by Sean Ellis
“Are you okay?” Marie whispered her question, although there seemed to be no reason for stealth.
“Piece of cake,” he called back.
“Should I come down?”
Something about the question struck him as odd. His brief experience in Marie’s company had not conveyed the impression of a woman who embraced difficulty. After a day of languishing in the semi-tropical environment that pervaded the ruins, her sudden interest struck him as out of character. She now seemed almost eager to jump off the balcony into the darkness. “No,” he answered, certain his concerns were unfounded. “Wait up there for me. I won’t be a minute, and besides, I might need your help to get out of here.”
The slick terrazzo mosaic reflected gleams of moonlight, but not enough to show any detail. To better investigate the courtyard, Kismet took out his MagLite and pierced the veil of darkness. His earlier assumption, namely that the pool area was completely isolated from the house, was quickly proved correct. There were several faux windows lining the wall that bordered the courtyard, but a close inspection showed bare masonry under the dark glass. He continued along the perimeter of the pool deck, looking for other points of egress. A three-meter high wall, topped with wrought-iron spears surrounded the pool on the remaining three sides, but on one corner near the palace, the wall was interrupted by an arched gateway. An iron barrier, like a portcullis, stretched across the opening and was secured by a heavy chain and padlock.
“I guess he didn’t want anyone crashing his pool parties,” called Kismet, quickly detailing the results of his initial survey. “I’m going to check out the pool now.”
He played his light toward the murky reservoir. It was impossible to distinguish the bottom through the accumulation of moss and algae, but given the relative smallness of the square basin, Kismet concluded that it was probably no more than two meters deep and currently half-filled. The muck covering the surface offered no further clue as to how the pool might conceal an entrance to his hypothetical tunnel, but the smooth walls, though discolored, caught his eye. Unlike the ornate mosaic work on the pool deck, the vertical concrete faces were strictly utilitarian, finished only with a coat of white sealant, now almost uniformly stained by rings of dead algae and numerous irregular dark streaks that looked curiously like tire skid marks. The pool’s period of disrepair seemed to go back further than the start of hostilities.
Kismet noted that the corners were set at right angles. Most swimming pools utilized rounded corners with smooth seamless joints. It stood to reason that the bottom of the pool was likewise squared at the corners and Kismet tried to draw a mental picture of what it might look like when empty. He was now certain that the swimming pool concealed the entrance to a subterranean passageway, but there remained one more crucial piece of the puzzle: a means of opening that secret door.
Stepping away from the edge, he returned the beam to the outer perimeter and began scrutinizing the walls and the false windows for some sort of control mechanism, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He was not overly disturbed by the lack of discovery; the efforts at concealing the doorway would have been poorly served if the doorknob were so obvious to spot.
Marie seemed to understand what he was looking for. “Perhaps it uses a remote control unit, like a garage door opener.”
He pondered the suggestion. “Think about this from their point of view. Radio signals can be detected and intercepted. For that matter, any kind of electrically operated system would be detectable. They would have tried to eliminate any elements that might attract unwanted attention.”
“What does that leave us?”
“A simple mechanical system.” He glanced back at the pool. “Or hydraulics.”
Although he had looked past them several times, the four decorative statues guarding the corners of the basin seized his attention. The life-sized stone carvings—two lions and two water buffalo—were incongruous with the general decor of the area. Though it was easy to dismiss their presence as one more example of Saddam’s eclectic sense of style, Kismet decided to take a closer look.
The nearest lion’s torso straddled a single stone tile, roughly two meters in length. The rectangular surface appeared to have been laid as a pedestal for the sculpture, but none of the lion’s feet were touching it. Kismet knelt and shined his light around the edges of the tile and found that the slab was not held in place by mortar. Inspired by this discovery, he set down the flashlight and used both hands to give the statue a shove.
With surprisingly little resistance, the stone lion moved. Like the slab it guarded, the statue was not anchored in place. Kismet pushed from different angles until all four of the figure’s feet were on the rectangular tile.
Nothing happened.
“We’re missing something,” he declared after a moment of waiting. “But I think we’re on the right track.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Marie from the darkness above.
“This lion has Teflon pads under its feet. It was designed to be moved around without damaging the tile beneath. I think the four statues are counter-weights. If I can figure out the correct sequence, it should open the door.”
“But where is the door?”
“It’s in the pool…under the water.” He briefly illuminated the other statues, lingering on the horned likenesses of the water buffalo. “Could it be that simple?”
He returned the lion to its original position, then moved to the next sculpted figure, a representation of the domesticated river bovine once common in the marshes of southern Mesopotamia before dam construction dried up the swamps. Kismet was not surprised to see that the buffalo’s feet were already positioned on a similar stone tile. After a moment’s exertion, he shifted the statue away from the slab.
From deep beneath his feet, there was a groaning noise and a faint tremor. The rectangular stone seemed to waver in the beam of his flashlight, but there was no dramatic movement and after a few seconds the noise from below ceased. Encouraged nonetheless, Kismet crossed to the opposite corner where the remaining water buffalo was stationed, and likewise pushed it from its perch.
The groaning resumed instantly, followed a moment later by the sound of rushing water. Kismet checked the level of the pool and was not surprised to see that it had been completely drained in a matter of seconds. As the last few drops vanished into drains located along the perimeter of the pool bottom, the groaning noise changed into the scrape of stone sliding against stone. The stone on which the water buffalo statues now stood abruptly rose into the air, revealing that the slabs were merely the caps to twin pillars of concrete. As the columns rose from the deck, the bottom of the pool rose also. Movement ceased only when it drew level with the edge of the pool.
“It’s a hydraulic lift,” declared Kismet, a hint of amazement creeping into his voice. “They built an elevator in the swimming pool.”
“An elevator to what?” inquired Marie. “How do you make it go back down?”
“I’m betting it’s as simple as moving the lion statues onto the trigger tiles.” He moved to test this theory.
“You didn’t answer my first question,” she complained. “Where does it go?”
He tried to answer in between grunts of exertion as he moved the statues. “To our mysterious tunnel. Whoever built this made it big enough to handle a truck. My guess is that it was supposed to be some kind of bunker; a last redoubt, designed to hide the remnants of the high command, along with a representative number of vehicles and tanks, until the immediate threat had passed.”
“We’re more than a kilometer from the temple ruin. Are you saying the tunnel is that extensive?”
“I guess it would have to be.” He gave the last remaining lion a final push, and as the legs of the sculpted feline came to rest on the stone, the supporting slab began to sink. At the same time, the pool deck fell away, sliding back down to its original position. The pedestals for the water buffalo statues also receded into the pool deck, but stopped as soon as they
were flush with the mosaic surface. The pool bottom kept going.
In the beam of the MagLite, Kismet could distinguish the catch basins in the walls to which the pool water had been shunted. Doubtless, the architect had designed the pool to be emptied or refilled on a moment’s notice. He found himself once more in awe of the engineering achievement.
The descent of the surreptitious elevator continued unchecked, dropping to a depth of ten fathoms—nearly twenty meters—into the darkness below. The shaft had been reinforced with concrete, maintaining the illusion of a swimming pool, albeit one that was ridiculously deep. When it finally stopped, Kismet could not tell if there was a means of continuing on.
He walked back to stand below Marie on the balcony. “I’m going to play with this for a minute to see if I can bring it back up. Go get Pierre and tell him what we found.”
“You’re not thinking of going in tonight, are you?”
“Why not? It’s time something went our way for a change.” As she turned away, he remembered one more thing. “And bring a rope!”
Marie hastened away, oblivious to the human form concealed in the shadows that had listened to every word of their conversation.
***
Saeed and his brother had remained concealed until well after the fall of night, long after Kismet and the others had withdrawn from the temple site. The hasty retreat was disturbing, for while he knew that the UNESCO team would find nothing of consequence in the ruins, he had expected them to invest several days, perhaps even weeks, before admitting defeat. The swiftness with which they concluded their operation made him wonder what Kismet had discovered, but he dared not contact his informant for fear of exposing her presence. So, he and Farid waited in the sweltering heat as the sun finished its journey across the sky.
They had only begun the trek back to Farid’s vehicle when the satellite phone receiver trilled, signaling the call he had been so eagerly awaiting. He answered immediately. “Yes?”
“Our mutual friend is very efficient. He has discovered untapped reservoirs of ingenuity.”
The double-speak wasn’t too hard to unriddle. ‘Reservoir’ surely referred to the hidden lift in the swimming pool. Saeed had known of it since its creation, but he was one of a privileged few. That Kismet had so quickly located it verged on the miraculous. “I understand. When you follow him in his voyage of discovery, we will no longer be able to communicate in this way. However, I will meet you along the way.”
“You know of another way in?”
“I do. But that need not concern you. Do nothing to arouse suspicion. This matter will soon be resolved.” He ended the conversation with typical abruptness then turned to Farid. “Kismet has found the tunnel entrance.”
“What? You mean it is inside the palace?”
“Fear not, my brother. That is but one entrance of many. When he begins to comprehend what he has found, he will make his way to the ultimate destination. That is where we will meet him. Now however, it is time to gather your men. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
***
As the concealed elevator bearing Nick Kismet and his companions slowly receded into the unseen depths, Rebecca emerged from her hiding place. Her simple civilian attire had been replaced by a utilitarian black combat uniform and her mane of fiery copper was concealed beneath a matching knit watch cap. Almost invisible against her dark clothing was a compact Steyr TMP machine-pistol.
She moved stealthily to the balcony rail, unsure of how long it would take to remove the descending group from her line of sight. She risked a quick look, ducking back before her brain could completely process the information gathered by her eyes. Her caution was unnecessary. Kismet and the others were nowhere to be seen. She raised a hand from her weapon and made a “come along” gesture.
Immediately, seven similarly clad figures stepped from various hiding places and wordlessly moved to join her. One man drew to within a few centimeters of her face in order to hear her whispered orders.“Chance and Jacques will stay here to guard our rear and maintain contact with our recovery team.”
The man nodded then moved back to relay the orders in a whisper while Rebecca climbed over the railing. Kismet’s group had left behind a fixed rope which, under his guidance, each person had used to rappel down to the pool deck three stories below. She had watched with great interest as Kismet coaxed and cajoled the reluctant woman and the older Chiron, eventually convincing them of the inherent safety in what he was asking them to do. Rebecca now coiled several lengths of that same rope around her torso, then effortlessly abseilled down to the terrazzo surface below.
There was a faint grating sound emanating from the depths of the shaft. The platform was still making its ponderous descent. Rebecca stayed well away from the edge until the vibrations ceased, and then held back a few minutes more. She had been told that the objective was not immediately accessible from the shaft, so there was no harm in allowing their quarry to get a head start. Better that than to reveal their own presence by activating the noisy lift.
The remaining members of her team descended in order, joining her on the pool deck. In a subdued voice, she directed each of them to stand beside the statues and wait for her cue to begin the complicated sequence of shuffling that would bring the lift back to the surface. She had surreptitiously observed Kismet’s experiments with the sculpted animals, noting the exact pattern of movements required to raise or lower the device.
One of the men made a faint tisking noise to get her attention. She could see that he was holding something, but in the darkness it was impossible to discern what the object was. She moved closer to get a better look.
It was a crude sign—a permanent ink marker on a sheet of paper—with a brief message. Her first impulse was to believe that Kismet had somehow become aware of her presence and left the message behind to mock her. She read the words a second time:
“Gone after the White Rabbit. Back soon! Alice and the gang.”
The message was in English, flippant in tone, but vague. Kismet’s handiwork, she reckoned, but not for her eyes. Doubtless, he expected the Marines to find his ropes and the blank hole where the swimming pool had been, and had left the message as a clever way of letting them know who it was that uncovered this mystery. She crumpled the sign in her fist and stuffed it into one of her deep cargo pockets.
Exactly five minutes after the elevator platform completed its descent, she gave the signal for her men to begin moving the statues. As soon as the pool bottom was level with the deck, she and five selected members of the team moved out onto the concrete slab. The remaining men—Jacques and Chance—shifted the lion statues into place and commenced yet another drop into the dark shaft. One of the men began unspooling a thin antenna wire that would serve as their communications link to the surface.
Rebecca watched as the gossamer strand paid out in generous curlicues overhead. As the walls began to rise up on all sides, the implications of what she and her team were doing finally hit home. The smooth concrete shaft resembled nothing less than a tomb, and while she would never reveal even a hint of the trepidation she now felt to her subordinates, she was keenly aware that their lives hung by that single thread-like strand of metal.
Pure, unrefined darkness swelled around them and still they descended. When they finally stopped, it took a supreme effort of will to take that blind step away from the platform. She took out a flashlight, capped with a red lens, and shined it up the shaft, signaling for their comrades to return the elevator to its original state, effectively sealing them in.
As the platform removed their final link with the world above, her fingers unconsciously found the crumpled page in her pocket. She once more curled her fist around the message and decided that Kismet had gotten it all wrong. This wasn’t a magical doorway into Wonderland. More apropos would have been the words of Orpheus.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here…
The inscription above the gates of Hell.
***
The darkness swallowed them whole. Kismet’s MagLite was insignificant against the overwhelming totality of the subterranean night. There was a larger lantern in the supplies Hussein had packed, but it seemed pointless to use up that resource when there was nothing in particular to look at. They had settled instead for yellow Cyalume sticks—plastic tubes filled with a phosphorescent substance that would shine for hours once activated. The chemical light source did not afford much in the way of illumination, but was useful for keeping the group together.
From his position at the front of the line, Kismet could not see the handheld light sticks, but he could hear the distinctive sounds of his companions’ footsteps. In the absence of visual cues, he was soon able to distinguish the differing styles of footwear and the particular rhythms of each person’s stride. The tapping of their feet on stone however was the only sound in the dark womb of the earth; hardly a word had been spoken since their arrival.
The tunnel began immediately at the bottom of the shaft and cut due east through the bedrock at a gentle slope. Compared to the claustrophobic confines of most caverns and mine shafts, the passage through the rock was immense, rising several stories overhead to a smooth arched ceiling. With the exception of an occasional buttress to reinforce the walls or roof, the tunnel was unremarkably uniform. It was a long hallway stretching on indefinitely without doors or junctions. As Kismet had earlier suggested, the corridor was easily large enough to accommodate a military vehicle. He surmised that most of those who found their way to this place made the journey with the assistance of motorized transport.
The slope of the tunnel soon leveled out. Kismet was keeping a careful pace count, reconciling the distance traveled in the subterranean passage with the actual separation between the palace and the temple ruins. There was no question that the tunnel’s vector would intersect that point, and he had little doubt that they would find the treasure vault when they reached that critical junction. Despite his earlier dismissal of Chiron’s agenda, there was no denying the excitement he felt as he pushed forward.