village store were long over.
When the lights of the souvenir shop had shrunk to a small disk above him he felt his feet make contact with the ground. He looked down. The tunnel turned horizontal from here, and almost provided him the space to stand despite being nowhere near as generously proportioned as the passage from the chateau to the other church crypt. He walked along the rocky floor for just a few seconds before reaching the end. But knowing that he was no more than twenty centimetres from breaking through into a historic, lost crypt did not fill him with awe or excitement. He sighed and dropped his tools. It would be a waste of time.
The crypt, he knew instantly, would be empty. For the tunnel did not end with virgin rock face: it ended with a wall of bricks. He took a snap of the wall on his phone and returned to the vertical section of the tunnel. With Charlie’s help he hauled himself up, back into the shop.
‘We’re too late,’ Rocco announced. ‘This tunnel ends with a brick wall. That means someone broke through into the crypt decades ago. And that means that the crypt has already been plundered.’
‘Shit,’ said Justina.
‘Bumsville,’ said Charlie.
The Chaplin Conspiracy Page 6
