Terribly disappointed, Cloe wandered away from the wall and flopped down on the sandy floor in the middle of the room. She wasn’t sure whether she had willingly sat down or her legs had just given way. Had she come this far only to fail? What had happened?
Wait a minute, she thought. One thing and one thing only would prove this was the right cave. She got on her hands and knees and began to rummage around in the sand, shining her light here and there.
“Is that it?” she asked herself aloud.
The monsignor had joined her and was watching, as were the rest. “Cloe, what are you doing?” he asked.
She looked up. “Remember Thib’s letter? Do you remember what he said he did with his flashlight?”
Smiling, the monsignor dropped to his knees and joined the search. Cloe shone her light on something that gave back a red reflection. She crawled to it, picked it up, and turned triumphantly to the others.
The monsignor gasped. “Well, my goodness, there can be no doubt now. No doubt at all.”
“What is it?” asked Father Sergio.
“It’s the red lens from Thib’s flashlight,” said the monsignor. “His letter states he took it off after he and Morrow fell into the cave so he could see better. At that point, he no longer had any need for the red low-light lens.”
“So there is no question that this is Thib’s cave where there are supposed to be scores or hundreds of jars,” said Cloe. “Where are they?”
“Where, indeed?” blasted a new voice from the darkness of the corridor, in the direction from which they had come. “Come, Doctor, surely you have some idea.”
Cloe turned and saw the man she assumed was the Karik. She could not see his face well in the darkness. He stepped into the room with six well-armed thugs. Their guns were leveled at J.E. and the other men. She saw J.E. assess the situation, but it was clear there could be neither flight nor fight right now.
The newcomers were garbed traditionally like the residents of this area, with robes and headdresses. Their weapons, however, were completely modern and, Cloe knew, lethal.
“Well, Doctor, what have you to say for yourself?” asked the leader of the group.
Something about the way he said this triggered a memory in Cloe, and she said, “Karik, I presume, or do you not have the courage to tell me your name?”
“Karik will do,” said the man.
“Oh, come now, Karik. No need to be modest. Your fame goes before you, in the form of death and destruction,” said Cloe directly.
The man began to fidget as if she might have struck a nerve.
“But we have met before, and I know your true name. You’re Dadash, previously the servant of the Kolektor,” asserted Cloe. “You’re nothing more than the Kolektor’s house mouse.”
The monsignor snickered, and the Karik’s eyes burned with hatred at Cloe.
Knowing she had seized the conversation and that the Karik was on the defensive, Cloe pressed on. “I’m assuming that you used your position of trust with the Kolektor to somehow take over his organization after his death at Hakeldama. How did you do it?”
The Karik’s men, who apparently understood some English or at least the body language, began to shuffle nervously. The Karik himself seemed unsure.
“You must have gotten control of the Kolektor’s money somehow. That’s it, isn’t it? You have stolen the Kolektor’s fortune and assumed his identity,” asserted Cloe.
The Karik swiftly stepped forward and backhanded her across the face. She landed on her backside and saw stars. J.E. jumped forward toward the Karik, but the monsignor grabbed him before he could get himself shot.
“Stop!” screamed Cloe. Shaking the cobwebs from her head and rubbing her swelling cheek, she dragged herself to her feet. She stepped toward the Karik. Saying nothing, she smiled at him.
Furious, the Karik hoarsely croaked in his own defense, “I am completing the mission the master gave me. When you have told me where the jars have been taken, I will finish the plans the master laid out for you and your colleagues at Hakeldama.”
“If that’s your plan, why should we help you at all?” queried Father Sergio.
The Karik tore his hate-filled eyes from Cloe and studied the young camerlengo. “I have met the doctor, her son, and this accursed priest, the monsignor, but I do not believe I know you,” said the Karik, moving toward Father Sergio.
The Karik pulled an ugly handgun from under his robes and pointed it at Father Sergio. “Tell me where the jars have been taken, or I’ll put a bullet in your new priest’s head,” said the Karik dryly, his voice cracking.
“We don’t know,” said the monsignor. “We found the cave just as you see it.”
“That’s right,” cried Cloe. “We’re as surprised as you are that this part of the cave is empty. Perhaps the jars have been moved to another area of this series of caverns.”
“Perhaps … Noosh, take two men and search everything thoroughly,” replied the Karik. “We shall see, Doctor. If this is another tactic to stall for time, it will go hard on your friend.”
CHAPTER 57
“Karik, we have searched everywhere. There are no jars,” said Noosh. “There’s nothing at all in the cavern.”
The Karik turned slowly and faced Cloe and the other members of her party, who had now been securely bound. He approached leisurely, seemingly lost in thought, perhaps debating courses of action. Cloe could only wonder what was going on in that wicked, twisted brain.
“Dr. Lejeune, what can you add to help us with our predicament?” he asked mildly. “The treasure we have both sought seems to have eluded us. I am not pleased.”
Cloe stood, only her arms having been bound, and considered the situation. Once again she and her comrades were on the brink of ignominious death at the hands of the Kolektor’s organization embodied in this shallow imposter. What could she add, and who would save them even if she could prolong things? Hope fled like a shadow away from the morning sunrise.
But Cloe was able to recenter herself. The seventeen-year-old unwed mother and street fighter she had once been surfaced. “Karik, it seems someone else has bested us,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied collegially. “Still, we were the only ones who knew of the cave and were searching for it.”
“Is that so?” Cloe queried. “Was there no one else? Where did you get your map?”
“How did you know of the map?” he asked.
“It was common knowledge in El Guettar,” she responded. “Who could know of the cave so as to make a map?”
“Perhaps the Vatican,” the Karik said offhandedly.
“But the Vatican representatives are right here in the cave. Why would they remove the jars and then come here to fall into your trap?” she asked, realizing the Karik was no Kolektor. “No, there is another player on this board. Where did you get the map?”
“The Sicarii,” he said. “I knew from Hakeldama that they were the guardians of the cave. I simply put out the necessary forces and money until we found people connected to them. In the era of modern communications and computers, not much can be hidden.”
“So what did you do?” Cloe continued. “Did you torture some poor soul to get your blasted map?”
“Of course,” said the Karik. “But the woman tricked us somehow even in her death throes, mucking up the landmarks. The map was useless. Her family will pay for her deceit.”
Cloe smiled at her Sicarii sister’s courage, but it was not a smile of happiness. It was a smile of resolution. It was a smile of iron will.
“Well, Karik, it’s plain that your incompetence has put you and us here in an empty cave,” she whispered. “Your torture of the Sicarii woman somehow tipped the clan off that you might know where their most precious treasures were located. They didn’t know that your victim had misled you or couldn’t take the chance that she hadn’t.”
The Karik considered this and said, “I see now how you got the best of the Kolektor. Your reasoning is sound. But I shall not m
ake his mistake.”
“What will you do?” queried Cloe.
“That is not for you to know, as you and your pesky friends will die here,” said the Karik.
“But the Sicarii are now on the alert,” observed Cloe. “You have no chance of finding them or where they have taken the jars. You are finished.”
“I found them once, and I will find them again,” finished the Karik. “I will have the jars.”
CHAPTER 58
Cloe was trussed up and thrown next to the others. At least, it seemed, they were not going to be shot, though that only meant the Karik probably had something worse in mind for them. The Karik and his men had headed out of the entrance tunnel that opened into this section of the cavern. They were gone, leaving Cloe and the others in overwhelming darkness deep within the earth.
Cloe struggled with her bindings but in doing so only seemed to tighten them. She could barely breathe after her exertions. Suddenly, she felt someone behind her working her fastenings. It was absolutely pitch-black in the cave.
“It’s me, Mom,” whispered J.E. Somehow he had gotten loose.
He quickly untied her, and as they freed the others, Cloe asked, “How?”
“When they tied me, I flexed the muscles in my arms and wrists. After they left, I relaxed the muscles, leaving me enough slack in the ropes to eventually wriggle out of them. Not very original but effective. We have to be very careful and get out of here,” said J.E. “They have not left the cave yet; I can still hear footsteps in the distance.”
“Where are our flashlights?” questioned the monsignor. “Do we still have our equipment?”
They spread out and searched by hand in the blackness, but their lights and most of their equipment had been taken. The only thing left was some camping gear.
“J.E., can you lead us out of here? We can’t see a thing,” said the monsignor.
“I’m not sure,” replied the young soldier. “But hurry, join hands and let’s move to the sound.”
They linked arms and followed the diminishing footfalls of the Karik’s men. Soon, they were completely lost. They could no longer hear anything from the Karik’s soldiers. It was absolutely silent, with no point of reference whatsoever.
“Okay,” said Cloe, “let’s sit for a minute and think. There must be some way out of here.”
“Ack …” said the young camerlengo.
“What is it?” asked Cloe.
“I just butted my head on something,” he replied.
The monsignor moved forward and felt the wall near where he had heard Father Sergio’s cry. “Wait a minute,” he said.
“What?” asked Cloe.
“It’s a sconce. We’ve seen several since we entered the marabout,” replied the monsignor. “There’s a torch in it. Does anyone have matches?”
“Here,” said Father Sergio sheepishly. “I smoke occasionally. I don’t have matches, but I have an old Zippo. It might be a little waterlogged, but they are supposed to light every time.”
“A Zippo—what’s a Zippo?” asked J.E.
“Just the finest lighter you have never seen,” responded the monsignor, his tone of voice implying that he might be smiling in the darkness.
The camerlengo popped the top on the lighter, and it made its trademark zilk sound. Almost immediately there was a flame. The monsignor lowered the torch and lit it, and the area brightened enough that they could discern their surroundings.
“Wow,” said Cloe, very quietly. “I have never really known true darkness until tonight. This is such a relief.”
“We have no time to lose,” said J.E. “We have to get out of here.”
“But, J.E., the Karik is gone, and we are alive,” responded Cloe.
“Yes, and do you wonder why we are alive?” asked J.E. “We were at the Karik’s complete mercy, yet he let us live.”
“The young sir is correct,” said the monsignor. “The Karik has something else in mind. J.E., take the lead and get us out of here.”
J.E. grabbed the torch and quickly led them toward what they hoped would be the entrance to the marabout. But while wandering around blind, it seemed they had lost their way. After a while Cloe noticed they had only returned to the place where the Judas niche was located.
“Gosh, we are back where we started,” said the camerlengo. “Now what?”
“We keep going,” said J.E.
CHAPTER 59
Cloe and the rest of the party moved out as the torch began to sputter a bit. They had looked for more torches as they went along, but the few additional sconces they had encountered had been empty.
“J.E., we need to get back to the marabout,” said the monsignor. “I think this is the tunnel that we came through to get here.”
“Albert, I think that’s right,” J.E. replied, “but that’s the same way we went a while ago that got us back here. We have to be careful not to reenter that loop.”
As they entered the tunnel, the torch flickered, smoldered, and looked like it might go out. But then it brightened again, popped, crackled, and continued to light their way.
They moved cautiously but as quickly as they could. After about ten minutes, the torch sputtered again, and this time it went out. Father Sergio tried to relight it but without success. It was done.
“Okay,” said J.E. “This won’t be easy, but we can still get out. Serge, let me have the Zippo. I’ll get us free of this hole.” J.E. snapped the lighter open and fingered the flint wheel that brought the flame. They continued to move in the now diminished flickering light. The shadows stalked them at every turn.
After a short time, J.E. dropped the stainless-steel lighter. “Damn,” he said as everything went dark once again. “It got hot.”
“Yes, that lighter always lights, but it is not meant to be a beacon,” explained the camerlengo.
The whole group dropped to their hands and knees and searched for the lighter. After a minute, the monsignor said, “I have it.”
“What we will have to do is light it for a couple of minutes and then close it to cool. We will have to wait in the darkness to proceed,” said Father Sergio.
“Here, J.E., take it and we’ll time it so we can make progress as best we can,” said the monsignor.
Cloe thought about this and silently thanked God she was among these people. They were in a terrible way, having been abandoned deep underground by the Karik in the pitch-black, perhaps to wander until exhausted and to wait for death to overcome them. But that was not in the hearts of her friends. While there was breath, there was hope. She loved these men.
They went along in this manner until they reached a place where the tunnel split off in two directions. At that point they had to shut off the lighter so it could cool down.
There, in the dark, Cloe said, “This must be where we went wrong the first time.”
“I think that’s right. The problem is I’m not sure which way we went,” said J.E. “This time, we have to choose the correct fork because I doubt our lighter has another circuit in it.”
“Which way do you think, J.E.?” asked Cloe.
“I think we went left the first time around, but I’m not sure. Let’s try the right,” said the young soldier.
“We are all with you, young sir,” said the monsignor.
They sat in the darkness while the lighter cooled, contemplating the terrible choice before them. One way could mean life, and the other could spell ignominious death in the rat trap in which the Karik had left them. Cloe began to burn with anger. She would get out of here, and she would see the end of the Kolektor’s organization.
“What’s that?” whispered the camerlengo.
Cloe strained to hear.
“Men,” she said, answering so softly that she wasn’t sure anyone heard her. “The Karik has come back to finish us.”
Sure enough, they all could now hear the approaching footsteps of a group of people. Soon flashlight beams were bouncing off the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. There was nowhere to hide
. The passage here was straight without transepts.
Cloe was as miserable as she had been while totally and completely under the Kolektor’s power in Jerusalem. The men approached.
“Dr. Lejeune … Cloe?” one of them called softly.
Cloe jumped up and cried, “Oh my God … Michael?”
CHAPTER 60
BLAM! An enormous explosion ripped through the cavern. Sand and dust blew down the narrow passageway, and Cloe could do nothing but hug the floor of the tunnel as the near-hurricane-force wind blew over her. Debris tumbled along the stone tube in which they were hunkered down. Possibly, it lasted only a few seconds, but it felt much longer.
Just at the point when Cloe thought she could hold on no longer, the vortex began to abate. A minute or two later, the howl of the wind was gone, but the cave was filled with sand and dirt.
“I can’t breathe,” cried Cloe.
“Mom, take your scarf and put it over your mouth and nose,” yelled J.E.
Cloe followed his suggestion, and soon she had caught her breath, even though her mouth and eyes felt like they were still filled with dust and sand.
Then someone next to her handed her a handkerchief, dampened with water from a canteen. She took it and was able to wash the dirt from her face and eyes. She felt so much better. Her vision began to clear, and she could see a bit in the light of the newcomer’s flashlight. “Thanks,” she said, handing the handkerchief back to him.
“You are welcome,” said Michael.
“Michael, what are you doing here?” queried Cloe.
“Well, I thought I might be coming to your rescue, but now I’m not sure,” he said. “I may only have succeeded in trapping both of us and our friends in this cave.”
“What was that explosion?” asked the camerlengo.
“Unless I’m wrong, that was the Karik’s way of saying good-bye and good luck,” said J.E. sardonically.
“I think J.E. is correct,” responded the monsignor. “That was the sound of the Karik blowing up the marabout and, in all probability, sealing us in here.”
The Last Sicarius Page 17