Cloe watched as the monsignor and J.E. put their shoulders to the stone door to try to push it open. Nothing happened.
“Does it open inward?” asked Cloe, examining it carefully.
“I don’t know,” said J.E. “But it won’t budge. It’s obviously not a tourist attraction.”
“All right, we’ve been here before,” said Cloe, continuing to study the entrance. “Brute force won’t do it. What we need is a lever, a key.”
“Signorina, a key?” queried the monsignor, excited. “Could it be?”
“The key from the Church of St. John?” pondered Cloe. “J.E., do we still have it after the plane crash?”
“Right here,” said J.E., patting his pack. “Other than the clothes on my back and what I had in my pockets, it’s about the only thing I could save. It’s in my new backpack.”
“Okay, but how do we use it, if we do at all?” queried Cloe.
They all studied the marabout more closely. Cloe could see that whereas it had looked to be round from a distance, it actually had more of a horseshoe shape. The door was located on the flat side. The monsignor and J.E. crouched down on their hands and knees to carefully examine the doorway.
The monsignor stood, straightened, and turned to her.
“Cloe, this stone door is actually round. It overlaps the doorway on both sides and at the top and bottom. Thus, it makes a solid seal,” said the monsignor.
Suddenly, a voice behind them boomed, “Yes, it reminds one of what is written of the tomb of Joseph of Arimathaea, the very tomb where Christ our Lord was buried.”
Cloe, J.E., and the monsignor spun around, and there standing a few yards away were Father Sergio and two of the Swiss Guard.
“Oh my God! Sergio!” cried Cloe. She ran to the young priest and hugged him fiercely.
J.E. and the monsignor joined Cloe in the reunion and slapped Father Sergio on the back and clasped hands with the soldiers.
“Well, Serge, you do have a way of growing on people,” said J.E. as they moved to the shade of the marabout to catch up.
The Swiss set up a tiny burner and began to brew coffee as they talked.
“Father Sergio,” said Cloe with tears in her eyes, “we are so happy to see you. We heard some people were rescued, but we didn’t know who. How could you possibly be here?”
“It is wonderful to see you and to be here,” said the young camerlengo. “We three were the least injured in the plane crash. Father Anton and the rest of the Swiss who survived are still in the hospital in Tunis. We were released yesterday and followed you to El Guettar and then here. It seems there are no secrets in El Guettar. You were so engrossed in what you were doing that you did not hear our approach.”
“Quite so,” said the monsignor. “But we also were not expecting anyone from the direction from which you came.”
“It was necessary to swing well to the north because you are being followed by someone,” replied the young camerlengo.
“Followed?” questioned J.E., now looking to the south.
“Yes, from the fort we could see several people following you but taking pains to remain hidden from you,” said Father Sergio.
“Either the Karik has returned more quickly than we thought possible, or he left men to watch for us,” surmised J.E. “Either way, we should hustle to get into the marabout. It won’t be too long before it’s dark.”
“J.E., we do have to get inside, but we are all exhausted,” said Cloe. “Let’s take five minutes to think through our options.”
The Swiss served the coffee, and someone produced honey and chocolate. Cloe realized that they had skipped lunch, and she thought she had never had a better break. She stirred the honey into her coffee and munched on a bit of chocolate.
“Well, I’m sure you have had quite an adventure as well, but you can bring me up to date on that later. What do we have here?” asked Father Sergio.
Cloe briefly explained to Father Sergio what they had learned in El Guettar about Speratus and the marabout and then concluded, gesturing toward the structure, “The problem is we can’t get in.”
The camerlengo’s sudden appearance had injected new energy into the group. “Well, let’s take a look,” he said.
They all went back to the doorway. Father Sergio examined it carefully, as did J.E. and the monsignor, once again.
“This part of the wall is almost straight,” said the monsignor. “Still, no amount of effort will push the stone open.”
“If I’m correct and this is like other tombs of its time, such as the tomb where Christ lay for three days after his crucifixion, it does not push or slide. It rolls,” said the priest. “The stone door is itself round.”
“Bingo, Serge,” said J.E. from where he was crouched on the ground, looking at the bottom of the stone. “There’s some sort of track that it is fitted into here at the bottom. It’s like a closet door. Somehow it rolls open in the track.”
“But how?” asked Cloe. “We haven’t been able to budge it.”
As they talked, the monsignor was scraping the sand away from the bottom of the door. Once he had finished, the track in which the door was mounted became obvious. “There’s a small, oddly shaped hole here on the right side of the door,” he said. “If the stone is to roll away, this would be the downhill side. But there’s something blocking the track.”
“What about our key?” asked Cloe. “Hurry, it’s beginning to get dark.”
“I’m not sure how that would work,” responded J.E., now looking closely at the hole. “Maybe it would push a rod or other obstruction—whatever is blocking the stone door from rolling back—out of the way.”
J.E. took the jade key out of his backpack and inserted it into the small hole on the downhill side of the door. Nothing happened.
“Okay, so that didn’t work,” Cloe said, disappointed.
“Hang on,” said J.E. as he twisted the key in the shaft. “Hmmm, it won’t give.”
“It seems like the keyhole has been cut to accept our key, but it won’t work,” said J.E. “Maybe we have this all wrong.”
“Wait a minute,” said the monsignor. “It’s been a long time since anyone has tried to enter this tomb. Perhaps we have to relieve the pressure on the mechanism to make it work.”
Cloe watched as the monsignor and the Swiss Guards went to the stone door and, instead of trying to open it, put their backs to it. They were able to roll it upward slightly, as if they were trying to close it more tightly. The stone door gave a little as they struggled with it.
J.E. worked the jade key, and as the door moved up, he was able to push the key forward, and whatever had been blocking the door gave way.
“Okay,” said J.E. “Let it come back, but gently.”
The monsignor and the Swiss relaxed and let the stone door move downward. At first nothing happened, but then slowly the door moved along the track down and to the right. As it picked up speed, Cloe feared it might tear through the marabout and roll over the wall into the desert. But it came to rest at the bottom of the track with an audible thud.
The doorway to the tomb stood wide open.
CHAPTER 49
“Sir, we are about three hundred meters from the landmark where Dr. Lejeune and her party are located. We have been tracking and watching them most of the day, and now dusk is upon us. All but one of them have entered the structure,” said the servant. “Also, another priest and two others have joined the Lejeune group.”
“Where did the newcomers come from?” questioned the Karik.
“From the north, sir,” replied the servant. “We don’t know who they are.”
“What of the one outside?” asked the Karik.
“He seems to have been left as a sentry,” responded the servant. “We believe him to be one of the Swiss soldiers, but he appears to be unarmed.”
“Yes, that would fit. They would have lost their equipment in the plane crash, and resupply of arms is not so easy in a foreign country,” mused the Karik.
<
br /> “They appear to be completely vulnerable,” observed the servant.
“Appearances can be deceiving, especially in the darkness,” replied the Karik, but he wondered if Noosh actually was suggesting action.
“Perhaps we should camp in place here and await the dawn,” suggested the servant.
The Karik mulled this over and said, “We don’t know why Dr. Lejeune has chosen to come here. Is this some sort of clue? Is it a landmark on some map she might have? Can this be the entrance to the cave itself?” The Karik was angry with his own indecision.
“We may not know the answers to those questions until she leads us to the cave,” said the servant.
“Yes, and if we interrupt her prematurely, we might not learn of its location at all,” said the Karik, thinking of the Sicarii woman who had sabotaged his map.
The servant knew the Karik had made his mind up. “What are your orders, sir?”
“Tell our men to make camp here, but no fires and no noise. Sound carries very well in the desert at night,” ordered the Karik. “We will see what tomorrow brings.”
CHAPTER 50
Once inside the marabout, Cloe studied the surroundings in the failing light from the open doorway. The structure was not large, hardly bigger than the niche in the Church of St. John where the sarcophagus of St. Irenaeus was situated. Once again, J.E. handed out small but powerful LED flashlights, which he had been able to buy when they had resupplied in El Guettar. Soon, other details of the chamber began to reveal themselves.
“If this is a tomb, where is the coffin?” queried J.E.
Sure enough, as Cloe looked around, she saw no stone casket like the ones they had seen at the Church of St. John for the other martyrs. The middle of the floor in the chamber was completely open.
“Amazing,” said the monsignor as he studied the door mechanism. “There’s a system of pulleys and wire ropes here that would overcome the inertia of the stone and pull it upward in the track to close. But how do you do that from outside? We must have missed something.”
J.E. followed the wire from the block and tackle toward the floor, where some gears and shafts were visible. “Whoa,” he said. “There must be a place outside to insert a tool like a crank. Turning the crank spins the gears and shafts in here, drawing the wire rope taut and eventually lugging the stone back up to the closed position. You have to have our key, or its mate, to knock the stone pin out of the door’s path to open it, but a crank is needed to close the door from the outside. Ingenious!”
“But the ancients didn’t have this technology or these materials,” said the young camerlengo. “How is this possible?”
“Yes and no,” said the monsignor. “The ancients were certainly aware of pulleys, blocks and tackle, and the like. They knew about mechanical advantage. However, their gears, shafts, and pulleys ordinarily would have been made of wood. This is not withstanding the jade construction of the mechanism in Lyon. That was very special, perhaps unique. They also would have used regular rope or leather thongs.”
“So the ancients could have built this, but it would have been with different materials?” asked Cloe.
“Quite right,” said the monsignor. “What I’m beginning to think is that the ancients did build this marabout with this ingenious mechanism centuries ago, and when the materials gave out, someone—I suspect the Sicarii—replaced them with modern materials, eventually resulting in what you see here tonight.”
“If true, I think that tells us we are in the right place,” observed Cloe, turning her light back toward the open central room in the marabout. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
“Mom,” said J.E.
Cloe turned and saw her son standing in the doorway looking outward. It was now full dark, but the moon had not yet risen.
“J.E.?” she asked.
“The Karik and his men have had time to get to El Guettar and back. They could be out there watching us at this very moment,” said J.E. “All of our weapons were lost in the plane crash. The Karik could walk in here right now and do whatever he wanted.”
“But what can we do?” replied Cloe. “You said yourself we have no weapons. All we can do is press on and hope to find the cave before he catches up to us.”
“Well, there’s at least one more thing we can do,” replied J.E.
“What are you thinking, J.E.?” asked the monsignor.
“We can close this door,” he responded.
“Close the door?” asked Cloe. “What are you saying?”
“This marabout is built of stone and has survived for hundreds of years,” said her son. “It’s very solid and will act like a small fort. The door should be easy to close from the inside. All we have to do is use the block and tackle to pull the door to the closed position and then insert the doorstop pin to jam it from opening.”
“Yes,” said the monsignor. “The Karik won’t have the key, and even if he could fashion a crank, it would do no good once the door is closed and jammed.”
“Correct, they can beat on the door all they want, but without the key, that door will not open,” said J.E.
“The roof of the marabout is vented, so we can actually set up our cookstove in here,” said Cloe, catching the drift.
“What’s the downside?” asked Father Sergio.
“The downside is that we will be trapped,” said J.E.
This hushed the group as everyone considered the situation. J.E. stood in the center of the party and said, “But that’s no different from where we are now. If the Karik’s out there, we’re trapped anyway. If he’s not out there, it won’t matter. The only difference is that although we can’t get out without encountering him, he can get in. Closing the door makes it a standoff. We have enough supplies to last for quite a while.”
“Yes, and I know Father Anton and the rest of the Swiss will come for us as soon as they are fit,” said the monsignor.
“What do we do, Cloe?” asked the young camerlengo.
All eyes turned to Cloe. She so admired J.E.’s command of the tactical issues. But what could she say? Cloe was a dead languages professor. She belonged in a classroom teaching or in a lab translating the journal. Making life-and-death decisions had to be someone else’s responsibility. Still, it had been thrust upon her.
She walked away from the group to consider the options. She paused in thought and then turned on her heels and said, “Bring the packs and equipment inside. Ask our Swiss sentry to come in and close the damn door.”
CHAPTER 51
“Sir, the structure has gone dark,” reported the servant.
The Karik’s men had set up a small tent for their leader, and he now sat on a carpet in the mouth of the tent, facing outward. The only thing he lacked for his comfort was hot food. Still, the fruit and cold lamb had been exquisite. The white wine with which it had been served was also actually quite good. The moonrise in the east promised to be spectacular. The air was clear and clean. Life was good. He thought he might be able to get used to roughing it like this.
The servant continued, “Our sentries have been observing them for some time. They are inside the structure, and the doorway has been alight with lamps or flashlights.”
“And now there is nothing?” pressed the Karik.
“Nothing but blackness,” responded the servant.
“Can they know of our presence? Have our men followed my orders, or have we been revealed?” queried the Karik, his voice rising.
“Your orders have been followed to the letter. They cannot know of our presence by any act of ours tonight,” responded the servant, starting to sweat even though the desert night was turning cool.
“Still, they have done something to quash the light, which suggests a defensive strategy. It is too early for them to turn in. A defensive action would only be called for if they thought someone was out here.”
“A wise analysis, sir,” said Noosh. “May I suggest, those dogs in El Guettar may have told Dr. Lejeune that you were in the area in the sam
e manner by which they told us that the Lejeune party was near.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Karik, jumping up and beginning to pace. “So they know we may be here as opposed to knowing that we are here. Thus, they have taken a defensible position in case we are about. That’s the Lejeune woman’s accursed son who has that mentality. His tactics helped overcome the Kolektor. I owe him a special ending!”
The servant apparently did not know what to say and so kept quiet.
Calming himself, the Karik lifted the small goblet in which his wine had been served and drank deeply, emptying the glass. The servant scrambled to refill the stem.
“I grow impatient with this lack of action,” said the Karik, his balance restored. “Tomorrow we will roll over them, and I will have my treasures. I will have the Kolektor’s treasures.”
CHAPTER 52
Now inside the marabout with the door sealed, Cloe took stock of her surroundings. The Swiss had set up the small cookstove and were once again brewing the ever-present coffee. She thought they must have coffee in their veins. The scene within, regardless of what lay without, was clubby. Tins of food were being heated on the grill. They would have coffee and hot food shortly.
Cloe joined the others sitting around the stove and wondered where they would go from here.
“The problem is still the same,” said J.E. “We need to find the clue if there is one here. There is no sarcophagus, so how do we really know that Speratus is buried here? The holy man in El Guettar was positive, but he was also positive that the Cave of the Sicarii was a myth.”
The food soon was ready, and all used their personal mess kits to serve themselves some kind of stew with canned peaches on the side. Cloe was amazed at what the Swiss could do with a small camp stove and a few tins of food.
After they had finished, they cleaned up the kits and put them away. The Swiss poured the strong coffee. Cloe sipped her brew while thinking about the “problem,” as J.E. had put it.
Although their initial examination of the interior of the marabout had focused primarily on the door mechanism and the group’s security, Cloe now stood and began to walk around the marabout, looking at each feature and fixture. There were sconces that at one time would have held torches. The most curious object was a shelf in the very back of the structure. On it was a small box.
The Last Sicarius Page 15