Roman Ice

by Dave Bartell

  Eyrún and Assa joined them at the edge of the hole.

  “Can I go in?” asked Eyrún.

  “Yeah. We’ve combed through it, but be careful—there are a lot of loose rocks,” said Pétur.

  Eyrún nodded, then disappeared into the space below. Darwin glanced at Pétur and followed Eyrún down the rock pile. He shaded his eyes from the sunlight spilling in the opening while they adjusted to the darkness.

  Pétur helped Assa climb down until they all stood in the oval-shaped space roughly four by seven meters. The ceiling was about three meters and tapered to just under two meters toward the ocean end.

  “What’s down there, Pétur?” asked Eyrún, looking through a hole in the lower end of the room.

  “We’re not sure. It doesn’t look safe,” said Pétur.

  “If it hasn’t caved in yet, it’s safe enough. Still, I wouldn’t go in without the proper kit.” She crawled back out.

  “Where did you find the diamonds?” asked Darwin.

  “In this corner.” Pétur crossed over to the side next to the light and pointed to a small alcove about waist high in the wall. “We figured a chunk of rock fell out and left this convenient shelf. We examined the room for other objects and debris. There was a scrap of leather, maybe part of a sandal, that we found near this collapsed section.” He pointed at the rock pile that separated them from the basement and foundation on the other side.

  “I’d like to see it, if you still have the piece on site,” said Darwin.

  “It’s being carbon dated with some other objects back at the university,” said Pétur. “I can show you when we go back to Reykjavík.”

  “The diamonds are there too?”

  “Oh, yeah. Last thing we wanted was a billion króna worth of diamonds in one of the caravans,” said Pétur.

  “They’re beautiful. I held one that was bigger than my thumb,” said Assa with a dreamy smile.

  “This is all very nice, but I think we should find out what’s down there,” said Eyrún. “Is it okay with you Pétur?”

  “Um, don’t we need lights and stuff,” he said.

  “Yeah, we do,” asserted Darwin.

  “I’ve got your things in my car, Pétur. Darwin?” she asked in a did-you-bring-yours way.

  “Um… yeah, in my car,” said Darwin glad he brought the gear from France. He did not want them trashing any evidence before he got to see it.

  “I’m not going in there. Pétur knows I don’t like closed spaces. It’s bad enough in here,” said Assa, who stood near the main opening the whole time.

  They climbed back out and went to the cars. The clouds had parted and a warm early summer sun heated the plain. Sweet grasses and wild flowers perfumed the musty fragrance of damp earth churned by the dig.

  Assa suggested they have lunch before setting off and spread a blanket on the ground. They abandoned the idea when an insect horde smelled a free meal. They ate standing, occasionally running around in small circles to chase off the insects.

  23

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  Ian Wall’s mobile rang loud in his earbuds during his morning workout. The caller ID showed: Robert Van Rooyen. He considered not answering. Their last project had ended badly. But then, recalling that he’d heard Robert had gone to France to see a medical specialist, a pang of guilt gripped him and he pressed the answer button.

  “Hey, Robert,” he said.

  “Hi, Ian,” said Robert.

  “Sorry I never returned your calls,” said Ian.

  “It’s okay. I figured you were still angry with me,” said Robert.

  They had first met two decades earlier when Ian had joined up with Robert in Zimbabwe to fight for their family’s farms. The new government had sought to re-balance the one-sided land ownership of the former Rhodesia, which meant the loss of the only life Ian’s and Robert’s families had ever known. When it had become a war they could not win, they had fled the country.

  Robert had regrouped his best fighters in South Africa where their rough brand of skills made them employable as security forces for diamond mining companies. Two years ago, one of the mines needed to offload blame for a riot during a strike and Robert’s company became the target. They drifted apart when the government had banned them from working together again.

  “I…,” said Ian not sure where to start.

  “No. It’s my fault,” said Robert. “Where did you go? Someone told me you fled into the bush for a while.”

  “Nothing made sense after the trial. I trekked through the Drakensberg Mountains a while and then traveled to Zimbabwe to visit my mom,” said Ian.

  “How is she?”

  “Not well. Her life isn’t ending anything like she imagined.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. She’s a good woman,” said Robert.

  “She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Sometimes I feel like the whole of Africa is one big cultural cock-up.”

  “I won’t disagree with you there,” said Robert.

  Ian exhaled. He considered Robert a father figure, but the man also reminded him of too many things wrong with Africa. Apartheid had ended, but the extreme inequalities remained.

  “I called because of something interesting in the news this morning. Have you seen it?” asked Robert.

  “No. I’m working out. Haven’t looked yet. What’s up?” asked Ian knowing interesting with Robert meant diamonds.

  “An archeological dig up in Iceland found evidence of Roman occupation, which I couldn’t care less about, but it seems they found a large number of diamonds. It looks as if the Romans were the ones who left them there.”

  “Define large.”

  “How about a hundred-fifty million Rand,” said Robert.

  Seconds passed as Ian reduced the resistance on the elliptical trainer to let his heart rate come down.

  “Ian?”

  “Sorry, any ideas about how they got there? The diamonds I mean.”

  “No. The article was too short and I suspect it’s too early in the dig to know or they don’t want to say. Somebody must have talked because that many diamonds are too hard to keep secret.”

  “What do you think?” asked Ian, glancing at his watch.

  He quit the workout early as he was meeting a potential client in a little over an hour and a half. He was not into the routine today and wanted to practice his pitch one more time.

  “Iceland is full of volcanoes. I think some Roman found a large cache of diamonds and bottled them up for transport back to Rome.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know and don’t care to speculate. The reason I called you is that the Romans didn’t have deep mining capability; therefore, they must be close to the surface.”

  “What do you think?” asked Ian switching on the coffee machine. He walked away from the rumbling noise it made as the water heated.

  “I think this could be a rare opportunity. The people in Iceland have no idea what to look for. We do,” said Robert.

  “Maybe. But I’m meeting a new client this morning. Why should I drop them to do this?” said Ian.

  “Because I know where the diamonds are.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s say I’ve been following this treasure hunt for years. And if I’m right, we become wealthy and hurt our nemesis,” said Robert.

  Money would give Ian options he did not have, but he also knew from their years together that the business of revenge often cost more than it paid.

  “Where are you?” asked Ian.

  “My apartment in Nice. Fly up here. I want to show you something.”

  “I don’t have a few thousand lying around for a plane ticket.”

  “There’s a business class seat waiting for you on Tuesday’s Air France flight out of Johannesburg. You’ll be here Wednesday morning.”

  “I’ll have to work this out with my clients and my fiancée,” said Ian.

  “Sure, text me.”

  Ian had just gotten his life back on an
even keel and was engaged to a woman whose steady, peaceful influence made him feel content. His small security company was growing, but the work was dull. He knew before ringing off with Robert that he would go, but he needed time to think.

  Over breakfast, he explained to his fiancée that a potential client had a project that required him to meet them in Nice. It’s mostly true, he told himself and he would be back by the weekend.

  “This isn’t anything dangerous, is it?” she asked.

  “No, Katie. It’s in Nice,” he replied.

  “Yeah, but Nice. Crazy drivers. Aggressive women. Could be rough.” She snuggled in against him and whispered, “You might need an assistant.”

  “Oh, I definitely need your help,” he said pushing her hand down to his belt buckle.

  “Stop,” she playfully pushed him back. “I’ll be late for school.”

  “You started it,” he feigned a wounded expression. “Anyway, I’ll only be gone two days. We’ll have the whole weekend for me to show you how I handle aggressive women.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “That I am.”

  24

  Nice, France

  Ian walked outside the Nice airport and breathed in the warm Mediterranean air. It was lovely but had also become a crowded and expensive tourist destination. He withdrew some euros from the airport ATM and hired a taxi.

  After the eighteen hour journey, he was happy to reach the relative quiet of Robert’s neighborhood in the old section of the city where each apartment competed for a prized view of the Mediterranean Sea. The narrow streets just behind the busy Quai des États-Unis squeezed out all but the most dedicated tourists and its restaurants and shops kept a more local feel.

  Ian paid the fare and scanned the street. His security habits were second nature. He paused on the threshold of Robert’s building, finger poised on the bell. This was about diamonds. If he got a bad taste about Robert’s offer, he would walk away and tell his fiancée that the client didn’t work out.

  “Fuck it,” he said and pressed the button.

  “Ian, it’s good to see you,” said a familiar voice.

  He glanced up and saw the pinhole camera. Clever—most people would not have noticed it. “Hey, Robert,” he smirked.

  “It’s the top floor, number three,” said Robert’s voice through the tiny speaker. The lock buzzed. Ian pushed through and hiked up the stairs.

  The door to Robert’s apartment was open. Ian walked into the main room, well decorated in a mixture of chrome and leather furniture. Half a dozen paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. He thought they were from the Impressionist era and one piece looked familiar. He would bet it was a forgery. Robert liked to use appearances to lure the naïve and the vain into his deceptions. Best to be on guard, he thought.

  Ian walked out onto the patio that faced the Mediterranean Sea. Robert sat at a table, talking on his mobile. An umbrella shaded him from the early summer sun. Over the last two years, Ian had envisioned punching Robert when they met again, but something had happened. Robert held his left arm against his side, the wrist and hand were slack. Ian sucked in a breath and felt a wave of sympathy soften his anger. The once powerful brute he knew stood and walked toward him, leaning heavily on a cane.

  “Ian, I’m glad you came,” said Robert.

  “Nice place. I guess you got out all right?” he said shaking the offered hand.

  “No better than you, but I’m older and had more reserves for a rainy day.”

  Ian looked at the ocean. Robert was right. His anger passed with the last of the morning breeze. Robert returned to his chair, and Ian took a seat opposite him.

  “Tell me about your business—and I hear you’re engaged?” asked Robert.

  Ian related how he consulted on security for private individuals and a couple schools. When the demand for his business had increased, he had hired a few employees. He described meeting Katie, who taught for one of his clients, a poor school that had trouble with theft. Unfortunately, many of these schools paid so little, the jobs were almost pro bono.

  “Congratulations. She must be quite a woman to hold your wandering attention,” said Robert.

  “Yeah, she’s tough. I’m not sure how she puts up with the disappointments in teaching. It’s not like most of those kids have any opportunity. Anyway, tell me more about this diamond find.”

  “Always one to get right to the business.”

  “It was a long flight, Robert.”

  “C’mon, Ian, we both got screwed and you know it. That accident in the mine was always going to happen. The company knew it, and we had nothing to do with the shootings during the strike.”

  “You threw me under the bus,” said Ian, noticing his face get hot again.

  “We were all thrown under the bus,” Robert said. “They promised me that if I testified that we lost control of our men due to the local rivalries we wouldn’t be prosecuted.”

  “Aw, forget it,” said Ian. “We were nothing but private police, anyway. I’m tired of all this racial shit. Maybe it’s time to get the hell out of Africa.”

  He poured himself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the table and refilled Robert’s glass.

  “What about the diamonds?” said Ian.

  “Read this,” said Robert, struggling to withdraw a folded paper from his jacket pocket with his bad hand. Ian decided not to ask what had happened. Not yet. He knew Robert was vain and detested weakness.

  Martinus,

  I trust you are well. By the time this letter reaches you, I will be back in Rome, reunited with Sabina and the boys.

  I discovered a secret that will make us rich. The northern tunnel goes on a great distance. We have found gold, silver and lead deposits.

  I will ask Nero to fund an expedition, but with caution. His need for gold is unending and his reign is fraying.

  The enclosed scroll shows the tunnel location and entrances should anything happen. You know the cipher.

  May the gods guard your safety,

  Agrippa

  “I don’t see what to make of this,” said Ian.

  “I didn’t expect you would; let me explain. About forty years ago, I came across an article in an obscure mining journal where a professor proposed an idea that the Romans used lava tubes for military and mining purposes.

  “I learned that he was speaking at a symposium at the Sorbonne in Paris, so I went. He claimed to have evidence, but the academics there called his scrolls and letters forgeries. And when he could not show archeological proof, they laughed the poor guy off the stage.”

  “He sounds crazy,” added Ian.

  “Perhaps, but the guy possessed a seriousness and passion for the topic and you don’t risk embarrassment at such a public forum without a strong basis. I talked with him later at the cocktail party. The poor bastard had brought his teenage son to the conference, and the kid looked mortified that his old man had been made a fool of.

  “The son kept insisting his dad ‘just drop it’ but he kept talking, oblivious to his kid’s anguish. He ran on about a box of documents recovered from the Vesuvius eruption that described the Roman use of lava tubes and, at that point, his son stomped off.

  “We talked longer about my mining connections and how we might collaborate. We wrote to each other in the months following the conference and I tried to get him to share his research, but he stopped returning my letters and I let it go.”

  “So, nothing, then?” said Ian.

  “About a year later, the son wrote from Corsica that his father had given up on the search and was selling some documents to cover university tuition. I was suspicious, but also intrigued. The son sold me a scroll and a couple letters.”

  “What was in them?” asked Ian, leaning forward.

  “Not as much as I had hoped, but one of them talked about large quantities of gold, silver, and lead found in Britannia and Gaul. All of it found in lava tubes. I got the scrolls appraised by experts and the language is precise for the t
ime. The carbon dating of the papyrus is 60 AD, plus or minus thirty years. Either some Roman conceived of an elaborate prank or there’s a lot more to this story. As it turned out father and son were having a feud because the professor wrote demanding I return the scroll.”

  “How does the scroll connect to Iceland?”

  “Remember that large tunnel we found in Koffiefontein?” Robert asked.

  “Yeah,” said Ian, picturing the dark side tunnel at a diamond mine in Koffiefontein, where their firm had been called in for a third-party evaluation. Some miners working a section of the mine called the Ebenhaezer kimberlite pipe had come across a lava tube that showed signs of previous human activity. Billions of króna would be at stake if someone came forth with a prior claim. Ian’s job was to validate the exclusivity of the current claim.

  He recalled the technical discussions about diamond formation hundreds of kilometers inside the Earth. Small but violent eruptions shot the diamond-rich magma to the surface and cooled leaving a column of rock called kimberlite. It turned out the lava tube off the Ebenhaezer pipe was a dead-end and the human activity proved false, but he had learned a great deal about the geology of diamonds on that job.

  “This could be similar. Suppose there is kimberlite in this tunnel?”

  “In Iceland?”

  “It’s plausible. The Romans had the most sophisticated mining operations in the ancient world.”

  “Plausible. I’ll give you that, but how could the Romans cover up something this large? There would be evidence, documents,” said Ian.

  “And security. It’s what we were paid for in Koffientein. It’s what the cartel has done for a hundred and thirty years,” said Robert.

  “All right, suppose the Romans had these tunnels. Where are they?” said Ian.

  “The letter you read mentions a scroll with the entrances. The professor must have it. He still lives in Corsica and is about my age. He knows a lot more than he published. He knows about abandoned Roman mines,” said Robert.

  “I don’t know,” said Ian.