by Alton Gansky
“Yeah.”
A second later the light in the chamber dimmed as another head came through the opening. In the dim illumination, Perry saw Gleason’s face, then his arm, then the belt. He felt himself being pulled up. His vertical distance changed by only a few inches, but it was enough for Perry to grab the looped belt and twist it around his wrist.
“Got it!” Perry shouted. Immediately he felt a pull on the belt. “Now what?”
“Now the . . . hard part,” Gleason said, grunting each word. “Jack is lying over the last two rows of stones . . . he won’t have leverage to lift you. I’m straddling him. He . . . needs to reposition, which means . . .”
“He has to let go of me,” Perry said, completing Gleason’s sentence. “Swell.” He thought for a moment. “Do it.”
Gleason gave more orders. “Brent, Curtis. Take Jack by the legs and when . . . I say . . . pull him away from the opening. Jack . . .”
“I got it, buddy. As soon as I’m clear of your legs, I’ll be back.”
“Don’t take too long,” Gleason pleaded. “I don’t know how long my back will hold out. Perry weighs more than I do. I could get pulled in.”
“Lovely,” Perry remarked.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Gleason said. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . now.”
Perry felt two things. First he felt the release of the one thing that kept him from falling to his death: Jack’s grip. Second, he felt himself inching lower. Gleason couldn’t hold him. He was about to release the belt rather than drag his friend in when he noticed that he was no longer slipping down. The large black hand of Jack came back in view. The angle was different, and Perry knew why. Jack was no longer prone; he had repositioned himself to better reach him. The hand came down, and Perry reached for it, grabbing it at the wrist.
There was a loud grunt, a powerful scream, and Perry felt himself traveling up as if he were seated on a rocket. Before he could do anything else, Jack and Gleason dragged him across the rough rock threshold. The dark of the chamber had been replaced with the blue of the morning sky. It was the most beautiful blue he had ever seen.
He lay on the ground, as did Jack. Neither man moved at first. Perry was filled with pain as if someone had released a bag of hornets inside his body. Everything hurt, and he was thankful for it. If he hurt, it meant he was alive.
“You know,” Jack said, finally pushing himself into a seated position on the ground, “I’m never going to let you forget this.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Perry said with a weak laugh. “I suppose that now I owe you a burger.”
“I was thinking a new car,” Jack said.
Perry sat up and moved his arms, trying to work out the pain. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best.”
“We know that,” Gleason said, “but you need to thank someone else. The mayor helped save your bacon.”
“Anne?”
“Oh, yeah,” Gleason said. “I was losing you. I knew I was going to be following you down that hole before Jack could move into position. I slipped forward, and Anne grabbed me by the collar. She held me until Jack and I pulled you out.”
Perry looked at Anne, who seemed embarrassed by the whole thing. “Thank you, Madam Mayor.”
She smiled and looked at her hands. “I think I broke a nail.”
Chapter 21
IS IT JUST ME, or does anyone else get the idea that these people didn’t want this place disturbed?” Brent asked.
“I don’t know how they did it,” Gleason added, “but someone had a devious mind.”
They were standing in the pit. Perry was now using Jack’s flashlight to study the inside of the floorless chamber. Perry’s light had taken the trip to the bottom of the pit.
“I can’t give you the details,” Perry said, “but I can see wood along the sides of the pit. It must have been what they used to support the stone floor. Unlike the timbers in the ceiling, these look small. More like branches. They strung these dowel-sized branches from wall to wall, covered in thin stone, then dirt. I thought I was walking on something solid before it gave way.”
“And the water?” Brent asked. “Why do I hear running water?”
“Aquifer,” Perry said.
“Aqua . . . what?” Brent asked.
“Water-bearing rock,” Perry explained. “Groundwater that runs in underground streams. Many rural towns get their water from aquifers. If memory serves, the Edwards Aquifer meets the water needs of about two million people.”
“So the builders placed this over an aquifer,” Gleason said. “How would they know where an underground stream was?”
Perry turned to the others. “There’s no way to know. Maybe they didn’t plan it that way.”
“There was some planning going on,” Curtis said. “Whether they built here because of the aquifer or they stumbled upon it by accident doesn’t matter. They made good use of it.”
“I’m the last guy on the planet to argue that point,” Perry said. “The presence of underground water would explain the sinkhole. Sinkholes are often associated with underground springs.”
Perry took a deep breath. “Well, if everyone is rested, it’s time to get back to work.”
“I’m calling the union,” Jack said. “These working conditions are brutal.”
“You don’t belong to a union,” Perry shot back.
“In that case, I guess I’d better hustle.” Jack rose from his seat on the ground. Perry saw him grimace and knew that the big man was feeling soreness all over. He wanted to order him away but knew Jack would never obey. He was in for the duration, and Perry was glad for it.
“We need a bridge,” Gleason said. “Unfortunately, we didn’t think to bring one of those along.”
“Then we’ll have to make one,” Perry said. “There’s a small ledge at the base of the far wall. I imagine it’s made from foundation stones used to support the partition. The span is about eight feet. We need something to cross that distance, something a man could stand on.”
“A ladder,” Brent suggested.
“We don’t know if that little edge will hold the other side of the ladder,” Gleason said.
“We could rig it to work as a cantilevered support,” Jack said. “We would have to weight this side, though. Rule of thumb is, for every foot of cantilever there should be two feet this side of the fulcrum point. Otherwise the moment arm becomes too high, and that’s just inviting disaster.”
“Can someone translate what the big guy is saying?” Brent asked. “He’s hurting my brain.”
Perry smiled. “A cantilever is any projection that is supported on one end while the other end hangs unsupported. Think of a diving board. It’s fixed on one end but projects over the pool. Jack’s rule of thumb is correct. An architect would like to see a two-to-one ratio as well as having the supported end anchored. Since we have to bridge about eight feet, we would need about sixteen feet on this side of the opening, or a very strong way of tying the end down. Otherwise our cantilever bridge becomes a seesaw.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t he just say so?”
“I’d be worried about deflection,” Gleason said. “Once we’re on the far end and the ledge doesn’t hold, the ladder might bend and even fold—especially an aluminum ladder, and that’s all we brought with us.”
“But we have two of them,” Perry said. “We can defeat the deflection problem easy enough. We just set the ladders on their sides, tie the right rungs together so the extensions don’t slip, set them thirty or so inches apart, and span the distance with the left-over two-by-fours from the shoring you built.”
“Trusses,” Jack said. “You’re thinking of turning the ladders into the equivalent of floor trusses.”
“Exactly,” Perry said. “I think it’ll work.”
“I agree,” Jack said, “but I don’t think we should trust that little ledge. For all we know our weight might bring the whole wall down. Nothing would surprise me now.”
“Then let’s get to work,�
� Perry said with a clap of his hands. “Just to be safe, let’s build our truss bridge someplace other than this trench. I’m getting claustrophobic.”
The work went smoothly and intensely. Every setback increased the danger to the captive Claire and Joseph. While Jack cut two-by-fours into thirty-inch lengths, Gleason retrieved a box of carriage bolts from the supply truck. In the time it took them to make their way to the surface, the plan had been refined even more. Engineering minds began to percolate with ideas.
They decided that wood planks should be bolted together, sandwiching the ladders together. This would provide a rigid deck as well as keep the ladders securely apart but still part of the structural whole. When done, they would have a narrow, wood-and-aluminum bridge similar to a ship’s boarding ramp. It would be fourteen feet long. The ladders set on edge would provide the strength to hold a man’s weight; the planking would provide a deck upon which to stand.
While the others worked, Perry took Anne aside. “I want to thank you for helping Gleason save my bacon,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here, but I’m glad you are.”
“Turnabout is fair play,” she said. “In some ways, your words saved my life.”
“Why are you here?” Perry asked. “It’s a little early for most people.”
She told him about her conversation in the restaurant with one of his workers. “I became concerned,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I just felt that something wasn’t right.”
“Several things aren’t right,” Perry said.
“You seem rushed,” Anne said. “I didn’t get that impression last time I was here. You were working swiftly but carefully. Now your crew is told not to show up, and you almost lose your life. What’s happened?”
Perry started to dismiss her question. The fewer people who knew of the problem the better, but somehow that decision seemed wrong. She was in the right place at the right time to help save his life and that was because of . . . of what? Instinct? Was her arrival coincidence? Perry doubted that. Coincidence was seldom what it seemed. Anne had shown up because she’d followed a leading in her heart. She’d become God’s instrument to save Perry’s life.
Some would scoff at that idea. The rationalist might appeal to luck or twist of fate, but Perry found nothing rational in that philosophy. He was a man who tried to remain open to the leading of God. What better time than this to trust that leading?
“Anne, I’m going to tell you a story. You may or may not believe it, but I assure you it’s true. And I may need your help to save two lives. But you must keep everything in the strictest confidence. Do you understand?”
“I do” was all she said. Perry found her decisiveness endearing.
Perry took her back to the early morning hours when he intervened in the attack on Dr. Henri. Over the next hour, while Jack and the others built the jury-rigged bridge, Perry laid out the unbelievable account up to the point where he crashed through the floor. She occasionally asked questions but spent most of the time listening to each word.
“Pretty wild story, isn’t it?” Perry finally said.
“Wild is right. Sounds like something from a movie script.”
“Well, I have the bruises to prove it isn’t.”
“And this mysterious visitor is supposed to be back tonight?”
Perry nodded. “Two lives rest on my ability to retrieve what’s in that chamber.”
“Can you really release the treasure?” Anne asked. “I believe life is sacred, but . . .”
“I’m not sacrificing Claire and Joseph,” Perry declared. “I’ll just have to find a way to make things work.” Moments of silence flowed, and the two walked through the field. The sun was higher, and its warmth was being pushed through the trees and tall grass by a new breeze. “The God who made those trees is still in control,” Perry said. “I must trust in Him.”
“You’re going to need His help,” Anne said. “You can also count on me. I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Thank you,” Perry said. “I may need your help with Sergeant Montulli. If he gets wind of this, he’ll want to intervene. I understand that; I even admire it, but we’re dealing with the worst kind of man. He seems to have power, intelligence, and no conscience. For now, I have to play his game. If Montulli interferes, my friends will be killed.”
“I understand,” Anne said. “But at some point the police are going to have to get involved.”
“At the right time, Anne, at the right time.”
Jack shouted across the field. “We’re set, Perry. Let’s rock and roll on this.”
“Rock and roll?” Anne said with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t let him fool you. He only listens to polka music.”
Perry led Anne back to the work area and prayed that he had done the right thing in telling her all that he had.
IT TOOK ALL four men to carry the awkward contraption down to the chamber; each one fell at least once on the way. The sun continued its climb in the sky, shortening shadows and bathing the work area in more light. Very little of that light would make it into the chamber, so two additional flashlights were brought along. Anne had volunteered to carry them. More light would be made available by portable work lights run from the generator. Perry had run the electric line himself while his friends finished cobbling together the ladder-bridge.
Working like a well-drilled team, the men angled, twisted, and turned the long, ridged bridge through the opening Perry and Jack had made in the stone wall. It was stressful work and sweat poured freely, especially from Dr. Curtis. No one complained; each focused on what needed to be done.
Once in place, the makeshift bridge worked better than hoped. More than half of it was in the floorless chamber. To keep it from tipping and falling down the shaft, the crew had to weigh down the exposed end with their bodies. Perry called out directions and, after fifteen minutes of effort, managed to rest the far end on the small ledge at the base of the opposite and inner stone wall. Slowly the men released their end. The bridge stayed in place.
“It’s almost level,” Jack said. “The guy who dug the trench deserves a medal. Oh, that would be me.”
“I’ll see that you get everything you have coming to you,” Perry quipped. “The question is: Will the other side hold once weight is put on?”
“We can’t chance it,” Jack said. “We have to weigh this end down with at least twice what’s going to be on the other side.”
“Agreed,” Perry answered. “Let’s start with the stones we removed from the wall. We can pile them on. There’s at least five hundred pounds of rock there, maybe more. That should provide enough counterbalance for one person. We can retrieve a couple of shovels and cover the stones in a mound of dirt. That should add weight too.”
“Good idea,” Jack said.
Dr. Curtis groaned.
“I’m sorry, Doc,” Perry said. “But we don’t have the privilege of doing things slowly. Your stones have survived centuries under the dirt. They’ll survive a few more hours.”
“I know, I know,” Curtis said with a resigned wave of a hand. “Do what you must.”
The work began. Brent went to retrieve the shovels while Perry, Jack, and Gleason loaded on the stones from the wall. It took another thirty minutes to return a portion of the dirt dug by the excavator to the trench and bury the stones on the near end of the bridge.
When done, Perry stepped over one of the ladders and examined the work. “I think that’s it. If the ledge on the other side gives way, our bridge will be fully cantilevered. It should hold.”
Perry turned. “Now for the real test. Hand me a flashlight, Anne.” She passed over the light, exchanging a meaningful glance with Perry as she did.
“Hang on a second,” Jack said.
Perry stopped and turned to see Jack step on the ladder-bridge, back up to the dirt mound, and sit on it. “Just contributing another 280 pounds to the safety process. If this thing tips and your end goes down, I’ll come sliding after you, so be careful. Mama
Dyson would miss her little boy.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Perry said. “Gleason, since Jack has decided to sit down on the job, you’ll have to set up the work light after I get in there.”
“Will do,” Gleason said.
Perry turned to Dr. Curtis. “Doc, I’m going to be removing some of the stones . . .”
“And you can’t keep walking them back here, nor can you set them on the bridge without turning this into a seesaw,” Curtis sighed. “Just drop them down the shaft.”
The words went against every fiber of Curtis’s archaeology sensibility, and Perry knew it. He also knew that Curtis understood that life was more important than artifacts.
“‘For You light my lamp; the Lord my God illumines my darkness,’” Perry quoted. “I could use some illumination, Lord.”
Perry walked through the opening, leaving behind the bright light of morning for tomb-like darkness.
The hurriedly constructed bridge felt solid under Perry’s feet. The slim ledge seemed to hold. He’d hoped that by counter balancing the device with the rocks and dirt—and Jack’s added bulk—the downward force on the shelf would be minimal. His theory held, so far.
The chamber was cool, damp, and dark. The flashlight in his hand helped push away some of the black, but it couldn’t exhaust it. Perry wanted to look down toward the sound of water that ran through the aquifer but chose not to. Curiosity was a powerful force in his life, but today he had a more pressing job before him.
“I’m at the wall,” he said loudly, his voice echoing off the stones.
Dirt trickled down from the ceiling like soot from a forest fire. A new concern entered his mind. He had no idea how secure the ceiling was now. It had spent hundreds of years under the compression of nearly fifty feet of soil. The compression was now gone. How would the timbers and the stones above them react? Moisture that had been kept from the supporting timbers by the treacherous stone floor now had free access. Would that weaken an already precarious structure? If the ceiling collapsed, it would mean the end of Perry and the bridge.