If the air lock didn't hold, they'd all be crushed.
'Eight...seven...six...'
Karlsen pushed through to join Painter. His eyes were wide. 'Krista's not here,' he said, as if Painter knew what that meant.
Someone else did. 'Krista...Krista Magnussen? Jason's girlfriend?'
Anger flashed in Senator Gorman's voice.
Painter shoved the two men apart. 'Later.'
First, they had to survive.
The countdown continued.
'Five...four...three...'
Chapter 21
October 13, 12:32 P.M.
Bardsey Island, Wales
As Gray prepared to descend into the crypt, the true heart of the storm rolled over Bardsey Island. It was as if the gods themselves warned against violating the tomb.
With a crack of thunder, the skies opened up. Rain poured down in large drops that shattered like bombs upon gravestones and markers. To the north, lightning crackled in forking chains.
'I'll go first,' Gray said between thunderclaps.
The boy Lyle had run to the nearby chapel house to fetch a rope. But with the rain falling so hard, Gray feared the tomb could flood before any of them had a chance to search it.
The crypt's opening was a hole in the ground about two feet wide, barely enough room for one person to climb through. It dropped seven feet to a stone floor. Below, it was wider, maybe twice as large as the opening. He couldn't see more without going down.
Grabbing the sides, Gray lowered himself into the hole. He used his legs to brace himself, then dropped the rest of the way down. He landed in a crouch and freed his flashlight.
He stared up at the others' faces.
'Be careful,' Rachel said.
'Let me know what you see,' Wallace added.
Both Kowalski and Seichan hung farther back.
Gray clicked on his flashlight and searched the main shaft. The sides were natural rock archways that framed brick walls, slightly inset. He imagined coffins and moldering bones behind those bricks. And perhaps one of those bodies was Lord Newborough's.
As rain sluiced down the walls, Gray took the time to examine each surface. He ran his hands over them, searching for loose stones, some indication that Father Giovanni had been here and discovered something.
'Well?' Wallace called down.
'Nothing.'
Rachel pulled away, but her voice reached him. 'Lyle's coming back with the rope.'
Gray turned his attention to the fourth wall. Here the bricks framed a low archway, barely taller than midthigh. Crouching, Gray shone his light down into it. The space was plainly meant to hold a coffin. Afterward, the archway would have been walled up like the others. But currently the niche was empty.
He knew the hole had to be important. This wall faced the ruins of the abbey's tower. Dropping to his hands and knees in the pooled water, Gray crawled into the niche. It was deep. Beyond the opening, the bricks disappeared and solid rock surrounded him. Gray worked slowly to the back of the tomb.
He patted the sides, ran his palms over the surfaces.
Nothing.
Though frustrated, he remained confident. Whatever was hidden had to lie beneath the ruins of Saint Mary's. But maybe he was wrong about the access point. Maybe it wasn't this crypt. Father Giovanni could have searched it upon Lyle's suggestion-just as Gray was doing-then moved on.
He heard a splash behind him as someone joined him in the crypt.
He retreated and climbed out of the niche. Rachel stood there. Her hair clung wetly to her face. Her eyes glowed under the shine of his flashlight, full of hope. He could not fail her.
'Dead end?' she aked.
He grimaced, not appreciating her choice of words, nor happy with his lack of success. 'I don't see any sign that Father Giovanni has been down here.'
'Can I try?' she asked and held out her hand for his flashlight.
How could he refuse?
He passed her the light. She crouched on one hand and sidled into the empty tomb. Her lithe physique allowed her more maneuverability in the tight space. Her flashlight swept along the walls.
'See anything?' he asked.
'No.'
From above, Wallace voiced Gray's earlier concern. 'Maybe we're in the wrong hole.'
Rachel gave up and swung around. In a demonstration of limberness, she turned herself fully around in the niche and headed back out-then froze.
'What is it?' Gray asked.
'Come see.'
Her flashlight was pointed straight back at him. Shielding his eyes, he started to crawl in toward her.
'No,' she warned. 'Slide in on your back.'
Gray obeyed. Soaking wet, he rolled over and scooted on his elbows and pushed with his legs into the niche. Faceup was the proper position for lying in a grave.
'What'dya see down there?' Wallace called.
'Don't know yet,' Gray answered as he shimmied deeper.
'All the way back,' Rachel urged.
He kept sliding in. Eventually his head rested between her knees. She leaned over him with the flashlight. She smelled of wet wool. He was all too conscious of her breasts above his head.
'Look,' she said.
He was, but she probably meant where the flashlight was pointed. He had to squirm up to his elbows and look back toward the entrance. He didn't see anything at first, just the back half of the brick wall that closed off the natural stone niche.
'Notice how all the bricks are laid horizontal, but look at the three around the lip of the opening. At the top and to either side.'
Gray saw it now, too. 'They're placed vertically.'
The opening was a perfect half circle. The three vertical bricks marked off the 12, 3, and 9 o'clock positions.
'Do you think it's significant?' Rachel said.
Gray did. 'It's like half of the pagan cross.'
In the reflection off the pooled water, he could almost see the other half of the circle. He pictured completing the symbol, drawing lines to connect the stones. It would form the Druid cross they'd been following from the beginning.
'But what does it mean?' Rachel asked.
'Let me try something.'
Gray crab-crawled on his elbows back out of the niche, then reversed himself and went in on his belly, feetfirst this time. He hoped he wasn't completely soaking himself for no reason.
Wallace called down, 'Well?'
'Still working,' Gray answered in a strained voice.
He got under the entrance and examined the three bricks. The two to the side seemed nondescript and solidly mortared. Stretching up, he grabbed the top brick. It seemed no different-until his probing fingers scraped along the top lip. There was a slight indentation, perfect for a grip.
He snagged his fingers in place and tugged.
