The Last Templar - Страница 50

Reilly tried to edge his fingers into the crack and pry it open, but the poor lever and his own buoyancy prevented him from being able to apply enough leverage. Tess checked her watch; five minutes left. Looking around frantically for something to use as a tool, Tess spotted some twisted pieces of metal sticking out from one of the columns. Swimming up to it, she tugged on the protruding rod until it came loose in a cloud of tiny particles of stone. She swam back down as fast as she could and, back on the floor of the church, Reilly took it from her and slid one end into the crack around the stone. Together, they heaved downward on the free end.

Suddenly, there was a creaking sound. Not below them, but above. Looking hurriedly upward, Tess saw small pieces of debris falling from where she had dragged free die ironwork. Was it just movement of the water, or was the upper section of the column sliding off its base? She looked urgently at Reilly. He jabbed his finger at the rod, signaling another attempt to pry the stone loose.

She nodded and grabbed hold of it; again, they applied all their strength to the lever. This time, the grave

marker moved. Ever so slightly, but it moved, though not enough to get a hand underneath.

Again, they heaved on the iron bar. Once more, the marker moved, then tilted upward, allowing a huge air bubble to burst out at them. It brushed violently past them before escaping upward and disappearing through a hole in the rotted ceiling.

From above came another creak.

Looking up, Tess saw that the upper section of the leaning column was definitely inching off its base. The iron bar she'd hastily dislodged had somehow unhinged the column and loosened the precarious structure. Above her, puffs of dust burst in the water like silent explosions. She turned back to Reilly, who was struggling with the stone marker and was pointing down. She saw that there was now enough space for her hand to sneak through. She reached down, cringing as she flashed back to an old movie where a diver's hand had been grabbed by a ferocious eel. Forcing the picture from her mind, she plunged her hand inside the grave. She felt around desperately, shutting her ears and her mind to the echoing cracks and the precariousness of the ancient walls around her.

Then her fingers felt something. It felt bulky. Her eyes pleaded at Reilly, urging him to lift the marker even more to make room for it. He slid his hand around the bar for a better grip and let out a huge burst of bubbles as he strained to widen the opening. Tess tugged at the object, trying to squeeze it through the hole without damaging it.

Reilly gave it a final pull, and the stone lifted enough to allow the object to slide through. It looked like a leather pouch with a long strap, around the size of a small backpack, bulging with something that was solid and seemed heavy As Tess pulled it through the gap, the iron bar suddenly snapped and the gravestone slid down, narrowly missing the pouch as it slammed against the cavity in a dull echo and kicked up a cloud of silt. From above, another creak was followed by the sound of stone scraping against stone as the top section of the column edged slowly off its base, the roof caving in above it as it fell. Tess and Reilly exchanged urgent glances and headed for the portal, but something pulled Tess back. The pouch was stuck, its strap caught beneath the stone.

As she desperately pulled on the strap, Reilly's eyes scoured the bottom, looking for something else to use as a lever, but found nothing. Debris was now raining down on them, floating down in an ever-thickening cloud of silt. Tess tugged on the strap some more. Reilly's alarmed eyes met hers, and she shook her head. It was useless. The church was about to collapse around them, and they had to get out of there, but that would mean leaving the pouch behind. Her fingers were still clasping the battered leather. She wasn't about to give it up.

Reilly moved quickly. He sank back down and ran his fingers along the edge of the slab, then positioned his legs on either side and pulled at it in a last-ditch attempt to free the strap. A large rafter floated down, landing inches from his leg. With a supreme effort, the rock moved imperceptibly—but it was enough to free the strap. He let go, pointed at the portal, and he and Tess headed for it, kicking furiously as bits of the roof plunged down around them. Avoiding them, they weaved in and out through the pillars and falling stone until, at last, they raced through the portal and emerged into clearer water.

For a few moments, they floated there, watching as the church collapsed on itself, huge chunks of masonry and stone crashing down in a balletic flurry of cloudy, bubbling water. Tess's heart was still pounding furiously. She concentrated on slowing her breathing down, conscious of the limited supply of air they carried and of the long, slow ascent ahead of them. She glanced at the pouch, wondering what it contained, wondering if it was still intact after all these years, hoping the exposure to the water hadn't ruined it. As she took a farewell glance at the well, her mind briefly drifted to Aimard and to that fateful night. Not in his wildest dreams could he have possibly imagined, seven hundred years ago, that the valley would be flooded by a man-made barrage and that his secret hiding place would end up submerged under a hundred feet of water.

Reilly was watching her. Their eyes met. Even through the distortion of the mask, her elation was clear. She checked her watch. Their tanks would be running out soon. She jabbed her finger upward. Reilly nodded his agreement and they began the slow ascent, making sure they rose no faster than the smallest bubbles breaking out from their regulators.

Around them, the water slowly cleared as the swirling dust clouds were left behind. The climb seemed to take forever until finally, the light started to break through. Looking up to where the sunlight streamed downward, Tess's blood drained from her face as she suddenly noticed that something was different. Reaching out her free hand, she seized Reilly's arm, but from the tension in his muscles, she realized that he had seen it, too.

Above them, instead of the shadow of one rowboat, there were now two shadows.

Someone else was there, but there wasn't much they could do as their air supply was about to run out. They had to resurface. Tess's eyes hardened. She knew who it must be. And as they broke surface, she saw that she was right.

Rustem was still there, just as they'd left him, only he had a scared and plaintive frown on his face.

Sitting in the second boat, watching them with a look of muted delight—almost like a professor acknowledging the success of a bright pupil, Tess thought—was William Vance.

He was cradling a shotgun.

Chapter 60

A s he helped Tess clamber into Rustem's boat, Reilly shot a quick glance toward the shore.

A brown Toyota pickup truck was now parked by their SUV. Two men were standing at the edge of the lake, and neither of them was the engineer, Okan. The first was much taller and bulkier than the small engineer, and the second, although wiry and no taller than Okan, lacked his thick nest of black hair. Reilly also spotted something else: both men were holding guns. From this far out, they looked like hunting rifles, but Reilly couldn't be sure. He guessed that Vance had bought himself some local muscle along the way. He wondered if any of them had thought to check the Pajero and, if so, if they'd found the Browning he'd tucked into the stow box under the seat.

Reilly studied Vance, seeing him in the flesh for the first time. So this is the man behind this whole mess. He thought back to the murdered horsemen in New York, trying to reconcile the man before him with all the events that had brought them to this remote place and gauging the professor's mind-set. The threatening announcement that Reilly was, in fact, an FBI agent hadn't fazed Vance in the least. Watching his calm, controlled disposition, Reilly wondered how this sophisticated man, this respected academic, had evolved into the fugitive sitting across from him with a shotgun in his lap; how someone with his background had managed to put together that raiding party and, more to the point, how he had gone on to kill off his hired guns, one by one, and with such efficiency and ruthlessness at that.

Something didn't fit.

He noted that Vance was fixated on the pouch in Tess's hands.

"Careful," Vance told her as she settled into the boat. "We wouldn't want to damage it. Not after all this." His tone sounded strangely detached as he stretched his hand out. "Please," he beckoned.

Tess looked at Reilly, unsure of what to do. Reilly turned to Vance who, with the other hand, swung the shotgun out slowly until it was pointing in their direction. The expression on the professor's face was almost rueful, but his eyes were unflinching. Tess stood up, reached over, and handed him the pouch.

Vance simply stowed it by his feet and motioned toward the shore with the shotgun. "Let's get back on solid ground, shall we?"

As they climbed off the boats at the shore, Reilly could now see that Vance's men were indeed carrying hunting rifles. The taller of the two, a rough-looking man with a neck like a tree stump and a steely stare, was pointing his rifle at them, directing them away from the boats. The rifle didn't look new, but it was threatening enough. It was an odd kind of weapon for a hired thug. It occurred to Reilly that Vance almost certainly had had to make do with whomever he'd been able to find at short notice. That could work to their advantage, he thought, especially if the Browning was still in the Pajero. For the moment, though, they were too exposed, standing there dripping in their wet suits.