by D C Macey
‘We’d better get you out first. Come on we’ll lift you.’
Bill patted his chest and waved a hand around his wounds. ‘Thanks, Sam, but I’ll never manage through that hole in the time we’ve got. Just go, check it’s all clear up there, and I’ll try to boost Angelo up.’
The men hugged one another.
‘Now get away.’
Standing beneath the opening, Sam jumped up. Catching the edge of the hatch, he pulled himself up then stopped. ‘Hell, I don’t fit.’ He dropped back to the floor, reached inside his jacket and pulled out the tarnished silver chalice. Without any ceremony and before Angelo could stop him, he tossed it up through the opening. They heard it land with a thin clang on the flagstone floor above.
Sam jumped again, pulled himself up and levered his head and chest through the hatch. Above, everything was in darkness, cold and fresh. The only place it could be was within the ruin of St Adrian’s Priory. Just for a moment, as he sought to push himself up and out, he heard a strange crackling noise in the cold night air, quite distinct, then it was gone. In that instant, he felt hands grip his legs then pull hard. He resisted, but more hands gripped him, and suddenly, he was falling back into the tunnel.
Lying prone on the tunnel floor, he looked up. A guard loomed over him, his pistol pointing directly at Sam’s head. A second guard held Angelo and Bill at gunpoint.
A walking stick struck across Sam’s face, instantly raising a wheal. ‘Cameron, you have plagued me for long enough. Consider that your last hurrah.’ Cassiter prodded Sam in the chest with his stick. ‘Understand, the only reason you and your friends aren’t dead right now after this little trick of yours, is I’m three men down.’
He directed his remaining guards. ‘You men, get him up, and get them all back down the tunnel. They can start carrying the bags for us.’
Sam looked up at Cassiter. ‘Bill’s in no condition to carry anything, he’s been shot twice.’
‘If he can’t carry, he’s no good to me. Let’s have him shot a third time, and get it over with.’
‘Whoa there. Steady on, man. I’ve got one good arm; I can still carry.’
Cassiter looked down at Sam. ‘You see, Cameron, learn. As long as you can carry, you can breathe. Stop carrying; stop breathing. Now, tell me, where does that hatch lead?’
‘Outside somewhere, I don’t know. You pulled me back in before I could check it out.’
‘No matter then. Let’s go. Hurry.’
‘At least let’s bind up the man’s wounds; he’ll work all the better for that.’
‘No, he’ll manage as he is, or he’ll die.’
Under the cautious watch of the armed guards, Sam got to his feet, and they set off down the tunnel.
They passed the entrance to the cave and kept walking. When they stepped past a dead guard, Cassiter stooped to retrieve the dropped machine gun. He picked up a second weapon from another body further on. At the Y-junction, they all stopped.
‘The remaining bags are already on the other side of the junction. Guards, you two go round first and get ready for the prisoners to follow you. I will guard them until they are back with you in the other tunnel branch. Then I’ll follow. Let’s move quickly now.’
The two guards slipped round the sharp tunnel junction and called out that they were ready for Cassiter to send the prisoners round. Sam went first and was quickly followed by Angelo.
‘You next,’ said Cassiter.
‘Sorry, mate. I don’t think I can make it. I’ve lost too much blood,’ said Bill from where he had slumped, propped up against the tunnel wall, his legs outstretched.
‘Your choice and your loss,’ said Cassiter, raising his weapon and aiming directly at Bill’s chest. ‘Get up and carry your bag or die right now.’ He firmed his grip on the machine gun and gently squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Cassiter looked at the weapon in disgust, then, as Bill laughed, he threw it down and produced his own pistol, steadied and aimed.
‘Hold hard there! Do not fire your weapon. We have you covered.’
Cassiter spun round, arcing his pistol to aim up into the tunnel.
‘Put your weapon down now, or you are dead.’
Defiant, Cassiter strained to see who was challenging him from what, moments before, had seemed a deserted dead end. All he became aware of was two red dots dancing gently back and forth from the outstretched sleeves of his jacket to his chest and back again.
Cassiter took an involuntary step back, away from the red dots, and tripped on Bill’s outstretched legs. With a gasp, Cassiter tumbled backwards. He dropped his weapon and fell towards the abyss.
Cassiter’s desperate grasping hands, powered by the cruel grip of his fingers, managed to catch and clasp Bill’s hand as he fell.
His plunge was stopped before it could start when Bill instinctively gripped the falling man’s hand. Cassiter dangled over the edge, legs waving, his weight dragging on Bill, quickly pulling him flat to the floor of the tunnel, his head lying over the lip, giving him an unwelcome view beyond Cassiter and down into the chasm.
‘Pull me up, man. Pull me up!’
‘My shoulder’s too weak.’
Cassiter’s fingers locked tighter against Bill’s in an unbreakable vice-like grip. He twisted his head up and round, and could just see Sam leaning out over the lip of the other branch tunnel, kneeling and reaching his hand out.
‘Here, take my hand,’ said Sam.
Cassiter stretched up and over but couldn’t quite reach. Fingertips just touching. He looked towards Bill again. ‘Take the weight, man; get me up a bit more. Pull!’
Fighting the pain of his wounds, Bill strained to lift Cassiter higher. His face was pulled hard against the tunnel’s rock floor. Locked in position, Bill saw Cassiter reach up again for Sam’s hand. He could see Sam leaning out and down in a desperate bid to reach the man.
For the first time, there was fear in Cassiter’s eyes, then desperation as he turned his gaze to where his hand gripped Bill’s. There, blood had started to flow more vigorously from Bill’s untended wounds. It was flowing down his arm, over his hand and now seeped between their interlocked fingers.
Cassiter’s grip was slipping. ‘Please, please save me,’ he shrieked, their fingers beginning to slide apart.
Sam made a desperate lunge and was himself grabbed by Angelo just in time to stop him falling headfirst.
There was no safety net for Cassiter. His hand parted from Bill’s. He screamed in fear and fell, twisting and bumping into the black. The screams ended before a distant splash recorded his end.
Heads hanging over the lips of their respective tunnels, Sam and Bill eyed one another. They lay still for a long moment. Killing in action was something they both understood and had done whenever necessity demanded. But failing to save a life, any life, was always hard to take.
The sound of rapidly receding footfalls signed the exit of the two remaining guards. Clearly, they did not fancy slugging it out with a new force, particularly now Cassiter was gone.
A new sound emerged from behind Bill to replace the retiring footsteps. A slow handclap. ‘Well, that was very moving. Very poignant. And I have to say, Sam, it’s exactly why you were never invited to make the leap from the military to our service. Too much heart. Far too much.’
Sam rose to his feet at the sound of the familiar, languid tones. He paused for a long moment, composing his thoughts. Then he slipped round the tunnel edge to rejoin Bill who was sitting on the floor, somebody in black combat fatigues crouched beside him, applying first aid. Beyond was a group of figures in identical black, mostly armed with automatic weapons, and at their head was a very familiar face.
‘Rupert! Where in God’s name did you spring from?’ demanded Sam.
A squad of men began to move forwards, and Sam put up a hand to halt them. Reaching back round, he beckoned to Angelo who quickly joined him. They stepped aside, and the squad of men advanced to the tunnel junction where, one by one, they slipped round and
began the pursuit of Cassiter’s remaining men.
‘Sam Cameron, don’t we always meet in the most interesting places?’ The rolling female voice, with its rich American accent, shifted Sam’s attention. He strained to see the black-dressed figure now standing next to Rupert.
‘What on earth are you two doing here?’
‘Well, Sam, that’s not the most effusive thank you I’ve ever received, but I’ll put that down to stress.’ Rupert Peterson stepped forwards, offering his hand. ‘Glad you all made it; Tracy and I thought it was a bit touch-and-go for a while.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘Why, you opened the entrance into the priory for us, honey. Just as well you did, otherwise you were on your own,’ said Tracy, smiling. Sam marvelled that the CIA agent always contrived to look glamorous, no matter what the circumstances.
‘Are these people our friends? I don’t understand,’ said Angelo.
‘That depends how you classify your friends. I think we’re on the same side, mostly.’
‘Come, come, Sam; you can do better than that. Now, it’s time to get you all out of here, don’t you think?’
‘There are things, important things, they must not be left,’ said Angelo.
‘I understand, sir. Don’t you worry; we’ve got it all under control.’
‘No, Angelo is right. This is an archaeological superstore - everything needs to be logged and recorded. There’s so much here.’
A foldout stretcher had been produced and men were already carrying Bill away. Suddenly, Sam and Angelo were being hurried up the tunnel.
‘Follow me, boys. Plenty of time to talk once we are in the fresh air,’ Tracy’s voice reached back to them as she led the upward march.
More armed men were on guard at the treasure cave’s entrance. Angelo made a lunge for it, determined to return to the artefacts that had so entranced his before. He had no chance.
‘Come along, Angelo. Sam, please keep Angelo on track, would you be so good?’ Rupert’s voice was languid, so relaxed it almost seemed disinterested, yet the squad of black-clad men around him took every word as a hard order. Sam and Angelo were allowed no further opportunities to delay the procession.
Just as Sam took his turn to scale the rope ladder now rigged from the opening in the tunnel’s roof, the sound of distant gunfire rolled up the tunnel towards them. He looked up to see Rupert’s face peering down.
‘Sounds like our boys have caught up with the remnant. That won’t take long to tidy up. Come on up, Sam, plenty to talk about.’
Emerging through the open hatch in the flagstoned floor, Sam took in the scene. Rupert was not short on manpower, and torch-lit shadows moved everywhere. He saw Bill being carried away. Under the supervision of two black-clad men, Angelo was reluctantly following the stretcher.
In the organised confusion, and as electric torches flashed this way and that, Sam started to look about the flagstoned remains of the priory floor.
‘Looking for something, old man?’ said Rupert, coming to stand beside Sam.
‘No,’ said Sam.
‘Oh, it seemed that you were.’
‘No. Other than an explanation for all this.’ He swept his arms out. ‘Where did you come from? Why?’
‘Sam, honey, you don’t think I’d leave you in trouble, do you?’ said Tracy, appearing from the shadows to stand at Rupert’s side.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to search you. Nothing personal, you understand. Just protocol,’ said Rupert.
Sam didn’t bother resisting. He knew Rupert would simply have pulled in sufficient muscle to facilitate his request.
‘What’s this?’ said Rupert, pulling a slim gold plaque from Sam’s jacket. He held it up and Tracy shone her torch on it. ‘Very heavy, I think it might be gold.’ The pair peered more closely at the artefact.
Sam had forgotten all about the piece that he had pocketed earlier. ‘Just a memento I picked up. Actually, I thought it might make a nice gift for Helen. She’s been having a hard time of it.’
Tracy shone the light into Sam’s face. ‘That’s sweet. How is my special friend?’
‘Not so good; she was shot recently.’
Tracy nodded. She knew all about the incident. She played the torch back over the gold piece, taking it from Rupert’s hand. ‘You know, Rupert, that’s sure as hell not what we’re looking for. What say we let it go? Our little thank you for all their trouble.’
Rupert looked again at the small gold tablet. ‘Certainly. As long as we are all clear it didn’t come from here.’
Tracy slipped the gold plaque back into Sam’s jacket pocket. ‘Remember, we’ve never seen it. Okay?’
‘Fine by me—’
‘We’ve got a movement on the yacht. Over.’ Rupert’s radio crackled and spat out its message.
‘What’s happening? Over,’ said Rupert.
‘The helicopter is preparing for take-off. A man in a wheelchair has just embarked. Over.’
Rupert looked towards Tracy. ‘Parsol. He’s making a run for it.’
‘This one’s for me, I think,’ she said. Reaching up to the side of her face, she pivoted down a discreet little mic and began issuing instructions.
Rupert gave a shrug of his shoulders and leant in towards Sam. ‘I sometimes think she overcomplicates matters. I’d have just waited for it to land. In weather like this, it won’t go for much more than three hours without refuelling.’ He straightened up as Tracy ended her call.
‘Come on, you should see this,’ she said, leading them out from the shelter of the ruined priory and up towards the crest of the hill behind.
As soon as she stepped onto the rabbit-cropped grass outside the ruin, the sound of snail shells crackling underfoot began. That was the sound I heard earlier, thought Sam.
At the top, they stood braced against the buffeting wind, waiting.
‘I think you might have been looking for this, old man.’ Rupert produced the goblet from inside his jacket. Sam reached for it, and Rupert pulled it back. ‘Sorry, this is confiscated.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Well, Sam, we are HM’s Secret Service. It’s our job to know. And let’s face it; if you’re involved in a great big explosives and gunfire incident in Edinburgh, of all places, we’re going to notice.’
‘And let me tell you, honey, blowing up half a mountainside in Crete and suddenly your friends at the Vatican Bank are solvent and restored as big international banking players again … it’s something we needed to know about.’
Rupert stepped closer to Sam. ‘Once one of our people in the Vatican had looked into it all and reported back, it was clear that the really big prize had not been found yet. Whoever managed to get their hands on the relics would command enormous power and influence. Some national governments might have been marginalised, even swept away. So we had to watch over you to ensure no harm came to you.’
‘Or to the Templar relics,’ said Tracy.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. The finds in these tunnels are an archaeological treasure trove. It’s our history; you can’t just take it.’
‘I’m afraid we can, and we are. Your finds represent a threat to national security,’ said Rupert.
‘Both our national securities,’ said Tracy.
‘Nonsense.’
‘You think? I don’t know if that silver cup in Rupert’s jacket is the Holy Grail or just some junk pot. And you know what? I don’t care one way or the other. I do know a quarter of the world’s population venerate its concept and a fair proportion of them would go to war to protect it or liberate it.’
‘And another quarter of the world would reject it. And plenty of them would be happy to fight to destroy it,’ said Rupert.
‘That little cup, real or otherwise, has the power to trigger conflicts and bloodshed like we haven’t seen since the world wars. And believe me,’ Tracy’s voice suddenly took on a hard edge, ‘that ain’t happening on our watch.’
/> Sam saw Rupert’s nod of agreement. Then all three switched their attention as Rupert’s radio crackled into life again.
‘It’s taking off now, sir. Helicopter is clear of the deck. Over.’
Tracy walked a few yards along the hillcrest and stooped to shake the shoulder of a kneeling figure who Sam had not previously noticed. Then she hurried back to join them.
‘Okay, now let’s nail this problem my way. Here comes the show.’ She linked one arm with Rupert’s, flicked her mic back down beside her lips and turned to look over the hillcrest.
Nothing happened for a moment, then a helicopter appeared, rising slowly, fighting for its position against the still gusty wind. It started to turn, setting up to run south across the Forth.
‘Now!’ Tracy shouted into her mic. ‘Now!’
Her operative fired the shoulder-launched missile, sending it off with a roar and a bright flash. That initial light had scarcely diminished before the missile met its target, converting the aircraft into a yet brighter ball of flame. It dropped from the sky a short distance from the yacht.
There was a gleam of triumph in Tracy’s eye. ‘That’s how you fix a problem, yes, sir!’ she shouted to the wind. ‘That’s how you fix it.’ She turned to accept Rupert’s congratulations.
A minute or two later, the three turned to head back towards the priory.
‘Is that it?’ said Sam.
‘Hell, no. Rupert’s got a press release to issue about the tragic loss of reclusive billionaire industrialist Eugene Parsol in a helicopter crash. And he’s got to establish an exclusion zone while the rescue services clean up. Just so happens there’s an American navy ship on a courtesy visit to Scotland. It’s at anchor in the Forth right now. I believe it’s getting ready to come right over to lend a hand.’
‘We’ve jointly agreed on a safe home for the treasures, where nobody will find them in a thousand years,’ said Rupert.
Sam scowled at them both. ‘You think? The previous owners thought the same thing. You can’t hide history forever.’
‘I think we can, honey.’ Tracy gave Sam a long sweet smile. ‘Now, I’ve got things to do. Rupert, can you move Sam along?’