He thought of the cavern called Hira on the mountain known as Jabal an-Nour near Mecca where Mohammed had been embraced by the Archangel Gabriel and impelled to recite the sacred verse:
“Proclaim…! In the name of thy Lord and Cherisher
Who
Created man, out of a clot of congealed blood:
Proclaim…! And thy Lord Most Bountiful –
Who taught by the pen –
Taught man that which he knew not…”
But here in this cave high in the Pyrenees, there had been no such holy visitation. Of this, Jarral was certain. For God did not speak to infidels. Only those willing to die for the true religion would be saved at the Day of Reckoning, a day soon to fall upon the world. After would come the cleansing when all the impurities that now polluted the earth would be washed away in a river of blood. This was their oath, the solemn promise they had pledged to each other – the mujahideen al-Battar, the brotherhood of the sword.
*****
There was something about descending into darkness that had always felt disorienting to Corbett, as though he had somehow become lost in the void – that indefinable sense of dread lying just beyond the torchlight. Too many bad movies as a kid, he thought with a grim smile. The chance of alien beings lurking there among the stalactites and stalagmites just waiting to eviscerate the unsuspecting was the stuff of fiction not science. Having dealt with such feelings before, he pushed them into the far recesses of his mind.
The flare continued to burn a few feet away with an otherworldly glow as he reached the floor of the cave and stepped out of the rappelling harness. Calling back up to Hector, he watched as the harness disappeared into the blackness above. Turning, Corbett located the end of the tape measure and noted the distance from the top: just under twenty-four meters. Given the maximum cable length of the winch ran 30 meters, they should just about make it. Corbett looked around, his helmet light revealing the enormity of the cave. The cavern before him was extensive, much larger than anything he experienced before. No telling what they might find deeper down. The prospect excited him.
Within minutes, he watched as Roberto tentatively lowered himself from above. But several feet above the floor of the cave, he abruptly started to lose his balance. Instinctively attempting to save himself, he struck out with both boots against the rock wall sending a shower of stones cascading downward.
“Watch yourself,” Corbett cautioned, grabbing him by the arm and guiding him the rest of the way. With both feet planted firmly beneath him at last, Roberto stepped out of the harness. Calling out to Hector once more, Corbett watched as the rappelling harness rose out of sight.
“Dios mio, esta caverna es enorme…” the younger man whispered as he stood beside him. “It is just so…” Though his English failed him, Roberto’s reaction left no doubt. The cave was clearly more than either of them had expected. Corbett found himself remembering the first time he had visited Rome as an undergraduate and climbed to the top of the Dome of St. Peter’s. Up stone steps through the claustrophobic interior passageway, sense deprived and wholly unprepared for what awaited him. A kind of out of body experience as he suddenly emerged, stepping out onto the marble gallery overlooking the altar 300 feet below and realizing the dome still stood half again as high above. Designed by Michelangelo more than 500 years before, it was meant to humble man in the sight of God. And as much as he had wanted to deny it, the experience had moved him. Strange that this place should have a similar effect.
Turning back, Corbett reacted as the light from his headlamp reflected off an odd shaped, somewhat discolored rock apparently dislodged by Roberto’s near fall. Kneeling for a closer look, he picked up the rock and turned it over in his hands just as Ella reached the cave floor beside them.
“Found something already…?” she asked as Roberto assisted her out of the harness.
As the two interns joined him, Corbett ran his fingers over the surface of the rock and shook his head. “Actually, it’s a partially fossilized brachiopod.” He held it out so that the surface of the artifact caught the light.
“Brachiopod…?” Ella asked. “You mean a sea shell… down here?”
“And it’s been painted,” he traced the dark violet ridges with his forefinger. “Manganese by the look of it. Probably part of a necklace or talisman. See the way it’s been punctured here so that it could be suspended, probably from the wrist or neck.”
“Neanderthal…?” Ella ventured.
“That would be my guess,” Corbett confirmed. “Late Pleistocene. Maybe thirty to forty thousand years ago. There was a study published in the journal Nature a few years back on similar shells discovered in caves to the south along the coast. I’ll have to show this to Sebastian when we get back.”
“Then you think there might be more… shells, I mean?” Roberto asked looking more closely at the cavern floor.
“It’s worth a look. Make a note of the spot – on a direct line below the entrance. Once you and Karim finish mapping the cave, we’ll see what we can find. Meantime, let’s have a look around.”
Slipping the shell into the zippered pocket of his jumpsuit, Corbett unslung his gear bag, removing a ten-meter length of nylon cord. Using carabiner clips, he attached it to his belt, then to each
